by Darby Kaye
She scowled. I totally understand that he’s got to put Cor first in our relationship. But does it have to be every stinking time? Can’t he put us first? Once in a while? The pettiness of being jealous of an eight-year-old made her feel even worse.
Hey, it was your idea to suggest that you two slow things down, the voice pointed out.
“Well, he didn’t have to agree with me,” she muttered.
Mentally kicking herself, she rolled off the mattress and finished getting ready for bed. After changing into a plain T-shirt and flannel pajama pants—because why dress all sexy when the man of your dreams is sleeping down the hall with his kid—she slid under the covers and clicked off the bedside lamp. She lay in the dark, staring across the room. The moon’s light shone through the uncovered window and formed a piece of art on the far wall.
Shay wondered why this was hitting her so hard. She had always been able to hitch up her big girl panties every time a relationship soured, taking a secret—albeit a kind of twisted—pride in putting her profession ahead of any happily-ever-after scenario with some guy.
Until Bann, with Cor in tow, had appeared in her life. An old-school warrior as well as an old-school gentleman, he had been resentful of his clan for turning their backs on him after Cernunnos had killed his wife. Weary from a year on the road, trying to keep one step ahead of the shapeshifter, and determined not to be the cause of another Fey’s death. And mule-headed stubborn as the day is long, she reminded herself.
But slowly, over the following few weeks, they had become friends. A friendship that had slid into love as gently and gradually as the sun welling above the eastern plains, eager to kiss the mountains, before either of them was aware of it. Shay snorted. Well, certainly, we were aware of the lust side of things. We are Celts, after all.
It was the evening they had fought side-by-side, defeating a pack of Fir Bolgs who had attacked her house, when Bann admitted how much he missed having a friend. Later that night, they had become lovers.
Friends and lovers.
Tears burned her eyes at the thought of losing that. Maybe this isn’t going to work after all. Between us. She blinked furiously. Knock it off! Swiping at her face, she started to roll over when a faint rap on the door stopped her.
“Come in,” she called, knowing—hoping—it was Bann.
The door swung open. Bann stepped into the room. The torc around his neck shimmered gold in the moonlight while the same light tinted his bare torso in shades of pewter. “Shay.”
“Yes?” She sat up, holding her breath.
“You were wrong, Shay.”
“Wrong about…”
“About us.”
Her heart clenched into a tight, little knot. Fisting her hands under the covers, she dug her nails into her palms. “Oh?” She fought to keep her voice level.
“We are not moving along too quickly. In fact…” On bare feet, he walked over and turned on the bedside lamp, then took a knee next to the bed. He held out his hand. A small, square box rested on his palm.
At the sight of the jewelry box, her pulse broke into a gallop. She picked it up, the purple covering kitten-fur soft under her fingers, and opened it. A trio of slender rings, each crafted from a different metal in a wavy pattern, rested on a bed of plush velvet. The rings were cleverly shaped to form an intricate Celtic rope pattern when worn together.
“‘Three rings for my love,’” Bann quoted the ancient words. “Will ye have me for yer husband, Shay Doyle?” Hope and wariness vied in his voice.
Tears blurred her vision as she leaned forward and kissed him, the box still clutched in one hand. His arms wrapped around her.
“Is that a yes?” he murmured against her lips.
“Oh, yes!” Blinking, she sat back and waited while he removed the rings from the box and placed the container on the bedside table. Then he took her left hand in his.
“Bronze for the Maiden.” He slid the bronze ring onto her ring finger. “Gold for the Mother.” The gold followed. “Silver for the Crone.” The final ring slid into place. He smiled, gazing down at her hand. “My betrothed.”
“Betrothed?” Is he thinking what I think he’s thinking? “As in?”
“Aye. I thought we would follow the old customs.” He looked up at her through his lashes, which made Shay pretty much melt on the spot. “And perhaps wed on the full moon of November.”
The sooner, the better. Heat flooded her belly at the thought of some of those customs. “I’m game if you are. But for now”—she scooted over—”get your ass in this bed.”
Bann stood up. “A moment.” He hurried out. A faint snick from the hallway, then he returned. “I closed Cor’s door.”
“What about—”
“He’ll be fine.” Bann sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. He stood fishing in his back pocket for a moment, then paused and looked at her. “I left my wallet…”
“Bathroom. Left side drawer.”
Moving with an eagerness that made her grin, Bann darted into the bathroom. A drawer opened and shut, then he returned and dropped several condoms on the nightstand.
She made a show of counting them. “Is four enough?”
“I thought of bringing the entire box, but I dinna want to show off.”
He unzipped and dropped trou with an offhanded nonchalance that made Shay grin even wider as she shimmied out of her shirt and pajamas. Kicking his jeans aside, he ran his fingers through his hair as he walked closer. Damn, he’s hung. Me for the win, she thought as he clicked off the lamp and slid under the covers with her. The moonlight lay like a spare blanket over their bed.
Reclining on his side and propped up on one elbow, Bann studied her, his eyes darkening with desire. He leaned over and kissed her, sliding his lips along hers, softly at first, then more firmly. The tip of his tongue flicked lightly, urging hers to open. To yield. She sighed softly as he explored her mouth.
Wanting to prolong their lovemaking—not that Bann lacks endurance—she moved her mouth and shifted her focus to the spot under his jaw. The rasp of his stubble on her lips set her nerves on fire. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled his scent, clean and musky at the same time. With a proprietary gesture, she ran a hand along his ribs, did a loop around his chest, then finished at his hip bone. Warm skin and hard muscles and the scent of maleness and just the right amount of hair in all the right places. She traced the knob of bone, then followed the crease down to his groin. Ignoring his erection, she cupped one of his testicles, drawing out a soft groan from him.
“On your back,” she whispered, knowing he liked it when she took command of the pace. She waited until he repositioned himself, then leaned over and took his manhood in her hand. For the next few minutes, she stroked and squeezed and fondled every inch, reveling in this particular power she had over him. The power all women had over men.
Shay felt like the war goddess, Danu herself.
She shifted closer, still stroking in a languid rhythm, fingers playing the ancient tune, and pressed the length of her body against his. Chest hairs scratched deliciously along her breasts, their nipples tightened from the friction. Lowering her head, she kissed him again, teasing the corners of his mouth with her tongue. Her hand sped up.
His hips followed her lead. Then a strangled “wait.” He grabbed her wrist, stilling her movement, chest heaving. She could feel the sweat break out along his torso as he let out a shuddering breath. “Gods, ye’re killing me, woman.”
“You don’t like what I’m doing?”
“Too well.” His voice was thick. “But I’ve had enough of hand play this past week, missing you night after night.”
The image of Bann pleasuring himself in the dark as he thought of her sent a hot flush through Shay. The feeling intensified when he rolled over and pushed her down on the bed and lowered his mouth to her breast. Pleasure spiked through her as he suckled gently, then harder, using his tongue and teeth. Releasing her nipple, he shifted his hips between her thighs
, nudging them wider, then guided the head of his member to her opening and held it there, teasing with little movements that almost hurt, it felt so good.
“Shit, Bann,” she gasped. “Enough already.”
“Oh, not nearly enough, darlin’.” He planted a kiss between her twin mounds, then straightened up and reached for the nightstand. Shay stopped him.
“No. Let me.” She grabbed a condom, scattering the others to the floor. For a split second, she debated going after them. Screw it—we know where they are. Her fingers shook as she prepared him, unrolling the latex sheath down the impressive length—and girth. Let’s not forget about girth—as gently as she could.
He eased inside her with a slowness that was borderline cruel, then paused, the muscles and the cords of his arms standing out in sharp relief in the moonlight as he held himself still, allowing her body to adjust. Then, he lowered himself to his elbows and began rocking, grinding his pelvis against hers, his manhood stroking her deepness, and their mouths almost touching, sharing each other’s breath.
Shay reached around, enjoying the dance and flex of his buttock muscles under her palms as he sought the perfect angle and rhythm for both of them. During the times they had made love before Bann left for Pennsylvania, she had come to realize that her lover felt it was his sacred duty—a duty he took very seriously, to the point of demanding nightly practice—to make her climax. Every time. Multiple times, if he could. She loved the fact that he always rose to the occasion. Literally and figuratively.
“Come for me,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to hear you cry out.”
Mindful of the sleeping boy just down the hall, Shay slid her hands up and clutched at his back, pressing her face into his shoulder. He thrust harder, increasing both the speed and the friction.
All of Shay’s existence narrowed down to where their bodies joined. With each thrust, her passion grew. “Yes. Oh, yes. Just like that, Bann,” she gasped. He obliged.
Rising, rising, then suddenly, she was there. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled throughout her body, like a hand fisting and un-fisting. Dimly, she was aware of Bann ceasing his movement. She could feel herself clenching around his manhood. With a grunt, he came as well, hips jerking spasmodically, the rest of his body as rigid as his organ. Then, he collapsed on top of her.
For a long while, Shay drifted, even dozing for a minute or two. Finally, she summoned the strength to lift her hand, heavy like the rest of her body, and stroke the damp hairs that clung to the back of Bann’s neck. My betrothed, she thought, smiling at both the old-fashioned word and all that it meant. “I love you, Bannerman Boru,” she whispered.
Raising his head, Bann peered at her, his eyelids at half-mast. “And I, you, Shay Doyle.” He shifted to one elbow, then took her hand and kissed the trio of rings gracing her finger. “My love.” He held her hand for another moment, then, with a wince, he eased out of her and rolled off the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed.
As Bann cleaned up, Shay considered following suit, but decided it was too much work. Instead, she fluffed the sheet and comforter a few times, airing them out, then snuggled back under with a sigh of contentment.
Bann returned. He paused by the side of the bed. Waiting.
“What?” Shay asked.
“I prefer to sleep closest to the door. In case—”
“In case what?” There it is—that little streak of chauvinism. Shay wasn’t sure if she found it annoying or endearing. Before Bann could answer, she sat up and continued. “In case you have to protect me from something?”
“No, I wish to be closer to the door in case Cor awakes and comes into our room, seeking me.”
“Oh.” Her face grew warm. “Yeah. Right. Well, that makes sense.” She scooted over as Bann slipped under the covers. Rolling to her side, she tucked the pillow more firmly under her head and gazed at his profile, enjoying the way the moonlight cast half his face in shadow, like an old-fashioned black-and-white photo.
“And I know what you were thinking.” He stretched out on his back, one arm folded behind his head while his other hand rested on her hip, his thumb idly stroking her.
“No, you don’t, so shut up.”
“You were thinking,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “‘that miserable auld sod. Where the bleedin’ hell does he get off, thinking he can protect me? Why, I can wield a blade as ably as any man.’”
Shay laughed and poked him in the ribs. “And don’t forget it.”
A few hours later, Bann jerked awake. Not sure what had ripped him out of sleep, he raised his head, aware of Shay’s arm and leg thrown across his body. The moon’s light was gone, leaving the shadows to loiter in the corners like minions of the night. He listened again.
The hairs on his arms stiffened when a distant howl broke the night—a soul weeping for the moon. As the note rose in pitch, Bann could almost see the muzzle of the hound pointed skyward toward the dog star. Every atom in his body leaped to high alert. He started to ease out from under the woman when she spoke, no trace of sleep in her voice.
“That’s a coyote. It’s not Max.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah. Wait a sec and you’ll hear the rest of the pack start up. Full moon and all. There. Hear it?”
A second yodel joined the first, followed by another and then another. Too twitchy to sleep, he brushed his fingers along Shay’s arm. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. He slipped out from under the covers and snagged his jeans, the sheathed knife still attached to the belt, and pulled them on.
“Checking on Cor?”
“Aye. Just in case.” He wondered when he would get over his obsessive protectiveness. Probably not until that monster is dead.
“I’ll go with you. Since we’re now officially parenting partners.” Shay rolled off the mattress on the other side, reaching for the shirt and pajama pants she had tossed on the floor.
A step ahead of Shay, Bann opened the door.
A figure stood in the hallway, reaching a hand toward them. In the darkness, it seemed to crouch, ready to spring; the top of its head came scarcely to the Knight’s waist.
With a cry of warning, Bann shoved Shay back into the bedroom with one hand as he ripped his iron knife free of the sheath with the other. Gods! Did it get to Cor? He charged, sick with the certainty that his son was lying dead just a few yards away. The creature squeaked and stumbled backwards.
“Dad!”
Bann pulled the thrust just in time, the knife’s blade slicing past Cor’s left ear by less than an inch. Off-balance, he twisted to one side and crashed into the hallway wall so hard his teeth snapped together. He staggered a step, then caught himself. The horror of what had almost happened—what he had almost done—was a fist to his gut. Anger, fueled by fear, flared up; he barely stopped himself from planting the knife into the drywall. Instead, he slammed his fist against it. The dull boom echoed through the house.
“What the bleedin’ hell are ye doing,” he roared at Cor cowering a few feet away, “sneaking up on us like that!”
“Hey, take it easy, Bann. Cor didn’t know—” Shay curled her fingers around his knife arm.
Bann jerked free. “I could have taken yer fokking head off!” He shook his knife at Cor.
“That’s enough!” Shay slapped his hand down, then edged past. “Jeez, give the kid nightmares, why don’t you?” she muttered under her breath before speaking louder. “You okay, Cor? Did the coyotes wake you up?” Even as she spoke, she was guiding the boy back down the hall, one hand on his shoulder.
Bann sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then shook out his arms, trying to rid his body of the adrenaline humming through it. On legs that were more unsteady than he cared to admit, he followed them into the guest room. No, Cor’s room. Whether he likes it or no.
“I-I woke up and Dad was gone.” The boy was explaining to Shay as he stood beside his bed, shifting from foot to foot. He shook his he
ad when she pulled back the covers and gestured at him, then glanced over at the other bed, empty except for the two duffle bags. “When are you coming to bed?” he asked Bann.
The man and woman looked at each other. Bann shrugged. “We might as well tell him now.”
“Do you want me to…” Shay nodded toward the door. “You know.”
“No, of course not.” He stepped around them and clicked on the bedside lamp. “Cor. To bed with you.” He waited until the boy reluctantly slid under the covers, then motioned for Shay to have a seat on the edge of the mattress before squatting down next to Cor’s head. “We’ve something to tell you.”
“Is it something bad?” Cor whispered, eyes wide.
“Not at all. In fact, it’s something that I think you’ll be happy about.” He took Shay’s hand in his. “Shay and I will be getting married.”
“Tonight?”
Bann smiled. “No, not tonight. But soon.”
“Are we going to live here?”
“Um…” He looked at Shay.
“For now, yes,” she said. “Would you like that?”
Cor nodded, a smile starting. “Are you going to be like my mom?”
“In a way.” She laid a hand on the boy’s blanketed knee. “But, Cor, your mom will always be your mom and nothing will ever change that. Nothing. And no one. Okay?”
Bann marveled at the way Shay maneuvered across that thin ice. Elizabeth would never have been this gracious. Guilt immediately followed that train of thought. Here I am, belittling the mother of my son. He made a vow to never speak negatively about Elizabeth in front of Cor.
“So,” Shay continued. “As you go back to sleep, I want you to think about how you want to fix up your room, okay?”
“’Kay.”
“And, since a certain someone has a birthday coming up next week, you need to let us know what you’d like to do for it. Be thinking of presents and cake and helium balloons so we can hear your dad talk like Donald Duck.”
When his son’s face lit up at the mention of his birthday, Bann nodded to himself. Oh, she is the clever one. Cor started to ask a question, but was foiled by a yawn, his eyes beginning to droop.
