A Little Something Extra

by Pam McCutcheon

  “Hello, folks. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He held up his bandaged hand ruefully. “I just had a run-in with a paring knife and I lost—sliced my palm good. Shall we go?”

  P.J. agreed, looking distinctly relieved.

  Ah, so that’s how she was playing it—using Neil as a buffer between the two of them. Connor grinned and followed them out the door. Knowing P.J. was more affected than she wanted to let on made the evening’s prospects a lot more bearable.

  The evening proved to be as boring as he’d expected, but Connor didn’t let it show. For the most part he watched silently as Neil chattered on at length about his new film, effectively monopolizing the conversation. And P.J. just encouraged him. She didn’t appear to be enjoying herself, either, but she seemed just as reluctant to be alone with Connor.

  That touch of panic he’d seen in her eyes had been very telling. He didn’t want to do anything to frighten her, and if this was what it took to reassure her…

  Neil took another clumsy bite with his bandaged hand. “So, P.J., have you given any thought to appearing as the elf queen in my film?”

  “No, I told you before,” she answered calmly. “I’m not interested.”

  “Not interested? How can you not be interested?” Neil asked dramatically. “Everyone wants to be a star.”

  “Not me,” P.J. said simply. “I do better in the background, away from the lights and glitter.”

  “But you’d be perfect as the elf queen.” Neil leaned closer and winked at her. “I’ve been doing some investigating of my own, and I found out you know quite a bit about these things. If you won’t act, can I persuade you to be my magic expert on the film? I need someone to tell me how it’s really supposed to work.”

  P.J. shook her head. “I’m no expert, but you might want to ask Connor.”

  Neil looked surprised. “Connor? I thought you were just a photographer. Do you have an interest in magic, too?”

  The man’s surprise and condescension were irritating. “You might say that,” Connor conceded. Briefly wrangling with his scruples, he gave in to the impulse to let Neil have a wee taste of that magic.

  As Neil reached for his wineglass, Connor touched his ring and sent a tiny surge of power winging along it. He suppressed a smile as the chillingly real illusion formed before him, and Neil’s wineglass ignited in a burst of flames.

  A passing waiter gasped and dropped his tray, but Neil just took an unconcerned sip of his wine, his lips passing harmlessly through the fire.

  Damn, Neil couldn’t see the illusion, either. Two mortals in one day who had true sight? What were the odds? Connor frowned and made the illusion vanish before he frightened any more innocent victims.

  It just wasn’t his day.

  Chapter Six

  P.J. hurried to change her clothes in the charming little French hotel room, feeling excitement and anticipation course through her. Connor was going to show her Paris!

  They had the entire day free to explore the city at their leisure. They deserved it, too, after spending the previous day traveling, and the evening before that in the company of the very boring Neil Chalmers.

  Boy, what a mistake that had been. She’d only agreed to have dinner with the producer to keep a buffer between herself and Connor, to somehow stop or slow down the pace of their relationship. She was falling too hard, too fast, and it scared her.

  The evening hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. By refusing to engage Neil in meaningless conversation, Connor’s silence simply played up the differences between the two men. She hadn’t been able to keep from comparing Neil’s boasting to Connor’s quiet competence, Neil’s arrogance to Connor’s amiability or Neil’s slick good looks to Connor’s innate sensuality. No matter how she fought it, she’d found herself more and more enmeshed in the magic the big Irishman’s presence wove around her.

  She sighed. There was no sense fighting it anymore. If it was going to happen, she might as well enjoy it—starting now. P.J. slipped her shoes on and tapped on the connecting door to Connor’s room.

  He opened the door, glanced at her jeans and sweater and grinned. She couldn’t help but laugh. He was wearing the same thing she was, even down to the exact same shade of emerald green in their sweaters. “Everyone will think we’re twins,” she said with a grin.

  His answering smile was soft and sexy. “Nay, lass, not twins. They’ll think we’re lovers. Paris is made for lovers, y’know.”

  P.J.’s heart beat a fast rhythm in her chest. Lovers…was that how he thought of them? Part of her hoped so, desperately.

  Another part was wary, reminding her there was no future in falling in love with a man who had delusions of being a faerie king. And after what she’d learned yesterday, P.J. figured she had a pretty good idea where those fantasies stemmed from. Despite Connor’s protestations to the contrary, his high-stress Wall Street job must have caused a nervous breakdown, and the faerie-king delusion was just one of his lingering symptoms.

  Luckily it was a harmless one and would probably disappear once he recovered. P.J. sighed in relief. All she had to do was play along until he finally came to his senses. Maybe she could even subtly help him to see how ridiculous his claims were.

  “Lass? Are you all right?” Connor’s voice broke into her reverie.

  She smiled at him. “I’m fine. Just fine.” She grabbed his hand and gave him a slow, sexy smile that made his eyes widen. “Come on, Connor, let’s see Paris.”

  The rest of the day was full of enchantment as they explored the city made for lovers. The weather cooperated, giving them warm, balmy breezes in the midst of a cold October, and even the Parisians’ fabled rudeness softened under the warmth and charm of Connor’s smile.

  They visited the Louvre first, and strolled companionably amid the priceless art treasures. They both enjoyed the impressionists Paris was famous for, but had a hard time appreciating the somber darkness of the old masters.

  Connor kept P.J. entertained with amusing speculations as to what the subjects were thinking about as they posed for their portraits. “This one,” said Connor as they paused in front of a picture of a corpulent man with a faraway look in his eyes, “is wonderin’ when he’ll be called to supper, and this one—” a portrait of a pinch-faced debutante “—is sittin’ on a pin.”

  They paused in front of the roped-off section holding the world’s most famous painting. P.J. asked, “And Mona Lisa, what about her?”

  Connor tilted his head and studied the painting. “Ah, that’s easy. Da Vinci had faerie blood, y’know.”

  “Did he, now?” she mocked.

  “Aye, ‘tis why his paintings are so grand—he had faerie magic to enhance his talent.” The look on Connor’s face was earnest, but a twinkle still lurked in his eyes.

  “And what is she thinking?”

  Connor studied the painting thoughtfully. “She’s thinkin’ how foolish we are for wanderin’ through this musty old building when we could be outside enjoying the beautiful day.”

  P.J. giggled, earning a stern look from the guard. “Well, she’s right. Let’s go.”

  They hurried out of the museum, laughing at the scandalized expressions of the guards and the tourists. Once out in the sunshine, Connor breathed in deeply and threw his arms wide. “Ah, fresh air at last.”

  P.J. punched his arm playfully. “You have absolutely no culture in your soul.”

  His look was mournful. “Aye, that I’ve not.” He caught her around the waist and tilted her chin up with one finger. “But you love me anyway, don’t you, lass?” His gaze was hooded, his eyes searching as a small smile played around his lips.

  Her stomach did somersaults. Love him? No, she wasn’t ready for that yet. But how did she feel about him? This wonderful man with his ready humor, his tenderness, his lovely Irish lilt…his delusions? No, it wasn’t love, but she was beginning to care about him more than she should.

  “Oh, sure,” she said lightly, squirming out of his grasp. “But
I’ll love you even more if you show me the Eiffel Tower.”

  The rest of the day took on a magical, dreamlike quality, as if they’d spent the time in a fantasy world. P.J. stored the sights and sounds in her heart, in a series of vignettes she’d never forget.

  Strolling down the Champs-Elysées, feeling cherished when Connor pointed out items of interest and entwined his fingers with hers.

  Standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower, gazing raptly over the city spread beneath them, seeing the tenderness in his eyes as he smoothed back a strand of her hair.

  Taking in the sights and sounds of Montmartre, and being pulled into the protective circle of Connor’s arms when a troop of teenagers roared by on skates. Gazing up at him, feeling safe and warm, celebrating the moment in a tender kiss, then continuing their stroll with arms around each other’s waist, hips bumping companionably.

  The magic continued until lights began winking on all over the city. Night was falling, and the air turned chilly. Reluctantly they returned to the hotel.

  Pausing outside their rooms, P.J. gazed up at Connor with a smile. “Thank you. I had a wonderful day.”

  Connor flicked her cheek with his finger. “It’s not over yet.”

  Her heart rose into her throat. “No?”

  “Nay, lass. I’ve ordered dinner in my room, in half an hour.” He smiled, flashing that dimple she couldn’t resist. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

  P.J. nodded wordlessly and slipped into her room. She sighed. The best was yet to come—an intimate dinner for two in Connor’s room.

  She slipped on a clinging jersey dress in a soft rose pink, deciding not to wear a bra. It would only ruin the lines of the dress, and she loved the sensuous feel of the fabric caressing her breasts—it made her feel wonderfully wicked. She quickly retouched her makeup and dabbed the perfume Connor had bought her behind her ears and between her breasts at the low neckline. Now she was ready for anything.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt this way about a man—nervous and excited, and very much aroused. No, come to think of it, she’d never felt this way before. She’d never wanted any other man like she wanted Connor. She only hoped he felt the same way about her.

  Connor knocked on their adjoining door, and P.J. wiped her damp palms on a towel before she mustered the courage to answer it. Swallowing hard, she opened the door and her heart skipped a beat. He looked absolutely delicious in a dark dinner suit, damp hair curling at the collar of his crisp white shirt. He gave her a heart-melting smile and escorted her into his room.

  A table had been elegantly set for two, the room lit only by the softly flickering candles in the silver candelabra and the city lights twinkling through the window.

  It was beautiful, a scene set for seduction. P.J. relaxed and her lips curved into a smile of anticipation. “How lovely. How did you do all this without my hearing it?”

  He smiled, then brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Magic, of course. What did you expect?”

  She frowned. She didn’t want to be reminded of his illness; it would spoil the mood.

  “Not my glamarye,” he clarified. “The hotel manager’s magic. He had it waiting for me when we got back. All the world loves a lover, and he’s no exception.”

  Lover? Her heart thumped erratically and her knees went weak at the thought of what that implied. Trustingly, she placed her hand in his, and he led her to the elegantly set table and seated her.

  P.J. remembered very little of what they ate or talked about, but she could have written chapter and verse on Connor’s expression as his smoldering gaze lingered on her low neckline, or the way her breasts tightened at his look and her limbs went warm and boneless.

  Their dance of seduction was as intoxicating as the finest champagne, though there was nothing alcoholic on the menu tonight. The dinner was an agonizing eternity of increasing desire, and P.J. felt a thrill of anticipation race through her when it was finally over.

  Connor moved the table aside and drew her to her feet. Gazing down where the taut buds of her nipples thrust forward, begging for his attention, he said, “That’s a dangerous dress you’re wearin’, lass.”

  “I like living dangerously,” P.J. said, mentally consigning her inhibitions to perdition as she boldly wrapped her arms around his neck. He gazed at her with longing in his eyes, and she trembled with her need to be loved by this man. She lifted her lips to his, wanting, needing him.

  He groaned and folded her in his arms, burying his hands in her long hair. Slowly, he bent to kiss her. He was so large, yet his kiss so exquisitely gentle, it thrilled P.J. to her toes.

  Every nerve ending came achingly alive, anticipating his touch. Eagerly she pressed herself against him and put her heart and soul into the kiss. Connor groaned and tightened his hold, molding her against his body until P.J. felt herself warmed clear through by his heat—and intensely aware of the rigid evidence of his desire. His eyes darkened and he slanted his mouth across hers, holding back nothing.

  He stole her breath away with that devastating kiss, filled with passion, desire and a deep-seated need. As she drew back to clear her senses, his hooded gaze raked her body. Gone was the amiable Irishman she’d come to know and love. In his place was a primitive male whose control was being sorely tested.

  A thrill shot through her and she arched against him in instinctive response. His large hand cupped her bottom, as he claimed her mouth even more fiercely than before. Kneading the sensitive flesh of her buttocks, he created a warm flood of moisture deep within her.

  Skin—she had to feel his skin against hers. She slid his jacket off his shoulders, then fumbled with his tie until Connor yanked it off in frustration. Quickly then, she unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, and with one swift movement Connor pulled it off and discarded it. P.J. let her fingers roam through the sprinkling of red-gold hairs on his chest, glorying in the crisp feel of them.

  Her breasts were so tight now, they positively ached. She pressed them against the solid bulwark of his chest, hoping for some measure of relief.

  Connor tipped her head up and gazed at her with a questioning look in his eyes as he responded to her need and slowly palmed one of her breasts through her dress. Her eyes closed involuntarily as he stroked the hardened peak with his thumb. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Open your eyes, lass,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and gazed into his. The primitive male stared back, his face cast into shadows by the flickering candlelight. “You must be sure, lass,” he said, his voice husky with primal need. “If I go any further, I won’t be able to stop.”

  She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. She nodded and slid the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool in a cloud of rose pink at her feet.

  He gazed at her with hungry eyes. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he said in hushed, reverent tones. “But there’s one thing I’ll be needin’ to tell you—”

  “Not now,” P.J. said, and pressed herself against him, skin to skin. Connor groaned, then swept her into his arms and deposited her gently on the bed, smoothing the dark hair out of her eyes. As he hungrily took one aching breast into his mouth, she surrendered to the passion wrought by his loving hands and mouth.

  He divested her of her panties, and impatiently she fumbled with his belt until he yanked off the rest of his clothes and stood before her in naked splendor.

  She inhaled sharply. Dear Lord, the man was gorgeous. He stood proudly, enduring her scrutiny as she ran her gaze down the length of his body. His strong, muscled chest tapered to a flat stomach and narrow waist. Below, his sex jutted out at the juncture of powerful thighs. Her eyes widened and her gaze turned back to his face, seeing the fierce animal pleasure kindle in his eyes as he let her look her fill.

  She rose and reached out for him, knowing only that she had to touch him—now. She stroked the length of his beautifully muscled body and grasped his rigid maleness in her hand. He threw his head back and groan
ed in pleasure. Loving the feeling of power it gave her, P.J. continued to caress him until his breathing came in ragged gasps and his powerful hands pulled her away.

  Swiftly he dragged her down to the bed and renewed the play of his hands and mouth on the secret places of her body until he had her moaning and writhing in desire. He didn’t let her linger there, but brought her to the edge of passion and beyond. Only when she was fully satisfied did he sheathe himself to protect her.

  He entered her then, filling her completely with a sense of absolute rightness. His strong, sure thrusts built an agonizing tension in her as he gently but firmly cradled her beneath his body. The pleasure rose in waves about her until his pace quickened and she convulsed in one glorious release. He joined her, their primitive cries a testimony to the unbridled passion they shared.

  P.J. sighed. Now that…that was magic.

  She came out of her daze to find Connor still arched above her, his face the embodiment of fulfilled desire. He looked down at her, the primitive male gone. Her mischievous leprechaun was back. “That…that was…”

  “Was what? Magic?” she teased.

  He relaxed and eased down beside her, holding her close, still joined in the most intimate way. “I…I can’t think of a word grand enough to describe that experience.” He gave her an affectionate look and smoothed the hair off her brow. “You’re a rare delight, lass. I never dreamed it would…could be…like this.”

  She shivered as the cold air touched her body and he gathered her close to warm her. He looked around, apparently coming to the belated realization they were still on top of the bed covers. “Let’s get you warm, shall we?”

  “Don’t go,” she muttered sleepily as he pulled her to her feet.

  He pulled the sheet back, them bundled her into the bed and lay down beside her, sheltering them both with the covers. “Don’t worry, lass, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Drowsy, she snuggled up close to him, feeling this had to be one of the best moments of her life.

  “Lass, there’s just one thing I have to ask.”