The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7)

by Tricia O'Malley

“More’s the pity,” Liam said, and they both drank silently to that thought.

  “I was still quite dazed, and convinced she was a mermaid, when she found a wound at the back of my head. One that was quite bloody, mind you, judging by the blood that washed out in the shower later. She ran her hands over the wound, and then…” Dylan shrugged, unsure how to describe what he’d felt. He’d still been quite dazed.

  “And then what?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow at Dylan in question.

  “It felt like some sort of cool brush of air… soothing, ye know? When I next touched my head, the wound was but a little lump. Certainly not enough to knock me unconscious, nor to bleed to the extent it had,” Dylan said, meeting Liam’s eyes. “You know I’m capable of taking some strong hits to the head.”

  “Aye, that I do. There was that one night in Glasgow…” Liam pursed his lips in fond memory of one of their more debauchery-driven evenings, which had landed both of them with sore knuckles and Dylan with an eye swollen shut.

  “That there was,” Dylan said, and then gestured to the back of his head. “Feel.”

  Liam reached over and patted Dylan’s head, and found nothing of interest. Pulling his hand back, he leveled a look at Dylan.

  “No bump.”

  “Indeed, no bump. Now, shouldn’t there be a bump on me own head if I was hit hard enough to bleed and knock myself unconscious?” Dylan asked.

  “She healed you.”

  “Aye. She claims she just put some pagan salve on my head and that I’d feel no pain, but I’m not so certain. Frankly, I was so intoxicated with thinking she was a mermaid that it took a moment for my brain to catch up to reality.”

  “I can see her being a mermaid. She’d charm many a sailor, that’s for damn sure,” Liam said agreeably.

  “I barely had time to be charmed before she cussed me out once more, called me an idiot in several different ways, and stormed off down the path with her dog at her side. It was like being ravaged by a tornado of beauty.”

  Liam brought his fingers to his pursed lips and kissed them.

  “My kind of woman. You know the ones who don’t give their opinions on anything will ultimately end up boring you to death,” Liam pointed out.

  “I’m not interested in a relationship with Grace,” Dylan said patiently, for his friend liked to indulge in as many romances as possible and always looked for love wherever he could find it.

  “You may not be interested in one, but I suspect one’s found you nonetheless,” Liam said, his voice decidedly cheerful at the thought.

  “Not even close. Remember, I’m her landlord and I’m evicting her. I won’t cross those lines,” Dylan said, then looked up when a man approached them, his face set in grim lines.

  “Um, excuse me, gentlemen. My name is Daniel and I’m the manager of the restaurant. I’m very sorry, but we’ll be unable to serve you dinner this evening.” Daniel wrung his hands, clearly unhappy at having to deliver such news.

  “Is that so?” Dylan leaned back and smiled at the man. “Run out of fresh catch of the day?”

  “Oh, no, sir. We never run out,” Daniel said, glancing between Liam and Dylan, concern etched on his features.

  “Then what seems to the problem, my good man?” Liam asked, his tone lazy, though his eyes had gone hard.

  “I’m not sure how best to state this…” Daniel said, and Dylan had a suspicion that he knew what was about to come.

  “Best to be out with it quickly then,” he said.

  “The owner of this restaurant is Grace O’Brien’s father. We’ve received notice that we’re not to be serving you or your crew any meals or refreshments. I do apologize or I wouldn’t have even sat you at the bar. It’s only just come to my attention who you are.”

  “And who are we?” Dylan asked.

  “Why, you’re the corporation that’s trying to bulldoze Grace’s cottage and build condos on her land. That simply won’t do. My deepest apologies, but I do have to ask you to leave now,” Daniel said, his tone stern as voices lowered in the restaurant to watch the scene.

  “Certainly, I understand,” Dylan said, and slipped some bills from his wallet to cover the cost of the drinks. They walked from the now near-silent restaurant, Liam cheekily grinning back at the cute waitress, and in moments were back in the cool night air.

  “Daddy’s got connections,” Liam observed.

  “Daddy’s famous for his restaurants and fishing charters all over Ireland,” Dylan mused, rocking back on his heels as he tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’ve met him and quite like him. But I can understand why he issued the order he did. I’d do the same.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him that you aren’t building condos?” Liam asked.

  “Let them think what they want. I suspect the element of surprise will serve me well at some point here.”

  “Playing the long game?” Liam asked as they turned to find another place for a warm meal.

  “Aye, playing the long game.”

  Chapter 17

  The knock at her door just past the first blush of dawn had Rosie going ballistic and Grace cursing as she wrapped a towel around her and bolted for the door. Her brain still foggy from a poor night’s sleep, Grace opened the door without preamble. She assumed it to be one of her family, because no one with any sense in their head would call upon someone at this hour.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake,” Dylan said, smiling at her from behind a basket he held in front of him.

  Grace glared at him, feeling out of sorts, for she hadn’t had her tea yet and the man had caught her half-dressed and dripping wet. With her hair streaming down her back and making a small pool of water on the floor, Grace had to decide whether to go put on clothes or order Dylan on his way.

  “Barely. Are you lost then?” Grace said, leaning against the frame of the door and deciding it was best to not invite the man inside.

  “Some may think that. But I’m beginning to feel right at home,” Dylan said, flashing her a slow smile as his eyes trailed over her shoulders, which were flushed pink from the heat of the shower.

  “Cool it with the come-hither smoldering stares, okay, Kelly? You’re Public Enemy Number One and are not welcome here,” Grace said, lifting her chin into the air.

  “I understand that. But I’ve brought a peace offering of sorts.” Dylan’s gaze slid past Grace to her stove. “And I see you haven’t put tea on. Why don’t I put it on for you while you get dressed and you can open your gift?” Neatly taking control of the situation, Dylan slipped past an astonished Grace and set his basket on the table, bending once to pat an ecstatic Rosie – the traitor – before he moved to the rack that held the tea mugs. Grace didn’t want to think about how good he looked in her kitchen, and retreated quickly into her bedroom. It seemed like the man planned to settle in for a wee visit, and she’d only be uncomfortable if she stood there holding a towel around her dripping wet body for the entire time. Briefly, she entertained shooing him off with magick, but despite herself, she wanted to see what was in the basket he’d brought.

  Hastily wrapping her hair in a towel, Grace pulled on soft leggings and an oversized sweatshirt before spending a brief moment wringing as much of the water from her hair as she could. Letting the mass of it stream down her back, she pulled on thick cottage socks and padded silently to the door, easing it open to watch as Dylan neatly prepared the tea at the counter, while seemingly having a discussion with her dog.

  “I’m certain it would be frowned upon to give you a piece of these scones. But I suspect there’s a cookie jar around here somewhere for you,” Dylan said. Upon hearing the word ‘cookie,’ Rosie dashed to sit in front of the jar. It annoyed Grace how at home Dylan had made himself in her cottage – a cottage that he wanted to force her out of, she reminded herself. His presence here felt larger than life, the juxtaposition of his size and strength against the dainty lace curtains and the low ceilings of the cottage seeming to highlight his stark masculinity. Breathing out a small puff
of air, Grace entered the room.

  “Aye, there she is. Looking fresh as a daisy this morning,” Dylan said, bringing tea to the table and placing the basket of scones she’d prepared earlier in the week in front of her. Grace narrowed her eyes at him serving her in her own home.

  “Sit, drink your tea, then leave,” Grace muttered, causing Dylan to throw his head back in laughter.

  “You know, I’m beginning to like you, Grace.”

  “Whether you like me or not is irrelevant,” Grace said, her eyes flashing a warning at him. Liar, liar, her heart whispered.

  “Nevertheless, that’s the way of it,” Dylan said, sliding onto the bench seat across the table from her. The blue of the plaid shirt he wore highlighted his eyes, and Grace found herself itching to run her hands through the blond hair that had just begun to curl. To check his wounds, of course, she lectured herself. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  “I’m not easily bought,” Grace said, more sharply than she had intended – but hey, the man wanted her off what he considered to be his land.

  Dylan’s eyes flashed a warning, but Grace just raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t care for this cozy little scene he was trying to create, nor was she about to be his friend. Perhaps once he conceded that the land belonged to her and her family, Grace would take the time to examine her attraction to him more closely.

  “As a thank you,” Dylan said, his tone mild, but Grace recognized the steel beneath the tone.

  “No thank you is necessary. I’m not sure what it’s like where you’re from, but we’re not ones to leave an injured man untended in these parts,” Grace shrugged, still refusing to touch the basket in front of her.

  “Strange; it doesn’t feel to me like I was all that injured,” Dylan said, leaning back and letting his eyes travel over the shelves upon shelves of jars that lined the wall behind Grace’s head. “That’s some salve you have there.”

  “That it is. We’re healers in these parts. In the old ways,” Grace said, not elaborating further.

  “Seems to work well for you,” Dylan nodded.

  “That it does. So if it’s a gift of thanks you’re bringing, I’ll be opening it. But don’t be surprised if it gets donated or shared with others. I may not want your bad energy in the house,” Grace said, knowing her words bordered on mean, but not really caring all that much.

  “Do you think I have bad energy?” Dylan said, unoffended by her words, his bright blue eyes studying her over the rim of his tea cup.

  “I think you’re a pragmatic businessman who is used to getting, and determined to get, his own way. Now, I’m certainly not one to judge a man for wanting to further his station in life and build something that matters for himself, but the way in which he achieves such things matters. To my mind, you’ve gone about this entire situation in a very bad way. Which, in turn, brings bad energy into this space.” Grace pulled at the ribbon that held the basket handles together, keeping the tone of her voice light.

  “Perhaps I have,” Dylan conceded, gripping his hand around the mug as he stared off into space. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

  Her heart leaped in her chest at the thought – and what it could mean crashed through her. Being so near to him – yet unable to touch him, hold him, sing out her love for him – was wearing on her. Having to constantly hold her shield up and channel her inner pirate warrior queen was achingly difficult around Dylan.

  “I don’t know yet,” Grace said.

  “Let’s start with the gift then,” Dylan said, nudging the basket closer to her.

  Grace had always loved gifts, and she tried her best to keep her expression reserved as she opened the lid on the basket.

  “Ah, sure and that’s a fine bottle of whiskey then,” Grace said, pulling out a bottle of 15 Year Tyrconnell. Grace noted that he’d spent enough on a bottle to make it a nice gift while not being showy or ostentatious, though she was certain the man could probably buy the whole distillery if he wanted.

  “Aye. I figured a woman who could curse as colorfully as you must have sailor’s blood somewhere in her veins. As such, whiskey seemed an appropriate gift,” Dylan said, and despite herself, Grace smiled at him.

  “Sure and I wouldn’t be a good Irish lass if I didn’t enjoy a pour of whiskey or putting a man in his place every now and again,” Grace said, looking up at Dylan cheekily.

  “Duly noted,” Dylan said, chuckling softly and nodding for her to continue.

  “A book?”

  “I’m told it’s quite rare,” Dylan said, shrugging as Grace ran her hands over the aged leather and turned it to read the title.

  “The Healings of the Earth: Wild Women Recipes and Remedies,” Grace read, surprised and delighted with his choice. Flipping through the pages, she immediately saw several recipes and concoctions she’d be interested in testing out. Holding it up in the air, she gave Dylan her first genuine smile. “This is really lovely. I’ll actually use this. Thank you.”

  “Ah, I wondered if I would ever see it,” Dylan said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her.

  “See what?”

  “A genuine smile on your face. It’s a shame you don’t use it more often. While you’re a knockout package as you are, your smile is like the sun.”

  Charmed despite herself, Grace smiled at him once more, this time infusing some sass into it.

  “Had I known it would take but a genuine smile for you to be nice to me, I would have used it sooner.”

  “Have I not been nice to you then?” Dylan said, his brows drawn in confusion.

  Grace threw back her head and laughed, long and loud, so that Rosie bounced over to see what all the fun was about.

  “Threatening to throw me off my land and tear down a cottage that has been in my family for generations isn’t particularly kind, no,” Grace said, amused with him.

  “I understand it’s not ideal,” Dylan conceded, making Grace laugh again. “But I don’t think I’ve been mean to you.”

  “No, you haven’t been mean. Maddeningly calm, stubborn, and patronizing all at once. I’m sure you’re a bulldog in the boardroom,” Grace laughed, and then squinted at the basket. “Is that a rubber bone?”

  “Yes! It’s for Rosie,” Dylan said, pulling the red rubber bone out of the basket and brandishing it in front of him. “See the slits in the side? You can put biscuits in there and she has to work them out. It’s kind of a puzzle.”

  He’d brought a puzzle for her dog. Grace stared at him, utterly charmed, as he held the bone out for Rosie to sniff and then, comfortable in this space, moved to the counter and dug a few biscuits out. Rosie danced at his feet, anxious for treats, and then cocking her head when he offered her the bone again.

  “See?” Dylan said, letting her sniff the toy. “They’re in there. You just have to work on getting them out.” Seeming to understand his words, Rosie nipped the bone from his hand and moved to her bed by the fireplace, completely absorbed in her new game.

  “She’ll love that,” Grace said. “So, once again, I’ll thank you.”

  “Two thank yous, a smile, and a laugh – I’ll take that as a sign of progress,” Dylan said, leaning against the wall by the door and nodding to her basket. “There’s more.”

  “More?” Grace shook her head and dug in the basket to pull out… socks. “Socks?”

  “They reminded me of you,” Dylan said, a shy smile on his face. Grace looked at him in confusion before unrolling the socks to see scales in a rainbow of colors that rioted together to form the shape of fins.

  “What are these?”

  “Mermaid socks,” Dylan said, delighted with himself. “I was convinced you were a mermaid yesterday. I saw these and thought of you. Sunset hair and witchy eyes.”

  “I’m no mermaid,” Grace said, though a part of her secretly delighted in the thought.

  “What are you then, Grace?” Dylan asked, leveling his gaze on her. A shiver raced over her skin as she
felt the shift in energy in the room.

  “Why, don’t you know, Dylan? I’m a pirate queen, of course.” Grace tossed the words away with a cheeky smile, wanting to defuse the tension while also avoiding the real question he was trying to ask her. She wasn’t yet ready to talk about her magick with him.

  “What did you say?” Dylan snapped, and Grace drew back as the color seemed to seep from his face.

  “I said I’m a pirate queen,” Grace said, wondering what had caused the change in his demeanor. Was he finally remembering who she was? Hope blossomed in her chest and she waited, a small smile hovering on her lips. I’m right here, her heart whispered.

  Dylan shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and whatever he’d been about to say was gone.

  “I have to go, Grace. Will you let me buy you a drink?”

  Grace leveled a look at him and then held up the bottle of whiskey. “You already have.”

  “Then dinner? I’d like to make it up to you. Perhaps we can work together.”

  “I doubt that, as our goals are too far apart. But I’ll think about it,” Grace said, her eyes tracing over the nice gifts he’d brought to her.

  “I’ll be at the pub this evening. I’ll wait for you.”

  Dylan didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he left her with a pile of gifts, a mind full of questions, and a heart that dared to hope.

  Chapter 18

  He’d had to get out of the cottage.

  Dylan stopped his truck by the cove. Ignoring the light mist that sent particles of water through the air, he strode to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the waters that caressed the sand far below him.

  Never in his life had his resolve been tested so seriously. When Grace had opened the door wrapped in nothing but a towel, her hair streaming behind her, her skin flushed from the shower, it was like having his knees kicked out from under him. Dylan had wanted nothing more than to lean in and press a kiss to the tender skin at her shoulder blade, to run his hands over the curves that the seriously small towel did little to hide, and to pick her up and carry her back to the bedroom. Everything in his body had screamed at him to do so, and it had only been his steely business resolve that had kept him from what he was certain would have been a huge mistake.