by Manning
Her eyes were large, the deep brown of her father. Her hair was a warm brown, unaided so far by chemicals. She was neither too fat nor too thin, and proud of her size ten figure. She'd never thought of herself that way, but she suddenly realized she was pretty—in a plain sort of way.
So why did men have no problem at all staying away? Did she put out some kind of warning vibe? Beware the she-devil. Keep away hands and feet and anything else that sticks out!
Gaelen chose that moment to return with two mugs of ale.
“Here we are, dearling. I took the opportunity to order us some food.”
“What are we having?” she asked.
“Here you are, lady,” a waiter in a plaid vest set a steaming bowl before her, then one for Gaelen. With a flourish, he placed a big bowl of hot, crusty bread in the middle of the small table. “Anything else, sir?”
“No, not right now. This is splendid.”
“Indeed it is, sir,” the waiter smiled, “the best stew in all Ireland. If you're needin’ anything else, just holler if you can be heard over this din.”
Annabelle hadn't realized how hungry she was and dug into the rich, creamy gravy full of sweet carrots and peas and potatoes and chunks of tender and flavorful meat.
“Good?”
“Um-umm,” she replied, her mouth full.
Gaelen broke off a hunk of the bread and handed it to her, then took some for himself. “Nothing like real Irish lamb stew.”
“This is lamb?” Annabelle asked, setting her spoon back down in the bowl.
“Aye. And you love it. So, eat, and stop thinking about Lamb Chop.” He filled his mouth with stew. “Think of it this way. Lamb Chop wasn't a lamb at all. She was a large gym sock stuffed with other gym socks. I guarantee she'd never have tasted like this.”
“You're right,” Annabelle agreed and returned to enjoying her meal.
They ate as they had spent so much time lately, in silence. That is, they didn't say anything, but the pub around them was full of laughter and song.
When he'd scraped the last of the stew from his bowl with a hunk of warm bread, Gaelen sighed mightily and pulled his chair around the table, closer to the wall. He leaned back, his pint in his hand, his smile just a shadow on his kissable lips.
“What are you smiling at?” Annabelle asked.
“Nothing. Everything.” He sipped his ale. “It's been a long time since I was here.”
“In Ireland?” Annabelle had a feeling there was more.
“Yes. But not just Ireland. Here.” He tapped his temple. “Where I am. Do you know,” he asked, sitting up and resting his forearms on the table, “I've got fifteen graduate-level papers waiting on my desk I've not even looked at? And an unfinished article for a professional publication? And three dissertations I'm supposed to be evaluatin'? And here I sit.” He laughed. “Last week, I'd be sweating like a junkie to be this far away from my work.”
“There's nothing wrong with working hard or enjoying your work.”
“No.” He frowned. “I suppose the only thing wrong is using work to hide what you are from yourself. That's what I've been doing.”
Annabelle thought about this. Had she been doing the same thing? Hiding what she was from herself? But what exactly was she hiding? She couldn't say she knew.
“Now, Lucas,” Gaelen said, waving his pint at nothing in particular. “There's a boy who still knows who he is. Leads with his heart all the time.”
Lucas's name reminded Annabelle with a jolt just why she was sitting here with Gaelen Riley in a pub in Ireland. Her anxiety for Erin swamped her in one big wave, along with guilt that she'd been enjoying herself, while her little sister was being held prisoner somewhere near here.
“What's wrong, darlin'?”
Gaelen's softly asked question made Annabelle jerk her gaze up from the last remnants of her meal. How could he tell so quickly her worry had returned? His eyes crinkled with a sympathetic smile.
“Worrying about Erin, are you? I'm sorry.” He took her hand in his. His warmth flowed into her. “I wanted to help you forget your troubles for a bit.”
“Thank you,” she replied, enjoying the intimate play of his fingers over hers. “This all seems so unreal somehow, like I'm dreaming. Like I'll wake up in my own bed, and none of it will have happened.”
“Oh, don't wish that.” He leaned closer. “If our siblings hadn't acted so precipitously, I would never have found you.” Never releasing her gaze, Gaelen brought her hand to his lips and pressed his lips to her palm. His kiss lasted a long moment.
Annabelle's breathing stopped. “Gaelen....”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shhh. No more sad face now.” Turning toward the bar, he waved his empty mug. “Jocko! Could you get us another two of these?” To Annabelle, he said, “Let's dance.”
“To this?” she asked. “How does one dance to that?”
“What's the deal, darlin', never seen Riverdance?”
“Yes, but—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the floor, to the applause of the crowd. The fiddler struck up a tune, one sounding like Ireland, though how she could have told that, she couldn't say. She'd never heard the tune before, but it had such a wonderful beat, and everyone clapped and laughed and sang along the words she could barely understand—something about a bridge and meeting girls there—she just followed Gaelen's steps as he pulled her around the floor, jumping and nearly flying in a definite pattern, but not one Annabelle could ever follow.
“Ah!” she finally gasped. “Stop!”
Never letting go of her hand, Gaelen turned toward her, his eyes shining in pleasure and freedom and fun.
“Tired already?” His own breathing was heavy.
“Yes. I give.” She laughed and tried to drag him back to their table when the music slowed. Instead of an Irish aire, the band now squeaked out a slow, bluesy tune, quite fit for—
“Here, now,” Gaelen whispered, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “That's more like it.”
Annabelle allowed her arms to rise, to find a comfortable resting place on his broad shoulders. He snuggled her against him, wrapping her as though he were a sweater. She absorbed his heat, his scent. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she dared allow her starved imagination to wonder what lay beneath his cotton shirt.
“You feel so good,” he said, nuzzling her hair. “And you smell good. Like a rain-splashed summer day.”
When had she ever felt like this? Protected and maybe even, wanted?
He stopped leading her in a slow circle. Feeling his unspoken words, she raised her eyes to meet his, even as afraid as she was to let him see what lived in her own.
The din of the pub faded, drowned by the pounding of her blood. Like waves, one after another, crashing in her ears. Her eyes lay in the trap of his gaze, unwilling, unable to break free. Suddenly, there were so many things she wanted to tell him. But she had no breath to carry the words.
He studied her, as though marking every feature. What was he thinking to be so intent?
His mouth came closer, lips invitingly parted. Her own responded. Their single kiss flashed through her mind, making her smile at the memory. Then a bolt of heat arced through her as she remembered how his lips had felt against hers.
His arms closed around her, pulling her even tighter against him. When his mouth captured hers, she fell completely under his spell again.
“Well done, lad!”
“Bets on who comes up first for air?”
“He's a big lad, but I'll take the lady for endurance.”
The voices echoed through the fog blanketing her mind, and she succeeded in ignoring them. The applause had her and Gaelen breaking apart, as though each had set the other on fire.
Gaelen glared around, but his irritation vanished in an instant, so fast she didn't know if she'd actually seen it. He flipped his charming switch.
“Thank you, lads and ladies,” he said, with an ironic bow, shooing Annabelle towa
rd their table where two pints waited, foamy heads drooping. “Jocko, let's have a round for the house.”
His call roused applause of another kind, thankfully taking the attention off the two of them. Gaelen sat with unnecessary force on the chair at the table.
“No more for me,” Annabelle started.
“Nonsense. Nobody has just one pint.”
Seemed like nobody had just two either. Gaelen kept the pints coming.
And coming.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah!” Annabelle sang at the top of her lungs.
“Shhh,” Gaelen whispered, trying to keep a straight face.
“Too-rah, loo-rah-lie!”
“Annabelle, the constable—”
“Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah!” She gulped a huge breath. Gaelen closed his eyes in dread. Instead of belting à la Merman, she placed her finger against his lips. “Hush now, don't you cry,” she sang in a whisper.
“Hush now,” he sang along, trying to get her to take the hint.
“Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah! Too-rah, loo-rah-lie!” She raised her arms, her voice boldly going where Joe Feeney had never gone before. “Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah! It's an I-Irish luh—”
Gasp.
“—luh—”
Gasp.
Gaelen grimaced for the big finish.
“—by!”
Her arms wide, she twirled.
“Uh-oh.” Gaelen stepped in and caught her, mid-twirl.
She giggled. “Wanna hear another Irish song?”
He smothered a laugh. “Let's go to our room, and you can sing me to sleep. How does that sound?”
She nuzzled his neck, sending his whole body into shock. “Maybe we'll do something better than sing, hmmm?” Her arms circled his neck and she frowned. “Kiss me again, Gaelen. It was too short. It's always too short when you kiss me.”
He had to agree with that. Her lips, full and ripe, lured him to his—and her—ruin.
“You know we can't,” he said, pulling her arms from around his neck. “Come on, darlin'. I'll put you to bed.” He put his arm around her, guiding her along the street to Mrs. O'Hara's house.
“Why can't we?” She stumbled alongside him, nearly sending the both of them facedown into the muddy street.
“You know why,” he whispered. “Let's not talk about this until we get upstairs. See, here we are.”
He pushed open the front door of Mrs. O'Hara's house and sent Annabelle across the threshold. There was no sign of their hostess. A fire burned on the hearth, the only light except for a small lamp on the table by the window.
“Come on, now.” He guided Annabelle to the stairs and helped her—pushed her, really—up to the second floor. When he'd closed the door behind him, Annabelle attacked.
Well, she didn't actually attack. Only in a figurative sense. Her palms settled against the back of his neck and pulled him to her. She sealed his mouth shut with her own, taking what she'd asked him for.
His first inclination was to stop this. She was drunk. She didn't know what she was doing. The first taste killed his good intentions. After all, if the girl yearned to be kissed, who was he to deny her? Gaelen enfolded her in his arms, meaning only to kiss her as thoroughly as he'd been wanting for so, so long.
Heaven. Sweet and spicy and luscious. He fell headfirst, allowing her to fill every sense.
Idiot. What do you think you're doing?
The law. The Council. His brother and her sister.
Gaelen grabbed her arms and pulled her loose. In releasing himself, he shoved her away and she fell on the bed.
A pained silence flooded the room.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered after a moment. “I thought....”
Her broken sentence and the hurt in her eyes felt like a blade between his ribs. No, it was worse than that. It was more like he'd slipped a blade between her ribs.
Of course she'd thought.... After all, he'd been all over her back there in the pub.
She got off the bed and reached unsteadily for her overnight bag.
“'Scuse me,” she whispered, her words slurred enough to remind him she wasn't responsible for her actions.
Gaelen didn't realize until then he was completely blocking the door.
“Please let me out.”
“Wait, Annabelle—”
“No.” She raised her hand to punctuate her order. “Don't.” She hadn't looked at him for long seconds. She wouldn't raise her eyes to his.
“I'm sorry, darlin'.”
“Don't call me ... that.” He heard the tears in her voice. “And don't talk nice to me anymore. Just get out of my way.”
“Wait.”
“Look. I made a mistake. You aren't in the least interested. That's fine.” Again, she tried to weave past him.
“No. You surprised me, that's all.” No way was he going to get out of her way and let her just walk out with this unresolved between them.
“Look, Gaelen, you don't have to try to make me feel better.” She stood unsteadily before him. “I'm loaded. When I wake up in the morning, I'll be so sick—” As though to demonstrate, she hiccupped. “I won't even remember making a total fool of myself.” She tried straight-arming him out of the way.
“Where are you going?”
“I'm going to see if Mrs. O'Hara has an extra room.”
“No. Don't do that.”
“Why not?” Finally, she'd gotten enough control of herself, she could raise her eyes to his and the sight terrified him. Deep down inside where he didn't think fear lived.
He thought fast. Why not? What reason could he give her?
“We have to stay together. Remember the goons at the airport?” He could see her softening. “We have to stay together and not get separated.”
Bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter, she appeared to consider this. “All right. But only because we have to. And I know you don't want anything to do with me, so you don't have to pretend anymore.” She turned away, then whipped back toward him, closing her eyes and reaching for support. “I'm all right. Just tell me something. I'll probably be sorry about this, too, but what the hell? I might as well get all my stupid things over with at one time, hmmm?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is it true what Dr. Duncan said?”
“Yes.”
“It is?” Her face fell. “You're gay?”
“What?”
“That's what she said.”
“Linette?”
Annabelle nodded. “I guess that makes it a little better, then. It's not just me that doesn't turn you on.”
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
“She said you're gay. It makes it easier to take that you're not interested in me.”
Gaelen caught her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “What did she say? Exactly.”
Annabelle stared up at him. “You've got the most beautiful eyes. Did you know that?”
“Thank you. Now, Linette. What exactly did she say about me?”
“She said you were gay.” Annabelle rocked her head to the side and scrunched her brow in confusion. “No. That's not exactly it. She said you're a fairy.”
“She told you that? When?”
“Oh, I don't know. Before you did. Of course, I though she was talking about a fairy.” She held up her arm and let her wrist go limp. “But you're a fairy.” She flapped her hands in imitation of a bird's wings.
“Yes.” He thought he understood. “How did you get the idea that I'm gay?”
“She said so.”
He felt a headache coming on.
“Well, I guess maybe I assumed so. From fairy,” again she flopped her hand around, “you know.”
“Ah. I see.”
“But now you say you are.”
“What?”
“Just now. You said what she said was true.”
“Yes, darlin', I'm a fairy.” He grinned at her and flopped a limp wrist at her. “But not a fairy.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.”
Annabelle recognized the famous Seinfeld line and squealed, her formerly limp wrist slamming across her mouth to shut off her mad giggle.
“You see, darlin',” Gaelen said, taking her hand and stroking the bones, “I thought she'd only told the truth. Pixies cannot lie.”
“Really?”
“Really. She told the truth, knowing you'd understand her words in the wrong sense.” He shook his head. “Clever girl.”
“That's what Lucas said, too. I didn't understand him then.”
Gaelen shrugged at the thought of the ribbing he'd be likely to get from his little brother when this was all over.
Not that there was anything wrong with that.
“Oh, I don't feel good,” she moaned.
Her color was suddenly only slightly better than wilted lettuce. She dropped her bag and pushed him aside, nearly ripping the door from its hinges and dashing into the hallway and across to the tiny bathroom.
Feeling somewhat responsible for her wretched condition, Gaelen followed her into the bathroom and dampened a cloth. After the first wave was over, he went in and sat on the floor beside her, wiping her face with the cool cloth, smoothing back her sweat-dampened hair.
How could he watch her puke and still want to take her back across the room and make love to her until morning? What spell had she cast over him to make him—?
The shock made him straighten, pulling him away from her. The expression on her face was a repeat of the one earlier, when he'd rebuffed her kiss.
Maybe it was better to let her think he didn't want her. Hell, maybe it would be better if he were gay.
She took the cloth from him. “Thanks. You don't need to stay with me now.” She sounded almost sober.
“I want to,” he replied honestly. He couldn't leave her.
He loved her.
There, Gaelen. That didn't hurt too much, did it?
But he could never have her. Sure, maybe for a moment, for a night, or two. But the forever his heart demanded was impossible.
Annabelle gazed at him with a hazy expression, slightly hungry, yearning.
The words came from his lips before he could stop them. “We can't, Annabelle. The law.”
She frowned, then shook her head slightly as though trying to clear it.