by Mina Carter
“Oh, Jet. I am so sorry…I would never have asked, had I known. I…”
He shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and granny was there, right beside me. She had lost a daughter-in-law that she loved and a son—her only son. He was the world to her, yet she picked herself up, brushed herself off, and took charge.” He smiled fondly. “She said I was going to be a handful and she had just the hands to manage me.”
He aimed an impish grin at Chaz. “No one like her…strong and full of heart and good sense. She whipped me into shape. For at that time, I had a notion that leveling the world would have felt…justified.”
A soft smile curved her lips. His attention remained riveted on her—she had him by the balls—but he knew, it was more than that. “What?” he asked. “Just what are you thinking now?”
“I’m seeing a fourteen-year-old boy who needed his parents.” Her voice didn’t hold pity, but it did hold understanding. Suddenly she waved her gloved hand in the air. “Let’s forego this question-and-answer thing…” Chaz’s eyes brimmed with emotion.
He could see she empathized with him, and it touched him to the core. He waved off her concern. “Nonsense,” he said, and reached over and touched her gloved fingers. Their horses were now side by side and his leg brushed against hers. His chaps rubbed against her leg, and the friction sent shivers of sensation sweeping through them both. Their eyes met and held in an age-old I-am-man, you-are-woman feeling.
He broke the spell that caught and lingered. If he hadn’t he knew he was going to reach over, pick her up with one arm, and situate her in front of him on his horse. He wanted her, and by damn if he didn’t control himself he knew he was going to try and make her want him, and he knew she wasn’t ready.
“Chaz…” His voice was thick and full of desire. He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Go ahead lass, ask away. I promise ye, I am very well equipped to satisfy.” He hadn’t been able to resist and allowed himself the flirtatious words and accompanying look he gave her.
Chaz had done her own soul searching during their conversation. She needed to get control of herself. The force of his double meaning drove her body into desire. The force of the man shook her up, and demanded attention. She blinked as though tossing herself out of the ring, and managed to put these wayward feelings aside. She had to keep her distance or she would be undone.
She concentrated instead on the questions that occupied her mind. Would he answer her if she asked the question that nagged at her brain? Would he brush her off with a jest and a denial? There was only one way to find out.
“Was your grandmother the one who taught you magic?” There, it was out. How would he handle it?
He didn’t look surprised by the question. She studied him for a moment and realized that he had expected directness from her.
“Magic, ye say?” He sidestepped with a flirtatious tease. “It was m’da that taught me about the magic of love—if that’s what ye mean?”
“Ah, evading,” Chaz said with a shrug. “We are back to where we started. No progress. No trust established.”
“Aye, then. So be it. Ye want an answer to yer question, an honest answer. Fine. No, although I trained for twenty years, first with my da, until m’mother’s death, and then with m’grandmother. Magic as ye call it, didn’t come from m’ grandmother.” Jet looked away and into the distant sky.
She watched him, and it dawned on her that nothing from that moment on would ever be the same. Amazingly enough, those were his first words when he looked back at her.
“Chazma, things for us will change now. Nothing will ever be the same. I have never admitted to magic outside of m’clan. Telling ye this is a greater trust than ye can imagine.”
“I know,” she returned solemnly.
“Ye also know, by asking me that particular question, ye have allowed yerself to obviously be exposed to a similar one yerself.” He eyed her for a long, meaningful moment. “Trust, ye know, is a two-way street.”
Chaz evaded now. “Is it?”
“Aye. Ye know by asking me about magic, one could conclude ye are not…ignorant of magic yerself. One might logically assume ye sensed magic in m’grandmother, and magic, albeit of a different brand, in me, which, makes ye—makes ye what, Chaz? What does that make ye?”
RINGRINGRING!
They both jumped and Chaz pulled a face as she realized it was her cell phone. She didn’t know if she was relieved or annoyed.
Jethro was definitely annoyed. He sat stiffly. “Damn James Dunboyne—he isn’t worth a minute of yer time!”
Chaz lifted out of her saddle to dig out the phone tucked into her jeans’ pocket and flipped it open.
Tentatively, she said as she looked away from Jethro, “Hello?”
“Hello, lovey.” Tom Murphy with his sweet trust-me voice.
“Oh, Tom.” Chaz eyed Jethro meaningfully. “What not a surprise.”
He laughed. “Where are ye? Is Himself nearby? I’d stake my last gold coin he is.”
“Do you have any gold coins to stake, Inspector Tom?” Chaz teased. Without waiting for his reply, she said. “And as to whether or not he is nearby, yes he is. We are in fact, riding through the woods on horseback.”
“Are ye now?” And then silence.
“And you are calling because…?” Chazma urged, tongue-in-cheek.
“I’ve been wanting to know what ’imself has decided because I’m itching to put things into place. Ye see, sweet girl, I have this notion that if Olivia has been abducted and is still alive—big if—and the devil has her in his place, perhaps we can find some reason, any flimsy reason we might observe going down on his property that would allow us to rush in and find her. I’ve got it in me head that Mulrone is our man. I am going on gut and need some proof. What I need is to set up surveillance and fast.”
“Then Olivia has not been found yet?” Worry flitted through Chazma’s mind. She had been hoping that Olivia’s disappearance would end up being a fluke, and she would show up none the worse.
“No, lovey. Olivia has vanished off the face of the earth. Her credit cards have not been used. None of her friends have seen or heard from her. At this point we have to assume the worst and act on it.”
“Okay, Tom. I better give the phone to the only one who can help you in regards to this.”
“Wait…no, Chaz. What I was thinking was I’d like ye to speak to him for me.”
Chaz had already handed the phone to McBain in time for him to hear the inspector’s words. A smirk quirked his lips. “Would ye now, Tom Murphy? Would ye be putting a lady to do a man’s job?”
“Damn straight I would—if I thought it would get the job done. Besides, they often get it done a sight better than most men.”
“I take it Olivia is still missing?”
“Aye,” he answered in a grim tone.
“And ye believe as I do, that Mulrone has taken her for reasons we can not at this moment, fathom?”
“Ye know that I do.”
“There are ways of circumventing the law…I for example might be able to manage a way in undetected and search for a sign of her,” Jethro offered carefully.
“No. Not yet, Jet. We both know ye might not come out alive and then all hell would break loose.”
“Tom—have more faith in me than that. What do ye think setting up a spy network will do? If poor Olivia is inside…”
“We have equipment that can detect warm bodies. We can get a body count of anyone who is in there—know which bodies are on the move, and if she is restrained somewhere in that madhouse, we will know and take it from there.”
Chaz’s eyes met Jet’s, her opinion written on her face.
Jethro said quietly, “It would appear that the lady Chaz would like me to allow ye to set up shop on m’grounds, and apparently we both know that I would like to please her. So be it.”
“Good man. And as to knowing about ye wanting to please the lady in question, aye, I know it—the question I put to ye, Lord Jethro
McBain, is do ye know why?”
Ignoring him, Jethro’s mind snapped into action. “Tom, come on over to the house then. We’ll work out some details and then ye and yer men can follow me through my woods to just the spot that will work.”
“We need to have an unobstructed view, and somewhere, Jethro, where we won’t be detected.”
“I will take ye to the only spot ye will be able to watch his place from a safe vantage point. Give me an hour or so and then meet me at the house.”
“It’ll take that long to collect what we need and get over to ye.”
“Fine. One hour.”
McBain flipped the phone closed and handed it to Chazma. He watched her lift up and shove it in her rear pocket. He sucked in breath and resituated himself in his saddle as his manly parts promised to burst his seams.
He had wanted to stay with her, converse with her, explore her mind, and now he would have to leave her. Bloody hell!
“Chaz. I hate to ask ye, but do ye think you can make it back alone? Nothing will harm ye while ye are on McBain land.
“Oh, I know that.” She gave him a look he found mysteriously tantalizing. She knew, smart lass, about the wards that were an integral part of Brionn. Power such as hers would sense wards almost immediately. He set this thought aside and his tone was a caress within the apology. “I just have to prepare a spot for them where they can get in and out without being seen by any of Mulrone’s…er…people.”
“I know exactly what you are going to do—and I only wish I could watch you doing it, Jethro. Concealment spells are the very devil to get right,” she said on a saucy note and cocked an eyebrow and a smile his way.
Surprise caught him. He had not expected her to be so open about what she actually did know about him. He grinned and pointed a finger at her as once again he was assailed by the fact that it was impossible to restrain his desires when he was with her. She filled him with fantasies, and they made him burn with hunger. He licked the corner of his mouth as he steeled himself.
“I’ll see ye back at the house.”
“Hmmm, so you will,” Chaz answered on a smile that turned into a giggle and as he rode off, he heard it deepen into a full out laugh. It brought a wide and rueful grin to his lips. Suddenly, he felt alive.
Chapter Sixteen
WATCHING HIM LEAVE, Chaz bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe how audacious she had been with him. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving him the come-and-get-it-look. And she finally silently admitted she didn’t want to stop herself. The memory made her body burn.
After tending to Jake at the stables, and listening to another little lecture from Patrick about Mulrone land, she made her way to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She was cutting greens for a salad when she heard the front door close. She hoped Jethro would join her in the kitchen and enjoy a light meal with her.
A few minutes slipped by, and she felt a trickle of unease. He had said he would see her when he got back—and she had heard the door close quite some time ago.
Almost timidly she made her way down the wide corridor that led to the central hall and sighed with disappointment when she didn’t see any sign of him. However, without warning he pounded into view, looking like a volcano just about ready to spew. And then she knew. She didn’t have to look back at him to the open door at the left wing. She remembered. She had spelled it open and had forgotten to spell it closed again.
She bit her lip. This was not good.
He was like a steam engine bearing down on her, bigger than life and a mass of fury. Midnight eyes held her in contempt, as a storm seemed to rage like a physical aura all around his body.
“What?” she breathed staring at him, trying to defuse the situation with a lie she knew he would not believe.
“Ye want to trust me?” In contrast with his body, his voice was at a low-timbre. Laced with a growl, it sounded deadly angry.
She backed away from him in spite of her spike of defiance. Remorse followed.
“How can ye skulk around me home, disrespect me wishes, and say ye don’t trust me?” He closed in on her. “How can ye expect trust of any kind when ye aren’t willing to be trustworthy? Answer me, Chazma Donnelly.” Jethro grabbed her arm and pulled her down the short, narrow corridor that led to the left wing. Releasing her arm, he took her hand. Instinctively, she yanked her hand back, and he gripped her harder and dragged her though the doorway. Once there he released her and closed the door at his back.
Chaz was speechless with shock. She had never been manhandled in such a manner. She couldn’t quite understand the depth of his rage. Yes, she had broken the golden rule, but why this heat?
“I asked ye to respect me wishes and not enter this part of the house. I don’t have to give ye reasons. This is me home. Did ye respect me wishes, Chaz? Did ye?”
“No,” she answered in a small voice, and then quickly defended herself. “But it was your fault. I heard your chanting. You chanted my name, Jethro McBain! You were using my name in a chant. It is one of the reasons I didn’t trust you, and decided to investigate.” Her chin jerked up.
“Did ye? A chant convinced ye I was the vicious devil tearing apart helpless animals and unprotected women? Ye thought that of me because ye heard me chant yer name?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
“Ye thought I was capable of the worst kind of degradation—ye thought that, rather than give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“I investigated because I didn’t know who I should trust,” Chaz snapped back.
“Ah, but James Dunboyne gives ye coffee and lunch, and a few sweet smiles, and lets ye drive home alone in the middle of the night, and him ye trust?” He ran his hands through his tousled black hair.
Even as he exerted discipline over himself, he snapped. She saw him lose the will to keep himself in check. He had been backing her up against the wall, and suddenly she knew he could take no more. He pinned her wrists against the plasterboard at her back after spreading her arms wide above her head. He leaned into her, bent his head to breathe in her ear, and his body pressed hard against her own.
“And did ye learn what ye needed to know? Did ye enjoy yerself in me private sanctuary? Did ye wonder what I do here all alone? Did ye imagine me giving meself to the devil? Did ye think me a devil when we rode together today, and ye subjected me to yer questions in order to find a way to trust me? Tell me, Chaz.” It was a whisper but to Chaz, it felt like the worst kind of anguished shouting.
His outrage that she had invaded what he called his private sanctuary rode the surface, but deeper, he seemed almost bitter that she had even for one moment thought he could have perpetrated the ritual murders.
She couldn’t speak—she just shook her head slowly from side to side in denial. Whatever she said right then wouldn’t help. If she were quiet, perhaps he would calm down and she could reason with him…apologize, and she suddenly realized she wanted to apologize.
However, he silenced all thought in her agonized brain. He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth and her body went into overdrive.
Trouble. She shifted against him, and moved to his touch. She felt herself invite his hands to linger. Oh no, no…dark Chaz was rising.
He licked her earlobe, whispered something in Gaelic—words that thrilled her as her mind translated what he was saying. “Have ye thought about me, Chaz? Here, like this, with ye? Have ye thought about my lips on yers? It is all I think about.” His voice was still lined with anger, but there was something else there as well: need.
He had his leg between her thighs and as he parted them, he brought his knee up and applied pressure at the apex her found there.
Chaz sucked in a groan. The room vanished.
He took a little nibble of her neck, and moved to kiss the hollow under her chin, brought his lips to her mouth, and with her body stretched out against the wall, he pushed himself against her. His mouth closed on hers and parted her lips.
His kiss started out rough
and hungry as though he wanted to void all thought, and then something happened and he was kissing her with wild abandon. His tongue teased, took, teased again.
Chaz was lost.
Light exploded behind her eyes. She couldn’t think. Overwhelming sensations took her hostage to their needs. One of his strong hands released her wrist and now fondled her breast through her sweater, fingering her nipple, as his knee nudged her into frenzy.
He yanked the scooped neckline of her sweater down. His hand was on her breast, exposing it to himself and he bent his head, and suckled there, letting out a groan that came from deep inside his throat.
Her hand explored his shoulder, caressed his neck, and held onto him as she pushed herself against his knee. She made sounds she had never before heard—couldn’t believe those sounds came from her lips.
What am I doing? Chaz asked herself but couldn’t stop responding to his touch. He worked the zipper of her jeans. She felt the dark inside of her tearing at her protective shields. That other girl—savage Chaz—the dark and primal thing inside who didn’t care about consequences raged to get out. It wanted to experience this man, and she was going to let that other girl do just that.
In the background, a voice seemed to be shouting—so far away that it could have been coming from another dimension.
Thud Thud Thud “Jethro, come on, man. Jethro”—ClatterBang—”Jethro, Chazma…where the devil are ye?”
Tom Murphy. He was at the front door banging and clanging, and demanding to be heard. He knew they were somewhere inside and his exasperation displayed he had been screaming for them and using the knocker and hitting the door with some force and for some time before they finally heard him.
Jethro sank his head into her shoulder. “Ah, lass, lass…forgive me. I…I shouldn’t have done this to ye. I shouldn’t have taken yer sweet kisses like this. It’s not what I wanted.”
“It isn’t?” was all she could squeak. Her eyes widened with the question. She damn well knew it was exactly what she wanted. That much she knew. How did he feel about her? That was a whole other matter.