What, he wondered, was the clan rule if one of their women decided she was interested in a particular man? Did she have to ask her family for permission to see him? And if they said no, what were the consequences if she went after the guy anyway?
Then again, shouldn’t she have to ask the guy’s family for permission?
Gunnar inwardly grinned, picturing that particular conversation between Katy and Aunt May. Though he’d never in his life considered his aunt an underdog in any situation, it was possible he’d finally met someone who could at least give her a run for her money. But then he sobered at the realization that, even though the outdated concept of obtaining permission to date was no longer the norm in modern societies, it probably should be. Because Lord knows, if even one family member wasn’t on board with a loved-one’s choice of mates, they could make life pretty miserable for the couple.
Hell, nearly all the fights he’d overheard between his parents had eventually turned to his father once again proving his mother’s family right in that Ivan Wolfe would destroy all her dreams. It had taken exactly eight years and nine months for them to get Irene to smarten up and move back to Copenhagen—without the reason for her hasty marriage. Body tightening at the appearance of his unpleasant family baggage, Gunnar forced his mind to abandon the load and, instead, focus on the gorgeous woman before him and the much-desired boon she now owed him.
“Am I going to have three burly Scots paying me a visit the minute they find out you kissed me?” he asked, stifling another grin when Katy’s jaw slackened.
But then he saw the moon reflecting off one of those here-it-comes gleams. “Scare ye, do they, Mr. Wolfe?” she said in an impressively thick brogue.
He snorted, even as he cocked his head at her. “Do they scare you?”
He’d thought to make her laugh, but she looked out at Bottomless and sighed. “They certainly try.” She looked back at him, her expression serious. “If you were to find yourself interested in a girl, would a little male posturing chase you off?”
“Near as I can tell,” he said with a chuckle, “there’s nothing little about your family, at least not your men and horses. Jake Sheppard, however,” he added, not about to waste an opportunity to throw the bastard under the bus, “asked Niall for permission to date you.”
That lovely, shapely jaw slackened again, just before she covered her face with her hands and hung her head with a groan. “That is so embarrassing.”
“Really?” he drawled, making her look up. “You don’t think having your cousins warning off potential boyfriends saves you a lot of trouble?”
“How?”
“By weeding out the weaklings.” He arched a brow. “Unless you’re attracted to men who scare easily.”
“Which brings me back to my question; would you change your mind if a woman you were interested in happened to have a family full of intimidating men?”
“I guess that would depend on whether or not they intimidate her.”
Her jaw slackened again. “Huh?”
“Do the men in your family scare you, Katy?”
That got him an outright laugh. “Not since I was eight and thought I’d never see the light of day again when my best friend and I got caught beating up Jason Biggs for calling Cindy Pace four-eyes. Jane had to say two whole nine-day novenas and missed the town Easter egg hunt.”
“And what was your punishment?” he asked, since Jane had already told him this tale, quite adamantly declaring it had been Katy’s idea to teach the boy a lesson for tormenting their friend.
The gleam returned. “That was the day I learned how hard it is for a papa to punish a daughter he’s proud of. I got a ten-minute lecture on beating up boys, a twenty-minute lecture on getting caught doing it, and an hour lesson on how to lay a proper ambush.” She chuckled. “To this day, Jane still tries to play the guilt card for my getting off easy whenever we have an argument.” But then she sighed. “My little transgression may still come back and haunt me, though, since Jason Biggs now lives in Turtleback Station and is one of the county deputy sheriffs who patrol this area.”
“Our childhood transgressions do like to come back and bite us on the ass. So, I’m still waiting for your answer,” Gunnar continued when he saw her move closer. “If you were interested in a man, would you be expected to ask your watchdogs if it was okay to date him?”
She apparently needed a moment to ponder his question as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “Probably, once I was certain he was worth the trouble my asking them was going to cause.”
Gunnar in turn slipped his arms around her waist and loosely rested his hands on her lovely backside. “And how would you know he was worth it?”
“Oh, it’s amazing what a woman can learn from a kiss,” she said, that gleam dropping to his mouth. “Like if the guy is equally interested in her, if he’s a giver or a taker, and even if he’s . . . modern-minded enough to let her be herself.”
“You can learn all that from a kiss?”
She nodded, her gaze still fixed on his mouth. “As well as one more important thing.” Those eyes lifted to his and that gleam now burned with an intensity that compelled Gunnar to slightly widen his stance. “She can get a good idea of what kind of lover he’ll be,” she added in a whisper, just before she kissed him.
Finally, gently, blissfully, their lips came together. Soft skin met soft skin, pressing lightly at first, until the heat between them erupted into a delectable dance of teasing pressure, a dance led by Katy alone. He gasped, surprised by all of it, how good it felt, how hard it was to stop, and how terrifyingly awed and hungry he’d become.
Stunned, Gunnar realized he didn’t know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but he was pretty sure sweeping Katy off her feet and carrying her into his cabin was premature. Hell, he didn’t even dare take over the kiss for fear he’d mess up and never get her naked beneath him.
But wasn’t he auditioning for the role of lover right now?
She broke contact—something he knew he could not have done—and leaned slightly away. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes glinting in the moonlight as they locked on his. “Have I shocked your ancient warrior sensibilities with my forwardness?”
What the— Shiloh was safely tucked in his bed at home, so why was she still going on with her lie? Except she’d started talking about his former life six days ago, at the campfire. Instead of an airhead, was Katy touched in the head? Surely Maine gave its paramedics mental evaluations before letting them anywhere near people with pointy scissors and sharp need—
Oh. Wait. He got it. Rather than being delusional, Miss MacBain obviously had a thing for sword-wielding mythical warriors from Atlantis. So who was he to rain on her fantasy? Hell, he’d just spent the last five weeks chasing halfway around the world after an angel.
And hey, it could be worse; she could have been into candlestick makers.
Gunnar lowered one hand to the small of her back and his other hand to her head and molded her body to his, then finally fulfilled his five-month-long fantasy by taking possession of her mouth. Her response was immediate and so filled with the promise of passion that he’d swear he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.
Deciding the time had come, Gunnar gathered Katy up in his arms, painful knee be damned, and took her into the cabin. He kissed her as he walked, unable to stand being away from her lips for even a few seconds. She reached up and caressed the back of his neck, her fingertips like white-hot rose petals. His desire surged, and his pace quickened. The sooner he got this woman to his bed, the better.
Laying her down as gracefully as he could manage, Gunnar stepped back and looked at her. As he watched, she loosened her braid and shook out her magnificent hair. His chest tightened, made him feel like he could either look at her or breathe, but not both. How, how, had he ended up with this stunning woman?
As if determined to drive him over the edge, Katy reached down, grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, and pulled it up over her head. Her pink lacy bra, maddeningly demure, accented breasts he was pretty sure didn’t need accenting. With a slow smile, she reached behind her and unhooked the clasp, then slowly pulled the bra up and away.
Gunnar literally felt his body temperature rise, each degree ratcheting his passion into unbearable levels. With a deep groan, he tore off his clothes and lowered himself to the bed. Lining his body perfectly with hers, he gently pressed himself on top of her, the feel of her beneath him more exquisite than he could have imagined.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered and pulled his head up slightly to look directly into her eyes. What he saw stopped his heart.
Beneath him, Katy looked so panicked and desperate his first thought was that his body weight crushed her. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped and rolled to her side. “You probably need to breathe.”
She shook her head, shook it again and again as she scrambled off the bed. “No,” she whispered, one arm shielding her body as she searched the floor for her clothes. “No, no. No, no, no . . .”
“Katy, what is it? I’m sorry.” Concern and confusion played tug-of-war with his body, made him want to reach out and give her space at the same time. He sat up, then sat perfectly still, afraid to do or say anything at all.
“No . . . I’m sorry,” she said, turning away to put on her bra and fight her way into her T-shirt. She turned back to him, shirt inside out and stripes askew, her eyes so full of despair he nearly leapt up and wrapped her in a hug.
But that, he knew—the only thing he knew in this moment—would have been the biggest mistake imaginable. He scooted a little closer to the edge of the bed, so desperate to understand, but she stiffened and ran to the door.
“I’m so sorry, Gunnar,” she said, voice spreading through the room like the clearest, loneliest bell he’d ever heard. And then, before the echo had even faded, she was gone.
He stared at the door, body stiff and hollow and awkward, like the moment right after a car accident, when nothing seems completely real and you wish you could back up the clock and look for signs of trouble or turn right instead of left.
Or maybe just not get in the car at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Katy ran, up mountains and down. She lifted weights, more reps than she’d ever attempted before. Then she ran some more. No matter what she did, the picture of Gunnar’s shocked, disappointed, beautifully passionate face would not leave her mind. She couldn’t stop seeing his eyes, the way they’d glowed with a cascade of emotions—desire, then surprise, then despair—superimposed over every single thing she’d tried to look at since.
What the hell was the matter with her? Not only was he very likely The One, but even if she was wrong about that particular life-altering detail, he was, hands down, the hottest, most desirable, most intriguing man she’d ever met. He looked good, he smelled good, he tasted good, and he wanted her, maybe even more than she wanted him. Most women would run like crazy into the arms of a man like Gunnar Wolfe. But not her. Not now.
She pulled up short, pausing her third run of the day, and pushed the sweat up and away from her forehead. Reaching into the pocket of her Gore-Tex hoodie for a tissue, her hand found something else instead. She sighed as her fingers closed around the cool, compact canister. Mace. Her new, won’t-leave-home-without-it running buddy. And, she realized, the clearest possible sign she’d changed, and not for the better.
She clutched the canister tighter, the word change spinning round and round in her brain like an actual mace, wounding and maiming from within. Dark waves of emotion washed over her—weeks of panic and helplessness ignored and left to fester—leaving a thick, inky residue in its wake. Though she’d denied him access so many times before, Brandon Fontanne’s face pushed through her mind like a battering ram, hateful and ugly and entitled. Katy nearly vomited, hearing his voice like he once again lay over her, like he’d come again to take her body for himself. Her arms and legs burned anew, a skin and muscle memory of torture and bondage, and all she wanted to do was run.
Before she even decided where she was going, her feet took off. Her legs pumped hard, steering her out of the woods and into town. She registered nothing but the few feet in front of her toes, enjoying the rush of each well-earned breath and falling into the rhythm of her own steps. And then, just as quickly, the rhythm stopped.
She looked up, then bit her lip, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. Across the street, the women’s crisis center building beckoned, its tall, rounded windows gazing at her like the eyes of an understanding friend. Apparently it was time to talk to someone and, apparently, that someone was Birch Callahan.
Katy started across the street, then pulled her feet back to the curb. This was a mistake. Birch was a friend, yes, but she was also family. Niall’s wife, for all intents and purposes. And everyone knew that husbands and wives talked, even when they weren’t supposed to. That was the last thing she needed, to be the subject of cozy pillow talk between her confidante and her overprotective Highlander of a cousin. She’d be hog-tied and carted home to her parents’ house before she could say boo, and it would be completely her own fault.
No, that wouldn’t do.
She shoved her hands in her pockets, ready to unleash a fresh round of determination, when her fingers came up against that Mace yet again. The tears came hard this time, like she’d used the can on herself by accident. She never used to carry props. No need, what with her father’s painstaking self-defense training. She used to be enough, all on her own. She used to call her own shots, seize the moment—romantic or otherwise—and she never worried about who might be out there, waiting to harm her.
“You need some help, sweetie?”
Katy stiffened, skin bristling at the thought of being noticed, of being seen in such a state. She swatted at her damp cheeks, knowing she was only making the redness worse, then turned to face the owner of the voice.
A pair of fierce hazel eyes stared back at her, their olive tones intensified by a knit hat of the same color. Though her hair shone like sterling silver, had she tucked it all under the hat, Katy would have easily believed her much younger. They stared at each other for several long seconds, Katy’s lips growing dry and unwieldy as the hazel eyes pressed harder for an answer.
Finally, the woman stepped closer. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to you?”
Katy’s chest started to ache, like someone had actually reached inside and yanked her heart right out. This was not good. Not at all. Literally anyone could glance out a window right now and see the town’s newest paramedic losing it on the sidewalk.
“I’m good,” she managed and then found what she knew to be the least believable smile of her entire life. “Just pushed myself a little too far on my run. My feet got away from me.”
The woman nodded, brows high, exactly the way every mother on the planet nodded at a child’s tall tales. “Did you now?” she said and then leaned her head forward like she had a secret. “If running makes you cry, maybe it’s not the thing for you.”
A chuckle bubbled up, its lightness such a welcome surprise. “I actually love running,” Katy said. “Sometimes my thoughts get away from me, though.”
The woman nodded and gave a chuckle of her own. “That happens to me even when I’m not running.”
Katy felt her smile bloom, and her breathing came a little easier. Maybe the storm had passed for now. “Thanks for checking on me,” she told the woman. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“Can’t keep someone with no plans whatsoever.”
“You must have been on your way to something.”
“Not really. I just got to town, was doing a little exploring.” The woman peered at her closely. “Could you point me to the nearest coffee shop? If I don’t get a dose of caffeine every few hours, I’m a bit
of a bear.”
Katy grinned, not sure why she suddenly felt so relaxed but grateful just the same. “The Drunken Moose is just up the block. Definitely the best coffee in town. Amazing cinnamon buns, too.”
The woman’s rosy cheeks seemed to brighten. “Now I know why we ran into each other. I might have torn up the town if I went without my mid-morning latte. Care to join me?”
Katy’s hackles rose a little, pushing her peace just out of reach. It was probably best for everyone if she spent the day alone. “Thanks, but I’ve already had all the coffee I need for now.”
The woman nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Leave it to me to assume everyone else’s day is as wide open as mine.”
“Oh, my day’s open,” Katy blurted, then immediately bit down on her lip before she did any more damage. Smooth move, dummy. “I mean, I don’t have to work or anything. I should probably get a shower, run some errands, that kind of thing.”
The woman stared at her, long and hard. Her eyes reminded Katy of barcode scanners, able to pull up every one of her pertinent details in the quickest flash. The thought made her shudder, and she zipped her hoodie all the way to her chin.
“What’s your name, dear?” the woman said as she linked her arm through Katy’s and started walking.
“Um . . . Katy.”
“You can call me Mayme,” she said and set their pace as they moved up the sidewalk. “I don’t need coffee this very minute. Let’s walk a bit.”
Katy blinked, over and over, as she walked. What just happened? How was she suddenly strolling arm in arm with a total stranger?
Call It Magic Page 18