Wildish Things Read online

  “You’re taking her to the Burren?”

  “Of course. She’s to go to the prime little tern nesting sites.” He snorted. “Whoever set up her itinerary hadn’t any idea what they were on about. I know where the best ones are.”

  “Just be careful. The Hag is restless, which doesn’t bode well for a man like you. Whatever you think this woman needs…” She hitched her chin toward Beith.

  “Oh, I fully intend to give her what she needs, have no fear about that,” he said, smiling wolfishly.

  Fionna regarded him briefly, not a trace of amusement in her blue eyes.

  “Her needs have nothing—and everything—to do with what you intend to ‘give’ her, you fool. Stop for a minute and think what you’re doing. If the only reason you’re carrying on with this is to pull something over on Declan, back out now.”

  Kellan reached out and tapped the end of her nose. “Been scrying the bottom of a whiskey glass, have you?”

  She gave him a look that brought him up short.

  “Whiskey doesn’t touch my cauldron, and that scrying once saved your life, if you recall. Last night I saw the Cailleach, and she is no one to be trifled with. You know that. The Hag will have what she requires, and if you deny her, she will twist off your wee balls and have them with her tea.”

  The Cailleach. Kellan zipped Beith’s suitcase shut and shoved it deeper into the car, then slid the door shut with more force than was quite necessary. Trust Fionna to ruin his day with talk of the Hag. Yet he knew Fionna had never been wrong about things unseen. And she was also right—her timely warning had once saved his life. He owed her at least a moment’s attention.

  Even if he planned to ignore her advice. Hag or no Hag.

  “Then why did you agree to help me with this?”

  Fionna tilted her head as if it should have been obvious. “Because I dreamed of Beith Molloy, too. The Cailleach wants something from her. And it’s the only reason I’m letting you do this.”

  “And what would the Old One want this time?”

  “What she wants for every woman, Kellan. To be whole.”

  To his surprise, Kel’s heart did a funny little flip in his chest. He turned his head and looked at Beith, and whatever expression was on his face, Fionna laughed at it.

  “You’re a chancer, Kel. Just do me a favor and be careful. With luck, all three of you will get what you need.”

  Chapter Three

  Kel’s dark shirt stretched across the long muscles of his back as he leaned into Fionna’s car. In spite of herself, Beith's mouth went dry and her hands turned all thumbs as she tried to fit her clothing and a few essentials into the panniers.

  Lulled by the singsong cadence of Kel’s and Fionna’s conversation, she distantly observed that all feelings of panic had subsided. For now, anyway. Her heart beat slow and steady in her chest, and breathing in the cool Ireland morning seemed effortless. Maybe a little of the old Beith, the brave Beith, still remained. For now, she would cling to this feeling as long as she could.

  She allowed herself the pleasure of anticipating a ride on the back of a Harley with her legs wrapped around Kel’s amazing butt. The mental image set off a rush of blood to her belly that nearly had her groaning out loud.

  Well, no wonder, it had been over a year since she’d had any.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Kel watching her. Stomach flopping, she looked away and finished folding, trying not to think about how that gleam in his eye would change if he—or any other man, for that matter—got a look at the scars on her skin.

  Yet, instead of mortification, she felt an almost forgotten sense of excitement. A tightening of her lower belly, a heaviness in her breasts. She looked up and her gaze locked with Kel’s. He looked down and a wicked grin spread across his face. Her gaze followed his.

  The article of clothing she held in her hands was her bra. The red lace one. Matching panties hung from her pinky finger.

  Instantly she crushed the garments between her hands and turned away to roll them up and stuff them between two of the camera lenses she’d transferred to the pannier. She caught Fionna’s knowing smile, but didn’t have time to wonder about it before she and Kel broke back into English, maintaining the same light tone of voice.

  “She’ll be needin’ a sweater, then,” said Kel. “Got anything to fit her?”

  Fionna leaned into the back and rummaged around in a cardboard box, emerging with a cream-colored Aran sweater. “This is a little big, but it’ll keep out the chill. Here, Beith, it may seem warm now, but you’ll be wantin’ to put this on under your jacket. Especially once the sun goes down.”

  Beith drew in a breath and fingered the richly knit sweater. “I can’t just take this, Fionna. It’s gorgeous.”

  Fionna waved a hand. “It’s one my little sister has outgrown. These Arans are meant to be used, not stored away. Wear it in good health.”

  “Thanks.” Beith rolled up the sweater and stuffed it into the last remaining space in the pannier. “How far are we going?”

  “Not far. But we’ll be takin’ some side roads.”

  Fionna seemed to have a sudden coughing fit as she reached across the driver’s seat of to produce an extra helmet. Kel took it and stepped closer, propping the helmet on the bike’s seat and reaching for Beith’s head. Before she could blink, he slipped the sticks from her hair and ran his fingers through her hair, lifting it and pulling it back away from her face.

  Caught off-guard, Beith could do nothing but stand still and drink in the sensation of his fingers sliding over her scalp, his clean, earthy scent wafting to her nose. His broad chest seemed to block out the rest of the world, sealing the two of them in this one moment.

  Once again, as it had in the terminal, the noise of the bustling airport parking lot faded to nothing, leaving behind—not exactly silence, but a feeling like an inheld breath, waiting for the deep sigh to follow. She closed her eyes for a moment, and from somewhere in the dark recesses of her brain, a voice whispered.

  Welcome, daughter.

  Oddly, the voice didn’t startle her at all. Instead, she held her breath and strained to hear the voice should it speak again. But she only thought she heard a deep chuckle that echoed into nothing.

  In short order—too short—Kellan had her hair gathered and twisted up behind her head again. The ever-efficient Fionna produced two large, flat clips and secured it.

  “To keep your hair from getting’ knotted up in the wind. Now on with your jacket and we’ll be off.”

  All the good feelings Beith had been building on for the past few minutes almost vanished in irritation as Kel lowered the helmet over her head, and Fionna slipped the jacket up her arms and reached around her to zip it as if she was a small child.

  “Take Brian’s helmet, Kel.”

  “Don’t need it, I’ve got one.”

  “Take Brian’s,” said Fionna firmly, then their next words were lost in the muffling helmet. It didn’t matter, it sounded like they were speaking Irish again, anyway. In the end, Kel exchanged his deep red helmet for a black one.

  Kel took her hand and guided it up to the side of her helmet, where she found a small knob. A click, a crackle, and Kel’s voice sounded in her ear.

  “These helmets have two-way radios,” he said. “Mine doesn’t have one—don’t normally carry passengers.”

  Suddenly Fionna reached out to tap Kel’s shoulder, then hitched her chin in the direction of the terminal.

  “Better get moving,” she said placidly. “I’ll drive you out.”

  Before Beith had time to think about why Fionna wanted to shadow them out of the car park, the Harley gave a throaty roar that startled her two feet out of her shoes. She whirled and found Kel already on the bike holding out one hand toward her.

  “On you get.”

  Heart suddenly thumping hard, Beith took his hand and concentrated on not letting her bad leg shake with nerves and physical strain as she planted her left foot on the peg.
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  I can do this. Lightning couldn’t strike twice.

  She stepped over, straddled the bike and let her rear settle on the cushy leather seat. She shifted experimentally. Good, no weird pains or instability. Her seat was slightly higher than his, and their bodies spooned together, her knees fitting neatly under his elbows and her hands resting naturally on his wide shoulders.

  I will do this.

  Kel’s voice flowed into her ear from the in-helmet speaker.

  “Budge up and hang on to me,” said Kel.

  I can definitely do that.

  A morning breeze lifted his auburn ponytail to brush her neck, so soft she had to resist the urge to run her fingers through it.

  “And you may want to close your eyes—traffic is pretty tight and we’ve a ways to go.”

  “What’s the hurry?” she started to say, but the words were sucked back down her throat as Kel put the bike in gear. It surged smoothly forward with a throaty growl. Swallowing a squeak, she hitched forward and plastered herself to his back, hands digging in to grab two handfuls of his shirt. Nearly all her tenuous self-confidence fled and she fought not to hold her breath.

  You’re okay, Beith. It’ll be okay.

  She twisted to one side to get a last look at the terminal—why, she wasn’t sure, maybe to look in vain for a break in the crowd at the Aer Lingus counter. But Fionna kept her van between them and the terminal at all times as Kel maneuvered out onto the roadway.

  Once clear, Fionna honked and waved at them, then veered off the roundabout they had entered and shot away down a narrow road. Beith couldn’t help but think that with Fionna’s parting, her last link with reality was gone.

  What an odd thing to think about.

  It didn’t get any more reality-based than sharing a roaring city street with, oh, about a thousand other honking, fume-belching cars and trucks.

  It was probably a good thing that she didn’t remember any details of the terrible crash that had almost taken her life—and her leg. But she knew the story, even if she had only read about it in the newspaper. And she had lived every painful moment of the aftermath.

  She fought to keep her breathing steady, and forcibly removed her nails from where they were embedded in Kel’s shoulders. Inside the helmet, she heard Kel chuckle, swear at a driver who passed too close, then resume chuckling.

  He wasn’t kidding about the traffic. She remembered Kemberlee talking about it. “If you hesitate or show fear, you’re toast.”

  Kel certainly showed neither of those traits as he accelerated and decelerated smoothly, weaving in and out of slower traffic, somehow managing to never come to a complete stop at any traffic signal.

  If traffic laws were anywhere similar to those in the States, Kel clearly had little regard for any of them.

  “Little roundabout coming up,” came his voice. “Hold on and just lean with me.”

  Beith had only a second to register that they were approaching what looked like a four-lane-deep whirlpool of cars and trucks before Kel leaned the bike left and they were sucked in.

  Incredibly, she felt the muscles in Kel’s arms, torso, and thighs contract and release as he accelerated the bike into the maelstrom.

  Holy shit. Breathe. In. Out. In…

  Beith closed her eyes, lowered her head and pressed her helmeted forehead into Kel’s shoulder, praying as hard as she could as one, two, who knows how many cars and trucks set up a chorus of honking.

  A cramp seized in her left thigh and she ruthlessly quashed a whimper before it escaped her throat. The muscles tightened, threatening to lift her off the seat with pain.

  If she didn’t straighten out her leg in about three seconds, she felt sure the cramp would pull her leg apart, or break what little bone was left in her femur.

  Something hot settled on her thigh, centering on the cramping area halfway between her knee and her hip. She cracked open one eye and found Kel’s hand casually resting there, steering the bike effortlessly with the other hand.

  “We’re out of it,” he said, laughter evident in his tone. “You can relax now.”

  She laughed, because although they were now on what a sign whizzing by told her was the M50, they were still going at a dizzying speed on what appeared to her American brain as the wrong side of the road. The lanes looked narrower, too, with barely room to allow cars to squeeze past each other, much less that tour bus looming ahead. The sound that came out of her chest must not have sounded much like a laugh to Kel, for his hand began to stroke.

  Surely he only intended to soothe what he thought were nerves, but the sensation of heat through her jeans made her want to stretch against him like a cat. Again the sounds around her faded to nothing but a distant echo, the world grinding into slow motion as his hand moved back and forth. Back and forth.

  He turned his head to glance back at her. “You’ve got a cramp, haven’t you? I can feel it.”

  Um, yeah, but that’s actually a hunk of scar tissue you’re rubbing there, bucko…

  Something else clutched deep in her belly, and she forgot about the pain in her thigh as another long-denied pain reared its needy head. Her helmet earphones picked up the faint sound of an old woman cackling. Afraid to let go of Kel’s shoulders, she shook her head a little in an effort to knock out the encroaching channel.

  “Stretch it out,” said Kel. “Once we’re out of the city, we’ll stop for an amble to get the blood going again.” He unceremoniously slipped his hand under her knee, lifted it and straightened her leg until it extended so her ankle rested his thigh. Her leg curved around his waist, forcing her groin even tighter against his lower back. Between the delicious, relieving stretch in her thigh, the heat of his body against her pelvis, and the vibration of the machine…

  The roar in her ears now had nothing to do with the growling Harley. She wondered if she might be able to quietly enjoy an orgasm without him noticing. Then her leg threatened to cramp again.

  “I need to get horizontal,” she ground out between her teeth, to no one in particular.

  “Do you now?”

  Too late, she forgot he could hear her over the helmet radios.

  “So I can elevate my legs,” she said lamely.

  “You’ll have a bed soon, darlin’, but you’re better off awake for now.” A quick glance to the rear, a lean to the left, and they zipped around the slow-moving tour bus as if no other cars existed on the crammed highway.

  The green, rolling landscape flowed by as if they were a drop of water running unimpeded down a drainpipe.

  “Enjoy the scenery,” he continued. “We’ll stop for tea in a bit. There’s a little place I know.”

  “Where is it?”

  He laughed. He seemed to do that a lot, now that the airport was behind them. “Just a mile or two up the road.”

  Abruptly his hand left her leg as he reached up and switched off his helmet mike, dug into his back pocket—brushing the inside of her thigh in the process—and extracted his mobile phone.

  The conversation was short, but she felt his body tense between her thighs.

  He put the phone away, causing her to bite back a groan, and switched his helmet back on.

  “That was Fionna. Apparently there’s an accident up ahead. We’ll need to take a detour. Can you put your leg back down for just a bit?”

  She stifled her disappointment. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Put your arms ’round me, then.”

  “What?”

  “Do it now—here’s our turn.”

  Startled by his sudden command, she snaked her arms under his and clutched his shirt, feeling like she was going to catapult over his head as he braked the machine, leaned hard, dodged between two cars, then took off at full speed down an exit ramp. Something wild awakened in her chest, the urge to whoop with excitement warring with the fear-of-everything that had been her ever-present companion the past year.

  O’Neill will take good care of you, Beith. That’s what Paddy had promised.

 
For a wild second she thought, I don’t want to be taken care of.

  I want to fly.

  Chapter Four

  A mile or two up the road, indeed, thought Beith hours later, when Kel finally pulled the Harley over in a tiny village, in front of a row of stone buildings with brightly painted wooden doors.

  The ride had gone by in a flash, and not only because of the blinding speed at which Kel drove the bike. Though there was barely a tree in sight, the stark beauty of the stony, rolling countryside had mesmerized her, and she found herself mentally photographing each land contour, thatched cottage, ruined abbey and stone fence they flew past. If she had dared let go of Kel’s shirt, she would have whacked his helmet more than once to stop and let her get her camera.

  But Kel had not let up on the throttle the entire ride. It was almost as if he thought someone was chasing them, by the way he had fractionally turned his head every few seconds to look in his rearview mirror.

  Kel hit the kill switch, engaged the kickstand and pulled off his helmet.

  “A mile or so, eh?” she said wryly as she struggled to get her own helmet off without taking the tip of her nose with it.

  Kel slid off the bike sideways, leaving her front feeling cold and bereft. She wondered how his skin stayed so hot, when despite her layers, she felt a little chilled. She heard him laugh again, and then his hands brushed her neck and ears as he helped get her helmet off, back side first so that it slid forward over her face and off without taking any extra parts with it.

  “I should have explained the concept of the Irish mile.” His gaze darted up and down the street, then his shoulders relaxed.

  “Looking for something?” she asked as she shook out her hair.

  He shoved his keys into his pocket. “Just checking. I’ve had my share of run-ins with the Gardaí for speeding.”

  “No, really?” she said, mouth quirking.

  His gaze fell on her scarred lip and once again that odd expression passed over his face.

  She busied herself with her hair, reminding herself that it didn’t matter what Kel thought of her face. He was hired to be her guide and her face was all he was ever going to see. A twinge of regret curled in her belly at the thought she’d probably never get to see any other parts of him, either.