Rogue on the Rollaway
Page 7
“Isolated,” Colleen interrupted. “No phones or cars, internet, things like that. Very primitive.” She tugged at her hand. His hold tightened and his thumb began making lazy circles on her palm.
“Primitive? Lady, ye have no idea.” Faolan purred, unleashing a potentially lethal testosterone laden grin in her direction. “But perhaps that is something we could discuss…at length…later.” He kissed her fingertips again, his lips lingering on her hand a split second longer than necessary, and her entire body quivered at the contact. He arched one dark eyebrow, daring Colleen to speak.
The look she gave him would have felled a lesser man. “Much later,” she said, smiling through clenched teeth.
“I doona know about that, Princess,” he said, “mayhap a wee bit of wild and primitive is just what yer needing to put a spark back in those enchanting eyes.” He picked up a cookie and bit into it with relish, smacking his lips and batting his eyes, then pushed the plate to her with a grin that could only be described as triumphant. “Cookie?” he asked.
Colleen made a choking sound in the back of her throat and closed her eyes. “I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“As ye wish, dear lady,” Faolan chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a rippling frisson of something warm and nice, she grudgingly admitted, throughout her entire body.
Sandy cleared her throat. “I’m glad I brought a full pan of the lasagna. Plenty enough for two,” she said.
“You haven’t seen him eat,” Colleen grumbled under her breath. Faolan just grinned.
Finally getting the idea there was more going on than met the eye, Sandy looked from one to the other. “Thanks for the coffee, but I’ve got to be getting back. Bill will wonder where I’ve gotten off to.” She slid her chair back and rose from the table.
Colleen shot to her feet, nearly toppling her own chair in her haste. “Thanks for stopping by and for the lasagna. That was sweet of you,” she said, walking quickly to the front door and opening it.
Sandy took the hint and followed behind. “I can’t believe you kept this juicy little secret from me. I want to hear every last detail. He’s gorgeous,” she whispered.
“‘Twas a pleasure meeting ye, Mistress Jasko,” Faolan called after her.
“Please, call me Sandy. It was nice meeting you too,” she said as Colleen all but pushed her friend out the door. Call me, Sandy mouthed.
Colleen closed the door and locked it then whirled around to confront the big, handsome fly in her personal ointment. Casual and relaxed, he stood leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms folded across his chest, his face the very picture of innocence. “Now, then, I believe ye mentioned a surprise, Princess?”
4
A scant half hour later, Faolan sat half reclining on the couch across from the large flat screen TV. “I saw you reading my history books, so I thought you might enjoy this,” she said, handing him the large bowl of buttered popcorn. Taking a seat next to him, she aimed the remote toward the DVD player and pressed play. The opening titles for Braveheart came on, and Faolan jerked upright. “’Tis Alba,” he said in an awe filled voice, pointing at the screen in disbelief.
Colleen nodded, delighting in his surprise. “It’s a movie about William Wallace, the Scottish warrior that fought against King Edward. Think of it as…” She struggled to come up with an adequate comparison. “…a play, except the actors are on the screen, not on stage.”
“Movie,” Faolan echoed the unfamiliar word and nodded. They watched in silence, Colleen sneaking sideways glances at him while he absorbed the images on the large screen. At what she thought was a good stopping point in the action filled film, Colleen suggested a short break to refill their drinks and make more popcorn. Faolan followed her into the kitchen shaking his head.
“It’s so real,” he murmured. “Like a story come to life.” He lifted one large hand in a dismissive gesture. “The man looks nothing like Wallace, though.”
Colleen laughed as she put another bag of popcorn in the microwave. “I read it was supposed to be pretty accurate historically.”
Faolan shook his head vigorously. “Nay, lass. William Wallace was not nearly as handsome a man as that. We didna paint our faces, and I saw neither Stirling nor the bridge in that last battle. Truth be told, it looks more like Eire to me.”
We didna… A cold chill skittered on creepy legs down the length of her spine. Setting the glasses down with caution on the counter lest she break them in her sudden clumsiness, Colleen turned to face him. “You sound as if you know quite a lot about it,” she said, carefully enunciating each word.
“I doona just know about it, Colleen.” He shrugged. “I was there.”
* * * *
Faolan’s concerned face swam slowly into view as Colleen’s eyes fluttered open. “Are ye all right?” he asked, kneeling down next to her. “I fear ye swooned, lass.” He smoothed back the hair from her forehead, and after a moment’s hesitation leaned over to kiss it softly. “Ye gave me quite a fright.”
“I do not swoon,” she protested indignantly, pretending he did not just kiss her. But he did, didn’t he, her little voice said. And with a little encouragement… She ordered her attention starved hormones to cease and desist the internal soiree they were whipping up in Faolan’s honor.
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound. “Aye, lass, ‘twould seem ye do.”
Colleen felt the soft couch cushions against her back and realized he must have carried her back into the living room when she fainted. “I’m okay now, I think,” she breathed, sitting up. “It’s not every day one comes face to face with a real live medieval warrior. You really fought in the Battle of Stirling Bridge?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “‘Twas in ‘97, if memory serves. After that, there was Bannockburn in ‘14.” He smiled in fond memory. “I fought under the banner of Robert the Bruce. A bonny fighter, he was. Then after that…”
“Stop,” she gasped, “just…stop. It’s not possible you were there then and you’re here now. Do you have any idea how old that makes you?” She tried doing the mental math then gave up. “Old old.”
“I’m but a score and ten,” Faolan snorted. “Ye make me sound like I’m ready for burying.”
“You’ve got to be close to…” her eyes widened in alarm, “eight hundred years old.” She gave him a critical look, peering closely at his face. “You’re definitely rocking that youthful senior look.”
His mouth quirked in a wry grimace. “As I told ye…” he said patiently.
“I know what you told me,” Colleen interrupted, her voice shrill. “It’s hard for me to…to believe it could be true, I guess. Things like this just don’t happen in real life. Not in my life, anyway. It’s like magic…and magic’s not real.”
“Sounds to me as if ye could use a little magic,” Faolan mused. “A beauty such as ye sad and alone. ’Tis a crime in itself, to be sure.” Taking her small hand in his, he massaged it with strong, callused fingers. “Why have ye no man, Colleen?” he asked gently. When she looked away and made to pull her hand back, he tightened his grip. “’Tis obvious yer heart was broken. Tell me what happened.”
She bit her lower lip in indecision then admitted in a rush, “Marc and I were married for almost eight years. I caught him and his co-worker having sex in his office. He left me for her. End of story.”
Faolan made a disgusted noise and snapped, “Then he was a bloody fool.” He tilted her chin up and met her gaze. “Whisht, lass, I didna mean to cause ye pain,” he said. Easing up beside her on the couch, he tugged her into his lap and cradled her in well muscled arms. She allowed herself to be pulled, telling herself she’d sit there only long enough to be polite and then she’d get up. One minute. Two at the most.
“Did ye love him?” Faolan murmured, his lips pressed against her hair.
Colleen didn’t make a sound as she turned the question over and over. Did she love Marc? Maybe…in a way…she struggled to put her ambivalent feelings into words.
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br /> Faolan’s chest vibrated with deep laughter. “Nay, I doona think so,” he said, smoothing her hair, “else yer answer would have been much swifter. Have ye ever been in love, Colleen O’Brien? Do ye ken what it feels like to love a man so deeply ye canna even draw breath without him near ye? To hold his heart in yer bonny wee hands, knowing he’d move heaven and earth to just lay his head down next to ye?”
A single tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. Tightening his arms around her, he guided her head to his broad shoulder. “Lean on me, Colleen,” he whispered, “let me be yer strength.”
She sniffed and against her better judgment laid her head down. Just one more minute, she told herself, even after the burning tears began to fall in earnest. Rocking her to and fro with an unexpected gentleness, he crooned soft, soothing words of comfort into her hair while she sobbed her heart out.
When next she looked at the clock, she was appalled to see an hour had passed. “I’m so sorry,” Colleen said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You must think I’m pretty pathetic.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and blew her nose. “I look like hell on toast when I cry,” she sniffed.
The corners of his lips tilted up in a smile. “I doona think ye pathetic at all. Yer a caring, tender hearted woman betrayed by someone she trusted.” Faolan gave her a warm squeeze. “I doona know the man, nor do I wish to, but it sounds as if yer fortunate to be rid of him.” They sat in companionable silence for several long moments before Faolan gave her ear a nuzzle. “And I think yer beautiful, red nose and all.”
That made her laugh and he smiled. Colleen shook her head and picked up the remote as she slid from his lap onto the couch. “Ready for the rest of the movie?” she asked, putting a definite end to the conversation.
Once the movie was over–along with the special features and gag reel Faolan insisted on watching–Colleen readied for bed, slipping into her new sapphire blue nightgown with the matching robe thrown over it and tied in a loose bow. She ventured back out into the living room to turn the lights down and check the locks on the door.
Faolan looked up from where he reclined on the couch, his eyes glowing with appreciation. “That color suits ye well, Princess.” He smiled, setting aside the book he was thumbing through. “In fact,” he added, rising to his feet and crossing the room to take her hands, “I must confess I am fair blinded by yer beauty, my lady.” He dropped down on one knee before her, placing a courtly kiss on the back of each hand.
She giggled. “Or just plain blind.”
Faolan placed his hand over his heart, hanging his head in mock sorrow. “Ye wound me, lady, to suggest such. I have known many women, both comely and plain. But never before,” he said, rising to his full height and stepping close to tower over her, “have I been witness to such rare beauty as I see in ye, inside and out. Ye steal my breath away, ma petit.”
She opened her mouth in protest but he placed a finger on her lips. “Doona speak, sweet Colleen.” He removed his finger and enfolded her in his arms, pulling her closer still. Lowering his head, Faolan brushed his lips across hers in a gentle caress, once, twice. He kissed both cheeks and her forehead before returning to her lips and slanting his mouth possessively across hers.
When Colleen swayed where she stood, he lifted her up and held her against his heart. She made a tiny whimpering sound when his large hand caressed her face, a callused thumb gently encouraging her lips to part. When they did, his velvety tongue teased her into opening her mouth wider for his plundering, coaxing hers in to a slow, mesmerizing dance. A low growl of approval rumbled from deep in his chest when she melted against him, tangling her fingers in his long hair.
After a long moment, he lowered her feet to the floor, allowing her to slide down the length of his hard body. Once her bare feet touched the thick carpeting, both her vision and her common sense came rocketing back. She brushed her fingertips over her kiss swollen lips almost as an afterthought. “Goodnight, Faolan,” she murmured then turned and fled into her bedroom without a backward glance, pulling the door closed behind her.
* * * *
Faolan watched the gentle sway of her hips under the gown with smoldering eyes as she walked away from him. When he heard the door lock with a firm snick, he raked his hand through his hair and blew out an aggravated sigh. “Who doona ye trust, lady–me or yerself?” he wondered aloud.
The following Monday morning saw Faolan and Colleen up at the crack of dawn. Colleen dragged him from room to room, explaining how things worked and giving him a list of instructions should an emergency arise. “I’m sure all will be well while you’re gone.”
It was as if he hadn’t even spoken. She gave him her cell number then spent ten minutes teaching him how to use the phone. When she explained how to operate the TV and DVD player, he repeated the process back to her–twice–then stuck the remote in the back pocket of his faded jeans. “I hardly think all this stramash is–”
“Now listen,” Colleen reminded him for the umpteenth time, “Do not answer the door; do not answer the phone without checking the caller ID to make sure it’s me. Do not leave…”
“Doona, doona, doona…” Faolan griped in a petulant singsong. “I’m a bloody grown man, not a wee bairn to go wandering off without a nurse to watch o’er me.”
Ignoring him, she continued on without missing a beat. “…the apartment unless it is on fire. Call me only if it’s an emergency, and running out of peanut butter is not an emergency, got it?”
“Got it,” he snapped. “If yer so blathering worried, ye could always stay home to keep me out of trouble. Heaven only knows what mischief I’ll get up to while yer away,” he said with feigned nonchalance. When she paled and looked as if she were going to faint again, he relented and sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay out of trouble. I give ye my word.”
“I’ve seen enough episodes of Bewitched to know that’s not going to happen,” she muttered.
It took two attempts and the remaining shreds of his patience to get her out the door, but once Colleen was gone, Faolan relaxed and poured himself another cup of coffee. By Christ, it was good. Settling down on the couch with several of her books on Scottish lore, he had just started to read when the doorbell buzzed. With a softly spoken word, the locks opened themselves while he peered through the peephole. Colleen’s friend, what’s her name…he searched his memory…Sandy, he remembered, opening the door.
“Good morrow, Mistress Jasko,” he said with an engaging smile.
“Oh my, no, just Sandy, please,” she said, coloring slightly. “Has Colleen left for work yet? I brought her DVDs back.” She held several of those strange flat boxes with the silver discs.
Faolan peered around her to see if she was alone. Making a quick decision, he focused his full attention on catching Sandy’s gaze. “Come inside, Sandy, I would speak with ye.” His lone velvety voice seemed at once to be a whole chorus of voices, and Sandy was powerless to resist. Her eyes glazed over and a dreamy look came over her face.
“I’ll come in,” she nodded, walking past him into the apartment.
He closed the door behind her and pointed to the couch. “Sit,” he ordered. When she did, he said, “I would know of the man Colleen called husband. Tell me everything. What he does, what manner of man he is.”
“His name is Marc Simmons. She met and married him in college. They moved here when he got his job at the museum. He was a real control freak. He dictated everything she wore, said, did,” she explained when Faolan raised a questioning eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. “He turned her into a doormat, chased everything with a skirt behind her back.”
Frowning, Faolan nodded, knowing men who would do such to a woman thinking it their right to do so. “Does she love him still?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“No,” Sandy answered in a monotone, her facial expression unchanging. “He pressured her into the marriage. Marc convinced her nobody else would ever want her and she began to believe it.”
“No,” Sandy answered, confirming his suspicions. “We’ve been trying to get her to get out and meet people, but she keeps refusing. She’s afraid of getting her heart broken again.”
He stroked his chin as he thought about that. “Ye have my thanks, Sandy.”
Faolan smiled. Taking her by the hand, he led her back to the door, still clutching the DVDs. He opened it and stuck his head outside, checked both ways to make sure the coast was clear then repositioned her as she was when she first arrived. “She’ll be sorry to have missed ye, but I’ll be certain to let her know ye stopped by,” Faolan spoke in his normal voice, taking the DVDs.
Sandy shook her head as if to clear it. “Thanks, I appreciate it!” She turned and headed back to her apartment, glancing back over her shoulder to see him standing and watching her. Offering him a bright smile, she waved. “See you later!”
Faolan smiled in return and waved back, then closed and relocked the door. He glanced over the titles on the box spines, but they made little sense. True Blood Season One, the box proclaimed. He snorted. “Even a bairn knows Spring is the first season,” he muttered. Shaking his head at the puzzle, he gave a dismissive shrug and stacked the DVDs on the bookcase with the others, then settling back down on the couch picked up his book again and began to read.
By dusk Faolan was nearly beside himself with apprehension, almost enough to use the strange speaking box to call to her. She had checked on him several times during the day and each time he assured her he was fine. The last time she called, she told him that she had to stop and pick up something–yet another unfamiliar word–that she was bringing home for dinner. “Here it is the gloaming; the woman should be home by now,” he growled. When he heard her key rattle in the knob, he vaulted over the couch and flung open the door, his brow creased with apprehension. “Where the hell have ye been?” he thundered. “By Christ, Colleen, I was worried.”