by S. Young
However, when the fate of the world and her own future hung in the balance, vacation was torture. And her patience was about to be stretched to its limits.
The man had been watching Rose from across the pool for twenty minutes. In fact, she’d been an object of his fascination since last night at dinner, even though he was sitting across the restaurant with another woman in his company.
Clearly under some misapprehension that Rose would be interested in him, the man had attempted to catch her attention ever since. Rose felt his study the moment he’d come down to the pool.
Alone.
The lounger beside her creaked and Rose’s skin prickled.
“You are English, yes?”
Oh crap.
With a barely concealed sigh, Rose lowered her e-reader and turned her head to the right.
Sure enough, there he was.
Through the brown lenses of her sunglasses, Rose took in the man. He was of middling height, stocky, with enough definition in his arms and muscles that he felt the need to oil them up. He glistened a little crisply in the morning sun, like a well-basted turkey. Sitting with his legs spread, junk haphazardly tucked into a red banana hammock, the man leaned his elbows on his knees and grinned at Rose, deep dimples popping in his cheeks. Although he wore dark shades, Rose could feel his scrutiny of her entire body. Her skin crawled.
“My name is Prince. Yours?”
Rose guessed from his accent he was from the Mediterranean, and she’d bet Prince was about to live up to the caricature of a Mediterranean sleazebag.
Getting straight to the point, she replied, “Where’s your wife?”
He grinned, his teeth flashing bright white against his skin. “Girlfriend,” he corrected. “She is having time at the spa, yes.”
Rose promptly returned her attention to her e-reader.
She felt a tickle on her thigh and glanced down to see he was scoring his fingertip along her skin.
It was difficult to not let the trauma bubbling beneath the surface spew out all over this creep. Teeth gritted together, Rose ordered, “Remove your hand or lose it.”
Prince chuckled but stopped touching her. “Oh, come. I just have fun, yes? I wonder to myself, what a sexy woman like you doing here alone. A tragedy, yes?”
“A tragedy?” Rose skewered him with a death look. “A tragedy is a woman spending her life with a man who hits on other women behind her back.”
“Oh!” He nodded, grinning like he’d just figured something out. “You think I cheat, yes? No.” He scooted closer to her. “Mia and I don’t, how you say, do sex with just me and her.”
“How nice for you.” Rose brought the e-reader closer to her face hoping he’d take a hint.
“We could go back to your room, yes?”
Really?
She huffed and pushed her sunglasses up into her hair so he could see the growing annoyance in her expression. “How do I say this so you’ll understand? I am not interested in anything you’re selling.”
He frowned. “No interested?”
“Nope. Go bother someone else.”
“Oh, no, no.” He reached out and pulled her hand from her device and placed it between his two palms. His voice lowered throatily. “I give you much pleasure, yes.”
Feeling the tingle of her magic sparking beneath the surface, Rose fought for self-control. Taking a deep breath, she leaned toward him, watching his eyes flash with delight, and allowed a little of the supernatural purr to be heard in her words. “Unless you want me to neuter you permanently, let go of my hand.”
His grip loosened, her tone making his smile fall. “Neuter?”
“Emasculate. Castrate. Eviscerate.”
Prince dropped her hand like a hot stone, clearly understanding now.
Goose bumps prickled over Rose’s skin, a shiver skating down her spine, and she knew without even having to turn and look that Fionn Mór was in the vicinity.
Her pulse took off.
Finally.
She heard his footsteps first, most likely the sound of expensive designer shoes slapping against the wet tile surrounding the pool.
Then he was there, a mammoth figure blocking out the sun, his features lost in shadows.
Something that had been hurting, like an infected wound, eased inside her. At the same time, all the anger she’d been holding on to burned in her throat.
Rose lowered her glasses back over her eyes and Fionn stepped between the two loungers, letting the sun shine on her again and consequently illuminating himself. Despite her turmoil, Rose inspected every inch of him, taking in the short-sleeved white shirt open at the collar, straining against his thick biceps. It was tucked into a pair of navy suit trousers. Expensive loafers, a stainless steel watch, and cool-as-fuck dark aviator shades completed his look.
Fionn’s attention wasn’t on her.
It was on the creep beside her.
“Fuck off,” Fionn demanded.
Prince skittered out of the lounger and hurried toward the hotel as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.
Rose turned from watching him. “Do you think if I had been that succinct, I’d have gotten rid of him as easily?”
Even though Fionn’s eyes were hidden behind his shades, Rose could feel his gaze running over her body. Unlike how Prince made her feel, she shivered, a deep, wanting tug making itself known low in her belly.
“In that bikini?” Fionn grunted as he lowered himself to the end of her lounger. “Doubtful.”
The flicker of pleasure she felt over this backhanded compliment enraged her. It took a lot not to launch herself at him and start a fight that would reveal their true natures to the surrounding humans.
His hand grazed the side of her foot as he aimed his body toward her. Rose shivered again, automatically pulling her feet away from him, folding her legs toward her chest.
“Interesting choice of hideout,” Fionn commented, his tone bland.
“How did you find me?” She already suspected how but she wanted to know for certain.
“Your parents. I flew to Maryland.”
The thought of her parents made her tense. “Are … are they okay?”
“They’re safe. And they’ll remain safe under my protection.”
Relief moved through her. They were safe. Thank God. “How did you …”
“I broke in while they were out.” He lifted a hand. A gold chain holding a gold R pendant and a little golden figure of a gymnast mid back handspring dangled from his fingers. Her parents bought it for her eighth birthday.
“What else did you steal?”
Fionn’s lips twitched. “You know me that well, Rose?”
“I know that you wouldn’t travel all the way to America to steal just a necklace. You’d need other items for insurance.”
“I stole a few things. Don’t want to lose you again.”
Her heart literally skipped a beat at his words, and she hated that she wanted to read more into them than he meant.
“So, what now?”
“Tell me where An Breitheamh is.”
Ah, straight to the point.
Feeling hurt, even though she’d known all along that’s why he was there, Rose felt like inciting a little frustration in him. Setting aside her e-reader, she slid across the lounger, opening her legs so the point of the knee he had turned toward her contacted the inner thigh of her right leg. She felt him stiffen ever so slightly, and that was before she placed her hand on his knee, smoothed it down his inner thigh, feeling the hard, hot muscle beneath his suit pants.
“I’ve missed you.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t entirely a lie.
Just as Rose’s fingertips neared the now-tented hardness between his legs, Fionn grabbed her wrist, stalling her movement. His grip was tight, bruising, as he hauled her against him, her chest pressed to his.
Warm lips tickled hers as Fionn growled against them. “Stop playing games, mo chroí.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rose snapped.
He might as well have flicked his tongue between her legs.
Rose sucked in a breath as Fionn retreated ever so slightly. “Where is An Breitheamh?”
In answer, she curled her free hand around his strong shoulder, nails digging in, and slammed her mouth over his, forcing her tongue past his lips. She kissed him with every ounce of passion, love, hatred, need, and resentment that filled her, until she felt his fingers tight in her hair as he held her by her nape.
His anger and desire battled hers in a hungry, dark, deep kiss that melted her to the core. Rose shifted so his knee pressed between her legs where she wanted him, needed him. Fionn made a guttural noise that vibrated through her.
His lips vanished, as did the delicious pressure of his knee.
Rose fell back on her hands, panting with exertion.
Holy shit.
She’d meant to punish him with her actions.
Seeing him stride away from her, tension radiating from every inch of his body, Rose was sure she’d succeeded.
But she’d also inflicted damage on herself.
Aware of the attention of the few people around the pool, Rose collected her things, slipped on her flip-flops and followed casually in Fionn’s wake. He waited inside the doorway to the hotel, his back against the wall, his shades pushed up into his hair.
Those green eyes of his pierced her as she stepped inside, intensifying the fluttering in her belly.
“You done fucking around?” he snarled.
Her gaze dropped to his arousal and back up to his face. “Mission accomplished, I guess.”
“Don’t feel so smug, sweetheart. I can smell your musk. One slip of my hand beneath that tiny scrap of fabric you call a bikini and I’d feel your wet against my fingertips.”
She inhaled a sharp breath as the visual escalated her arousal.
He looked at her breasts. “And despite the warm temperature, your nipples are hard, mo chroí.”
Rose immediately crossed her arms over her chest. “I blame the mating bond. It’s irrational and has a negative effect on my body. But my heart and mind are very much in control … I still hate you.”
“Negative effect? It may be bloody inconvenient but I’d hardly say the feeling was negative.” Fionn took hold of her arm, his fingers tight around her biceps. “Show me to your room so we can discuss An Breitheamh. Among other things.”
Deciding it was best they did this in private, Rose silently led him through the large hotel to her third-floor room. She had a balcony overlooking the pool and the ocean beyond.
“And how might I ask did you afford all this?” Fionn asked as he entered.
Rose forced herself not to stiffen at the underlying judgment in his question, her flip-flops flapping against the tile floor as she spun to face him. She shrugged. “I robbed an ATM.”
He sighed heavily, staring around at the room, before returning his attention to hers. As if he couldn’t help it, his gaze climbed her body. Rose felt the telltale tightening in her breasts as desire darkened his features. By the time they reached hers, it took everything not to throw something sharp at him in retaliation for causing her body to be so out of sync with her heart.
“Ah, Rose … I don’t want this life for you.” Fionn gestured to the room.
“What life?”
“Niamh’s life. Running and stealing.”
Rose ignored the stifling prickle of guilt in her throat. “Then what would you have me do?”
“Come back to Galway with me.”
Startled by the pronouncement, Rose’s lips parted in surprise.
Did he mean …?
She took a tentative step toward him. “And do what?”
“Live there. No one can get to you there.”
Could it be she’d been wrong? Was he here for her? Only her?
“You’ll be safe for however long you want to be there. And it will always be your safe place, Rose. I will make sure you’re taken care of when I’m gone.”
Just like that, the hope that had been rising inside her crashed and shattered into a million jagged pieces, piercing her, gutting her. Every object in the room began to vibrate, floating several inches of the ground.
Fionn cursed under his breath and took slow steps toward her. “Calm, mo chroí.”
Everything dropped, a fragile vase smashing on the sideboard. Rose glared at Fionn. “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
He glowered back. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t mean anything to you. I am not your heart. I am the mate you are planning to leave behind.”
To her astonishment, pain and remorse slackened his expression. “Rose …”
“I won’t let you. Not because I want to keep you. I have more self-respect than to hold on to someone who doesn’t want me. And honestly, I still see you as my betrayer. Considering you can’t give up your revenge, you’ll understand the depths of my anger toward you.”
His expression darkened.
“I won’t let you do this because it means killing the last fae-borne.” She’d already decided not to tell Fionn what Niamh had told her—that his entrance to Faerie would lead to something that would end the world as they knew it. She wouldn’t tell him until it was necessary.
If Fionn was to change his mind …
Rose held back tears as she realized why she was keeping it from him.
There was still a part of her that wanted him to choose her.
To end his plan of revenge not because it jeopardized the world, but because he couldn’t leave Rose behind.
Furious at him for this too, Rose’s expression set with determination. “So, if you came here to bully me into giving you An Breitheamh, it was a wasted trip.”
Fionn vanished, making her gape in surprise.
Then she felt his heat at her back seconds before she felt his strong, calloused palm sliding around her throat, while his other caressed her ass before moving around to rest on her belly.
It was an embrace of primal claiming if ever there was one.
Rose held tense, hating that right then, she was imagining his hand dipping lower, sliding beneath her bikini bottoms.
Instead Fionn’s palm flexed against her belly while his fingers stroked lightly across her neck. His breath tickled her ear as he bent his head toward it, his tone deep and seductive. “A mating is a gift, mo chroí. I never saw it as such until now … and although ours cannot last, there is still time for us to revel in it, however short-lived it might be.”
Closing her eyes against the temptation, Rose choked back the hurt and the tears and forced out, “I’m an all-or-nothing kind of woman.”
Fionn’s embrace tightened, his arm encircling her waist to pull her back against his hard body. “I’m not leaving here without you or that fucking dagger, Rose.”
Her hackles rose at his warning.
“I’ve hidden it. Where no one will find it.” She tried to yank herself out of his hold but as strong as she was, Fionn Mór had around a hundred and fifty pounds and over three centuries of experience on her. She hissed like a cat as she struggled to break away, spinning to face him, to claw his face off.
Eventually Fionn grappled hold of her wrists and yanked her into him.
He bent his head to hers as she squirmed to be free. “All this is doing is pissing me off and making me very, very fucking hard, so—”
“Asshole!” she yelled in his face. “Disgusting, primitive, Iron Age asshole!”
Fionn bared his teeth. “An Breitheamh, Rose.”
“NEVER!” Every light bulb in the room shattered, halting her struggle.
Her captor’s grip loosened ever so slightly and his expression softened. Fionn bent his head toward her, and she stiffened as he rested his forehead on hers. “Ah, mo chroí, I was afraid you’d say that.” Then he cupped her face in his hands and pressed the softest, sweetest, most loving kiss against her mouth.
&
nbsp; This time magic accompanied the tingle of attraction.
She tensed to fight, but it was too late.
Darkness descended.
27
A little tap of his magic against Rose’s carotid would not do the trick this time. Instead, he cast a sleeping spell over her with the touch of his lips.
Fionn caught her as she slumped into unconsciousness and swung her into his arms with ease. Laying her down on the bed while he gathered himself, Fionn frowned at her almost-naked body.
When he’d seen her sitting on the lounger being hit on by that oily prick, wearing nothing but two scraps of cloth, it had taken everything within him not to act like a macho arsehole and throw a towel over her.
Rose was a modern woman. She wouldn’t take kindly to being told what to wear. Honestly, it had never occurred to him to tell a woman what to wear.
Then again, he couldn’t remember ever feeling such intense possessiveness over a woman as he felt toward Rose.
Her hair was wet from the pool, spilling across the white bedcovers, turning them damp. The little blue stud sparkled in her nose as sunlight cast a glow over her lightly tanned skin. The freckles people often described as fairy kisses scattered affectionately over the bridge of her nose were more prominent from exposure to the sun.
And he could still taste her on his tongue, still feel that perfect upside-down mouth pressed against his.
Rose’s face was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
Right then, however, he wished it was all he could see.
Her small, rounded breasts might as well be bared for all the white bikini did to cover them, her hard nipples poking through the material. The sight of the small white scar on her chest, a reminder of the iron blade she’d took to save him, only intensified his desire. And so much more. The scar made him feel too much.
Forcing his study lower to her narrow waist, to the gentle curve of her hips and slender legs did nothing to ease his want of her. Although she was fairly short, her legs looked surprisingly long, thighs elongated and slim, calves perfectly toned, ankles delicate, feet small and feminine.