“I don’t have time for this, MacDonald,” she said.
The man’s brows drew together for a moment before that befuddling grin spread across his handsome face. “’Tis a beautiful mornin’, lass. Surely you have time to discuss something important to both of us.”
Brianna took in a breath, her hands in fists at her side. “I won’t discuss this with you!”
His auburn locks ruffled in the gust of wind she created, but he stood his ground.
“I’m not without powers, Pixie.” He stepped closer and she felt that dangerous pull of him once more. “And you are not without vulnerabilities.”
She blinked and Violet’s face once more floated before her mind. Did the
MacDonald know of her sister? Would he harm her? “Are you threatening me?”
Despite the peril he presented to herself, she didn’t believe he would harm a child.
Nothing in her sensed that kind of malevolence. Last night, after she’d gotten Violet tucked snuggly into bed, that odd prickling sensation had struck again. Shifting shadows at the window had given up nothing of their origin, and she’d dismissed the feeling as a result of the fatigue that still clung to her this morning.
“Ah, ‘tis not a threat, Brianna.” His grin widened and he stepped closer. “‘Tis a promise on my honor.”
“Your honor?” She snorted at that. “You come to claim the only chance—”
She snapped her mouth shut on the truth and the MacDonald stepped closer.
“What is this?” he asked.
He raised his hands to her arms but she danced out of his reach. She hurried into the coffee shop, confident that he wouldn’t question her about the gold in front of a shop full of mortals.
“Good morning, Bree,” Lori said.
With no more than a nod in Lori’s direction, Brianna donned her apron and busied herself refilling coffee cups set before the patrons seated at the counter. The bell above the door tinkled, but she didn’t need to look up to know the MacDonald entered. Bloody hell!
Despite her attempts at ignoring the man, her gaze was drawn to him again and again. He sat at the counter for hours, doing nothing but sipping coffee and nibbling a sandwich. And watching her with that confounding green gaze.
* * *
Luke didn’t hide his smile. Nothing demanded his attention this day, save for keeping an eye on the Pixie. And a more pleasant task he couldn’t imagine. She was indeed vulnerable to him, as demonstrated in the flush of her cheek, the catch of her breath, whenever she stepped closer to his end of the counter. Far easier on his bottom than the bench proved last evening, he was content to bide his time on the cushioned stool. Lori served him, more cups of coffee than he could count, and he kept his vigil.
The Pixie had nearly told him all of it, in her anger if not under his lure. He wouldn’t think of the tiny child, so ill and obviously dear to her. Perhaps the trip had proven too much for her fragile body.
The Pixie shot him a particularly flinty stare and he felt the tingle to his bones.
Not unpleasant though, as the amber pendant warmed steadily against his throat with every step that brought her closer to him. His body responded in a manner that was becoming the norm when dealing with her. He didn’t refrain from studying her delectable little body as she fairly trembled in ire, and he grew fully aroused. Well, he didn’t dare leave the coffee shop now. Anyone would glimpse through his jeans the effect she had on him.
“Give it up, handsome.”
Luke dismissed Lori’s words with a wave of one hand. “Keep to your own
concerns, lass.”
She glared down at him. “Bree’s concerns are her own.”
Luke merely shook his head, refusing to raise his pique to match hers. “Why do you—?”
“Lori, please,” Brianna said.
The waitress blinked and stared at the Pixie. She glanced at Luke as if daring him
to accost her friend, finally stepping away. Luke regarded the Pixie with interest as she braced her hands on the counter and leaned toward him. His body hummed as her scent reached him, fresh and sweet. He sucked in a breath and studied her. Her eyes drew him, blue and sparkling, into their depths. His gaze fell to her mouth… He could picture his mouth on hers, her mouth on his body. She smiled, a wanton expression, and he jerked back. “You… you’re trying to charm me?”
She muttered under her breath and straightened, breaking her spell as she tucked one strand of gold hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, MacDonald.”
Luke’s passionate haze cleared, replaced swiftly by vexation. “I will win in this, lass.”
“So you’ve said.” She attempted an air of dismissal he didn’t believe for a moment. “But you haven’t won yet.”
Luke grinned, a predatory expression that he knew she read for what it was. “The battle isn’t over.”
He stood and left the coffee shop. Tonight he would once more visit the snug little house. Aye, he would have his answers. And his gold.
* * *
Luke found himself outside the Pixie’s house, though this time it was well past sunset. A benefit to sitting and watching for hours on end at the coffee shop was information. Although his prey never went more than few minutes before eyeing him, as patrons came in for the nooning meal she soon became too preoccupied to give him more than passing notice. And when her friend, Lori, expressed her unease that an obviously-tired Brianna would work late this evening, Luke had begun to form his plan. It was vastly easier to keep an eye on a the house in darkness; he had little care to arouse the
suspicions of the Pixies’ neighbors. He had been correct, though his plan hadn’t progressed as he might have wished.
He had hoped to enter the house and search for the gold; he had little doubt his charm could keep the child occupied. The old woman he had seen the previous afternoon was within. He’d heard her as she spoke to the child, cajoling her to take her medicine or chiding her to keep to the couch and rest. And he was forced to bide his time, leaning against a tree placed conveniently beside the window at the side of the house. At least he felt comfortable there, as if he sat in the dell back in Ireland. Odd, though when he was near Brianna he felt that same comfort.
Now the little mite was alone in the drawing room, and Luke couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was small and weak, yet he sensed her power was nearly as strong as her sister’s. Whenever the old woman wasn’t about, the child flipped through the television pictures without the device he thought was so clever. Books floated to her waiting hands from shelves set on the other side of the room. And her smile, though fleeting, caused his own lips to curve as she laughed at something she saw or read.
He settled back to wait for the old woman’s dismissal upon Brianna’s return. It was time enough for action. He fairly rubbed his hands together at the prospect.
The Pixie Brianna was strong, of which he had ample evidence. Their encounter this morning told him much of her powers. Her fatigue had made her vulnerable, if not to his charm than to his cunning. When she had attempted to charm him herself there in the coffee shop, he had felt a pull stronger than any he had yet encountered. His body still hummed with the awareness of that pull. She was a sensual being, a fact he couldn’t ignore. The thought of that sweet body pressed to his, that hot mouth opening to him, had him thinking of a challenge of another kind. One which would yield both of them a treasure he dared not crave.
Letting out a curse, he settled against the stout tree, letting its rough bark serve to bring him back to himself. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Brianna dragged her feet as she made her way home. Mr. Shepard had asked her
to work the occasional dinner shift, and after allowing her to spend so many work days with Violet, she could not refuse on this particular Friday evening. At least the MacDonald had taken himself from her sight as the dinner crowd began to fill the shop.
Her senses, though dull from fatigue, tingle
d as she neared the house. A shuffling behind her caused her pulse to race and she spun to find the source of the furtive sound. A dark shape, rounded and odd, moved between two trees across the street. In a moment there was nothing more; no sound or movement met her senses.
Dismissing her unease as fatigue, she chose to focus on Violet. She entered the house and closed the door snugly behind her. “I’m home, Mrs. Henning.”
The little woman bustled out of the kitchen, a tired smile on her face. “Good evening, Miss.” Her brown eyes crinkled with concern. “I don’t mind staying late of an evening, dear. You look done in.”
Brianna gave a weary sigh. “I’ll survive, I wager.”
She settled on the couch and flicked off the television. Belatedly, she realized she did the trick without the remote device.
“Odd, that,” Mrs. Henning observed. “It’s been doing that all day. Drove me mad, but the little sprite just laughed.”
Brianna started. Oh, she would have to speak to Violet about using her magic so haphazardly. Cautious hope filled her at the prospect; this was the first evidence of the child using her talents since the time jump. She slanted a look at Mrs. Henning. “Maybe the television is broken,” she offered.
The older woman simply shrugged and donned her coat. “I’ll see you in the
morning then, Miss.”
Brianna murmured in response, her head settling on the back of the couch as the woman let herself out the door. She was so tired. She used her magic to turn off all but one lamp and closed her eyes, taking a moment to gather her strength.
No sound came from Violet’s bedroom as she tiptoed toward the little chamber.
There her sister slept, as sweet as an angel and twice as pretty. She was still pale, but her cheeks were rosy from sleep and gave her the appearance of the child she had been in Cornwall. Before she’d gotten so very sick and driven Brianna to take such a drastic step.
Perhaps the doctor was wrong. Perhaps Violet would get better and not need the drastic surgery.
Brianna stroked the silken hair and dropped a kiss on her sister’s brow. Violet smiled in her sleep and snuggled into the fat pillow.
“Sleep well, love,” Brianna whispered.
No response came from Violet and with each even breath the child took, Brianna at last felt the tension and fatigue of the day dissipate. She left the child’s room, closing the door tight and returning to the living room. Suddenly the crystal key in her pocket began to vibrate, and she froze. She glanced up, stunned to find a large figure looming in the center of the darkened room.
“Good evenin’, lass.”
Chapter 11
Luke relished the expression of surprise on the Pixie’s face, evident despite the dimness of the room. Intrigued though not surprised, he watched it change into a scowl of intense displeasure.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here, MacDonald?” she rasped.
Her question was a hiss in the dark, but Luke kept his own reaction in check. Too long he had rested against the tree outside the window, and he was spoiling for a confrontation that seemed centuries in coming—two, to be precise. He would have to tread carefully. “What kind of greeting is that, Brianna?”
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer. She shot a glance down the hallway—he guessed the little one rested in one of the chambers down that hall—and faced him again.
“You will leave my home, MacDonald.”
Luke stepped closer to her. “Nay.”
The Pixie shook with her ire, her hair swirling about her as her eyes flashed blue fire. His nape prickled and his skin felt hot, but he held his ground.
“You will not take the gold,” she said.
He arched a brow at her. “You admit you have it, then?”
The girl shook and the floor seemed to vibrate beneath his feet. “Bloody hell!”
Books flew off the shelves, one missing his shoulder by a hairsbreadth. “I need that gold, MacDonald.”
“For what, pray?”
Her eyes widened and he saw it, the vulnerability he had glimpsed but a few times since finding her. Before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her arms. “Tell me, lass. Why did you take my gold?”
She fought him, shaking her head from side to side as the lone electric light in the
room flickered. He held her close, praying he could ignore the lure of her as her curves touched every part of him.
“I can’t!” she cried. “I can’t—”
He cupped the back of her head, effectively ceasing her thrashing and bringing his gaze into direct contact with those incredible blue eyes. She blinked long lashes in confusion. He took her brief silence for the opportunity it represented. He stroked her nape, gentling her. “Tell me, Brianna.”
The anger waned; he felt as much as saw it in the easing of her body. Unable to resist, he bent closer to her. He felt her heart beating against his chest, breathed in the intoxicating scent of her. Passion flared in her eyes, as powerful as the anger had filled them moments earlier.
“I… don’t understand,” she whispered.
He brushed her lips with his and gazed down at her. “Passion, lass,” he rasped. “I feel it, too.”
Her lips moved, but no coherent sound came forth. Luke wouldn’t wait any longer for a protest he doubted would come. He took her mouth, and their kiss exceeded his recollections of their encounter in the alleyway. She wound her arms around his neck and gave herself up to Luke and he was lost. He deepened the kiss and she purred in response, arching her body against his as she matched his urgency.
He nuzzled her ear, her throat. Her skin was soft and sweet and hot against his lips.
“MacDonald…”
“Luke,” he said, his voice harsh in his ears.
She sighed. “Luke.”
When she said his name he reacted, body and soul. He shrugged out of his flannel
shirt, letting it drop to the floor somewhere behind him. Her sweater was a hindrance he wouldn’t endure another moment. He took it from her and stroked her back through the thin T-shirt before settling his palms on her round bottom and pulling her close. He hardened against her soft belly and pressed tighter still.
Her hands tugged on his undershirt, setting his skin aflame as they danced over his belly, his chest. Never before had such desire ruled him, and a voice in his head warned him to take care.
Luke turned and placed her on the couch, silently praying for control. Her breath coming fast, she leaned back on her elbows and watched him as he pulled his undershirt up and over his head. Her gaze was hot on him and his flesh tingled, though the response was quite different from when anger shimmered between them. She licked her lips and he let out a growl.
“I want you, Brianna,” he said.
* * *
Brianna couldn’t take her eyes from him. He was the most beautiful man she’d
ever seen. She took in the broad shoulders, the strong chest covered with whirls of reddish hair that trailed down over his flat belly to the waistband of his jeans. The leather strip around his neck held a round slice of amber. The smooth stone gave off a soft glow in the darkened room. The light pulsed and she felt each beat in her heart. The key in her pocket trembled and she struggled to keep her wits about her.
“MacDonald…”
He grinned at her and its impact struck her very center. “Luke.”
She smiled as he corrected her again. Luke. The name suited him, strong and pure. Desire for him hummed in her veins, a passion she saw reflected in his green gaze.
She raised her arms to him. “Luke,” she whispered.
He covered her, his body supported by his arms as he brought that beautiful mouth to hers once more. She whimpered with pleasure as he kissed her, her fingers twining through his thick hair. Her T-shirt a memory, his hands burned as he stroked her belly, her breasts, through her thin camisole. Her nipples tightened as his strong fingers stroked and fondled her through the lace.
Their jeans rasped against
each other, the friction driving her mad. She’d never felt anything like what Luke made her feel with each movement of his big body against hers. She was pure though, despite the desires filling her addled mind as he dropped kisses on her throat. This was wrong, her conscience chided her. His passionate caresses, his murmurs of encouragement, the clean crisp smell of him… Oh, her mind was a muddle with him so ardently pressing upon her every sense! “Luke, please.”
“Aye, lass.”
He brought his mouth to her breast, sucking her nipple through the satin and lace.
She arched, the sensation nearly her undoing. Just a moment longer, she told herself. Just a bit of satisfaction to ease the burning in her veins she suspected only he could appease.
Suddenly he stilled, raising his head to gaze down at her as his breathing rasped in the silent room. She wouldn’t have to put him off, she saw. He shook his head with regret even as he eased away from her.
“We mustn’t, Brianna.” He kissed her mouth and brought his forehead to hers. “I know this as well.”
Brianna couldn’t resist running her hands over his shoulders even as she nodded agreement. He was so beautiful, his soul so pure she could see it shining through his eyes.
“Easy, lass.” He gave her a crooked grin. “If you keep touching me, I may forget my honor.”
She let her arms fall to the couch, at remarkable ease with the man she had
believed her enemy these past days. “Your honor.”
His brow furrowed. “Do you doubt a MacDonald, Pixie?”
She shook her head and brought a hand to his cheek. “No.”
He dropped a kiss on her brow and eased her to a sitting position beside him.
“Tell me, then.”
She cuddled against him, taking in a deep breath. She couldn’t ignore his strength, his support, and nodded her head. She had taken his gold, and her own honor demanded she offer an explanation for her actions. “It’s my sister, Luke.”
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