“Yep, that’s him.” He sat down in the swivel chair behind his desk and passed Aisling the other can of soda. “Taken at Mardi Gras in Galveston, Texas, a few years back.”
“What about these people?” She held up the other photo.
“That’s me and my mom and dad at Fenway Park when I was about ten.” He took a gulp of his soda and exhaled.
“That’s in Boston?” She put the frame back down on his desk.
“Yep.” He glanced at the photo and felt the beginnings of a smile forming. “Where I grew up.”
She studied the picture, her eyes thoughtful. “You look happy.”
He nodded. “I was.” He looked at the smiling boy holding up a prized foul ball in his right hand. “The first thing I want to do with my kids—when they’re old enough—is a Sox game at Fenway.”
Her expression changed, like a cloud passing over the sun. “You must really want to have children someday.” She leaned against the inside edge of his desk, her voice uncertain.
“Well, sure.” Not that he’d ever given it much thought. Didn’t everyone want to have kids? It had always seemed too far in the future to give much consideration. He’d have to settle down first, which had never been an appealing prospect.
“You think Mrs. Harris will find anything for us in your archives?” The abrupt change of subject along with a quiver in her voice hit him like a chill wind.
“Did something upset you?” He waited for her answer, but she turned her face from him, studying the view of downtown New Haven from his window with sudden interest.
“Aisling?” He stood up opposite her. “Answer me.”
When she remained silent, he cupped her chin with his hand and tipped her face up to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I…” She threw her hands up in a nervous gesture, overturning her can of soda in the process.
Declan felt the wet splash hit him. With an amused groan, he looked down at the cola-colored stain soaking through his shirt and tie.
“Glory be!” Aisling grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his desk and dabbed at his shirt with flustered fingers. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s no big deal.” He tried to pry her frantic hands from their assault on his stained shirt. “Seriously, I have a clean T-shirt in my gym bag.” He clasped both of her hands in one of his, stilling their motions. “It’s right there in the closet.”
“But I…”
“Aisling, come on.” He had his shirt halfway unbuttoned and the tie tossed onto his desk. “My dry cleaner can have the stain out like magic.”
She didn’t speak, but hot color crept into her pale face. He followed her gaze and found it fastened on his bare chest.
Without a word, he lifted her hand and placed her palm squarely against the flat plane of his chest. She drew in a rapid breath and curled her fingers in, reacting to the feel of him like someone who’d accidentally touched a scalding stove.
“Don’t stop.” He moved in closer, forcing her backwards, until her rear end bumped the edge of his desk. He lifted her and sat her on its surface, careless of the piles of paperwork.
She bit down on her bottom lip, her chest rising and falling at an alarming pace. He brought her other hand up to his chest and planted it there, hissing when he felt her skin against his.
“I’ve been thinking about this…” He bent his head down, whispering in her ear, drowning in her scent. “Fantasizing about this… since the moment you stopped trying to kill me.”
A wary laugh bubbled forth from her throat. He answered by leaving a row of kisses down the length of her neck.
“If I can’t kiss you, you might as well start your keening again.” He moved into the vee of her legs, whispering against the soft skin exposed by the open neckline of her shirt. “Because either way, I’m a dead man.”
“Declan.” She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, going higher until her fingers were plowing through his hair. That was all the encouragement he needed.
“Aisling.” He brought his mouth to hers, crushing her lips in a kiss that held a night’s worth of the most intense desire he’d ever known.
She twisted her fingers through his hair, shyly parting her lips, granting him access to the wet cave of her mouth. He plundered with his tongue, tasting her indescribable flavor, commanding the mating of their tongues in a rhythm resembling what he wanted to do to her with the rest of his body.
He broke the kiss and she gasped his name again, throwing her head back when he strove for access to her neck. He brought his mouth lower, kissing each inch of skin he exposed as he unbuttoned her shirt.
“If you’re wearing a garter belt beneath this skirt…” He pulled away long enough to run his hands over her stocking covered thighs. “You’re going to have to call 911, and it won’t have a damn thing to do with you being a banshee.”
She lifted her backside from the desk slightly, a mute invitation for him to push her skirt up. He slipped his hands beneath the hem and inched it up, exploring every inch of her silky thighs as he went. When he revealed the spot where her thigh high stockings were attached to her black lace garter belt, every ounce of oxygen drained from his lungs.
He muttered an expletive and pushed her legs apart, massaging her inner thighs with trembling hands. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him nestle his face between her lace-covered breasts.
He dragged air back into his body, his tongue tracing the outline of her cleavage. He had to see her breasts or he’d die from longing. Without further hesitation, he reached for the front clasp of her black lace bra, preparing to open it and set her breasts free.
A small sound escaped from her mouth and he jerked his head up. She ducked her chin, averting her eyes from him but offering no protest.
“Aisling…” He relaxed his hold on the clasp of her bra. “Don’t be embarrassed. Especially not with me.”
“No one has ever seen me like this before.” She put her hands over his but kept her gaze to the side.
“That’s fine because no one else could want you more than I do.” He caressed her through the cups of her bra, pressing his throbbing erection against the apex of her thighs. “Do you feel how hard I am right now? It’s all because of you.” He angled his head and captured her mouth again. “Let me see you.” His lips moved against hers as he spoke.
As if in slow motion, she moved his hands from the clasp of her bra and unfastened it herself.
He shook like a fragile sapling in gale force wind as he pushed the confines of her bra aside, exposing the succulently full mounds of her breasts.
They were like snowdrifts, scoops of vanilla ice cream topped with cherry colored nipples. Pre-ejaculate poured from his cock and his head spun with need, his entire being distilled to one single desire. Cupping her breasts with his hands, he lifted one ruby nipple to his mouth and suckled.
Her breathing changed to panting. She clasped the back of his head with her hands, bringing him closer to the plump curve of her breast, moaning when he took the entire outer rim of her nipple into his mouth, drawing on it, flicking it with his tongue.
He grabbed for his belt. He had to get out of his pants and into her panties right then, that instant. If he didn’t, he’d keel over from sheer frustration. “I’ve got to get inside you.” He ripped his zipper down.
“Take my skirt off.” She unfastened the waistband for him and wiggled forward to facilitate the process.
“Sir, I’ve got those files you were looking…” Mrs. Harris burst through the door, loaded down with a stack of folders. The words died on her lips, and her usually cheery face turned beet red at the sight of her employer and his oddly pale out of town guest half naked on top of the desk.
“I’ll just put these down, uh…” Mrs. Harris spun around like a top, seeking a place to dump the files so she could escape the scene of the crime. Aisling had already jumped up and was hastily buttoning her shirt. Mrs. Harris drop
ped the files into the chair by the door and left without another glance in their direction.
Silence filled the room, hanging between the two of them like a ghost. The sounds of their passion-fueled breathing supplied the only background noise. Aisling, completely dressed again, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floor.
Dammit to hell. What had he been thinking? Aisling was a foreigner in this realm, new to sexual exploration, at least with men of the human persuasion. He should’ve had better sense than to tear her clothes off in an unlocked office like some rutting beast who wouldn’t spring for dinner and a movie first.
Hell, she at least deserved to make love in a bed, not on a hard desk in front of a window in scenic downtown New Haven.
“Aisling, I…” He stopped. He couldn’t say he was sorry, because it wasn’t true. He’d enjoyed every minute his mouth and hands had spent on her, and his attraction for her wasn’t something he regretted.
“I guess I should go change into that T-shirt now.” He cleared his throat and shrugged out of his shirt.
She nodded, fiddling with the top button of her shirt. “I’ll check those files Mrs. Harris dropped off for us.”
Dropped being the key word. He groaned inwardly and staggered to his closet, fishing out his gym bag.
This sex-crazed behavior had to stop. If Aisling wanted to have sex, it needed to be on her terms, when she felt ready for it, not because he let Little Declan run the show. He pulled the spare T-shirt over his head, lurching when his erection demanded an explanation about being left high and dry.
“Declan?”
“What’s up?” He raked his hand through his hair. Think about cold water. Think about Aunt Gertie wearing night cream and curlers.
“Were you involved in this land deal to acquire Kelly Orchards for corporate development?”
Aunt Gertie did the trick every time. He stepped out of the closet, finding Aisling with her nose buried in a file. “Yeah, why?”
She looked up from the folder, her eyes growing round with horror. “Declan, didn’t you know it was a clover field?”
He thought back, trying to remember what the place had looked like. “Honestly, I don’t recall a single thing about it.”
“I think we have the answer to our question.” She waved the file at him, accusation hanging from every syllable. “You sold the leprechaun’s clover field to a developer!”
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe you did this.” Aisling flopped down in the nearest chair.
“How the hell was I supposed to know I’d piss off the entire first fleet of the little green army?” Declan shut the closet door behind him with a little too much force.
“Just tell me they haven’t completely destroyed the place.” She counted to ten, waiting for his answer. The bulge in his pants had almost disappeared, but she could remember the way it had felt against her. The knowledge that she’d done that to him sent her pulse spiraling.
“They didn’t destroy it.” He flopped down in his swivel chair, propping his feet up on his desk, near the exact spot where they’d almost… “They developed it,” he finished with a scowl in her direction.
“Can you be a bit more specific?” She tried to picture herself explaining this one to Morgan Le Fay.
“They built an Olive Garden over it.” He tapped a pen on the glass top of his desk.
Aisling felt an inner fuse crackle and pop. “An Olive Garden? They covered the leprechaun’s home with an Olive Garden? And you went along with this?”
He shrugged, continuing the pen tapping. “It was just business.”
“It was a violation of the leprechauns’ civil liberties!” She tossed the file onto the end table beside her chair and jumped to her feet. “Besides, haven’t you ever heard that old Joni Mitchell song? You don’t pave paradise and put up an Olive Garden!”
“Last time I checked, leprechaun civil liberties were not addressed by our Bill of Rights.” He tossed the pen down on the desk with a clatter. “Secondly, forgive me for not being up on random folk music lyrics. I was too busy going to law school and trying to make a living to memorize the entire works of Ms. Mitchell.”
“You realize their pot of gold is probably buried somewhere beneath the restaurant?” She began to pace, rubbing her forehead with her hand. There had to be a way to straighten out this mess.
“I would have no idea.” His voice was tight with suppressed anger. She sought him with her eyes, feeling a pang in her heart when she saw the look on his face.
“I don’t want to fight with you.” She treaded over to his desk, avoiding eye contact.
“I suppose I’m a little…” He coughed. “Frustrated. And it has nothing to do with this leprechaun situation.”
“What happened between us --” She was about to tell him it didn’t have to happen again. After all, what future could there be between a banshee and a lawyer? Especially a human lawyer who wanted children, something she could never give him. She winced at the pain shooting through her heart.
“What happened between us shouldn’t have happened the way it did, and I’m sorry.” He reached across the desk and took her hand. “You deserve more than a quickie on top of a desk.”
“It’s not that at all.” That was his idea of a quickie? “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a repeat performance.”
“You call that a performance?” His mouth turned up at the corners. “That was just the opening act.” He stood up and gave her hand a warm squeeze. “What do you say we go home so I can change, then we have a little tour of Italy for dinner?”
“Maybe my banshee sixth sense will figure something out from being on the property.” She followed him to the door, relishing the feeling of his hand around hers.
She’d made a huge mistake in letting this human get under her skin, but she couldn’t stop herself. She’d drink every last drop of togetherness until she had to return to her realm, leaving him to find a woman who could give him everything she couldn’t.
And probably taking a broken heart back with her.
———
Declan flipped on the living room light switch. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone put away Fettuccini Alfredo at that speed before.”
“We banshees have generous appetites.” Aisling hung her purse up on the coat rack and sighed.
“You nervous about the email?” He couldn’t quite absorb the fact that she’d just emailed the leprechaun king about their situation.
She hugged herself, shuddering. “He’s hot tempered, and I know he must’ve been furious to present a case for your death to Morgan.” She gave him a weak smile. “But I think your plan will turn the tide.”
“Hopefully.” He drew her into an embrace. “Everything will be OK.”
“It has to be.” She melted against him, and he savored the sensation of her body against his. “I won’t permit any banshee to come near you.”
“Are you planning to become my one-banshee security force?” He tightened his hold on her and rested his chin on her head. The idea of keeping her around, for security or any other reason, appealed to him more than he’d ever thought possible.
The beeping sound of her PDA rang through the air. With a sigh of regret, he released her. She made a beeline to her purse, snatched it open, and took out the device.
“Incoming email?” He sat down on the couch, suddenly tense.
“It’s from Seamus.” She scanned the screen. “That’s the king,” she clarified. “He and Queen Maeve are coming to meet with us tomorrow.” She exhaled. “He’s willing to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
“Queen Maeve?”
“Yes, she’s the queen of the fairy realm, which makes me one of her subjects.” She snapped the PDA shut and dropped it into her purse. “She’s coming to mediate, in case King Seamus gets a little hot under the collar.”
“Maeve.” He smiled. “Just like my great-grandmother.”
She sat down on the couch, a careful distanc
e from him. “It’s a noble name.”
“What time can we expect the supernatural duo tomorrow?”
She played with the end of her ponytail. “Around noon. We’re serving brunch.”
Declan nearly swallowed his tongue. “We’re making brunch for the leprechaun king and the fairy queen?”
“I thought I’d make colcannon and soda bread.” She stood up unsteadily. “I guess we should get ready for bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and I need to go to the market across the street and get some groceries early in the morning.”
He pulled himself up and followed her into the bedroom. “Do I want to know how a banshee learned to cook?”
She opened a pink and white striped shopping bag perched on the end of his bed. “Like I said, banshees have to eat too.” He watched as she extracted a handful of filmy black silk and lace.
“I’ll change in there.” She indicated his bathroom. “You can put on your pajamas out here.” She turned on her heel and disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Declan puffed out his cheeks and sighed, snatching a pair of cotton pajama bottoms from the top drawer of his dresser. As if he’d be able to sleep, trying to picture her in whatever she’d pulled out of that bag.
He shed his clothes and slipped into his pajamas, tossing his discarded jeans and shirt into the laundry hamper before leaving the bedroom. He shut the door with a decisive click, letting Aisling know it was safe to come out.
He heard the bathroom door open and shut as he was settling onto the futon for the night.
“See you in the morning, Declan.” She peeked out of the barely cracked bedroom door, her violet eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.
“Goodnight, Aisling.” Their gazes locked for a second, then she shut the door on him.
He rolled over on the futon and punched his pillow, praying sleep would come, since he obviously couldn’t.
Chapter 6
The sound of thunder worked itself into his dream, taking the form of an angry leprechaun throwing little green rocks at his head.
Romancing the Banshee Page 3