The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Skelly took care of the paperwork, then made arrangements to have their clothing picked up and cleaned. Miss Jerina assured him that housekeeping would have their garments ready to wear early the next morning and fetched a couple of thick terry cloth robes for them to use in the meantime.

  Accepting both robes and room keys, Skelly hurried to check on Roz. The traffic in the lobby had lightened considerably, so it was easy to keep out a vigilant eye for any familiar face. Or someone unfamiliar who was paying too much attention to his actions.

  Nothing alarming.

  Even so, he was glad to duck inside their room and hear the shower running. He double-locked the door and checked to see that the windows were secure.

  The lodge certainly didn't skimp on space. And while rough-hewn, the furniture appeared comfortable enough...especially the solitary bed. Thoughts of sharing the same mattress with Roz made his groin tighten painfully. His libido obviously didn't care what shape the rest of him was in. Terrific! With Roz so close and him not being able to touch her, he would never fall asleep.

  Skelly breathed deep and wondered exactly how tough the carpeted floor could be on a sore shoulder.

  Trying not to think about anything but the moment, he emptied his pockets, shucked his wet clothes and slid into the robe, only momentarily regretting that the fresh garment was clean while he was not. The thick material instantly warmed him.

  And in the bathroom, the shower continued to run.

  A bit concerned, he knocked at the door. “Are you all right in there?"

  "I'm in heaven," Roz called, sounding more like her old self. “I may stay in here until the hot water runs out."

  But someone from housekeeping would be by to pick up their things in a few minutes.

  Flirting with danger, Skelly asked, “Then can I get in there long enough to haul out your wet things? I mean...without offending you?"

  "You want me to run around the room naked?"

  "Interesting idea." He couldn't help but grin. “A skimpy towel wouldn't be bad, either...unless you want the luxurious terry robe I brought you."

  "You've thought of everything."

  And then some when it came to her, though he didn't intend to elaborate.

  "Do you want clean, dry clothing in the morning or not?" he demanded, fetching her robe. “Someone will be by to collect them any minute now."

  "In that case...come on in. My things are on the floor right outside the shower."

  Clouds of steam rolled over Skelly, practically blinding him, as he cracked open the bathroom door. If that weren't sufficient to keep him from playing Peeping Tom, the shower stall's textured glass provided an even more efficient barrier. He could make out no more than a vague if voluptuous silhouette, yet even the suggestion of Roz's nudity triggered his imagination.

  Only half-joking, he asked, “Need someone to wash your back? I still have one good hand."

  "Sorry. The management thought of everything, too, including a long-handled brush."

  Mesmerized for a moment as Roz lifted her face to the spraying water and made a contented sound that shuddered through him, he cursed the staff's efficiency. Thankfully, he quickly found what he'd come for.

  Protecting his injured shoulder, he retrieved her wet clothes with the other arm, then backed off fast, saying, “I'll hang the robe on the door. “And managed the feat without causing himself too much pain.

  "Thanks. I'll be out in a minute."

  The image of Roz stepping out of the shower, a gloriously naked Aphrodite, was more than Skelly could handle. He got the hell out of the bathroom.

  After what they'd been through, sex should be the last thing on his mind, but making love to Roz was all he could think about. Skelly put it to the danger she'd been in. He'd almost lost her without ever having had the opportunity to hold her in his arms through the night. If the reality even half-matched his imagination...

  A knock at the door dashed his fantasies.

  "Be right there," he called.

  The car keys already lay on the dresser. Thinking Roz might have been carrying a wallet, he checked her pockets, but all he came up with was an old, damp photo. Grabbing his own things, he used the peephole to make sure the person on the other side was in uniform before surrendering the mess.

  Afterward, he picked up the faded, water-washed photograph. The young Lily was instantly recognizable, but what was the point of Roz's carrying around what had to be a prom shot of her grandmother? A better look at the two young men enlightened him. Standing to the side, a teenage Frank Sullivan watched the dancing couple with envy. And the dark-haired boy who held Lily in his arms?

  Skelly stared for a moment, then retrieved the copy of the newspaper photograph that he'd pulled from his pocket. Unfolding the piece of paper, he smoothed it out and lay it on the dresser directly beneath the table lamp. Then he set the old photo next to the copy. A fast comparison convinced him of the young man's identity.

  Lily had been dancing with Anthony Cavillo.

  HEARING THE MUFFLED RING of a telephone coming from the other room, Rosalind figured the efficient Miss Jerina was probably checking up on them. Or informing Skelly the real guest had shown and they had to vacate the room. That wouldn't be so bad, she supposed, if only they had their own clothing...preferably dry, of course.

  A long, hot shower and she felt as if she'd been reborn. Not that she'd given Skelly the same opportunity. Clean and warm, her body encased in thick terry, she wrapped a fresh towel around her head turban-style and left the bathroom.

  "Skelly, is that...?"

  He held up a hand that stopped her question mid-sentence. “I wish I could tell you what was coming next," he was saying. “Or better yet, that you could tell me."

  While listening to the other person on his cell phone, he gave her an appreciative once-over. Who would have called him on a Saturday night? she wondered.

  A friend? A female friend?

  Telling herself she was not bothered by the possibility, Rosalind wandered to the dresser and, while pretending interest in towel-drying her hair, covertly watched him through the mirror. Stretched across the bed, his long legs bare, his chest half-exposed by the robe he'd so carelessly donned, Skelly was tempting enough to grace the cover of a romance novel. No matter that he was decorated with a little mud...she unashamedly wanted to see more of him.

  And it piqued her that Skelly was so absorbed in his phone call until he said, “Thanks for tuning in, cous. I knew you could do it if you tried."

  Cous. Another woman, but not what she'd assumed. The warmth of embarrassment flooded her cheeks and Rosalind covered by ducking her head. She worked the towel along her hairline so that it draped in front of her face without blocking her view of his mirror-image.

  "If I get any bright ideas, I'll let you know." Skelly paused, obviously listening. He nodded. “I promise to be more careful." A shorter pause. “And I'll call you tomorrow."

  He clicked off the cell phone and tossed it on a night stand, grimacing with the motion. Hurting, and all because of her, she knew. Rosalind stopped messing with her hair and perched on the edge of the bed.

  "That was Keelin?"

  Rotating his shoulder pulled another grimace from him. “She was out there on the bluff with us."

  A shiver shot through her as she remembered his explanation of his cousin's gift – that Keelin could see through another's eyes in her dreams. “Spooky...and hard to believe.” And downright scary considering one of those dreams supposedly had left Keelin the only witness to a man's death.

  "Spooky? I guess. But I'm glad she's able and willing to catch my wavelength. Until recently, she suppressed her ability rather than developing it."

  "What made her change her mind?"

  "I simply asked. I figured another pair of eyes wouldn't hurt. It's the first time she's forced the issue...at least in her choice of subjects."

  "And she succeeded. You and she must have a special connection."

  "Keelin's the special o
ne. She has a bigger heart than anyone I've ever met. Except...maybe you."

  Surprised by the unexpected homage, she said, “You'll make me blush."

  He stroked her cheek. “I already have."

  Flustered, Rosalind stared at Skelly expectantly. Her pulse thrummed, her flesh quickened. And then, when he rose from the bed, her growing anticipation foundered.

  "My turn." He started for the bathroom. “I hope you left me some dry towels."

  "There may be a hand-towel or two," she teased.

  "Then I guess I'll have to air dry."

  "Or you could use a hair blower for efficiency," she suggested, deciding to retrieve it and some other amenities the resort provided.

  "Hey!" he exclaimed when she squeezed by him. “You've hogged the bathroom long enough."

  Grabbing the dryer and a basket of after-shower hair and body products only took a second. “I'm out."

  But Skelly was blocking her exit, his shoulder wedged against the doorjamb. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse skittered with sudden tension. He gazed through half-lowered lids, as if trying to mesmerize her.

  "And here I thought you were taking pity on me... “He indicated his sore shoulder. ”...and volunteering to wash my back."

  Thinking she could be convinced, Rosalind was about to challenge him with a tart response when Skelly moved aside to let her pass.

  "I know. The long handled-brush," he said with a resigned sigh. And when she didn't immediately leave, he added, “It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to let someone at Lang House know we won't be back tonight. Though I'd prefer you didn't announce our exact whereabouts."

  Her mellow mood immediately tempered by the inference that someone at Lang House couldn't be trusted, Rosalind said, “Of course," and waltzed by him.

  But she waited until the shower was running before picking up the phone. When no one answered at the other end after a dozen rings, she wondered if she should be concerned. Or suspicious.

  Choosing to be neither, she hung up and concentrated on her hair, starting with a leave-on conditioner that would allow her to work out the tangles. Though she longed for her wide-toothed comb, her purse was locked in the trunk of her car, so she made do with finger-combing it.

  When her hair was dry and swirling wildly around her shoulders, she turned off all room lights but the small one on the dresser. Exhausted, she should be ready to climb into bed, but instead she was wide-eyed. So, after turning down the covers, she crossed to the window and opened the drapes. Located on the floor above the lobby, the room had a great view, even at night. The rain had stopped and lights from the stairway and river boat gleamed through the dark.

  Confused thoughts whirled through her head.

  The attraction she'd felt for Skelly from the first had grown into something deeper. Brighter. Hotter. Not only did she respect him, and, yes, desire him more than any man she'd ever known, she owed him her life.

  That someone like Skelly McKenna would ever be her hero had never occurred to her, but there it was. He hadn't hesitated to rescue her, though she might have pulled him to his death. That she'd ever believed she could keep him at a professional distance amazed her. That she'd only known him for days seemed inconsequential.

  So, when his spell was not immediately upon her, when she had time to think as she did now, why did she instinctively want to hold herself back? She could conjure no reason other than fear that came from deep within.

  The same fear that had made her drive Tim away, Rosalind supposed.

  The bathroom door opened and Skelly emerged. Her heart skipped a beat and she stared blindly into the night. What to do? Reflected movements in the plate glass caught her attention. He was working the shoulder again. Her own bruises and aching muscles were nothing serious, but he might not be so lucky. A combination of guilt and gratitude wiped out any hesitation she might have about going to him.

  Sympathetic, she asked, “Are you certain a doctor shouldn't take a look at your shoulder?"

  "It'll work itself out."

  Was he trying to mask his pain for her sake? Macho idiot.

  "Maybe it could use some help. Sit and show me a little flesh," she said, then realized that sounded more provocative than teasing.

  When Skelly's piercing gaze bore into her, Rosalind feared he could delve into her mind and read the longing she was trying to repress. And it seemed that he had when he untied and dropped the robe altogether. Her breath caught in her throat until she realized a bath towel hung low on his hips, leaving him a hint of modesty. He made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, but not before she caught the feathering of dark hair that rose from the cloth to his flat stomach. A sudden inner warmth made her mouth go dry.

  And her voice was a little shaky when she said, “The management did think of everything, even body lotion," while fetching the bottle from the basket.

  "I wouldn't care if it was horse liniment."

  She released a nervous laugh. “You might. Have you ever smelled the stuff?"

  "I'll take your word for it."

  Climbing onto the bed behind him, she squirted the freesia-scented cream into one palm, then rubbed it briskly against the other. Even so, his flesh quivered beneath her hands as she spread the warmed lotion along the muscles between neck and arm. Gently, she made a pass over his shoulder to his chest. With each stroke, she widened her area of concentration.

  Nerves made her prattle. “If I do something wrong, tell me. I didn't have a sister to teach me technique." She couldn't help adding, “No Ursula to practice on, either."

  "Trust me, you're doing fine."

  He didn't sound fine. She thought she'd at least get a snort out of him at the Ursula remark, but he sounded as tense as his muscles felt beneath her fingertips. Knowing exactly what was happening to him, she was at a loss as to how to prevent it.

  If that's what she really wanted.

  "Work with me here, Skelly," she choked out. “Try to loosen up a little."

  More warmed lotion on his upper arm and back didn't do the trick. With each stroke, his muscles grew tighter. And within seconds, every breath he took held a ragged edge. No sooner had Rosalind realized she wasn't immune to his response than Skelly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from continuing.

  His back to her, he asked, “What is you want, Roz?"

  "To make you feel better."

  "You're driving me crazy." He glanced over his shoulder, lids hooded.

  Licking her lips, she concentrated on his wing-bone. “Sorry."

  "No, you're not. Are you?"

  Swallowing hard, she met his gaze and slowly shook her head.

  Skelly turned and threw his legs on the bed. Looping an arm around her waist, he gave her no choice but to come with him, as he stretched out.

  "Now, what was it you wanted?" he asked again.

  If she couldn't tell him, her body could. Her back arched, her hips tilted and her thighs whispered against his as she settled along his length.

  A low groan was followed by his murmured, “That's what I was hoping."

  Even as Skelly found her mouth and teased it open, he untied her robe and drew back one side of the garment so that her flesh was exposed to his hand. His kiss was slow and deep and dizzying. She had not the slightest urge to act coy as he rode every curve, explored every silken crevice. She did want this, had known it was a possibility from the moment he'd suggested they stay the night.

  In his arms, making love to him, was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Danger had made her reckless. And honest with herself. Anything could happen to one if not to both of them. This might be their only chance to be together.

  If only Skelly weren't so excruciatingly slow. Rosalind knew she was ready for him within moments of his first touching her. She unfastened the towel, pulled it from his hips and tossed it away. Scraping her nails down his stomach, she urged him to take her.

  But Skelly drew out the pleasure, tortured her with the waiting. When he dipped his
hand between her thighs, she gladly opened to him, thinking that now was the moment. Though she stroked him seductively, he remained where he was, pleasuring her until she was completely fluid inside. Her pulse met each of his short thrusts, and soon her hips prompted a more demanding rhythm.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she begged, “Now, Skelly, please."

  He ignored her plea and intently watched her face as he explored deeper and faster until she clutched at him, no longer able to hold back her climax. Lights burst behind her eyes and she shuddered against him. He caught her cry with another deep, soulful kiss, and she arched high and hard against his hand. Only when her hips settled back to the mattress did he cover her, his sex hard and throbbing at her entry.

  "Now you're ready for me," he whispered, easily slipping inside.

  Caught unawares by the mind-shattering need that immediately renewed itself, Rosalind dug her nails into his back and arched again, as if she could go even higher.

  "Work with me here, Roz." He teased her by echoing her own words. “Try to loosen up a little."

  But from his intense expression, she knew that he wasn't far from the edge himself. She slid along his length, over and over, changing the tempo with every stroke of her hips. His breath ragged, he matched her. Tuned into every nuance of his features, she took him higher and higher, until suddenly, he rolled, taking her with him. She straddled his hips. On his back, he offered her complete control.

  Despite the need to reach completion with him inside her, she drew out his pleasure as he had hers. She lifted herself high and slow, then lowered herself with equal precision. Again and again, she repeated the torturous motion.

  Beneath her, Skelly found her breasts, first with his hands, then with his mouth. With him suckling at first one nipple, then the other, pressure built swiftly and urgently. He slid a hand between them and stroked, within seconds coaxing a wild response from her.

  Their bodies shuddered together.

  Pulling her down on him, Skelly held her fast, his face in her hair, and whispered, “I love you, Roz."