Wildish Things

  Dedication

  For Mom and Dad. You did everything right.

  Acknowledgements

  Kemberlee Shortland. For generously lending her insights about Ireland. And for literally saving my life in Killarney.

  Dr. Raymond Horwood. For my new hips, and my new life. You rock.

  Prologue

  The Hag turned over onto her pendulous belly in order to warm her craggy back under the near-midsummer sun.

  Earlier in the day a pesky bulldozer had approached one of her favorite wells, but she had taken care of that problem with no more effort than it took to sneeze. One well-aimed glob of snot had glommed up the machine’s engine and sent its muttering human driver in search of a tow truck. Her work was done for the day.

  Yet she found she could not relax and soak up the Irish sun in peace. Her breasts were turgid with unspent sexual energy, her legs restless and rubbing against unsatisfying stone. It had been too long since she’d had a man. Centuries. Of old, few were strong enough to withstand her appetite for more than a few minutes. These days, even the few who remembered her name spoke it timidly.

  Bollixless creatures, these new men were.

  She heard a noise overhead. Head turned to the side, pillowed on a mountain, she opened an eye to peer at one of the silver-winged beasts and its snow-white vapor trail. These days, few people scratched her back with their traveling feet, muttering prayers for safe passage in hopes the Hag would let them pass unharmed. Oh no, it was all smooth wheels and shiny wings. People with things plugged into their ears so they couldn’t hear themselves think, much less hear the cry of a bird, the splash of a salmon in the river, or the very heartbeat of the land as the seasons turned.

  Her sounds.

  Something about the silver object flying overhead tickled the Hag’s attention. She rolled to her back, cracked open the other eye, watery gaze following its path. She expanded her nostrils and took a sniff. Overhead, the silver bird hit what the pilots thought was a random air pocket. Below, the Hag closed her eyes and sorted through the scents in her nose.

  Ah. She smiled and stretched. A woman rode that bird, one who was ready. A wildish thing. She may not yet know it, but soon she would understand. Like the Hag, all she needed was a man. One strong enough to fulfill her every desire without cracking under the onslaught of a woman’s true power.

  The Hag shook her mossy hair out of her rheumy eyes, opened her full lips, and called.

  Satisfied that events would now unfold as they should, the Hag spread her bare arms and legs wide to the sun.

  And awaited her pleasure.

  Chapter One

  “You mean…she’s not coming?”

  Beith gripped the telephone receiver and cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the bustling mezzanine of the Dublin airport. The din of mingled languages and accents, rattling luggage trolleys, fussing children and the PA system’s unintelligible reports assaulted her ears. Unfamiliar scents drifted from the food court. Signs in several languages pointed in all directions, adding to her sense of disorientation. She turned back to the wall, plugged the other ear with one finger and tried not to remember the dinginess of the ladies room she’d just vacated.

  I will not panic.

  “Say again?”

  “I’m sorry, Beith. I tried to get a hold of you before you left Cleveland. Kemberlee had an appendicitis attack and had to have surgery. She won’t be able to make the trip.” Kem’s brother’s voice sounded tired and genuinely regretful. Beith closed her eyes and breathed slowly. Belatedly she remembered the slightly sick feeling which had settled in her stomach as she’d boarded the plane and stayed there the entire flight. The same feeling that had sat heavy on her stomach the day of her accident more than a year before.

  “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? What hospital is she in? I’ll call her as soon as…”

  “She’ll be fine. It burst so she’ll be in for a couple days, so I’d wait to call her at home. But I promised her you wouldn’t be stranded.”

  Beith glanced at her watch, still set on Eastern Daylight Time, and twisted her head this way and that to look for the Aer Lingus ticket counter. Then she remembered it wasn’t on this level. She sighed. “Tell her not to worry, Patrick. I’m catching the first flight back to the States as soon as I can arrange it. I’ll fly to New York and help her out for a few days.”

  “No way! You’ve been planning this for too long. And seeing as how it’s your first big commission since—”

  Beith interrupted, determined not to let him go there. “Be reasonable, Patrick. Kem was going to be my guide—” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.

  “This from a woman who summitted Rainier? Since when do you need a tour guide?”

  Patrick was clearly trying to make light of the situation, but the words stung nonetheless.

  “That was when I had two good legs, Patrick. You know that. These days I need a little help from my friends.”

  Patrick’s voice gentled. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sweetheart. I’ve contacted an old friend to arrange for a guide and personal assistant for the trip. We used to work together some years ago. Someone should have met you when you got off the plane, holding a sign with your name on it. You can’t have missed it. O’Neill said the guide would be tall and red-haired.”

  She vaguely remembered a long queue of people beyond the immigration checkpoint, holding signs of various shapes and sizes with names scrawled on them. Expecting that Kemberlee’s plane would have landed first, Beith had been too busy searching the crowd for her friend’s round, freckled face to notice.

  Though now, as she thought about it, her eyes had snagged briefly on one man who stood a bit taller than the rest, broad shouldered and slim-hipped, his thick, dark russet hair pulled back and tied behind his head.

  She’d ignored the electricity shooting down her spine when his sea-green eyes had caught hers. His brows had lifted as if asking a silent question and his mouth had widened into a smile that had nearly caused her to trip over her own feet. She’d given him a brief, shy smile in return before looking beyond him for Kem.

  Now, a clear picture of his high-cheekboned face sprang back into her mind, and that inkling of foreboding nudged in the pit of her belly.

  “Patrick. Listen carefully. It is just plain foolish for me to be over here alone with no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. And…and you know darned well it could even be dangerous.”

  Patrick’s chuckle on the other end of the line did nothing to dispel her trepidation. “You’ll be fine. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

  “As if that’s supposed to reassure me. Patrick—”

  “O’Neill will take good care of you.”

  “Patrick—”

  “You’re not weaseling out of this, Beith. This commission is the chance you’ve been waiting for to get back in the groove.”

  “Patrick!”

  “Grow some balls, woman!”

  In spite of herself, Beith laughed. “I’m coming home.”

  On the other end of the line, she heard Patrick sigh. “You’ll regret it, honey.”

  “Maybe. But it’s the smartest thing to do at this point.” She squared her shoulders and hitched her carry-on a little higher. She had yet to claim her luggage, and wondered now how she was going to handle the huge suitcase along with the bag on her shoulder, weighed down with a camera and several lenses. She wasn’t supposed to lift even this much weight, much less a suitcase. Without any Irish money, how could she even tip a porter? She’d have to find an information booth somewhere.

  Fatigue dragged at her limbs.

  “At least look around so your guide knows not to wait for you,” Patrick put in.

  She nodded. “That would be the p
olite thing to do, though I don’t see how I’ll find anyone in this crowd, sign or no sign.”

  She felt a light tap on her shoulder. “Miss?”

  She waved a hand and threw over her shoulder, “I’ll be off in a second. What did you say, Patrick?”

  “…about six feet,” Patrick was finishing. “A little tall for the Irish, but it’s the Viking blood coming out.”

  “Can I have a name, please, Paddy? I’ll have them paged.” Her question was met with nothing but static. She sighed in exasperation. Patrick and his mobile phones, she thought disgustedly. You’d think a respected surgeon like him could afford a decent one.

  The tap on her shoulder again. “Miss Molloy…”

  She turned, sagged back, bumping into the wall and dropping the telephone receiver. The same tall man she’d noticed in the queue now towered over her, much too close for comfort. And what a curious discomfort it was. The fine muscles in her fingers twitched, and she clenched them to stop from reaching to touch his hand, which had shot out to steady her. His palm burned hot even through the long-sleeved knit top she’d worn to ward off the airplane’s chill.

  She looked up past the collar of his dark green shirt into the face of a Viking. The heaviness in her stomach grew while at the same time her knees turned directly to water.

  Up close, her artist’s eye automatically absorbed details she’d missed before. His long, strong jaw was lightly stubbled with a day or so’s growth of beard, his nose nothing remarkable and looking like it had been broken at least once in his life. His lips, turned down slightly in concern, not too full or too thin, but something about their shape told her woman’s instinct he had the ability to drive a woman to distraction with words, or crazy in bed. Whatever the lady would prefer. But it was the eyes that took her breath. Shadowed with fatigue, which told her he’d not had enough sleep the night before; deep sea-green, framed by just enough lines to reassure her he laughed often, contrasted by faint worry lines between his brows that deepened as he regarded her.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she stiffened her back, raised her chin and let him look. The thread-thin scar on her lower lip and chin was the only one she couldn’t hide among the many on her body. If nothing else, she viewed this little piece of furrowed flesh as her insurance policy against anyone planning to hit on her.

  Time seemed to slow as she watched the parade of expressions march across the man’s face. Interest. Surprise. Confusion. Compassion. It was the last one that had her clenching her teeth against the emotion in her chest. Then he smiled and all tension diffused rapidly to flush her body with unexpected warmth.

  Oddly, time seemed to stretch, and the airport sounds around her faded to an eerie silence in her ears. Except for his voice.

  “Are you all right, miss?” He had a voice to match the rest of him. Masculine but not overly deep, with a native accent that made even those five simple words sound like music.

  It took her a second to realize she was staring at him, mouth hanging open, surging hormones tightening her lower belly into a knot. The mezzanine noises resumed, almost as if someone had restarted a slow tape recorder. She shook herself and straightened away from the wall. His hands slid down her arms before he stepped back. She saw his eyes widen, then quickly narrow, and his nostrils flare before a pleasant mask slipped over his face, lit by an amazingly sexy half-smile.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “You just startled me. I guess I’m through with this, now,” she said ruefully as she bent to pick up the phone receiver. Too late she realized the angle of her left leg was wrong, and her hip joint clicked and slid in a rude warning. Stifling a curse, she dropped her carry-on and quickly straightened. She fought a wave of dizzy panic, even though the joint had reseated itself. Dummy. The last thing you need is to land in a hospital in a foreign country. Pay attention, Beith!

  The man’s head tilted as if regarding her for the first time. “Jesus, woman. You’re pale as a ghost.” The man’s hand was back on her arm, offering support as he gently took the phone from her hand and hung it up for her. “Patrick told me you might be needing an assistant.”

  Travel-frazzled nerves prickled. “I don’t need an assistant to hang up a phone,” she muttered. Then she blinked him. “How do you know me?”

  He grinned as he picked up her carry-on and guided her a few steps away from the phone so someone else could use it. She walked gingerly, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down to her legs and back. She saw the question there, maybe a trace of surprise and confusion. She set her jaw and forced herself to walk with more confidence. After all, Patrick had assured her she had no reason to fear simple walking. Eventually, she’d even be able to return to some fairly long-distance hiking. Just not the heavy-duty backpacking she’d been accustomed to. She pushed aside the twinge of regret that curled in her chest at that thought.

  She reached for her carry-on but the man swung it over his shoulder, out of her reach. Irritation flashed through her, but the man was already talking.

  “T’rough the picture he faxed over. Still, I wasn’t sure until I overheard you yelling at him on the phone.”

  She relaxed, but only a little. “I was not yelling, and you must be the gentleman he arranged for me while I’m here.” She realized how those words sounded, and felt her cheeks turn as hot as the palm that supported her elbow. Normally she was as exacting with her words as she was with her brush strokes. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she couldn’t be sure as she took a breath and blundered on. “Paddy didn’t tell me your name, though, before his mobile phone died. I think he said it was…O’Neill? I don’t think I caught your first name.”

  She looked up and thought she saw something shift in his eyes, but then it was gone.

  “Indeed. Kellan O’Neill at your service for the next t’ree weeks, miss.” His eyes met hers, sparkling with more than a bit of the devil. His thumb lightly caressed the crease in her elbow, and she felt her knees start to go again. “You can be callin’ me Kel, if you like.”

  Oh, no, this would not do at all.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m Beith Molloy. It’s nice to meet you and I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to need some help transferring my luggage to whatever flight I can find to go home.” She hated that phrase, “need some help”, but she choked it out anyway. She was going to have to get used to saying it, she realized bitterly.

  His dark eyebrow lifted. “Oh, no. Patrick’s instructions were very specific. Under no circumstances am I to allow you to…how did he say it? Chicken out?” He picked up the pace and tucked her hand into his elbow, a gesture that might have seemed courtly if she didn’t feel as if she were being towed behind a motor boat. Why was he in such a hurry?

  Beith laughed in spite of herself. “That’s very sweet of him, but really, I should go home.”

  “…and somet’in’ about not letting you be shouldin’ on yourself,” Kel put in without missing a beat.

  Beith allowed herself a smile. “Ah, yes, that sounds like Patrick. My mind is made up, I’m afraid. It isn’t fair to ask you to give up three weeks of your life on such short notice. I’m sure you can’t take that much time away from your regular job just to show me around.” She glanced up at him again but he wasn’t looking at her.

  He shrugged affably. “I’m free for a while. It won’t be any trouble, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I, uh, I see,” she stammered, realizing he might not have another job.

  He lifted a dark auburn eyebrow with obvious amusement. “Do you, now?”

  She felt a knot begin to form between her eyebrows, and a dull throb at the base of her neck. She decided to shut up before she said anything else embarrassing or insulting. Inside her stomach, the need to get back on the plane for home warred with the intriguing idea of spending three weeks photographing and sketching endangered Irish wildlife in the company of a native.

  Kel led her around clumps of people and careening trolleys. “We’d better be on our way, then,”
he said, sounding much too cheerful for Beith’s travel-weary ears. “City traffic is no place to be at any hour, and we have a bit of a drive ahead of us.” He steered her toward the stairs, then, glancing down at her legs again, changed course toward a lift.

  Something told her that her life had just changed course as well, but suddenly she was too dog-tired to fight it.

  “Patrick sent you our, um, my itinerary?”

  The pause was infinitesimal. “That he did,” he said. “You’ll be seeing the best little tern nesting sites in Europe.”

  The lift doors whooshed shut, and she found herself enclosed in a small space with Kellan O’Neill. His scent drifted over her, a pleasing combination of freshly showered man and what she imagined Irish turf must smell like. Clean and earthy. She opened her mouth but shut it again, sensing she would only babble if she broke the silence. And one thing she never did was babble.

  She glanced up at the numbers changing at the top of the door and felt a warm prickle begin at the back of her neck and travel down… Oh, dear. Was he looking at her? Was that warm feeling at the small of her back his hand, hovering just above her skin? For a brief second a series of images flashed through her mind. Her turning into Kel’s arms. Kel dropping her carry-on, hitting the lift’s hold button and proceeding to press her up against the wall. His muscular arms lifting her off the floor, his broad shoulders sheltering her, one hand cradling her head while the other…

  …would never happen. Could never happen. Beith took a deep breath and tried to get hold of herself, hoping he wouldn’t notice the light sheen of perspiration which had broken out on her forehead. She closed her eyes and fought a wave of dizziness. Damn those pain meds she’d taken before her flight had taken off from Cleveland.

  What was wrong with her? Kel O’Neill was a complete stranger. She’d never been given to wild, hormone-driven flings with anyone. She wasn’t about to start. Especially now. She had a demanding career and had always kept herself in complete control, reminding herself of what was really important.