“Kung fu? Judo?” His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Not possible. You don’t have the muscles for it.”
“Another sexist idea.”
“Not exactly. I had you in my arms, and I am a man. Those kinds of martial arts create sinews and muscles you don’t have.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you, chauvinist?”
Chauvinist? For a moment, he was at a loss for words. “I’ve never considered myself—”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Yoga.”
One of his half smiles graced his lips. “Hmm. Favorite color?”
“Two faves: blue and green, all hues and their mixtures.” Especially your eyes.
“Siblings?”
“None.”
“Spoiled only child?” he teased.
“Not really.”
“How big was your fan club in high school?”
My fan club? “Nonexistent.” She shook her head emphatically. Tavish was hitting too close to a subject that reminded her of sad moments.
He was not certain of what she meant by that. “Because your boyfriend scared all the others away?”
Laetitia moved, and sat looking at him. The more she got away from the truth, the worse it was to keep things straight. Every time she was asked about her past, she kept as close to the truth as she could. “I was homeschooled. No boyfriend. No fan club. Nada. Nothing. Zilch.”
“Did you ever date, or were you not allowed?”
“Neither.”
“Did your family encourage you to pursue your painting and come here?”
“No. My . . . family wasn’t very welcoming to the idea of me being an artist.”
She could still smell the sweetness of the chunks of beeswax melting in the roaring fire in the monastery’s main hall’s hearth, and the clay surfaces and bark broken by men and thrown in a large wooden waste bin. She could see Geoffrey comfortably seated in a stuffed chair, watching with pleasure the destruction taking place, and herself looking at the rocky floor, her eyes burning with the unshed tears, as a bottle of her purple raw pigment was emptied in a bucket, and how long it had taken her to cut beets to thin slices, wait for them to dry, and go through the careful maceration and grind, until it could be used as a medium. She recalled vividly the colorful kaleidoscope of her time spent collecting fruits, vegetables, flowers, and spices; and she still had marks from the corporal punishment of that night.
But what made her smile was the memory of how she began all over again a few months afterward.
“The world was spared the loss of a great artist when you decided to ignore your father’s opinion on the subject.”
She looked at him and could see that he actually meant what he said about her being a great artist. It wasn’t an empty or polite compliment.
“What about past boyfriends?”
“I thought men never want to hear about past relationships.”
His lips curled. “Men, this one excluded, usually don’t because they are afraid of how they’ll compare with the competition.”
“Interesting theory.” She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “I had one lasting . . . uh . . . relationship. More of a fairy tale: dragons and witches and everything in between, without the happily ever after.”
She didn’t say more, but he heard the loneliness in her tone, and his heart squeezed painfully, thinking she had been a little girl who hadn’t been hugged enough. He laid a hand on her arm because her answer had such a wistful tone that he felt compelled to comfort her. “I’m sorry. Do you want to tell me?”
Something in his voice made her lift her eyes to his. She didn’t understand him yet. Not his obsession with her—and, even less, hers with him. “You don’t want to know those stories.”
“Maybe I do,” he said softly, using his most persuasive voice. I want to know everything about you, you elusive woman.
“Well, I don’t want you to hear them.” Nor do I want to remember them.
He frowned down at her. “Why not?”
“They are in the past, and it’s there they have to stay,” she murmured.
Tavish wrapped his long fingers around her slender wrist, as if forcing her to hear his next words; however, there was nothing but gentleness in his touch. It was a move calculated to show her he cared and was willing to share. “Your past has the power to shape your future, if you let it.” Watching her fight the grip her past had on her, he resisted the urge to lecture. “But we doona have to tackle it just now.”
She looked down at his big hand manacling her wrist and thought of how applicable the image was. Her heart flipped in her chest, and a bottomless feeling made her lightheaded, because she knew how much her past chained her from seeking a better present and a path to the future.
“Come here.” He couldn’t go back in time and give her the love she was denied as a child and a blossoming woman, but he was with her now. He pulled her over his body and cupping her face in his hands thoroughly kissed her, unhurriedly, deeply.
As if they had all the time in the world.
CHAPTER 24
Ireland
January 2007
Laetitia was surprised by him time and time again. They talked and kissed, and each time he became bolder in his caresses, she bolted to her room.
While she had begun to eagerly await his visits, she also dreaded his changing moods. She never knew when he would be gentle or harsh, considerate or aggressive.
Laetitia’s curiosity knew no end. She had never had the courage to spy on a session or a formal purification ceremony and, for sure, not a baptism, because of the painful owl screeches, weird chants, and strange stories whispered behind the new acolytes’ hands. What concerned the monastery had long lost interest for her. Yet, that night she couldn’t stay put. Not even the screeches that had echoed a few minutes ago had kept her away from her post on the upper balcony above the main hall.
She crouched there, her legs numb, watching, mesmerized as Geoffrey welcomed the two new believers, including the blond man. The other participants all sang. The torches in the sconces threw long shadows on the rocky walls, casting the hooded acolytes in darkness and illuminating the naked bodies of those being accepted for the first time into the brotherhood. In contrast to séances, which typically demanded hours of silent concentration, a ceremony night was hedonistic. Hymns, accompanied by instruments, led to dancing and coupling. The voices grew louder, as cups of stronger tea were distributed. Some participants became more excited, while others turned lethargic; some danced, and others lounged on large pillows.
“Oh.” The words left her mouth in a small moan, as carnal desires were awakened in her. Her hand went under her robe and pressed against the growing pulse between her legs. “Ah. That is—”
“Arousing?”
Laetitia started but didn’t move. The hot voice in her ear and the firm hands on her waist were his.
“How did you find me?” she whispered.
“I was looking for you. Were you looking for me?” He put her free hand on the cold stone wall, pressing himself on her back.
“I—” Laetitia’s complaint was cut short when he pulled her cloak over her shoulder and her robe hem even higher.
“You’ve been a naughty girl hiding from me.” One of his hands covered hers under the robe. The other slid slowly down from her shoulder until it palmed her breast. “Hmm. Very naughty.”
“Ah.”
He rolled her nipple between his fingers and pinched it. Her head fell back. “I’ll have to teach you some manners.”
Her breaths started to come out in small pants as his hands moved over her body. “I don’t—I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered, as his fingers moved on her clitoris, dragging low gasps from her. “You will.”
“Please, stop. I—Ah . . .” A hushed moan left her as her body trembled in his arms.
He smiled lazily in the dark. “Let’s move this to a more comfortable place.”
Mallory Court
&
nbsp; 11:57 p.m.
Laetitia’s mind floated in a cocoon of dark warmth. It was all around her, holding her, keeping her safe. She sighed in contentment, not wanting to leave it. Slowly, her lashes fluttered. In the dim light, strange forms came into view, and she realized that the warmth was heat, solid heat, and it was at her back.
Someone lay behind her on a bed she didn’t know; a massive arm flung over her waist; hair tickled the back of her thighs; firm lips were pressed against her neck.
Laetitia had never slept with anyone before. A delicious smell engulfed her, and she relaxed even more, understanding the appeal of it, wondering how anyone could not want a bed partner. She fought the sleepiness, savoring the moment when the body moved. The girth and length of the half-erect penis pressed against her back.
She stiffened and woke up fully, recalling where she was now and what they had done then.
Not knowing she was dying of shyness, Tavish kissed Laetitia’s neck again and whispered, “Wake up, Little Elf.”
What’s the protocol on waking after glorious sex? Ah, who cares? She opened her eyes, turning a little, and gave him a shy smile that said much about how she was feeling. Second round?
He chuckled at her eager expression. “Your mobile was ringing.”
She shrugged. “Let it ring.”
She took in the fierce look of his face. His eyes were liquid pools of desire, and yet he wasn’t smiling. He looked rather serious, in deep thought, his green eyes wandering over her.
He nodded; she did not want to delve into his suspicions now.
This afternoon had been a test to Tavish’s hardworking control, and yet he had come hard, shockingly so. His body was well spent, but instead of sating his desire, having her had heightened his need to be inside her. Laetitia felt his arm leave her waist, and he pushed her shoulder gently, rolling her over onto her stomach.
He raised himself on an elbow and pushed her hair away from her face and under her ear, spreading it on her back. She felt his fingers combing her locks, running down the length of her spine. Then it was his mouth that she felt, starting at her neck and working down to her waist. “You’re so beautiful, so soft.”
“Ah . . .” She was going to say she had to go, but she couldn’t think. A wholly feminine moan left her throat.
His hand reached around to cup a soft round cheek. He squeezed it, then let his fingers glide down the back of her thigh. “I want ye.”
Laetitia felt the massive size of him against her hips and stiffened, recalling how large he had felt in her hand and mouth. His gaze leveled with hers, and his hand continued its slow and sensual exploration, this time running over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, moving up until he found her hot and wet. He pressed his fingers there and groaned in pleasure.
Her lids fell heavily over her eyes when his fingers massaged her. “You promised . . .”
“Doona remind me of promises made in haste.” He whispered, “Perhaps I can make you change your mind?”
“You can try.” Her answer was more a moan than anything else, as his rhythm increased.
They ignored it when her mobile phone rang, once, then twice, but on the third call, Tavish muttered a dark curse and got up to get her clutch for her.
Laetitia sat on the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. Her attention was diverted to Tavish, and she eyed him critically. Not that she’d had practical experience with men, but she was an accomplished artist trained in anatomy and dimensions. He was incredibly graceful when he walked unashamedly naked around the room, not at all concerned about his scars. She admired the muscles of his strong legs and firm backside.
When he returned to the bed, her eyes widened, and she held on to a breath. She hadn’t realized how impressive his manhood was when erect. He was not excessively endowed like a porn actor but more well proportioned for his size in girth and length, which was a lot already.
“Here,” he said, giving the clutch to her, sitting over one bent leg, facing her.
Intrigued, she fished for her phone. There were six calls from an unfamiliar number and one recorded voicemail. “As I said, wrong number.”
She was going to set the volume to vibrate, when Tavish asked, “Aren’t you going to listen to it?”
“No.” She raised a shoulder dismissively. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Well, you should find out if it’s something important. If it isn’t, we can . . . resume without interruption.”
“Ah . . . OK.”
When the message started to play, she yanked the phone away from her ear, as a scary, screeching wail sounded. When it ended, a male voice said, “Freak.”
Her iPhone fell on her lap, and she frantically pressed the delete button.
Tavish stared at her but held quiet, frowning. He’d heard the message. Whoever called had been strident and clear.
Laetitia swallowed audibly, her eyes wide. “God . . .”
“Who was that?”
“I—I have n-no idea.” She shivered. “Creepy. It sounded like a banshee.”
“That was nothing but a barn owl.” He shook his head “A hunter. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t tell me you believe in legends.”
“It’s my Irish blood.” She shrugged. The truth was, she knew that the call wasn’t a wrong number. It was meant for her. She didn’t know why, but she was sure she would be finding out soon enough.
When he leaned to kiss her, she turned her head. “I’d better go home.”
He reared back, surprised by her reaction, and raised an ink-black brow. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” After looking at the bedside table clock and pulling the sheet to cover herself, she slid to the edge of the bed. She glanced at his face, trying not to give in to her wish to grab him and never let go. “Yes, I’m serious.”
“I’ll accompany you.” He got dressed, worried by the fearful reaction the call had triggered.
Somewhere in the course of a few days, this tiny woman had managed to send him into a fit of sexual despair unrivaled since his teen years. She managed to extract from him secrets he kept inside. And there was something more: a deep need to possess and protect that he didn’t want to be aware of but tugged at his soul’s strings, leaving him even more unstable than usual.
As she dressed, Laetitia wondered how much that cryptic message with mixed legends and shadowed threats would affect not only her life but Tavish’s as well, now. She was profoundly annoyed that she was not able to be as overt as she wanted, forced to lie to him as they were still laying the foundation of their relationship, if that was what they were heading toward.
Despite how much she enjoyed being with him, she felt that her only chance of gaining relief from the foreboding chill the message had left inside her was in the security and warmth of her home.
CHAPTER 25
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
1:13 a.m.
They left his suite and headed toward the hotel lobby in silence, both of them tense.
In the well-lit lobby, his stormy sea-green eyes were more turbulent than ever. “I’ll ask for the car.”
“There’s no need. The concierge can call a cab,” she said.
He frowned at her. “Of course no’. It’s late. I’ll drive ye back.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to late—”
Without waiting for her to finish, he asked the bellman to bring his car to the front. When he came back, Laetitia gave him a very strange look he couldn’t decipher. “Tavish Uilleam, I said I’ll be fine. Can we just leave it at that, please?”
“Nae, we canna,” he said in a steady voice, but aggravated enough to let her know it. “I’m taking ye home. Subject closed.”
Subject closed? Laetitia didn’t answer; she just turned, blinking so he would not see her tears. She detested when someone spoke to her that way.
He sighed out loud. “Little Elf, I just want a bit more of your company.” He held her coat for her, and in spite of his soft words, his proprie
tary body language told her he would not accept no for an answer. “Is this too much to ask for?”
She shook her head slowly and whispered, “No.”
“Great.” With a hand on the small of her back, he led her to the car and gently helped her in.
She knew, in spite of his apparent unthreatening demeanor, a barrage of questions was coming. He was not the kind of man who let such a mysterious situation slip away without addressing it.
“Care tae share some light on why you reacted like that tae the call?” he asked smoothly, as he drove her home.
“There’s nothing much to tell. That screech reminded me of my childhood and teenage years. A not so happy time,” she answered in a guarded voice.
“Are ye being deliberately vague?” he chided.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said dismissively.
Do I look like I’m an idiot? “Tell me about them.”
Her gaze moved to the window, not really seeing the passing trees or the lights of her house as they neared it. “I don’t like to talk about that time.”
“Humor me.”
She stayed silent, twirling a lock of her hair in her fingers, with a lost look in her eyes. She thought she had invested the time and consideration necessary to come to terms with her past and the way it had affected her, but the reaction that the call had provoked had proved her wrong. Lacking the will to dissect it all for her own benefit, she wasn’t about to lay it all out for someone else to examine without being sure if she could trust her secrets in his hands.
Beardley Lodge
11:38 a.m.
Before he killed the engine in front of her house, she was outside already, with her keys in her hand.
Her monosyllabic replies had frustrated him, but he pressed until her guard came up, and no more words were offered. He had recognized her right to silence, but he also should have recognized his own limits and issues. He couldn’t deal well with powerlessness, much less with obscurity. He needed complete and clear control of situations.