Wildish Things Page 2

  That accident must have shattered more than her bones.

  She shifted on her feet, but he seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence between them, as if he tracked her thoughts and had no desire to interrupt them. Well, damn it, she had to interrupt them. She forced herself to think of the scars, and cold reality quickly reasserted itself.

  As soon as I get that suitcase, I’m booking a flight home. Then I’ll pop a Flexaril and wake up back in Cleveland as if this had never happened.

  He made no comment about the size of her suitcase as he pulled it off the carousel, but the way he handled it easily with one hand while holding her carry-on with the other made her flush all over again. Fanning herself with the scraps of her plane ticket, she looked around and spied a bureau de change and touched his arm. She snatched her hand away as he turned, flapping it nervously toward the counter. “Isn’t that where I get cash?”

  “No.” He took her arm more firmly and steered her down a corridor. “You’ll be gettin’ a better exchange rate at the ATM down here.” He paused and studied her, that smile growing a little wider. “So you’re stayin’, then?”

  Her heart thumped hard two or three times. Grow some balls, woman. The words to tell him “no” were poised on her tongue. To tell him, “No thanks, but here’s a little something for your trouble.” She wondered if he’d be insulted, and inwardly winced at what his expression might look like when she pressed the cash into his hand. Well, there was no help for it. She blew out a breath, opened her mouth.

  What came out was, “For now. Chances are I can’t get a flight out until tomorrow, anyway.” She snapped her mouth shut. No more Flexaril for me.

  His grin widened and she went a little light-headed at its power. She attributed it to jet lag and the meds. As he turned to pull the retractable handle from her suitcase, she thought he heard him mutter, “That’s long enough.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said the ATM’s over here,” he said without missing a beat.

  “Oh,” she said, then concentrated on rooting through her purse for her credit card and tucking her passport away. As she got her money, she sensed him standing protectively behind her, shielding her transaction from prying eyes.

  “You won’t need a great deal to start out with,” he commented. “Should you decide to stay on, that is.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. His back was to her, and he spoke quietly to her over his shoulder. If you decide… “Oh, but what if…” She glanced at him to find him giving her another patient half-smile.

  “This isn’t quite a t’ird world country, Miss Molloy. Most every town has a machine now. And you won’t be wanting to flash a lot of cash for any unscrupulous types you might be comin’ across.”

  Like you?

  His scent drifted to her nose again. A strong energy hummed just under her skin, a rush of electricity, here and gone in an instant.

  “Oh, um, you’re right, of course…” Feeling her face flush, she turned and punched in smaller numbers.

  She was in Ireland, at long last. Jet lagged and tired, but here. A place she had seen only in pictures and films, and just those had made her artist’s soul itch to be here, surrounded by that extraordinary light and that vivid color, sketching and photographing to her heart’s content. Beith Molloy, famed “Mistress of Light”, the rare combination of critically acclaimed talent and marketing sensation, would give her millions of fans something new for their collections of art prints, rugs, wallpaper, blankets and throw pillows. And a good chunk of the proceeds would go to help save the bird she was here to study and paint.

  Now that her feet were on Irish ground, a larger and larger part of her was clamoring to stay, to not turn tail and run home to the studio which had become her only world for the past year.

  She turned to follow the tall man through the airport, presumably to a car. Kemberlee had reserved a rental, but Beith had no idea where to find the darned thing, much less how to drive it. She frowned at this thought process. The old Beith would have been racing Kem for the driver’s seat.

  She glanced over at the Aer Lingus ticket counter, already mobbed with people trying to get any flight out. Any flight at all. The harried manager waved his arms and was calling out to the irate crowd that it would be at least two days. Two days. Weariness washed over her.

  I don’t have to make a decision right this minute, she reasoned. I can just as easily call from a hotel…

  Okay. So, she’d made a decision. Sort of. For now, she would stay.

  A sudden wave of panic hit her, so strong she stopped dead in her tracks, one hand pressed over her heart. Kel kept walking and she resisted the urge to grab onto the back of his shirt and use it for a lifeline.

  As if sensing she was no longer behind him, he halted and turned in a slow circle, his sea-green eyes searching for her. He singled her out finally, and she waited for the flash of irritation that was sure to follow. Honestly, freaking out in the middle of the Dublin airport. This was not the old Beith at all. This was the post-shattered-bones Beith. The afraid-of-everything Beith.

  She didn’t like this Beith.

  Kel’s eyes softened in what she could swear was compassion, and one side of his mouth lifted in that half-smile. He held one big hand out to her.

  Damn it, she needed this chance to rebuild her career. Her life. Her self. Grow some balls, woman! Paddy had barked at her.

  “Are you ready, Miss Molloy?” O’Neill’s voice, though quiet, carried through the din around them as if borne on some bit of magic.

  Her eyes stung, and she told herself it was the jet lag, the fatigue, the mild pain meds she’d taken. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded jerkily, stepped forward and took Kel’s hand.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m telling you, the girl must have left the airport on her own.”

  “But she said she was catching the next flight home,” said Patrick. “Are you sure—”

  Declan O’Neill held tight to his patience. “I checked the outgoing flights—what there were of them. There’s a baggage handler strike going on. She wasn’t on any of them. I also checked the car hires, taxi services and local hotels. Nothing. She either left on foot or with someone else.”

  Dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, “I think you’d better talk to Kemberlee.”

  Declan winced. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “Is this Declan O’Neill? You’d better start talking to me.” Despite having just had abdominal surgery, Kemberlee Shea’s voice cracked over the phone line like a whip.

  He blew out a slow breath and did his best to sound calm and reasonable. Fat lot of good that would do him—he almost expected the woman’s clawed hand to come at him through the receiver at any moment.

  “As I was telling your brother, the woman I assigned to be her guide called to tell me she was delayed. By the time I got to the airport to collect Miss Molloy, she was gone.” Even as he spoke, he scanned the baggage area, hoping to find some trace of the woman who resembled the faxed photograph tucked in his pocket. That blonde head of hair should stand out like the silver flash of a salmon’s belly in a dark lough, but nothing stood out among the sea of red, brown and black-haired heads.

  “Think carefully, Mr. O’Neill. I’m aware that you’re one of Patrick’s, well, friends from his past. Is there anyone from your…well, before…who might still have it in for you? Is there a possibility—”

  “No. That part of my life is over. As it is for your brother. You know that.”

  “I do know that. In my drug-induced state, that’s why I let Patrick…”

  Declan heard a solid smack and Patrick’s muttered “Ouch!”

  “…call you in the first place. Because you’d know someone who could show her the island like a tour guide pro and keep her safe.”

  “The only one over here who knows about my past is my wife and my—oh, sweet Jesus.” Declan walked carefully over to the nearest bench and sat down. He let the mobil
e phone drop to his side and took a moment to rub his suddenly throbbing temples. Fury pounded through him, spiced with a healthy dose of annoyance. “That little bastard,” he muttered. When he trusted himself to speak again, he picked up the phone. In the background, he heard Patrick telling his sister to calm down

  “Get your hands off me, Paddy. You may have three more college degrees than me, but I’m still bigger and meaner. Declan!”

  “Kemberlee, it’s all right. I think I know what’s going on. My brother was in the office with me when Patrick’s call and fax came in. He must have overheard our conversation.” In his mind, he replayed the scene now. His brother, fresh from assignment providing security for an ambassador’s trip to a politically sensitive African country, walking over and casually retrieving the faxed photo and other documents and handing them over with barely a glance, then returning to sprawl in the nearest chair. Or had it been a glance? With this brother, one could never tell. Despite his laid-back demeanor, the boy had a keen mind and a photographic memory. Traits that had kept him alive in some very, very bad situations.

  He heard Kem take a deep breath, then a short scuffle and suddenly Patrick was back on the phone.

  “Which brother, Declan? Tell me it wasn’t Kel.”

  Declan sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you it wasn’t Kel, if that’s what you want to hear.”

  “Shit.”

  “Well, you said you wanted her to have the adventure of a lifetime,” Declan said lamely. “She’s certain to have it, now.”

  Patrick groaned. “Yeah, but I’d also like her to live through it!”

  Kellan was within minutes of pulling this caper off.

  Beith Molloy bore little resemblance to the fuzzy faxed photo he’d glimpsed in Declan’s office last night. The same one Declan had snatched out of his hand and into a concealing file. As if his big brother didn’t trust him around a beautiful woman.

  He’d known if he wanted to meet her, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Luckily he’d gotten enough of a look at her flight schedule to know when she would arrive in Dublin. The hard part had been acting completely uninterested while his mind had churned with plans to whisk her out from under Declan’s very nose.

  She was thinner than in the photographs he’d looked up an hour later on the Internet, the last of which had been taken two years ago. Those had showed a woman with the solid, long lines of an athlete, skin glowing with health as she put herself in more than a few challenging positions in order to hunt her artistic quarry.

  The woman before him now had a carry-on almost bigger than she was. Her hair was darker, her skin still creamy but with a translucent quality, as if she’d been cooped up indoors too long. He’d pictured a tall, willowy American blonde, but he hadn’t been disappointed by this woman who barely reached his chin, travel-rumpled hair twisted up behind her head and held in place by what looked like chopsticks.

  His first prickle of conscience had come when she’d looked up at him, fearlessly displaying her scarred mouth.

  As if she knew it would scare him off.

  But something in those chocolate-brown eyes… The challenge in them had softened to complete trust as she’d accepted his story without question. He’d completely forgotten about her mouth once the eyes had softened. Where had she been living that she’d willingly walk off with a stranger without demanding so much as an ID card? In a cave?

  Then she’d bent to pick up the dropped telephone, and she’d straightened with a face so gray he’d come close to calling a halt to plans he was still working on even as he guided her out of the terminal. His doubts faded as he surreptitiously glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw she walked with a sure, even step. Must have been a cramp from the long flight. The way her faded jeans hugged her hips and outlined her long thighs had him picturing the way she’d look completely bare, on a bed, sweating as he drove her crazy.

  Outside on the sidewalk, he stopped and pretended to adjust his load of baggage, using those few precious seconds to scan the area. Good. No sign of Declan.

  Fionna had slipped him Beith’s itinerary; the first thing he’d noticed was that it wouldn’t take Beith anywhere near the prime nesting grounds of the endangered bird she was seeking in order to fulfill a commissioned art work. He’d take her to the places she needed to be in order to complete her contract.

  Along the way, he planned to enjoy her company, tease her, make her laugh and smile, and, if things went as he planned, she’d be inviting him into her bed before the trip was over. Preferably long before it was over.

  In the few hours he’d pulled this plan together, he’d managed to do some homework on Beith Molloy. Despite her diminutive size, she had been known to trek far into back-country wilderness to capture on canvas rare glimpses of wildlife or a single, endangered flower. There had been a relationship, but that had ended about a year before, at which time she seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Key to his research was that Beith Molloy was a woman with a ferocious focus on her career, with neither the time nor the inclination to settle down.

  That was just fine with Kellan. He wasn’t interested in forming permanent ties, either. But a little summer fling would be good for both of them. He was certain of it.

  Declan would have snorted at Kellan’s apparent lack of logic. But Kel prided himself on his ability to read people. He’d known, from one glance at her picture, that she would be open to any adventure he saw fit to entice her with. He’d always followed his instincts, and though they’d sometimes led him into trouble, they’d also led him out again, free and clear. Every time. This time would be no different.

  He detected a slight shiver in the arm he’d tucked into his. He’d felt the coolness of her flesh from the first time he’d touched her, and attributed it to the jet’s air conditioning. The Dublin morning was damp. He was comfortable in his long sleeved, button-down shirt. But for a foreigner it took some adjustment. She continued to follow him willingly down the row of compact cars, approaching his vehicle. He let a smile widen his lips.

  She was going to love this. He was sure of it.

  “Have you a jacket?” He kept his tone casual as he tipped her suitcase to stand on its end and let her carry-on slide to the ground.

  “In my suitcase. Why?”

  He watched her face as her eyes centered on his vehicle, and waited for it to break into a smile.

  Instead, it went curiously blank. She swallowed audibly.

  “Is this…is this your, um, vehicle?”

  Kel gazed fondly at his pride and joy. A midnight-blue-and-silver Harley-Davidson Softtail.

  “Indeed it is. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  He thought he heard Beith make a noise, but he was busy glancing at his watch, and caught a shiny red flash out of the corner of his eye.

  Right on time. Don’t squeal the tires, Fionna.

  The boxy Honda van pulled up strategically between them and anyone who might be in the terminal looking for them.

  Fionna unfolded out of the car, all six feet of her, vivid red hair tucked up under a battered baseball cap. She slid open the side door, then turned to smile warmly at Beith. Like all people exposed to Fionna’s smile, Beith smiled back, partially if not thoroughly disarmed. Kel had always thought Fionna possessed more than a bit of Fae blood in her veins.

  “Offloading?” said Fionna cheerfully.

  “A bit,” he replied, swinging Beith’s suitcase into the opening and unceremoniously unzipping it.

  “What are you doing?” Beith squeaked.

  Fionna and Kel stood staring into her suitcase, momentarily stunned.

  “She has no clothes,” murmured Fionna.

  “Yes, I do,” protested Beith. “Everything’s in there. Lots of thin layers. I know the drill. There’s just a few other things on top.”

  “A few other things?” Kel began lifting bubble-wrapped parcels out of the suitcase. Through the wrap he recognized thick sketch pads, colored pencils, and…heave
n help them…an easel?

  “I’m an artist,” said Beith, apparently reading his expression. “These are the tools of my trade.”

  “Well,” said Kell cheerfully. “There’s nothing for it—they’ll have to go.”

  “What?”

  “They won’t fit in the bike’s panniers. Besides, if you’re going home tomorrow, you don’t need all this, now, do you? Fionna will keep it all for you until you’re ready to go. And,” he shrugged offhandedly, “if you decide to stay, there’s nothing here we can’t purchase on the road. If you need it.”

  Beith looked up into his eyes, and Kel met her gaze squarely, hoping not a trace of urgency showed. He could see in the dark circles under her eyes that all she wanted was to find a bed and sleep. He felt a prickle of remorse when she shifted her gaze to the car.

  “I’d almost rather leave my clothes behind than my art supplies,” she said absently.

  The word “Brilliant!” was on the edge of his tongue, but he managed to hold onto it.

  “Why don’t we just trade vehicles?” suggested Beith. “If you don’t mind, of course, Fionna. Then, if I end up staying, I’ll have everything I need.”

  Um…

  Fionna didn’t miss a beat. “I’d be happy to, but me cousin needs it for his pizza delivery route.” She reached out and touched Beith’s arm, and that Fae magic did its work.

  Kel watched in growing fascination as Beith took another long look at his Harley, lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “All right. I’ll just need my camera, and…” She reached between Fionna and Kel, grabbed a sketchpad and a package of pencils, then turned away to unzip her carry-on. If possible, she looked even paler.

  Kel didn’t miss the look of interest Fionna gave Beith. He mentally rolled his eyes. Here it comes.

  Fionna lapsed casually into Irish, keeping her voice cheerful as she pulled what little clothing there was out of the suitcase and handed it to Beith to tuck into one of the panniers.

  “I dreamed of the Hag last night, Kellan.”

  “Did you now?”