She’s still nervous.
For that reason, he sat in the seat at the opposite end of the table instead of sharing the same corner. He kept a keen eye on her facial expressions and body posture. At the present, she sat stiff-backed in the chair, her eyes fixed on the bounty of food he placed in front of her.
A quick grin teased her lips when she saw the white and yellow daisy garnishing her plate. She never said a word in regards to his makeshift embellishment, but the smile that hung about thereafter was enough for him.
She didn’t waste any time taking her first bite. She closed her eyes as she pulled the fork from her mouth. Her shoulders melted and a slight hum reverberated from her lips.
“Does that mean it’s good?”
“Are you kidding?” she asked nervously. “This is the best pan-seared fish I’ve ever had.”
“Now I’m convinced you have a concussion.”
“I’m serious. I’ve never had fish like this before. Most times it’s fried to a crisp or bland as hell.”
“Well, I don’t know much about Kentucky, but I believe they’re known for their horses, not herbs.” He took another generous bite and waited. “That wasn’t funny?”
She mildly smiled and stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth. “You make a better cook than a comedian.”
“Ah, look at that. Give the small town Kentucky girl a hot shower and some food and she’s as good as new.”
Another smile. That one he was sure to catch.
“I don’t know about all that,” she replied uncertainly.
“Well, you’re gaining a bit of confidence. It’s good to know you’re less fearful of me.”
Her hand froze, her fork stuck in another cut of fish. “I don’t fear you, Leif. I just don’t know you.”
He set his utensil down and crossed his arms, eager to finally delve into a meaningful discussion. “What is it you’d like to know?”
****
I shied from his intrusive eyes, feeling the heat of his stare setting me ablaze.
He leaned in. “I know you are avoiding me because you feel ‘tis right. ‘Tis moral. ‘Tis safer. But you needn’t fear me.”
I took a deep breath. “I fear you not, Dægan. I simply know not enough about you.”
His face recoiled slightly as if my choice of words had stunned him. He released me and crossed his arms in front of him. “What would you like to know?”
****
“Rain?”
Leif’s voice caught her off guard and she looked around, confused, the name Dægan echoing in her ears. She blinked, staring at the man across from her, his face illustrating as much bewilderment as her own.
“You all right?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
Instantly, she pulled away, trying to gather her wits. It seemed she’d heard Leif’s words in the same minute she heard the same words from a man by the name of Dægan. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she keep seeing things that weren’t really there or hear conversations from an unknown past, which were so akin to what she was talking about now?
“You blacked out for a moment,” Leif explained.
“I did?” The question came out of her mouth even though she knew she had gone somewhere else, somewhere that seemed like memories. It was as if she were having personal recollections of long ago, which involved her and a Norse warrior.
“Yeah, you did. I asked you what you wanted to know about me, and suddenly, your eyes glazed over. You stared straight forward, but focused on nothing. Are you sure you’re all right? Perhaps we need to wake up the good doc.”
She fidgeted in her chair. The thought of a doctor looking her over and determining she was categorically crazy was not in her vacation plans. She tried to go back to her normal routine of eating, forking another bite of fish to prove to him, if not herself, he was overreacting. “Really, I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry. I just need to finish eating and get some rest. I’ve had a long day.”
Again, he didn’t look convinced. But what else could she say? She was as lost as he was when it came to her “blacking out.”
For the rest of the meal, they both lost their tongues for small talk and the only sound heard was the casual clinking of silverware on their plates. Despite the great food and warm hospitality Leif had provided her, Lorraine wanted nothing more than to be alone. To lie down with her thoughts and hopefully be exhausted enough to sleep.
She prayed for sleep. Sleep without dreams. Sleep without the Norse warrior. Somehow, as she glanced over at Leif looking at her in the most concerned way, she didn’t think she’d get her wish.
Chapter Seven
Lorraine entered Leif’s spare room, very aware of his massive male body behind her as he slipped in and flipped on the light.
The room was quaint, simple in its decorations, with a single window on the far wall. The curtains were white cotton, plain, yet clean, which matched the bedding on the full-sized bed centered in the room. A single picture hung above the bed in a fanciful carved frame. A long-haired medieval maiden sat in a small boat with her embroidered tapestry hanging over the side; a classic John William Waterhouse painting.
“The Lady of Shallot?”
“What can I say? I’m a romantic.”
If she could say anything about Leif, he was certainly intriguing. How often does a woman find herself being carried off on horseback by a man with a rocking body who cooks and is into sappy nineteenth century Renaissance art?
She felt him brush against her as he circled her toward the dresser. “There’s extra blankets in here, in case you get cold. And there’s an alarm clock on the table if you want to get up early. The sun rises at four a.m., which…” he drew out, looking at his watch, “is about three hours from now.”
Lorraine rocked back and forth on her heels. “I’m not much of an early riser. I think I’ll pass on the alarm.”
“Fair enough,” he said, smiling. “Then I won’t wake you.”
When she thought he’d soon scurry from the room, he surprised her and leaned his butt against the dresser, crossing his ankles. “I’m going to go out on a limb here, so you’ll excuse me if I’m stereotypical, but I assume that since you’re from Kentucky, you know your way around horses?”
“I know enough. Why?”
“Well, I thought I’d offer to give you a tour of Inis Mór…on horseback…if you’d like. It beats touring the island on a bike.”
She certainly hadn’t expected that to come from his mouth. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
His face fell, disappointed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. I just thought perhaps you were counting the hours to when I’d leave. You know, ready to wash your hands of me.”
Leif pushed himself from the dresser and approached her, each step jolting her heart to new heights. He may have been aloof when he showed her the room and all its meager amenities, but there was nothing nonchalant about him now. His cobalt eyes held her gaze with such intensity that there was no way of averting from them.
At first, she was shocked at how daring he chose to be by taking away the little comfort of space between them. She fought the affects of his sultry eyes and his rugged aroma, but all in all, she could do little about it. Though the open door of the room was right behind her, she stood trapped in his eyes, caught in the very clutches of his hungry stare. Given the circumstances, it was hard to know if it was the pull of sheer attraction that held her motionless, or blinding fear.
He leaned in close, his eyes falling over her lips and back. He whispered in the sexiest, husky voice she’d ever heard, “I’m definitely not ready to wash my hands of you yet.”
Lorraine finally willed herself to breathe the moment she heard the door close behind her. She wasn’t quite sure how she managed to stay standing for her legs felt as weak and wobbly as a newly-born foal’s.
She hurried over to the bed and sat down, the thick mattress giving slightly with her weight. Her stomach knotted up. From the way he
looked at her to the laden tone of his voice, it seemed she had actually been tormenting his good sense all night long too. The only difference was he didn’t seem to be reluctant to show his emotions. He was confident enough with himself to let them parade around her like an exhibition horse in a county fair just fresh out of the gate.
As tame and poised as Leif seemed to be, there was an unrestrained wildness about him, a feral fierceness to his nature. She wasn’t used to that level of ruggedness. Neither Patrick nor Jack possessed such qualities. If she had to think about it, Leif’s cool dominance should’ve scared her to the point of cringing. But shying away from him was the last thing she wanted to do.
He’s too good to be true.
Yeah, that would be exactly what Patrick would say to her when she called to update him on her first day’s visit. She could just hear it now…
“Rain, you’re on the rebound. This trip was to get away from dick-smack, not lure another one in.”
She sighed and dropped back on the bed, staring at the wooden beams above her. As much as she hated listening to her inner voice, she knew it was her best friend right now. She didn’t need to get involved with a man on her vacation. It defeated the point of the trip and, in the end, she’d only set herself up for another heartache.
Even if Leif was her knight in shining armor, she lived in Kentucky and he in Ireland. Long distance relationships never work and she sure as hell couldn’t see him packing up everything—his life, his work—just to jet off with her to the States. He was a European archeologist who liked to dig up things more than four hundred years old. There were only so many arrowheads and Civil War musket balls in the Midwest before one would get burnt out. Here, in the British Isles, where history spanned as far back as the Bronze Age, was a regular gold mine. Leif would be foolish to follow her to the States.
Lorraine suddenly furrowed her brow. How could she lay here and devise excuses as to why Leif shouldn’t tag along with her to Kentucky when they weren’t near a relationship to begin with? Not even a hint of one. Sure, they seemed to have a rapport with each other, but hell, she had a rapport with her parish priest. Doesn’t mean they’d shack up with each other in the future.
Oh, dear God.
She had to have a concussion. With as many off the wall, illogical thoughts as she’s had today, there was no other way around it. All she needed was a good night’s sleep and a fresh start in the morning.
Dragging herself up the length of the comfortable bed, she pulled the covers back and snuggled down deep within them. The crisp coolness of the sheets welcomed her. She inhaled deeply, preparing to release a long soothing breath, but her attempt at finding peace from her thoughts failed tremendously when his familiar scent invaded her nostrils. With the smell of Leif surrounding her among the blankets and pillows, blissful sleep would not come to her anytime soon.
****
Leif closed the door to his bedroom, unable to contain his amusement. He could still see the way she’d stiffened when he drew close, and the hint of lust in her eyes after he whispered to her.
He probably shouldn’t have said what he said, given the circumstances of their meeting and the apprehension she felt in staying the night in his home. But damned if it didn’t just slip out.
As crazy as it sounded, he meant it. He wasn’t ready to wash his hands of her. He wanted to know more about her. Why she came to Ireland—alone. What she did for a living. What her favorite flower was. Everything. No matter how trifle, he wanted to know every detail about Lorraine O’Connor. But above all else, he wanted to know what she’d feel like in his embrace.
When he carried her in his arms and rode all the way home with her in his lap, he had had the occasion to hold her for quite some time. But he never got to revel in the feel of her body against him because of the urgency. He could almost kick himself for not stealing that chance.
With his one opportunity far behind him, he longed for another fortuitous moment when they’d exchange lingering looks again. When their bodies would willingly draw closer, barely touching. When their lips would meet in a slow tender kiss, until they both couldn’t hold back.
That was the embrace he desired. Though being a man, he envisioned he’d be tearing off her clothes.
Leif grabbed himself and adjusted his climbing arousal, for the second time that night. He wondered how in the hell a woman like Lorraine could easily tempt and torture him this way, especially since she’d done nothing to entice him. All evening, she’d kept herself distanced from him and never once seemed to let on that she was even remotely curious about him.
Except when he whispered to her.
That, he noticed right away. Something in her had changed as he stood there eyeing her lips, his body only inches from hers. There was a heat in her eyes that had flared the flecks of jade to a smoldering hue. He swore, for one split second, she’d leaned in. Had he any brain at all, he would’ve lingered a few seconds more before retreating out the door. Now, he’d never know if she had or hadn’t inclined herself toward him. Instead, he stood in his lonely room with no relief in sight from this painful erection.
Unbuttoning his fly in aggravation, he tore his jeans from his body and climbed into his bed with thoughts of her eyes, her lips, and her touch racking his body.
Chapter Eight
Lorraine threw the warm covers off her body in frustration. It was the worst sleep she’d ever had and yet, the best dreams by which she’d ever been afflicted.
All night, or all morning for that matter, she had dreamed of Leif. She had gotten no reprieve from him, or at least her handsome Viking warrior who looked like him. On many occasions throughout her slumber he had kissed her and held her against his firm chest with loving tenderness, only to wake up and fall back asleep in a nightmare of the same man holding her down on the ground.
It was the most exasperating feeling to drift into both kinds of dreams with no rhyme or reason. And now that it was eleven a.m., with the bright sun blaring through the thin white curtains, she knew there was no hope of finding any kind of sound sleep at all.
She sat up and draped her legs over the side of the bed, a waft of Leif’s heady scent hovering around her. It was both a curse and cure. It plagued her with thoughts of a man she couldn’t fully grasp and it became therapy for making her forget all about the reason she came to Ireland in the first place. From the time she laid eyes on Leif sitting magnificently on his horse, she’d never had one thought of Jack.
With a sudden smile on her face, she stretched and decided to see if Leif was awake. As she slipped from the bed and padded across the cool hardwood floor, she remembered Leif’s open proclamation. I’m definitely not ready to wash my hands of you yet.
It wasn’t necessarily what he said, but how he said it that haunted her. What did he mean by it? Why did he whisper it so seductively while gazing at her lips with those tempestuous blue eyes? If only he realized the heavy influx of emotions he’d caused her with that little trick.
Upon opening the door, she found a pile of neatly folded clothes—her clothes, washed and dried—on the floor with a note. She bent over and retrieved the letter, the sight of his handwritten script putting a smile on her face.
Not ready to wash my hands of you, but I did wash your clothes.
Leif
PS, I’m in the barn
****
“So, you finally found someone to go riding with you, eh?” Kristoff remarked as he casually leaned against the stall, watching Leif brush down his horse.
“Wait ‘til you lay eyes on her. You’ll wish you found her first.”
“Considering how picky you are, I imagine she’s quite a catch.”
The woman who fell into his lap brought more excitement in one short evening than he’d had all his life. Even the upsurge of emotions he’d felt seven years ago when he was on the team of archeologists who discovered a rare Viking grave of a prominent warrior in Waterford didn’t come close to what he’d felt last night.
&nbs
p; “Am I ever going to get to meet her?” Kristoff probed.
Leif looked up from his grooming and tossed the brush and currycomb to Kristoff. He knew all to well that Kristoff usually had alternative intentions when it came to the opposite sex. The fact that Leif may already have an interest in one had never seemed to deter him. “Depends on what you mean by ‘meet.’”
“Meet. Say hello, my name is…”
Leif bent down and picked up the saddle pad at his feet and threw it up on his horse’s back, hardly buying a word of Kristoff’s blasé clarification. “Perhaps, when I’m good and ready to let you.”
Kristoff laughed aloud and juggled the grooming tools. “You’re worried she’ll choose me over you.”
“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? But no. I’m worried you’ll make a bad impression.”
Kristoff watched every move Leif made. “You do like her, don’t you?”
Leif grunted as he tightened the girth. “I already told you I did. Now, make yourself useful and hand me Thor’s bridle.”
Kristoff reached around the tack door to his right and lifted the leather bridle from the hook. “This one?”
Leif snatched it from his brother’s hands, wondering how a man who’d made his living hauling tourists around in horse-drawn carriages couldn’t remember which head harness went with which horse. As Leif slipped the bit into its mouth and pulled the headpiece over the ears, his thoughts somehow ran back to Lorraine. He decided that if she hadn’t made an appearance by the time he finished tacking up the horses, he’d have to unlock the spare room and check on her.
As much as he hated to barge into her private room, he wondered if she ditched his clothes and slept naked. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to walk in on such a sight. His body responded fiercely to that thought. He worked faster, exiting Thor’s stall and slipping into Freyja’s. He stole the currier combs from his brother’s hands and made fast work of brushing her down.
“On a mission, I see. Well, since you’ve obviously laid claim to Laurel, how ‘bout you introduce me to one of her friends she’s vacationing with?”
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 73