by Mina Carter
“It isn’t used by anyone other than me.” He flicked her nose. “Things are not always what they seem.”
“I heard you. You chanted my name,” she accused as she tried to sit up straight.
“Did ye? Perhaps I was on the phone—mentioning how pleased I was with yer work. Chazma, don’t be so fast to draw incorrect conclusions.”
“Puh-lease!” Chaz held a finger up and tried to put him on the defensive as she wrested control of the conversation. “I would rather you say you can’t answer me than hear you lie to me.”
He took her heart-shaped face into his hands and bent his mouth to hers. His lips parted hers. His tongue gently met her tongue and then he crushed her in a kiss that took them into one another.
****
She could see and feel the moment in which despite his best efforts, he lost control.
Heat rushed through Chaz, molten and sweet.
She groaned as he made some attempt to release her. Turning to face him, she climbed audaciously onto his lap, straddling him with her skirt hiked up to her hips. What was she doing? This was not like her. She had never done anything like this before…ever. Drink or no drink.
Nothing separated them except her lacy little red thong and his jeans. His hard bulge pressed between her legs. A series of shivers sped through her body. Darkness spread over her brain, growing stronger, and a wayward spark burst into a red-hot flame.
She kissed him hungrily and then broke from the kiss, reveling in the way it made her feel. She couldn’t believe the low and husky growl that made its way up her throat. Surreal, she wanted to go on kissing him, but she had to persevere. The need to know more drove her. “What I am trying to tell you is that I know that you, Jethro McBain, are not what you appear to be. You have something mysteriously dark deep inside of you, and although you control it”—a shiver racked her—“it is sooo there.” She stretched like a cat in his arms as he positioned her for another kiss. She pressed up against his muscled body and sniffed him. “You have the scent of magic. Do you know that? Tell me. What are you, Jethro McBain?”
She knew she startled him. Her questions could be taken as explicit. They did not have to mean what he thought they meant. She didn’t want to give herself away, and she knew that he didn’t realize what she was doing until it was too late.
She lifted his gray T-shirt to his neck while she softly whispered in his ear. “I’ll bet your chest is covered in ancient rune tattoos.”
He didn’t try to stop her and she knew he didn’t want to stop her at that moment. She sensed he felt the same fierce need she felt. She bent to his chest and her tongue made a pattern over his tattoos. Her pointer finger traced the pattern of Celtic knots of red, green, and black. She wanted him on fire and as she lifted her face to his, she knew he was. His expression willed her to continue, so she did.
Chaz found a band of runes on his left bicep, and released a low breath. Her hand swept his torso and then his massive muscled arm. “Just as I thought.” Chaz lost herself to that feral thing she harbored deep inside her. The leashed darkness loomed large, and full of power. It screamed his name in her head. It screamed for release. He was what it wanted, he was what it needed, and by damn, he was what it was going to have.
Her mouth closed on his and his hands went to her butt, and his touch on her ass drove her wild. He brought her to him as he pumped against her, his cock bulging to get out of his jeans.
She felt his desire match and surpass her own as she actually heard him lose control with a low primal and guttural sound. She knew he could no longer stop himself. She felt a tickle of satisfaction as he whispered along her neck, “To hell with ethics, m’beauty, I need ye now.”
She sensed he broke his own code and gave in to something he had been set against, and again even through the alcoholic haze, it pleased her.
“I love the scent of you, the silk of your skin,” he whispered hoarsely as she moved in an age-old rhythm designed to seduce them both.
He snuggled her in his arms and pressed her in his embrace as his mouth closed on hers, and his lips parted her lips. His tongue took hers with the desperation of raw, carnal need.
She melted into his strong arms. She didn’t want to think, she only wanted the moment, the primal sensation, the erotic desire. Her tongue tentatively met his, and joined in the wild action of taste and dance. His kiss blended into another as his hand lowered the strap of her dress and tugged on the frothy material until one breast was bared. His fingers took her nipple and teased.
Chaz settled on the hardness hidden by his jeans, and the contact worked her body as she instinctively began to slowly grind herself against its ridge. He made a low animal sound as he broke from their kiss and moved his mouth to her nipple. His tongue licked the stiffened nub and then circled it, lapped over it with velvety smoothness as one large hand kneaded her butt in a way that made her want to scream. This was what she had been missing, wanting.
“Damnation, brimstone, and fire.” His voice, low and hungry, made her squirm. He pulled at her panties, and his finger found her hot, wet readiness. “Hell, Chaz, ye are so damn tight.”
Chaz was enraptured. The deep-seated power within her wanted him. The denied savageness within blasted cautious Chaz to the winds. All other considerations dispersed. The logical Chaz, the reliable one, was banished into a corner. The feral girl she had always controlled was winning this round.
No. Her mind clamped down on her beast. Chaz Donnelly was in charge of her own destiny. She made the decisions, not some mindless bimbo inside of her.
Hell, she had to find a way to stop herself. She had to stop…she had to stop. And somehow she did, shocked at herself. How had she allowed this to happen?
How would she ever look at him again? This was her employer. Worse than that, she hadn’t cared—still didn’t quite care—and longed to be right where she was, in his arms with the world blacked out.
Run! The silent scream swept through her mind, her heart, and then her body.
With a gasp, she pulled herself up, jumped off him, stumbled, and ran from the room. The staircase loomed and she lost her balance, picked herself up, and scrambled up to lock herself in her room.
What had she done? What was wrong with her?
She hadn’t wanted this. Had she? She couldn’t—wouldn’t—get involved with him. Jethro McBain wasn’t the one she had been waiting for. No, he couldn’t be the one that would complete her.
All her abnormal life she had been waiting for a knight (perhaps not in shining armor). A man who would want her as she was, a man she could divulge all her secrets to and still see love and acceptance in his eyes. Jethro McBain harbored too many secrets. How could he want to know and accept hers?
But what if he was the one? No. It just wasn’t possible. As much as her body and heart wanted him, her mind said he kept a major deadly secret from her.
What proof? her heart argued
Ancient rune tattoos only used in conjunction with the dark side of magic was the proof. His chest displayed them, plain as day.
She flung herself onto her bed and burst into tears.
Chapter Eleven
DARK X WAS working furiously to accomplish his goal. Everything he had done, all the killings, all the torture he had allowed his demon Asgard to inflict—all of it, he had allowed and the promises Asgard had made had thus far, turned out to be empty. He was no closer to achieving his goal than he had been when he first started.
He didn’t give a rat’s ass how many he had to maim and kill for the demon if it would accomplish what he so desperately had to have. He had but one need left on this earth, he told himself, he had but one last achievement that had to be his. There had always been only one goal.
And now new complications arose.
Olivia for one—ah, the lovely Olivia. She had become something of a nuisance. She was forever eyeing his collection of antiques and he thought he had been generous, but her hunger for more had become annoying.
; She was delicious in bed and knew how to please and ingratiate herself, but she was always asking too many questions.
However, she knew nothing. She was what she had always been—a pleasurable piece of ass. Nothing more. He had never felt anything more for any of them.
In the meantime, he certainly had been absolutely brilliant when he had formed his latest plan. He deserved, he told himself, the pat on the back he gave himself for thinking to enlist the help of someone everyone in town trusted. It gave him a birds’ eye view of what was taking place in the heart of the investigation.
Asgard had become a part of everything he did, but he didn’t really mind. He was, however, frustrated. He had allowed the beast entry on the promise of a great reward, and now it appeared that his demon would not be able to deliver.
Asgard kept demanding more of him, and in return he had received nothing but a slight grade increase of power. It was very possible that the demon had tricked him and really couldn’t give him what he wanted. It was possible that only one person could give him that which he so needed—Chazma Donnelly.
He would have to investigate her further.
****
Chaz ducked out early the next morning for her usual hour hike around the extensive grounds of Brionn. By the time she had hit the deep woods, she had managed to quiet herself as she reviewed the latter part of her evening. Excuses and rationale never substitute well for the truth—and they didn’t.
She relegated McBain to another part of her brain and tried instead to concentrate on what she knew about Dark X. What was Dark X’s death count now? Eight, ten, fifteen? She couldn’t be certain.
Without warning, her mind shifted and she remembered McBain—his touch, his kiss, his…? What had she gone and done? She got tipsy—so tipsy that she had not just allowed, but invited McBain to seduce her. Seduce her? No, maybe that wasn’t quite fair. Maybe she had done the seducing.
Who was that woman climbing onto his lap? Bad question, she answered herself with a grunt. She knew who she was, and she knew what she did. Why, not who, was the question she should be asking herself.
Over and over again she saw herself in Jethro’s arms. She couldn’t make the image or the memory of how it felt go away. The memory of his touch made her weak-kneed and wanting more.
She had crawled up onto his lap like a cat in heat. She had almost purred for him to take over, which he did, and boom! It was like an explosion. Every button in her body flipped to the on position.
She couldn’t explain it, but every time they got too close to each other fireworks exploded in her body, in her brain, and way down deep where she was quickly losing control.
She couldn’t deny that Jethro did something to her very soul. He made it reach for its potential, and sooner or later she was going to have to admit to herself just what she really was—what she knew she had always been: mortal, yes, magical, yes, but not quite human.
She knew that, had always accepted it, but now she was going to have to face the fact she was a great deal more Fae than she cared to admit. Fae, not human, had been her dominant DNA makeup. Fae DNA was always dominant, like dark eyes dominant. But it wasn’t Fae that burned wickedly inside of her. That was something else—something she would have to face one day.
Back at the house, she peeked in the kitchen in hopes that McBain was not there. Seeing only Beth fiddling at the cutting board, she went in, took off her denim jacket, and pounced on a stool at the middle island where the coffee and hot cross buns beckoned.
“Good morning, you wonderful woman. These smell sooo good.”
“Aye, ’imself said the same thing.” Beth’s lips curved as she studied Chazma’s reaction to her words.
“Is he up and about then?”
“He is up and about and off,” Beth answered, still studying Chaz as she spoke. Beth clearly knew more than she was willing to talk about as the woman clucked her tongue and added, “Said in case anyone needed to know, that he would be back shortly. Himself doesn’t want any of us to worry about…” She paused and gathered Chaz in a motherly hug. “Whist now—there, there, child. If ye have a need to cry, ye jest go ahead and cry.” She hugged her tightly and went right on speaking, scarcely taking a breath. “Himself told us the truth of it. Och, but Jenny’s mother is a dear friend. Poor dear girl. All this is so hard to believe. Its terrible…terrible, and ye here in our fair Ireland only just a short while.” She clucked her tongue again.
Chaz hugged her back. “It was awful and I did cry quite a bit, but now—now I just want to help the police, your garda…if I can. So, his lordship told everyone at Brionn Manor?”
“Och, no, rumors flying all over the village already. Himself set it straight.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t doubt that Tom Murphy will be here in the next day or two, aye, you can make bet on that.” She pushed another bun at Chaz. “Eat. I can whip up some nice oatmeal too.”
“No need. This is perfect and I think I will have another. Then I am off to the library to work.”
“Aye, work will be good for ye,” Beth said, moving away to take some onions out of the bin. She sighed. “Jenny was a sweet young thing. I thought when she and young Ron got engaged she would stop—”
“Stop? Stop what?”
“For a time she was impressed with…the wrong sort, if ye know what I mean.”
“Like criminal sorts?”
“Och no, but she liked to party—and Mulrone, so as I hear tell, holds the kind of parties that attracts the young.” Beth gave her a telling eye.
“Mulrone?” The name made Chazma’s head itch. Something about the sound of his name irritated the magic place in her mind. Had she ever heard her mother speak of a Mulrone? She couldn’t quite recall.
“Aye…and it is not my place to be telling ye this, but I wouldn’t like to see you fall in with that crowd, so please love, don’t be taking up any invitation he might send ye when he notices ye, and notice ye, he will.”
“Nope, not here for that. Didn’t fall in with that sort when I was in college and don’t plan to now.” Chaz hopped up and stretched to put a kiss on Beth’s cheek.
“Go on wit ye.” Beth beamed.
Chaz laughed and made her way to the library. As she downed the last crumb she glanced down the corridor at the door to the “unused” wing and stopped. Some inexplicable force drew her in its direction and before she realized what she was doing, she stopped at its door and jiggled the door handle.
Locked. Of course. If she wanted to, she could open it with a flick of her wrist.
She heard the clop-clop of heavy footsteps and backtracked to rush to the library and get herself situated. No one appeared and she spent the next few hours deep in work, and when a stray thought tickled her brain she hurriedly buried it.
****
Chaz skipped lunch in spite of her hunger pains. At nearly three, she quit for the day. She couldn’t concentrate any longer. Where was he? Could Jethro be avoiding her? Wait, why should he avoid her? She was the one who was entitled to do the avoiding.
She was also surprised that neither Tom Murphy nor James Dunboyne had called her yet. The first to find out if she had missed telling him anything that might help, and the latter she had expected to call and at least ask after her.
She scurried up to her room, changed from her sneakers into a pair of riding boots, took her worn, brown suede chaps out of the closet and zippered herself into them. Moments later, she slipped into a lightweight navy cardigan and make her way outside. She met the fresh air with her hands spread out wide and a smile on her face. A ride was what she needed.
Jethro had invited her to visit with Patrick at the stables and find a mount, and that was just what she was going to do. A good ride to soothe her soul.
Patrick stood near a large evergreen just outside the barn doors. His eyes were wide and his smile bright, as he welcomed her. “I’ve been wondering when I would look up and find ye making yer way here.”
“Patrick, how are you?”
&nbs
p; “The question, missy, is how are ye?” He shook his head and put up his hand like a stop sign. “No, don’t be telling me. I can see.”
She laughed. “Wound up tight. Need to ride.”
“I think my boy Jake over here will be just the ticket.” He climbed over the fence and put a lead over the wide neck of the handsome bay gelding with the white blaze and white stockings. He didn’t bother even putting on a halter. Chaz loved the look of the gelding. He wasn’t big, probably no more than fifteen-two hands, but he had a gentle way of greeting Patrick and she liked the look of his legs. Strong and sturdy.
A few moments later, Chazma had quickly brushed the gelding and slipped a bit into the well-trained horse’s mouth.
Patrick brought over a saddle and he settled it on Jake’s back, nodded, and said, “I think this saddle will do ye. It hasn’t been used in a while, but it is well broken-in.” He gave her a mischievous look and asked, “Would ye like to be mounting from the mounting block then?”
She cocked a brow at him and stuck out her chin in answer.
He laughed. “A leg up will do, I see.” At his count of three he hoisted her up. After tightening the girth, he instructed her to give him a short trot just to see how well matched the two might be. Chaz smiled to herself and did what she was asked. She knew he wanted to assess her hands and seat.
“Aye, then, ye’ll do.” High praise she thought from him as she smiled back at him.
He waved a hand at her as she urged Jake forward, “Don’t stray off McBain land. With all these goings on, it wouldn’t be wise.” The smile vanished and he pulled on the brim of his tweed cap.
“Whose land do we border and how will I know if I am straying?”
“We border Mulrone in the north, and you’ll know. Jest believe me. I can’t tell ye enough, Miss Chazma. Don’t go anywhere near that place.”
“You make it sound like the land of the ogre.”
“So it very well might be.” He shook his head. “No doubt, I’ve gone and done it now, stirred yer curiosity, but please think of me back here worrying and don’t go anywhere near Mulrone. Ye won’t have a need. Brionn can give ye all the riding ye want.”