by Mina Carter
One fact stood out. This nightmare had been going on ever since she had accepted the temporary summer job awaiting her in Brionn, a town just outside Dublin.
She questioned the wisdom of taking the job. She had been so determined, so convinced this was the answer. Had she been wrong? She suspected her grandmother had somehow arranged the job offer, but she had reasons all her own for ignoring that and accepting the job anyway. She smiled as she thought of Grams telling her, “Go, you won’t be far from Dublin where you can go to Temple Bar and have a bit of fun. You need to get away, love.”
Her grandmother had nearly pushed her out the door.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why. She knew her grams didn’t want her snooping about New York City during her summer vacation.
She knew her dear sweet Grams was afraid she might find out something that could bring her harm…just as it had her parents.
Chazma’s eyes narrowed with her flitting thoughts. Finger wagging, she had accused Grams,” I know you are behind this Brionn thing, Grams, don’t try and deny it. I know how many ties you still have in Ireland.”
Her grandmother had waved a hand at her. “Nonsense. Now take the job or don’t. ’Tis only because I think you’ll have some much-needed fun while you are there.”
I mean, really! Chaz had pulled a face at her grandmother. Now she turned from the mirror, the scene still vivid in her mind. She could almost see the lie waving hello at her. How had such a job advertisement landed in the Wilmington local paper? And now that she recalled Grams’s hazel eyes had twinkled mysteriously as she put the classified in front of her and said, “Best be finding something to do before you start working at the university in the fall. I don’t want you moping around here all summer as I plan to spend my time with Miriam in Myrtle Beach.”
Chaz had looked down at the ad and it jumped out at her, as though it had been spelled. She remembered now that she had looked up from the ad at her grandmother, who had suddenly gotten busy with pots and pans. Spelled? Her grandmother had given up the art a long time ago.
Grams didn’t know that she was immune to ordinary spells. No. Only her mother had known that. It was a secret Chazma kept for a reason.
Chazma Donnelly had graduated top of her class and then was immediately hired by the university she had attended for the last four years to take on the job she had dreamed about. A computer whiz, her specialty was database design and web development. In addition to the skills she had acquired through love and study, she had worked for three of the last four years, doing nearly everything one could do in the university library. She discovered a toe-curling interest in ancient texts. She relished running her hands over their worn covers and felt the love and effort that had gone into preserving them. She even enjoyed the menial tasks of gathering books and putting them back where they belonged.
Hence, when her grandmother had pushed the local paper at her with a job offering that read: Database Designer and Web Developer position available. Needs include electronic book cataloging and website design. Brionn Manor, Ireland. Send resume to: Pringle and Pringle, Box 1212, Dublin, Ireland. She had whooped with excitement.
Chaz sat back, thoroughly struck by such an opportunity. A job that combined both her librarian experience and her computer skills would be over-the-top fantastic. A job that, from the sound of it, was temporary, leaving her free to return in the fall. A job in Ireland, where she had wished to go.
No doubt the owner of Brionn Manor was a private collector of ancient texts, manuscripts, and classic books. This person must have an extensive library. This sounded almost too good to be true. And then she thought of her mom. What would her mom say to her plans? She could see her mother wagging her finger and reciting, “If it looks too good to be true...”
Precisely. A catch was woven in this somewhere, but what it could be she couldn’t fathom. She had read and reread the job offer, a suspicious sensation lighting in her brain. The job was exactly what she wanted, so she told herself with only a twinge of doubt, go for it!
She had a need to get to Ireland, which she couldn’t shake. It was where everything had started. The reason she lost her parents lay bubbling just beneath the surface in a village called Brionn.
No! She objected viciously in her mind. She didn’t just lose them—they didn’t just die. Someone wrenched them viciously, horribly out of her life. It was a devastating loss—more so because she had lost both parents at once. They had been savagely murdered on the streets of New York. The unimaginable tragedy dug holes in her gut.
Her grandmother believed she wanted to go to New York to investigate their murders. It had been a double homicide that had left the police baffled. There had been no DNA, no bullets, nothing left behind except the remains of her parents—torn and shredded and dropped in the gutter to bleed out.
She vowed she would find the beast that had done that to them. The oath lodged in her soul. And Chaz already had an idea just where their vicious killer had originated from, and she knew it wasn’t New York.
She had no intention of wasting time in New York. That was where her parents were slaughtered, but New York wasn’t where it all started, and that wasn’t where it would all end.
She had answered the ad with a letter and a résumé and a week later she received a call from Lord McBain’s attorney advising her that she was hired. He told her that a ticket would be waiting for her at the airline desk at the Wilmington airport.
The time would come very soon when she would wonder if she had gotten in over her head. Way over her head.
Chapter Two
BRIONN MANOR ROSE before her like a mystical castle from a child’s fairy tale. It wasn’t really a castle in the true sense of the word. The twelfth-century stone structure sported a whimsical roofline, peaked turrets, and a medieval design, which fed the imagination and brought a smile to Chazma’s face.
Ivy covered a great deal of the three-story mansion, but the ivy had been clipped and trimmed around the dark wood moldings that encased lead-paned windows. Chaz was thoroughly enchanted for the moment, and then that moment was suddenly lost in a mist of doubt. She recoiled. Impossible. This couldn’t be. “What the heck?” she whispered on a hushed note of fear.
She immediately blamed it on the dark clouds overhead. The promise of rain gave a gray film to the day. It was because so many Irish manors and castles looked alike.
Nervousness rollicked and rippled through her system, but Chaz steeled her resolve and she pushed the frenzied feelings aside. She was being fanciful. She told herself she was being overly cautious and suspicious. This couldn’t be the place of her nightmare.
Frozen in doubt, she couldn’t stop staring out her window as the limo made its slow trail up the long driveway.
Something, almost a soft touch, made her look out the window. A pretty sandy-colored and narrow gravel drive diverted her attention as she leaned closer to the glass and looked down the length of the off-shoot path through the woods. She could just make out a small picturesque cottage. Quaint and inviting. She sat back a bit and tried to relax. What the heck was wrong with her?
Chaz wondered briefly who lived there, and when she finally returned her gaze back to Brionn Manor everything was as it should be.
It was just as she first thought—simply a charming, albeit huge estate, but charming all the same! This was not the ominous mansion of her nightmare.
It couldn’t be. She was sure of it—wasn’t she?
The limo driver pulled up to the front steps of the manor, which led to an inviting covered patio whose roofline was supported by large oak beams. Potted flowers and greenery decorated the flagstone entrance and made her feel at ease.
The driver, who had introduced himself at the airport as Patrick, had been kind enough to point out various sights along the coastal drive to Brionn Manor.
He gave her a soft smile as he opened the door for her, and another as she hesitated. “There, miss. I’ll be bringing yer bags in and putting them in yer room,
so ye don’t have to fret none about them.”
Chaz thanked him and smoothed the curly wool lining of her denim jacket into place as she stood. She took a step forward and her heel buckled and Chaz feeling like an oaf, tripped. Ugh…these heels! She made a mental note that the heels she was wearing might be stylish and pretty, but not for traveling. Next time, girly girl, sneakers will do just fine!
She stood a moment as she wiggled her feet and then pulled her fitted denim skirt into place. She saw that she had a run in her stocking and bent to put a finger to it, saying on a low, disgusted note, “Damn and double damn!”
A sexy male voice with a deep burr commented, “Aye, travel can be the very devil.”
His voice tickled its way through her and she snapped to attention, her mouth dropped open.
Oh my, oh my, she thought.
On the stone patio, with the dark oak door opened wide at his back, stood a tall, exceptionally well-built blue-eyed, black-haired hunk. No. The word hunk didn’t say enough. He was hot beyond imagination. Huge and hot, hot and huge, and she lost her voice somewhere in her mind, which also stopped working, as she thoroughly perused him.
A cream-colored knit silk sweater displayed wide shoulders. Black pants and silver-toed black boots completed his ensemble. Unable to stop herself from looking him over, she realized how she must appear: arms flung out in surprise, her bag dangling from her bent elbow, mouth open. She closed her mouth and cleared her throat as she tried to speak. Fortunately he saved the moment with a killer smile and an outstretched hand as he skipped down the short, wide flagstone steps. He reached for her and gently touched her arm to lead her forward. “I should introduce myself. I am Jethro McBain.”
As her mouth dropped open again, she swallowed and closed it. This was downright flabbergasting and unexpected. Whoa there! What was he saying? He’s my employer? She was supposed to stay in this guy’s place—alone—with him...together?
However, this question was immediately stalled as something immediately dawned in Dawn’s sensitive mind. While Jethro McBain had a killer smile, that smile didn’t reach his very fine cool blue eyes. In fact, those eyes held a tinge of ice in their expression.
Okay…what is this? Jeez, if I didn’t know better, I might think he doesn’t want me here. She managed a polite, fleeting curve of her lips, while her mind worked furiously.
The letter she had received had told her she would be working for Lord Jethro McBain, but she had imagined someone so much older. This huge, oh-so-fine hunk couldn’t be older than thirty. “Are you—you couldn’t be…you must be his lordship’s son?” Something of a squeak came out of her lips.
He smiled quizzically. “No, lass, sadly I lost m’da a long time ago.” All the while, his lazy glance swept over her. Suddenly he shook his head as though chastising himself. “But what am I doing keeping you here standing in the cold? Come in, you must be tired after your long trip. There are refreshments in the study.”
Impeccable surface manners, but beneath that well-bred smooth exterior was something else all together. Something raw that spelled out dominance. This guy, she told herself, was used to taking control. She sensed disapproval, and again had the feeling that her presence was unwanted. Now why would a man used to having his own way, accept to have someone in his home when it was obvious to her, he didn’t want her in his home at all.
Yeah, his movie-star looks hid a wall of ice blocks reinforced with steel.
The notion made her shiver.
Silently, Jethro led Chazma into the central hall and stepped up to an ornately carved oversized door. He reached for its large brass door handle and opened it wide to display a warmly decorated and inviting room. He tilted his head. “Go right up to the fire, lass. That’ll warm your bones some.”
She dropped her handbag, stretched out her hands to the flames, and made a soft pleasurable sound. Lord McBain cleared his throat. Chaz spun around to find the lord of the manor at the coffee table in front of a maroon damask sofa.
“Coffee?” The question was coldly polite.
Chaz was starving and the scent of coffee filled her nostrils. “Oh…yes, please.” She turned toward him and moved to take the mug he held out to her, shaking her head to his offer of cream and sugar. “Black is just fine.”
Sighing over the steam wafting toward her nostrils, she took a sip, pleased to find the brew tasty and hot.
“Sit…we’ll discuss yer duties, and yer hours, which can be as flexible as ye like, and what ye might need to know to go on comfortably here at Brionn.” A large dark leather-bound winged chair was at his elbow. He sat and leaned into it, stretching his long, muscular legs out before him as he folded his large hands into one another on his hard wide chest and watched her through lowered, thickly lashed eyelids.
Chazma had to concentrate on what he was saying as she found her wandering eyes traveling over him with one thought—magnificent.
“What? Oh, yes—duties,” she said. Stop it, she scolded, but immediately forgave herself. After all, this man was beyond any she could have created in her wildest imagination. She was entitled to a ‘look’ or two, or three.
Hastily she looked away. Business. She had to get back to business.
There would be no stepping over the line she had carefully drawn for herself when she had decided to take this job. Quickly she recited the rules in her mind. He was her boss. Major rule was don’t mess with the boss. Two—she was here with a serious single purpose, and simply did not have time for ogling hunks. Besides that, he seemed (in spite of his manners), a haughty, cold-blooded customer that obviously had no interest in her, which didn’t matter because her reasons for being in Ireland had nothing whatsoever to do with romance.
Ruefully, she thought that it wouldn’t be too difficult, as she could see he did not find her at all attractive. It was obvious she was just another employee. Exactly. He incorporated the tone and attitude of a man in control, a man who would brook no deviations from his carefully designed life. No doubt he saw her as an intruder in his home.
Chaz allowed him a half-smile and turned her attention to the three-tiered plates of pastries and mini sandwiches. Hunger suddenly took over. Her love of sweets saved her from trying to make any further stilted conversation. With a quiet wail of longing she dove right in. “Oh fantastic, I haven’t had a thing to eat for hours!” She popped a small pastry into her mouth with more relish than parlor room manners, devoured it with a groan of pleasure, and reached for what looked like a two-inch round ham sandwich.
Jethro had watched and appreciated the young woman’s earlier shiver. For an infinitesimal moment, his eyes narrowed before a smile of satisfaction skimmed his face. She was sizing up the situation. Smart lass. He wanted her to know that he wanted nothing to do with her. He saw that she had understood.
He had one very good reason—but there were also many others.
He would have to be careful to keep this blond, green-eyed beauty at arm’s length and out of his way. Earlier when she bent to warm her hands by the fire—By the Saints! Jethro found he had to turn away from the tantalizing sight of her small, round, perfectly shaped butt.
He had not wanted her at Brionn. He had, in fact, argued furiously about what he believed was a fiasco, but in the end he had allowed it. There was very little he could deny his grandmother. She held hard and fast to what she said was her intuition. In the end, he had given in to her wishes.
The lord of the manor was a strong-willed self disciplined man of means. He knew how to stand firm. He knew how to resist the irresistible and yet, he discovered himself momentarily mesmerized and mildly amused by the wee American.
She is a damnable beauty. Her every movement enticed him to take another look, a longer glance, and a whiff of her delicious scent, but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t take it further.
Aye, then, he thought darkly, he would have to keep her at more than just arm’s length.
Bloody hell, he was getting hard just watching her eat.
&n
bsp; She gazed up at him and he noticed a spot of whipped cream on her dainty nose.
She did not seem aware as she made a satisfied sound and her lashes stroked her cheek. “You have to have one of these…absolutely great.”
Her mannerisms tickled him, but he only gave her a perfunctory smile as he said curtly, “I have already dined, but please, eat, you look like you haven’t done so in months.” Indeed, although the shape of her body was perfection, she was too thin, and her eyes, although a magnificent shade of green, held a haunted aura in their depths. He already knew the details of the recent tragedy in her life. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted her at Brionn, and now…now that he had met her, sensed all that she was, he knew this was absolutely the worst place for her to be.
She was a danger to herself, and to him.
Still—he couldn’t help but watch her.
A blush in her pretty cheeks surprised him. His brows rose as he saw her peruse the three-tiered setting of light fare. She had the look of a girl about to indulge.
His brows went up as she filled her plate and then devoured everything on it in quick succession. He knew the source of her sudden hunger and wondered if she realized what was happening to her. However, at that moment, all both of them knew was that Chaz’s empty plate prompted her to reach for more pastries.
Unable to look away, Jethro knew he should. Watching her did something destructive to his resolve. His eyes crinkled with amusement, and the word minx came to mind. His glance traveled the length of her lovely neck to her full breasts under her pale blue sweater. Large, fine nipples protruded beneath her sweater as though begging to be licked. His tongue moved across his bottom lip.
Chaz glanced at him and nearly stopped chewing. His eyes seemed to devour her and she flushed with the notion. Danger, danger, warning, oh yes, big ole warning.
Devastating—he was devastating to her peace of mind. The man was simply too incredibly handsome, and that could prove an unnecessary distraction. She didn’t need or want distraction. Nothing would come before her mission. Besides, he screamed testosterone. Hadn’t she always liked the quiet, gentle guys with a sense of humor?