by Rosanna Leo
“Uh, Sidney Crosby got a concussion playing hockey. It’s different,” she responded in a tart tone. But then she trembled, a reaction that was not lost on Calan. “What if they come back?”
“If they come back, I’ll make them regret it,” he snarled, shocked at the intensity of the feeling that coursed through him. “Especially the girl’s blouse that hit you. Hitting a woman. Thank Loki the trickster for your weapon of a knee. I hope you skelped him.”
“I guess that one karate lesson I took paid for itself,” she joked glumly.
“Maggie, they’re gone for now, but they’ll return.” Gently, he spun her around to face him, never letting his hands fall from her shoulders. Why couldn’t he take his hands off her body? “It’s just my humble opinion, but you shouldn’t stay here.”
“It’s my gran’s house,” she spat. “I don’t want criminals rifling through her things!” Even as she declared it, the uncertainty in her eyes belied her true fear.
“Better that, than putting their paws back on you. No, much as I admire your pluck, I won’t have that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and pulled away from his touch. “Why do you even care, Calan? You just want the skin, too.”
He wanted to reach for her again but, using all his fortitude, he resisted. Why am I here? I shouldn’t care about this wee mortal woman. She’s nothing to me.
He moved off the bed, hoping his face didn’t reflect the storm of conflict inside him, and went to stare out the window. He placed his hands on either side of the window ledge and hunched over, ripples of tension surging through his shoulder muscles, a strange agony splintering through every bone.
Nora’s bedroom had a view of the beach, of the sea Calan so loved. Now, shimmering under the golden rays of the sun, the waves called to him, spoke his name. They begged him to return to their dreamy depths, just as a siren might call to a sailor from her rock. He was selkie. And as comfortable and content as he could be on land, ultimately the sea would always seek to claim him. It was part of him, the best part of his soul.
Then why, he wondered as he spun around to face the ginger-haired woman on the other side of the room, did he suddenly not care about the blasted sea? Why did he want to run to her, rather than into the surf?
Fine. She touched him. That, he’d allow. He knew he’d seen something in Maggie, almost before he even saw her. There had been something in the way Nora had described
her that had stirred him from the start. The old woman had told him about Maggie’s youth, about how she lost her parents, yet remained strong. She’d told him stories that illustrated Maggie’s passion, her caring for others, even as those others didn’t always care for her in return. And when Calan had heard how Maggie had been treated by her former fiancés, it had made him seethe with unexpected rage. Of course, selkie folk did feel strongly, but he had still been surprised at how affected he was.
When he began to dream of her, he’d known he was headed for trouble. When he finally saw her that day on the beach, her quiet beauty had brought him to a point of near insanity. He’d forgotten himself and that he had a job to do. It was clear he wanted her with an undeniable, unstoppable force, and it was killing him to keep his hands off her.
If only she didn’t belong to such a greedy, violent race. There was no way in hell he could ever choose a human for something more than a quick shag.
“Hey, are you okay?” Her face had lost its defiance and was molded with concern as she witnessed his internal struggle.
By all the old gods, she’s beautiful. Those curls and those bright eyes. Such fair skin and a voice so sweet, her every word sounds like a poem.
“Aye, I’m fine.” He moved toward her, not stopping until he was right in front of her. He allowed himself to brush aside a stray, auburn curl with one finger. He tucked the lock behind her ear, and tried not to smile as her eyelids fluttered. Her need was clearly written on her delicate face, and was as raw as his own. “Listen to me. Keep the skin. Burn it for all I care. But we must get you out of this house. I cannot see you hurt again.”
She stared at him, wide eyed. “But don’t you need it? To, uh, go home? Like E.T.?”
“There’s only one thing I need right now, and it has nothing to do with that skin.” He leaned in, his sense losing out to his senses. He was so eager to taste her lips, but Maggie slid out of his grasp. Mentally kicking himself for being a fumbling fool, he watched the object of his reluctant affection.
Without a word, she went to Nora’s closet and leaned in. He could hear muffled noises of frustration as she began to toss articles out of the overburdened closet. Shoes, scarves, and handbags were launched out of the space. Calan had to duck as an ample girdle flew in the direction of his head. He stared, completely at a loss. Not once had his kisses inspired his partners to embark on a spring-cleaning project.
“Reorganizing now, are we, Maggie? Not the moment I would have chosen, but to each his own.”
She didn’t respond until a clunky shoe fell on her foot, eliciting a loud, “Oh, shit!”
Calan stifled a laugh, but apparently not well enough because Maggie just turned and glared at him.
“You could help, you know, instead of cackling at me like an old woman!”
He tried unsuccessfully to look serious as he approached her. “Forgive me, but I have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I’m looking for your bloody pelt!”
Had he heard her right? Calan could have sworn he felt the arteries in his body constrict, cutting off his supply of oxygen. He licked his parched lips. “What do you mean you’re looking for it? Don’t you know where it is?”
She stood and slowly faced him, her face a little pale. “No,” she admitted. “Gran told me she hid it, but not where. She was worried others might find it, so she said I’d have to look for it.”
Calan felt as if the floor had fallen out from under him. Surely he was pitching forward into a deep, dank abyss, because his stomach certainly felt that way. He steadied himself on the open closet door, willing his sudden migraine to disappear. “She didn’t tell you where she put it?”
“No,” came the small reply.
“Feck,” he roared. “Meddling, conniving humans! They’ll be the death of me! You cannot trust a single bloody one. What was that old woman thinking?”
“Hey,” she retorted, insulted. “It’s just an old animal pelt. No reason to be rude.”
“I’m not being…” he began, and then choked off the words in his mouth before he said something he regretted. After all, it wasn’t Maggie’s fault her granny enjoyed messing with men’s minds. He forced himself to calm down, taking a few deep breaths. He just needed to find the skin. It shouldn’t be hard. How cagey could an old human lady be anyway? It was probably tucked into a hatbox or hidden in her garden shed.
Or buried under one of the million rocks on Orkney. Oh, hell.
“Look,” Maggie said quietly, taking a step toward him. “Why don’t you help me look for it? It can’t be far. She said it would be in one of the places she loved. And when we find it, I promise you can have it back.”
She looked so forlorn then, as if she expected him to disappear with the imagined pelt. Calan just stared at her and considered the possession he’d so bargained over with Nora. No mortal woman in her right mind would return it, knowing the power it wielded. By keeping that pelt, Maggie could keep him as her very own sexual genie. He was honor bound to obey the keeper of the skin, thanks to some cursed magic that was older than time.
But Maggie was offering it back to him, offering him his potential freedom, though he hadn’t yet fulfilled his duty. When they did find it, it should be so easy to take it and run. He’d be able to keep his promise to Angus. Could swim in the surf he adored until the next time he felt an urge for human food or human women. The waves would swallow him in their welcoming embrace, and he need never see her spellbinding face again. The pelt would be his ticket to his beloved home.
But for the first time in his centuri
es-old life, Calan hated the thought of it. Hated that it might take him away from her. Feeling more delicious unease than he’d ever felt in his life, he reached for her hand. “That’s kind of you, lass. You’re the only woman who’s ever offered it back to me.” He breathed her in, fighting her magnetic pull on him. “Look, we can search for it later. For now, we should get you settled at a B&B somewhere close.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His anger flared again. Stubborn woman! “Oh, yes you are. You can’t stay here with burglars afoot.”
She pulled her hand out of his, making him feel as if she’d slapped his face. “I am not leaving my grandmother’s house. My house.” The tiny white specks in her eyes flashed, making them a shocking blue.
“Well,” he said, quickly pondering his options. “Then I’m staying here with you, and I won’t take no for an answer. I promised Nora I’d watch over you. And if you refuse to see sense, like all the other women I’ve known, then I’ll watch over you here.” She began to protest, but he cut her off. “Besides, this way, I can do a little skin hunting on the premises.” He gave her his best I-will-not-be-defied look.
Her eyes softened, although she still resembled a wild animal looking for an opportunity to pounce. “You’re very stubborn.”
“Back at ya, babe, as they say in America.”
“I’m from Canada,” she muttered.
He picked up a couple of the items she’d tossed during her closet desecration and threw them back in the closet. He looked back at her, letting his gaze travel up and down her form. “Same thing.”
And then he ducked as another gigantic girdle was launched at his head.
Chapter 5
There were no other break-ins that day, which was a blessing because Maggie didn’t think she could handle any more stress. It was bad enough Calan had decided to camp out on her gran’s couch. He’d set aside a couple of blankets for himself in preparation for the evening and was making himself quite comfortable. He’d already raided her cookie jar a few times and had made her a sandwich at lunch. Now he was going through the main floor with a fine-toothed comb, searching for the skin, annoying her with his constant humming and comments about the house needing a maid service.
Maggie tried to ignore him for much of the day, embarking on some little tidy-up projects. She didn’t want to. It was still way too early to be going through Gran’s things, but she wanted to be the one to find the pelt. It had to be there somewhere. Then she could present it to Calan and wish him a not-so-fond adieu.
And yet every time she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she realized the sight of him puttering in her house did something to her. It scrambled her brain. It produced wiggly feelings in her stomach. It made her want to keep watching him.
Why did someone so gorgeous have to be so irritating?
Sometime near evening, Calan declared his intention of continuing his search for the pelt outside. Nora had a sizable property, at the end of which was a small greenhouse. Maggie could see he was beginning to get antsy. It wasn’t easy being in the house of a hoarder, even though Gran would never have called herself such.
“I’m going to search the greenhouse before it gets dark, Maggie.” He headed for the door.
“It’s probably just as messy in there,” she volunteered, trying not to look so eager to join him. “Maybe another pair of hands would be useful to you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. His gaze held hers for a dizzying moment. “Come along, then,” he said in his penetrating, deep voice. “You might want your boots. It’s wet outside.”
It’s wet inside.
Cursing her vagina, which felt all too ready for action in his presence, Maggie followed him out toward the greenhouse. She was careful where she stepped. There were mud puddles everywhere. It must have rained while they were inside. She hadn’t even noticed because she was hyperaware of Calan’s every sinuous move throughout the house. She put her foot down near one mud puddle and went flying, but he caught her and held her up. She froze in his arms, staring up into his face, unable to steady her heartbeat. From the cocky grin on his face, he could hear her heart pumping.
“If I put you down, do you think you can walk the rest of the way? Or shall I call you a carriage, Princess?”
She vaulted out of his arms, suddenly peeved that he’d label her in such a way. “I’m not a princess. I just slipped.”
“Don’t be offended. There’s nothing wrong with being a princess. Nothing wrong with having someone take care of you.”
She stomped away, inexplicably mad. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, thank you very much.” She had. With two
dead parents and relatives a world away, she’d always been forced to fend for herself. And it bothered her when people assumed she couldn’t handle her own business.
It bugged her even more to have Calan presume it. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was just the sort of man she would have liked as a protector.
Man, her feelings were throwing her under the bus here!
He didn’t follow her right away and hung behind. She could feel his gaze burning into her back. Ignoring his flame-throwing eyes, she plodded on to the greenhouse door. She didn’t dare look at him as he approached. She didn’t trust herself to look in his direction. For some reason, she wanted to cry.
And it was all his fault. Intruding into her life with his sexiness and devilish smiles. Damn him. She didn’t want to feel this way, whatever it was she felt.
Calan brushed past her as he entered the greenhouse and just his proximity was enough to make her burst into flames in the little glass structure. It was so small in there, too close. If anyone had been observing from the road, surely they would have seen sparks behind the glass.
He didn’t say a word as he searched for the skin. Just gently moved Nora’s bags of fertilizer and overgrown plants. After a while, it became clear the greenhouse was not the hiding place for the pelt.
Sighing, Calan looked at her. “It’s not here. We might as well go back.”
She didn’t say a word, just walked out and left him there as she tried to stomp away, merely succeeding in squishing away through all the mud.
He deftly caught up to her, his feet seemingly immune to the mud that was dragging her down. God, what was it with the man? He had the grace of a large cat!
“You’re angry with me,” he said.
“No, I’m not.”
“I’ve known a lot of women, dear heart. I can tell when one’s pissed.”
She spared him a glance, righting herself as she slid again. “How wonderful for you that you’ve had so many women! It must be so easy to make comparisons!” She stared him down as he blanched. “Believe me, we’re not all the same.”
He slowly looked up and down the length of her. “Oh, you’re different, all right!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” And as Maggie turned to confront him, she lost her footing once again. She flailed but there was nothing in grabbing distance to steady her, other than Calan.
Her hands reached out automatically, and she pulled on his jacket. And as time seemed to travel in slow motion, Maggie fell and brought Calan down on top of her. Her boots slid in the mire, making her legs fall open, and Calan fell between them. They landed in the biggest mud puddle of all. The brown goo waved over the two of them like a mucky tsunami, covering them in filth.
She looked up at him as he lay on top of her, catching his breath. He was drenched in it. There was mud in his hair, mud caking his clothing, and she shuddered to notice, mud all through his beautiful leather jacket.
“Oh,” she whispered, waiting for his wrath. The jacket must have cost a fortune. It looked vintage.
He stared at her, shocked, and then his face broke up, splitting into a goopy grin. He began laughing, began howling, in fact.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” he managed
to say through his peals of hilarity. “You look like something out of a nightmare, Maggie. We’d better get you cleaned up or you might frighten the neighbor’s kids.”
She pushed him off her, even though her legs suddenly wanted to clench around his body and keep him there on top of her for a good long while. He helped her up, and they made their way back to the house, the walk back being little more than sticky torture. Sticky because of the mud, and tortured because Calan kept chortling at her and her new brunette hairdo.
As they both yanked off their mud-encrusted boots at the front door, Maggie felt a little sheepish for her outburst. She couldn’t explain why he fired up her emotions to such a violent degree. Ever since she met him on the beach that night, indeed ever since she’d begun dreaming of him, she felt frazzled.
It had to stop. The man was loony tunes.
“There’s, uh, only one shower,” she admitted quietly. “You go ahead. I’ll wait for my turn.” She opened the door.
And then, to her simultaneous horror and delight, he began to strip out of his clothing. Right there, at the front door. She averted her eyes. It took a moment, but she managed to avert them. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t go in like this, love. We’ll track mud all over your granny’s house. I suggest you do the same. You’re dripping.”
She paled at his choice of words. She was dripping, just not the way he suspected. But, seeing his logic, she began to slowly disrobe too. Keeping her gaze off him the whole time. By the time she got down to her skivvies, she sensed he’d stopped moving. She looked up under her muddy lashes at him.
He was nude. Caked in mud in spots, but deliciously nude. As she gawked at him, he cocked a playful eyebrow at her. “You’re as slow as molasses, Maggie. I guess I do get the shower first.”
Before she could stammer any kind of response, he entered the house and ran off toward the upstairs bathroom, his delectable ass tensing as he moved. In her bra and panties, she watched, unable to move. After forcing her useless limbs back into action, she went inside too. Within a couple of seconds, she heard the water turn on. As if pulled by a magnet, she stumbled toward the bathroom.