Growling, he pushed back inside her and collapsed, panting on her blissfully heaving body, stretching himself, making hard little thrusts to give and receive every last modicum of pleasure.
“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh God…”
“For you and me,” he whispered against her lips. “No one else. Nothing else.”
“I’m with you,” she said, cupping his face as she kissed him back. “I’m with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Sorry breakfast is late!” Louise said brightly the next morning as she bustled into the dining room from the kitchen, with the tray of bacon and eggs with trimmings.
Her four guests gave her slightly bleary smiles. “Well, so are we,” John said. “In fact, after the night you’ve had, I’m surprised to see any breakfast at all.”
Inevitably, when she remembered the best part of the packed night—making love with Thierry in the storm—she blushed. They’d walked back to the big house together. In the circumstances, their dripping state had aroused no comment or even notice. Jim, the house chef, had given them mugs of steaming soup and said to Louise, “I’ve been hearing great things about your breakfasts.”
Louise had smiled back. “I’ve been hearing great things about your dinners.”
“You interested in doing some events together in the summer?”
“Events?” Louise, with her mind full of Thierry, and the storm that had literally blown their mist goddess away—to say nothing of her guilt over leaving her parents for so long—had taken some time to grasp Jim’s meaning. “What kind of events?”
“Not sure yet. Still mulling it over, but stuff that would take more than one cook. These guys”—he jerked his head in the general direction of Thierry and the people arguing behind him—“would rather cut their own fingers off than cook.”
Louise had shrugged. “Let me know what your plan is, and I’ll see if I can help.”
“Thanks. I’ll send you word through Thierry.”
“Okay,” Louise had agreed, feeling warmed rather than appalled by the publicly acknowledged connection. “What needs doing here?”
In truth, not much more had been needed. Chrissy was an amazing organizer, and with Izzy and the men helping her, she’d already organized sleeping accommodation for the village refugees.
When things had quietened down, Thierry had driven her home through the still-fierce, but slowly calming, storm. The wind had continued to buffet them, but at least the rain had finally stopped. And when they’d reached the B&B, he’d kissed her openly, and she’d returned the embrace, wishing he could just come in with her. She would have liked the comfort of his embrace as she slept. But he’d had responsibilities at the big house that night, as she’d had here. And so they’d parted.
Her mother had got herself into bed when Louise had checked on them both. She’d hugged her mother, smoothed her father’s troubled forehead before going to her own room and tumbling into bed, damp and totally exhausted.
“At least they got the power back on while we slept,” Louise offered now. It seemed a safe subject.
“How is your father?” Caroline asked as Louise distributed breakfast plates. “I saw the ambulance. I hope you didn’t wait behind because of us?”
“No, no,” Louise assured her. “They only wanted one of us in the ambulance, so my mother went with him. My brother’s driving up from Glasgow this morning, so we’ll go to the hospital then.”
As Cerys brought in the tea and coffeepots, Louise added, “I’m sorry you’ve had quite such an adventurous trip. We’re usually a lot quieter around here! But I wanted to thank you for all your help last night. My mother and I both appreciate it.”
“Least we could do,” John said.
“You’re very kind,” Louise replied. She poured the tea and coffee while Cerys retreated back to the kitchen. “Would you mind if I took advantage of your good nature even further and picked your brains?”
“About insurance?” John asked.
“Sort of… When we talked before about London and Scottish Life, you mentioned their popularity had taken a hit since Thierry Duplessis’s prosecution. Implied they were struggling. I’m thinking that’s why they sent their investigator after Thierry, because they need the missing money back.”
John shrugged. “They won’t go bankrupt without it, but, yes, I’m sure it would help.”
“But they went a discreet route to investigate—hiring a private investigator, whose death they’ve made no comment about. Would I be right in suspecting they weren’t going after Thierry himself, just the money?”
John hesitated, then laid down his knife and fork. “I’m not privy to the strategies of other companies,” he said. “But, yes, the word is their reputation wouldn’t stand them going after Duplessis again. They had to the first time, if only to prove they took their security seriously, but they lost millions through cancelled policies while it was going on, and new custom has been pretty elusive.”
“So,” Louise said very carefully, “they don’t want to rake that all up again. If Thierry Duplessis were to explain to them, for example, that the money they were looking for was and had always been with a reputable and vital charity, their PR couldn’t afford them to go after that charity?”
John’s eyes were steady. “I would say not. So long as it never came out. But I would advise Monsieur Duplessis very strongly to retire. No one, let alone a multinational company, appreciates having their wealth redistributed without permission. It is against the law.”
Louise nodded. “I believe he retired from crime the day he gave himself up to French police. But I’ll pass on your words of wisdom. Thanks.”
John inclined his head. “He seems like a nice young man.”
Louise found herself blushing. “You’ve met him?”
“Briefly,” John said. “I believe he was looking for you last night.”
“He found me,” Louise said.
* * * * *
Chrissy and Aidan surveyed the damp pools on the hall floor of their cottage.
“It could have been worse,” Aidan observed.
“It could have been a lot worse,” Chrissy agreed. She put her arm around his waist, leaned her head against his shoulder. “This will dry out in a few days—with help—and it never got near the new kitchen. Besides, it’s a stupid thing to worry about when others have lost so much more. And with your dad in hospital, you get your priorities straight.”
There was a pause, then Aidan said, “It’s not looking good for him.”
She hugged his arm. “I’m sorry, Aidan.”
He nodded. His arm came around her and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad I have you.”
“So am I.”
After a moment, he said, “Louise is with Thierry.”
“I know.” She glanced up at his face. “Do you mind?”
He shook his head. “No. If he’d bumped Ron off, maybe I would. Not that it would have made any difference. You can’t really help who you love, can you?”
“No, but…are you sure he didn’t kill Ron?”
Aidan nodded. “I’ve just spoken to Davidson. There are no signs whatever that Ron was pushed. Apparently everything from his injuries to the angle of his landing is consistent with losing his footing and falling. Plus the police have a witness who saw Ron walk up the hill at least half an hour after Thierry’s car drove away from it in the direction of Ardknocken House.”
“Hamish Begg at the end of the road?” Chrissy hazarded. The old boy missed very little.
“Unfortunately, he also blew Louise’s cover. She was with Thierry when they walked up the hill, and she drove away with him after. Which certainly explains why she didn’t come home when Thierry had apparently dropped her off at the B&B.”
“She doesn’t like gossip,” Chrissy excused her.
“Who does?
In any case, I don’t think she cares for that anymore. I actually think she might be happy with Thierry.” He hugged Chrissy convulsively. “My dad would have liked that.”
* * * * *
Two days after the storm, Louise rejoined Thierry in his car in the hospital carpark.
“All right?” Thierry asked her.
“Sort of,” Louise said. Her voice caught. “I spoke to the doctor. He’s going to die, Thierry.”
Thierry took her hand and kissed it in silence.
“It should be easy,” Louise whispered. “Everything that made him my dad died a long time ago. I’ve watched him slip away over years. This should be the easy part. And it isn’t, Thierry, it isn’t.”
He took her in his arms, and she gasped into his shoulder as the tears finally burst their aching banks.
* * * * *
Ardknocken was getting back to normal. As Louise and Thierry walked past the devastated harbour and onto the beach, she noticed that the tea shop and the off-licence had reopened. The fishermen’s cottages were being dried out and repaired. They had a little row of temporary caravans behind them, so the big house had lost its extra guests. However, the ex-guests had nothing but praise now for the Ardknocken House project.
Aidan and Chrissy were having an impromptu picnic in their cottage. The new central heating was on and a dehumidifier in the hall was drying out the dampness when Louise and Thierry squeezed past and into the back room.
There they found not only Aidan and Chrissy, but Izzy, Glenn and Morag, all sitting around a blanket on the floor, with bowls of nibbles, mugs and glasses in the middle. They all cheered when Louise and Thierry came in, making Louise blush and laugh.
“Pull up some floor,” Chrissy invited. “Coffee? Tea? Wine? Whisky?”
“One of each!” Louise said recklessly. “What are we celebrating?”
“Survival,” Aidan said, reaching behind him to switch on the kettle. “Sounds like everyone worked wonders on Wednesday night. No deaths, no serious injuries. And minimal damage, considering.” He grabbed up his glass and raised it to Glenn and Thierry. “Plus, you guys are definitely flavour of the month in Ardknocken these days.”
“It won’t last, of course,” Morag said cheerfully. “So enjoy it while you can!”
Aidan shoved a whisky across to Thierry. “I found your money.”
Louise’s heart surged into her mouth.
“What money?” Thierry said mildly.
“The money Ron was looking for.”
“No, you didn’t,” Thierry said.
Aidan smiled. “No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “But we did discover a certain charity about to go bankrupt suddenly didn’t. Just before you were arrested. Can’t prove it was you, of course.”
Thierry didn’t say anything, but he was very still as he met Aidan’s steady gaze. Aidan was an ex-cop.
“Neither can London and Scottish,” Aidan said. “I understand they’re writing it off.”
Which was Aidan’s way of saying so was he. Louise relaxed. Thierry’s lips quirked. He inclined his head. “Thank you.” He raised the whisky glass in a toast.
“For what it’s worth,” Aidan added, “though I’m sure she knows, Louise didn’t tell me.”
“I know,” Thierry said. He didn’t look at her, but his trust warmed her. His gaze, in fact, was on Glenn. “Are you all right with this?” he asked bluntly.
Glenn shrugged. “It’s past. So long as you have no further plans for redistributing wealth—”
“Except by making us all rich with your new computer game,” Izzy interrupted.
“I’ll do my best.”
“So this mist stuff,” Izzy pursued. “I mean our mist, not the game mist. Are you still looking into it?”
Louise gave them an edited version of the storm battle and what they’d learned from the mist goddess.
“So the combination of you two, descendants of her lover and her daughter, respectively, in the vicinity, woke her up?” Izzy said, pouring more wine.
In spite of everything, Louise’s blood heated. “She wanted us to have a child that would bring back the old ways and give her power back. And, I suspect, a body.”
“And our storm blew her apart,” Morag mused. “Sounds like hysterical hallucination to me.”
“Oh come on, Morag,” Louise protested. “You know you felt something when the mist was down. Errol Flynn?”
“Errol Flynn,” Morag repeated. She gave a quick breath of laughter Louise was at a loss to account for, and raised her glass. “Errol Flynn,” she toasted, and drank. Louise, leaning against Thierry’s shoulder, had the oddest feeling her friend was talking about someone else entirely.
But that was Morag’s business.
As Louise murmured her own toast, she was really thinking of the dangerous mist goddess, her ancestress, who’d first brought her to Thierry. She’d always be grateful for that, even if the mist had killed Ron. She shivered, imagining the entity sleeping through the ages, occasionally waking to watch events around her resting place.
As she still watched. Between them, the storm and the disobedience of her chosen couple might have broken the goddess’s surge of power, but Louise knew suddenly she was still there in the hills and the waterfall, ancient and eternal, enduring with the land as the centuries passed. Louise found she didn’t mind that. She didn’t mind that at all.
About the Author
Marie Treanor lives in Scotland with her eccentric husband and three much-too-smart children. Having grown bored with city life, she resides these days in a picturesque village by the sea where she is lucky enough to enjoy herself avoiding housework and writing sensual stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.
Marie is the award winning author of over forty sexy paranormal romances—Indie, New York and E-published.
You can find out more about Marie and her books on her website: www.MarieTreanor.com.
Subscribe to her New Release Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/w84NH
Catch more latest news on Facebook www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-Treanor-Paranormal-Romance/105866982782360.
Look for these titles by Marie Treanor
Now Available:
Killing Joe
Gothic Dragon
Ariadne’s Thread
The Devil and Via
Queen’s Gambit
Requiem for Rab
Fairytale Fantasies (with Bonnie Dee)
Cinderella Unmasked
Demon Lover
Awakening Beauty
In…
In His Wildest Dreams
In Her Secret Fantasy
In the Mists of Time
Coming Soon:
Darke of Night
The Dead of Haggard Hall
Don’t miss the other titles in Marie Treanor’s In… Series!
Every dream can come true…in unexpected ways.
The only time Glenn Brody acted on the waking dreams his mother called second sight, he landed in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Now he keeps himself grounded in the real world, turning a neglected Scottish mansion into a co-op that gives ex-cons a second chance.
He’s almost managed to ignore the persistent, erotically charged dreams featuring a beautiful, passionate woman—until that woman accosts him in the street to ask for a job.
In hiding from her violent ex, Izzy Ross has made a peaceful life for herself and her young son in the isolated Highland village of Ardknocken. Handsome men with a criminal record aren’t high on her list, but when work dries up, she’s forced to ask Glenn for a menial cleaning job at the big, dusty house.
Their mutual attraction turns all their preconceived notions upside down, and stirs the mansion’s legendary ghost. Attracting the kind of media attention that could force Glenn to make a perilous choice to save the woman he’s
grown to love.
Warning: Contains a mansion full of unlikely heroes, liberal and colorful use of Scottish slang, a medieval ghost, and enough hot sex to spice up the chilliest Highland night.
Desire beyond imagination…danger that’s all too real.
A sequel to In His Wildest Dreams
World-weary, burned-out undercover cop Aidan Grieve’s latest assignment has brought him home to the Highland village he couldn’t wait to leave, but something’s definitely wrong in Ardknocken.
When did his parents get so frail? What is his sister thinking, befriending the chief suspects in his investigation—the ex-cons of Ardknocken House? And why can he barely control his instant attraction to the house’s beautiful manager?
Her mind and body still mending from a vicious attack, ex-parole officer Chrissy Lennox isn’t ready for a complication like the charming, empathetic, gorgeous Aidan, a restless adrenaline junkie for whom this sleepy village has never been big enough.
Yet as easily as the meddling selkies shed their skins, desire strips away their hesitation, and not even the cold Scottish sea can cool the fire. But as Aidan’s investigation progresses, so does the danger—revealing secrets that could leave their hearts in pieces.
Warning: When our hero is good, he’s very good…but when he’s bad, he’s delicious! Also contains lusty, mischievous selkies who’ll steal your heart with one flipper while stealing your underwear with the other.
eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
In the Mists of Time Page 20