“That’s a wonderful sentiment,” P.J. said. “But do you really think you can keep them out forever?”
“Yes…yes, I do. There’s a powerful glamarye upon this valley, one that will allow any of the Fae to pass through, yet mortals may only stand and stare. Oh, they may believe they’ve visited the valley—’tis a powerful illusion—but as long as there is still magic in the world, this small bit of heaven will be bright and clean and free.”
He glanced at her then, as if daring her to try her will against the glamarye set upon the valley.
P.J. couldn’t. Connor’s words had her completely in his thrall. Though she still had doubts about his magical claims, she couldn’t doubt the sincerity and the pride in his voice as he spoke of the responsibility he was entrusted with. He believed so fully, so deeply, she would feel like a jerk if she were to shatter his illusions now.
“You’re a remarkable man, Connor O’Flaherty,” she said softly.
His answering smile was wistful. “Am I, now?” His green eyes turned cloudy as he peered searchingly into her eyes. “And ‘tis times like this I wish I were just that—a mortal man, and not one with all these responsibilities and…obligations.”
Obligations? Like his obligation to marry only a woman of faerie blood? P.J.’s heart beat an excited rhythm in her chest, but she hesitated to ask it aloud, afraid to know the answer.
Connor turned back to stare out over his people’s valley, pride and satisfaction evident in his stance. With a rush of feeling, P.J. realized anew how much she cared for this wonderful man. And, Lord help her, she respected his decision to commit to a relationship only with one of the Fae.
If it was a delusion, it was a mighty consistent one and one others seemed to share, such as Madame Cherelle and Bernard. P.J. had to honor him for sticking to his principles, even if she didn’t agree with them.
It hurt though—it hurt knowing that Connor couldn’t be more than a brief interlude in her life. Especially since she knew in the deepest, most secret part of herself that there’d never be another man like him.
Her sense of loss fueled defiance. To hell with her scruples. She’d just enjoy the short time they had left together.
P.J. reached up to caress his cheek, and he looked at her, a question in his eyes. She pressed her lips to his, and he responded with an exquisitely gentle kiss.
“Thank you, lass,” he said, and squeezed her hand.
She didn’t have to ask what he was thanking her for. She knew he was grateful she hadn’t tried to prove him wrong by entering the valley—for accepting his claims for once.
They turned as one to the car and headed back toward the small rustic inn nestled in the Irish countryside. Tired from the events of their full day, they elected not to change for dinner and sought out their hostess.
The plump-cheeked matron gave Connor a blinding smile and dropped a small curtsy. “All is as ye asked and ye have the dining room to yerselves tonight.”
The woman led them to the dining room and beamed with pride at Connor’s pleased look, then hurried off, saying, “I’ll not be botherin’ ye unless ye call for me.”
P.J. glanced around, wholly enchanted by the scene. The dining room was warm and comfortable with rich polished woods and warm tweeds surrounding a central fireplace that looked as though it had been built with native stone. The soft glow of firelight lit the room, echoed in scattered clusters of candles on the tables along the walls.
Eschewing the regular tables, their hostess had placed plump inviting cushions around a low table in front of the fire. Dinner, a plain feast of meat, potatoes and a simple dessert, reposed elegantly on the table next to a bottle of vintage wine. How charming. They were certainly getting the royal treatment tonight.
Royal? “Don’t tell me,” P.J. said. “Another ‘subject’ of yours?”
Connor chuckled. “Aye, lass. But don’t begrudge her this moment. She’ll have a lovely story to tell for years to come, and we get a very nice meal.”
P.J. nodded. What more could she ask for? Good food, good wine, wonderful atmosphere…and Connor. She smiled and he led her toward the cushions, pulling her down beside him.
He poured the wine and raised his glass to hers, the firelight leaping in his dark eyes. “To—” he paused, obviously searching for the right words “—success. To finally catching the thief tomorrow.”
Disappointed, P.J. murmured, “Tomorrow,” and lowered her eyes as she sipped the wine. Knowing he’d promised to have a serious relationship with only one of the Fae, had she really expected him to toast to the two of them?
No, of course not. That afternoon she’d seen clear through to his soul as they overlooked the beautiful valley he’d worked so hard to save for his people. Now she could almost understand his single-mindedness. If he was king of the Fae—and he truly believed he was—then his sense of fair play would let him do nothing less than adhere to what he believed was right for his people.
She just wished she could believe it, too.
P.J. sighed wistfully. Perhaps, tonight, she could just let go of her misgivings and for once enjoy the moment. Connor would undoubtedly catch his thief tomorrow. When he did, their lovely trip would be over, and that would be the last time she’d ever see him. Knowing that, how could she waste their last night together in doubt and mistrust?
“Tell me about your people,” she urged.
Connor looked at her in surprise. “My people?”
“Yes, the Fae,” P.J. said, and smiled reassuringly. She wanted to know more about those who commanded such devotion from him.
He relaxed, and over their delicious meal he told her about their struggle to retain their dying magic in a disbelieving world, to regain the glory they had once had; how he’d persuaded them to give up clinging to the old ways and move into the twentieth century; and how he agonized over whether he’d done the right thing.
Charmed by his intensity and feeling his frustration, P.J. reached out to lay a soothing hand against his cheek.
Connor groaned softly, his eyes glowing with a savage inner fire as he captured her hand and pressed a lingering kiss against her palm.
Answering passion fired within her, and P.J. inhaled sharply, her breasts tightening beneath the soft outlines of her sweater. No, this was wrong. She’d wanted to get to know him better, not torture the two of them with increased desire. She tugged her hand away, regretting her impulse.
Connor’s hungry gaze skimmed her body, catching and holding on to those telltale hardened peaks. He swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably. P.J.’s breasts tightened even more, until they were almost painful, rigidly pointing at him in insolent demand.
Connor pushed away from the table, his dessert barely touched, and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I think I’d best be goin’ now.”
He started to stand, but P.J. leaned over to stop him with a hand on his arm, unwilling to let him leave just yet. “Don’t you want your dessert?”
His gaze darted down to where her breast pressed against his arm, and P.J. blushed. She’d meant the sweet, but he obviously thought she meant something else.
Connor’s gaze flicked back to her face, as if he didn’t want to be caught staring. “No, I couldn’t eat another bite,” he said, his voice thick.
She released his arm as if it were burning. Damn. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She rose swiftly to move away from him, but her foot caught on a pillow and she stumbled.
His arms caught her and he righted her slowly. For a brief, splendid moment she just stood there, reveling in the feel of his warm, strong body against hers, the scratchy feel of his sweater against her skin and his musky, masculine scent. Embarrassed, she glanced up to apologize, but her voice caught in her throat at the look in his eyes.
Raw, aching need glimmered in his gaze as he molded her body to his and lowered his mouth in a scorching kiss. The world spun, whirling her in dizzying circles of sensation as his tongue thrust urgently into her mouth. Thrilling at the passi
on she’d innocently unleashed in him, P.J. gave into the temptation of the moment and responded to that soulshattering kiss.
But despite her battered senses, a small thread of reason remained, dragging her back to awareness. No matter how much she wanted it, this wasn’t right.
She tore her lips from his and pulled out of his embrace. “No, Connor, I can’t,” she said in an agonized wail.
Connor shoved a trembling hand through his hair and turned away. “Aye, lass. You’re right. I…I’m sorry.”
He inhaled deeply, then turned back to her, smiling. “So tell me, P.J., what’s your real name? Punkin? Princess?” His voice was light, teasing, yet somehow intent.
Relieved that Connor was trying to lighten the charged atmosphere, P.J. chuckled. “No, neither of those.”
He cocked his head and regarded her steadily. “Why won’t you tell me your real name, lass?”
She grinned. “Because I love it when you call me lass.”
“No, I’m serious, P.J. Why won’t you tell me your real name?”
Her gaze slid away from his probing scrutiny. “I…I…It’s embarrassing.”
“After what we’ve shared?” he asked softly.
She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “My name isn’t important.”
“The devil it isn’t!”
Startled at the emotion in his voice, she said, “Wha-”
“You’ll give me your body but not your name? Why, P.J.?”
“I don’t know…”
“I see. You don’t trust me yet. You’re still thinking I’m a flake and a phony and you’ll not be trusting your name with the likes of me. Is that it?”
She bit her lip, but didn’t reply. Unfortunately she knew her answer was plain enough on her guiltstricken face.
With a muttered, “I’d best be going, then,” Connor walked away.
Damn it, she’d given him the benefit of the doubt all night. Couldn’t he be content with that?
No, apparently not. Instead, he wanted her to reveal the deepest, most secret part of herself. And what did he offer in return? Nothing.
Damn him—why’d he have to ruin one of their last nights together? With angry tears filling her eyes, P.J. stalked off to her room. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, that was fine with her. From now on she’d keep their relationship strictly business. No mere man, no matter how charming, was going to take her emotions on a roller-coaster ride again.
Chapter Nine
Saints be praised, the flight to London was short, mercifully so. P.J. gave Connor the silent treatment: cool, aloof and very unapproachable. He didn’t know how to react, especially with so many strangers around, so he just endured it for the length of the trip, wondering what he’d done to deserve it.
Once they finally reached the hotel, P.J. disappeared into the recesses of her room with a freezing silence. Connor stayed in his own room and pretended to read, hoping it would distract him.
It didn’t work. He couldn’t concentrate and found himself straining for sounds of P.J. through the connecting door. All he could think of was her sitting alone in the next room, doing Lord knows what, and cursing the day she’d met Connor O’Flaherty.
Finally he could stand it no longer. He tossed the book on the bed and strode over to the adjoining door and pounded on it. No response. Where was she?
He pounded more forcefully.
“What d’you want?”
His shoulders sagged in relief when he heard her voice. He checked his watch. It was almost dinnertime. “I’m getting a wee bit hungry,” he yelled through the connecting door. “Will you be after havin’ dinner with me, lass?”
“I’m not hungry,” came the muffled reply.
“But I am, and you should be, too. Come on, lass, you need to keep your strength up,” he coaxed.
“I’m fine.” Even through the closed door her voice came through clipped and curt.
He lowered his voice so the rest of the hotel wouldn’t hear him. “I’ll not be letting you stay in there and sulk, y’know. If you don’t open this door right now, I’ll do it for you.”
She jerked open the door and glared at him. “I’m not sulking.”
Perhaps not, but she did look tired, as if she’d been indulging in a good pout all day. “Then what have you been doing?”
Looking distinctly annoyed, P.J. snapped, “I’ve been making notes for the article. You know, the one you hired me to write?”
It tore at his heart to see her so prickly and defensive, especially when he was the cause of it. “I know, lass,” he said as gently as he could, “but you do need to eat.”
All the fight went out of her as she relaxed and heaved a tired sigh. “I suppose, but I don’t feel like getting dressed up and going out.”
“Why don’t we just have dinner in my room, then?”
P.J. gave him a dirty look and Connor cursed his unwary tongue. Why’d he have to remind them both of their previous intimate dinners?
Quickly suppressing his surge of desire at the memory, he resolved to treat P.J. as if she were his younger sister. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, everything will be just fine, and I’ve an apology to make.”
P.J. looked up at him in apprehension. “An apology?”
“Yes, lass.” He guided her into the room and pushed her gently down into one of the easy chairs. “But first, food. What would you like to eat?”
She waved her hand listlessly. “Oh, whatever. Nothing heavy.”
“How about an omelet, then?”
P.J. nodded, and he called room service to place their order, then came back to sit in the chair across from her.
She regarded him warily. “You’re not going to apologize for making love to me, are you?”
He sighed. “No, lass. I’ll never regret that, though I could wish it had never happened.”
Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “Why? Because I’m not one of the blasted Fae?” She made it sound like a dirty word.
“That’s the primary reason, yes. You knew when we met that I had responsibilities I couldn’t shirk.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers, unable to keep from touching her with the simple affectionate gesture. “But ‘tis also because now I’ll never stop wanting you, never stop longing to kiss your sweet lips, to hold you in my arms.”
She glanced up with a bewildered look. “But—”
“But it can’t be, I’ve told you that. I’ll not be treatin’ you like some common plaything just to satisfy my own desires.”
“But I don’t—”
“And I can’t be making love to a woman who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me her name,” he interrupted her softly.
P.J. bit her lip, then sighed. “Yes, I understand. But let me tell you my side of it, will you?”
“All right.” It seemed a fair enough request.
She squeezed his hand. “Not only is my name embarrassing, it’s very private—very important to me. I’ve never trusted anyone enough to share it, and it’s awfully difficult to change a lifetime of secrecy. Only my family knows it, and if it were up to me, they wouldn’t know it, either.”
He nodded in comprehension and watched as she swallowed hard. “I love my parents, but they betrayed my trust—they lied to me, telling me magic really existed when they knew it didn’t.” She smiled wryly. “Oh, I know they didn’t mean to hurt me, but they did. Now you claim to have a wonderful kind of magic, a magic you haven’t been able to prove. Even if I…if I…loved you, how could I trust you?”
Her eyes pleaded for understanding, and unwillingly Connor gave it. Unfortunately, he did understand.
She licked her lips in a strangely nervous gesture. “And then to have you tell me that, even if you loved me, you could never ask me to marry you…don’t you see? That makes me even less inclined to trust you.”
Connor ran a hand over his face. She was right. He’d been a fool to expect anything more than she’d already given. Yet, logic be damned, he still yearned to earn her trust
.
“I’m sorry, lass. That’s why I wanted to apologize. I had no right to touch you. I just wanted—” He wanted her to trust him enough to give her name freely, but he knew better than to ask for that now. “Well, never mind that. I just want to apologize. Can you forgive me?”
P.J. smiled. “All right, just don’t do it again.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “Thank you…Portia?”
P.J. laughed out loud. “You never give up, do you?”
Connor shook his head. “No, I never do. And to show you how sorry I am, I’d like to give you your very own pair of custom-made Stayle O’Flaherty shoes, on me.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. They’re so expensive, and really, it’s not necessary.”
“Please, I insist. Besides, I’ll admit to havin’ an ulterior motive. How can I prove to you that magic exists unless you try it for yourself?”
Her look was almost wistful as she said, “All right, I’d like that. Thank you. Can we still be friends?”
He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Aye, lass, we can.” It might kill him, but if that’s what she wanted, that’s what he’d give her.
THE NEXT MORNING Connor knocked on P.J.’s door and grinned when she opened it. “Top of the mornin’ to you, lass.”
P.J. laughed. “I didn’t know people really said that. You certainly sound chipper.”
“Oh, I am, I am.” He planted a kiss on her nose. “‘Tis the day I’ve been waitin’ for. Today, surely we’ll nab our thief.”
“That’s right—he’s your last suspect. But…what if he isn’t the one?” She frowned prettily, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
Connor brushed her misgivings aside and lightly rubbed away the crease. “Nonsense. He must be the one, and you’ll not make me believe aught else.”
She smiled sadly. “All right, if—when—you prove he’s the thief, what are you going to do?”
“The most important thing is to find the talisman. I’ll just follow him until I find out where it is, then wait until his attention is drawn elsewhere, grab the shoehorn and we’re off.”
A Little Something Extra Page 12