by Rosanna Leo
As she reached the top landing, she poked her head down the hallway. Calan had left the bathroom door wide open, and she wasn’t sure if it was done on purpose or not. Either way, she meandered toward it, called by the sound of the coursing water and his voice.
He was singing in the shower. That song by the Stones, the one about the devil. She approached, catching garbled bits about the nature of his game, making her wonder if Lucifer himself was in Gran’s shower stall.
She reached the bathroom door, and her gaze flew to the frosted shower curtain, the one that did very little to hide certain details. She could still make out the long, hard length of him, could see the tempting color of his lips and the thick ropes of hair. And she could imagine each drop as it traveled over his sculpted arms and legs and his perfect behind.
She needed to get out of there pronto before he caught her. She turned.
“Maggie?”
Too late.
As she listened to the scrape of the curtain rings on the rod, she felt a shiver of anticipation tickle her spine. She turned back to face him, as ripples of want shook her being. He stood there, unashamed, his eyes hooded and hungry.
“Would you pass me a towel, love?”
She did, hastily, and then froze.
He quickly dried himself off and wrapped his lower half in the terry cloth. He got out of the shower, his gaze always on her, and moved past her. “Your turn. If you’d like, I could stay to hand you a towel when you’re done.”
Mortified beyond belief, Maggie gestured at the door and watched him leave. She then slammed the bathroom door on him. She took the quickest shower known to woman, raced to her bedroom, barricaded the door, and got dressed in her nightgown. Then she got into bed, and didn’t move a muscle until sleep finally overcame her.
* * * *
Maggie woke up the next morning, desperate for three cups of coffee. Or five. It had been, hands down, the most stressful night of her life and she’d barely slept a wink.
And, she realized with dread, it had nothing to do with Gran’s passing. Nothing to do with the burglar or the missing skin she never wanted. Certainly nothing to do with Matthew lurking somewhere on the island.
It was because Calan Kirk, her dead grandmother’s sexiest drinking buddy, had slept under the same roof. Again.
She hadn’t been able to stop picturing him all night. Did he sleep in his clothes? Did he sleep shirtless? In the nude? Did he lie on his stomach with his fine ass in the air, or on his back with his … The pornographic possibilities made her mind spin.
It had been bad enough picturing Calan in his birthday suit because she already knew how infuriatingly flawless he was naked. To make matters worse, he’d kept the television on for much of the night. For two hours straight, he’d roared with laughter as he watched some Three Stooges reruns. When Maggie had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, her dreams had been littered with images of a naked Calan seducing her, until Moe showed up and brained her with a frying pan.
And now she was just ornery.
Clearly, “selkie folk” didn’t need a lot of sleep.
She stumbled downstairs and toward the kitchen, her eyes half-closed. Not caring that she might be disturbing her exhibitionist houseguest. “Serve him right for keeping me up.”
She needed coffee, and she needed it now.
Suddenly, she smelled it. Dark Columbian. And it made her taste buds water.
She peeked around the kitchen wall before entering the room, and the sight made her jaw drop.
Calan was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Washing up some dishes she’d left in the sink yesterday. His hands submerged in suds. Quietly humming what she could have sworn was a Barry Manilow tune this time. Wearing nothing but his mud-caked jeans. Barefoot. Shirtless. Clean, long hair tied back.
Mind-bogglingly attractive. Drool inspiring. Erotic as all hell, in spite of his sometimes-tragic taste in music.
Her gaze darted about the room. There was a full pot of coffee warming. The room was tidier than either she or Gran had ever left it. And he’d somehow found bacon and eggs in that mess of a kitchen. She could see the bacon frying on the griddle, its happy sizzle welcoming her.
Welcome, Maggie, welcome, it seemed to say.
And as tasty as it smelled, Calan looked tastier. Maggie dragged her gaze back to his long, lean body. And realized she really wanted to lick him.
He looked up at that moment and gave her a smile that made her stomach flip-flop. And then he frowned, as if realizing he really shouldn’t beam at her like that. Almost angry at himself for grinning at her. “Maggie, you’re up. I hope you’re hungry.”
Oh, I’m hungry, all right.
He dried off his hands and pulled out a chair for her. Hmm, she thought, sexy and chivalrous. She didn’t think Matthew or Bobby had ever pulled out a chair for her. In fact, Bobby had had trouble pulling out his wallet for anything more than a $1.40 coffee at Tim Horton’s.
And before she could even mumble anything resembling a “Good morning,” he’d planted a plate laden with food in front of her, as well as a steaming mug of coffee. She stared at the offerings, flabbergasted. “Uh, thanks. I’ll just get the…”
“Cream and sugar.” He plunked those two items in front of her before she could get up again. “I know how you take it.”
“How would you know?” she asked as he sat opposite her. And tried not to stare at his abs, even though his six-pack rippled as he sat down, inviting her to skim her eager fingers over it.
His perfect face was deadpan, but he winked at her, allowing a hint of amusement to shine through. “I just know.” For a moment he continued to stare at her, taking her in from top to bottom, even darting a look under the table to where her bare legs were crossed. Finally, he dragged his gaze away from her body and made eye contact once again. “Interesting daytime attire.”
She looked down and tried not to cringe. She’d forgotten to change. She’d been too exhausted and had just stumbled out of bed. And now, while Calan sat there resembling a Greek god on holiday, she was wearing her ratty, knee-length, cotton nightgown. The one emblazoned with the old lady from the greeting cards, with a speech bubble that said, “Give me coffee, or give me death.”
“Yeah, well, someone kept me up last night,” she retorted, wanting to wipe the smug expression off his face. “By the way, you might want to work on your Curly impression. It lacks a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you, Maggie,” he said as he tucked into his breakfast, not appearing remorseful in the least. “Oh, and I wasn’t suggesting you look bad. Actually, you make cotton nighties sexy. I always liked a woman in a nightgown.” He swallowed and looked up under his eyelashes at her. “Easy access.”
She almost spit out her whole mouthful of bacon. Luckily, the big oaf was decent enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed her wiping bacon bits off her chin. When she’d sufficiently recovered, she said, “Hey. Thanks for the breakfast and the coffee. It’s really good.”
He put down his fork and frowned at her again as if she annoyed him to the extreme. For a moment, neither of them said a word. And then she watched as the lines around his
eyes softened and a ghost of a smile flitted across his features.
Why was he so reluctant to let his guard down and really smile at her today? Had sleeping over done something to him too? For a hasty moment, Maggie wondered if he’d occupied himself with the Stooges so that he wouldn’t go looking for more enticing occupations.
She watched, unable to look away, as his gaze dropped to the V-neck on her nightie. Seemingly transfixed by what he saw there. Any hint of a grin disappeared, only to be replaced by what appeared to be stark hunger.
She knew if he kept looking at her like that, she’d throw herself on the kitchen table, smother her body in bacon, and beg him to eat it off her.
The doorbell rang. Maggie jumped, automatically thinking of the intruder, and almost spilled her coffee. Calan was quick to comfort her. “Don
’t fret. Criminals don’t tend to ring the doorbell first. They tend to let themselves in. I’ll get it.”
As he walked to the door, Maggie’s gaze flew to his perfect, round glutes. Oh, God, just stop it, will you? Stop looking at his body! She gave her forehead a vigorous, frustrated rub.
He opened the door as Maggie peered around the wall dividing the kitchen and the front room. Liz and Phyllis walked in, their eyes wide, carrying Tupperware containers. The old ladies stared at Calan’s bare chest, and then eyed Maggie in her nightgown, a nightie that must have looked scandalous to two tweed-clad ladies.
Liz coughed out a greeting as she moved into the kitchen. “Good morning, dearie. We brought you a wee spot of breakfast, but I see you’ve already … eaten.” She clapped her mouth shut.
Phyllis looked Calan up and down with a stern eye. “Indeed.”
Calan smiled at the visitors. He had no trouble smiling at them apparently. “Now, ladies, there’s enough for everyone. We’d be happy if you joined us. Wouldn’t we, Maggie?”
Maggie wanted to disintegrate. “Of course.”
“We wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Phyllis said. That being said, she still walked over and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat with a huff. While Liz and Calan exchanged pleasantries at the door, Phyllis leaned in to Maggie. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, dear? He does look like a wild one.”
She grabbed the old woman’s hand. “It’s not what it seems, I swear.”
It’s not what it seems. Matthew had said the same thing to her, and it had turned out exactly as it seemed.
“It isn’t for me to judge,” Phyllis replied, aloof. “Grief can do strange things to a person.”
Maggie just stared down at her bacon and eggs. The comforting food now looked completely indigestible. Her appetite was gone.
Calan and Liz situated themselves at the table, laughing like old friends. It had taken him all of one minute to charm one of the women, at least.
“We won’t stay, love,” Liz cooed. “We just wanted to see if you were well.”
“With two men chasing her skirts, I’d assume the lass is fine,” Phyllis offered in response.
“You’re sure you won’t at least have a coffee,” Calan offered, clearly trying to ease the tension. “It’s nice and hot.”
“Thank you. No,” was Phyllis’s clipped reply.
What the hell? Why should Phyllis care about who joined Maggie for breakfast in a state of near nudity? It was her house! She could be nearly nude with whomever she pleased!
“That’s a shame,” Calan replied, smiling. “Maggie and I were just discussing Nora’s favorite things. We’d planned to visit some of her haunts today, in order to pay homage to the dear, departed woman. You ladies knew her. What would you say were Nora’s favorite places?”
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. What was he doing?
Liz seized on the topic with enthusiasm. “Oh! Well, Nora loved St. Magnus Cathedral. She belonged to the Society of Friends and even conducted tours. And, of course, she still worked a few hours at the Olde Bookshop. They will miss her there. I understand she was a wonder at sales. Even after she retired, they didn’t want to let her go. But most of all, she loved her pub. The Deacon’s Bench. After all the G and T’s she drank there, they should build the poor dear a shrine.”
“Well, Maggie,” Calan said with determination. “It seems we have some sightseeing to do.”
“Uh, right.”
Phyllis stood. “We shan’t stand in your way. I’m sure you young people want to be moving on. Liz, come.” She marched to the door, opened and paraded through it, and left.
Liz pushed her Tupperware toward Maggie. “This will reheat,” she whispered, as if she were part of some big, sexy conspiracy. “Have a good day!” Then she, too, was gone.
Once Calan locked the door behind them, she pounced on him. “What was that all about?”
“That was a fact-finding mission. I wanted to know where your granny might have hidden the skin. While you were slumbering, like a princess I might add, I took the opportunity to check every last nook and cranny in this house. The skin isn’t here, Maggie.”
She tried not to look disappointed. For a moment, she’d fallen for the illusion that Calan was going to whisk her out for a sexy day soaking in the quaint Kirkwall atmosphere, but that wasn’t his aim at all. He just wanted his skin back.
Like all the other men she’d known of late, he had his own agenda.
“Do those locations match what you knew of your granny’s favorite places?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good. I suggest we start with the Olde Bookshop. I know exactly where it is.”
“Right. Well, I’ll get dressed.”
He looked awkward, almost as if he sensed her disappointment. “Maggie, do you mind if we stop at my place before we get started?” He looked down at his bare chest and grimaced. “I’d like to put on some fresh clothes.”
“Yeah, sure,” she answered with a dismissive hand gesture as she turned and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. “Whatever you want.”
And then she tried really hard not to hate herself for acting like a four-year-old whose ice cream had just fallen on the ground.
* * * *
Maggie had the capacity to dress herself, but beyond that, she barely knew what was
happening. All she knew was that Calan was on her mind and she couldn’t get him out.
When she’d come downstairs, only to find him preparing breakfast in her kitchen, it had filled her with excitement as much as lust. The scene was homey as well as sexy. She couldn’t remember Matthew or any man ever being so solicitous, so kind. God, he’d washed her porridge-encrusted dishes! And it had left her with a nagging, gut-churning sensation.
And she didn’t even know him! It was absurd. She didn’t want this. Was in no way ready for this.
She came back downstairs only to find him locking up the house as best as he could. He looked awkward and didn’t say much, as if his mind was just as muddled as hers was, and led her outside to where a motorcycle was stowed behind the house.
She stared at the bike. It was the closest she’d ever been to one, and she’d certainly never been on one. Yes, it was a sexy, black Hog, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. Even though a part of her was intrigued by the concept of riding with Calan on the beast, a bigger part of her was silently screaming “Whoa, Nelly!”
No, she couldn’t get on. She’d once heard of a rider who’d been decapitated in a biking accident, and she didn’t really want to recreate that particular scenario.
“You don’t honestly want me to get on that thing, do you?”
“I’ve been riding these for years. I know how to handle it.”
“Yeah, well I doubt you’ll know how to handle me if I get on that deathtrap.”
“It’s a Harley, and you’re getting on,” he muttered. “My angel wings are in the shop, so sadly we can’t fly today. Relax. I’m a good driver.” Calan approached her with his own helmet. “You wear this. I have another at my house.” He put it on her before she could protest again, taking care to tuck her stray curls behind her ears. He frowned as he tightened it, staring at her hair, seemingly lost in thought.
“You should wear it,” she whispered, feeling so confused. “It’s yours.”
He fixed his gaze on hers. “You’ll wear the helmet. And that’s an end to it. Now climb on behind me.”
Bossy so-and-so. “I’ve never shared a hat, or a helmet, with anyone before. How do I know you don’t have a raging case of lice in that mane of hair?”
His nose wrinkled in annoyance. “You are just about the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met, do you know that?” But then he stared at her mouth and a tiny breath escaped his open lips. A hint of a smile crept into his eyes. “Just get on the bloody bike.”
He got on and then she did, feeling hot moisture between her legs as she straddled the seat behind him. Betraying her feeli
ngs, despite her attempts to hate him. Tentatively, feeling oh-so-hot, she touched her fingertips to his waist. He looked back and pulled her arms tight about his middle.
“Hold me tighter, Maggie. Tighter.”
With that, they were off. Frightened by the power of the beast they were riding, Maggie clasped her legs tightly around Calan’s body. She felt him stiffen, and then relax into the curve made by her open legs. He leaned back, pressing his back into her chest, and her nipples pebbled. Even under her shirt and jacket, she could feel his heat seeping through. It seemed in that moment that their bodies were one.
One heart. One sex. One soul.
Oh, God, don’t be such a silly cow. Don’t be so stupid.
She tried to take in the scenery as it flew by, but couldn’t focus. If she’d been
walking, it would have felt as if her feet weren’t touching ground. All she could think of was Calan on the beach, starting to make love to her with his incredible nude body. And the strange emotions that had created in her heart.
How had she arrived at this insane place? All she’d wanted to do was get her life back in order. Take care of Gran’s estate. Find a nice job. And maybe, one day when she’d gotten over her hurt, find a cute, sensible man with whom she could build a stable family life. One who wouldn’t drive her to distraction. Someone who might not be a swashbuckling hero, but who would treat her better than Matthew and Bobby had.
Was it too much to ask?
Instead, she got saddled with an elusive, matted, animal skin, burglars in the house, and a mysterious, sexed-up man who persisted in dragging her around God’s country.
And, Heaven help her, as bizarre as it seemed, she’d never been more exhilarated! This so wasn’t good. She didn’t want to be exhilarated by Calan Kirk. She preferred to be indifferent.