by LAURA HARNER
Dancing was not something he had done in the last five years, he was sure of it. He wondered briefly, where the urge had come from, but then he was holding Miranda and all such concerns melted away. In fact, many things melted away when he held her in his arms. Things like his honor, his sanity, the walls that held back his darkness.
There wasn’t much room and he was careful not to hold her too close. He didna want to scare her off; he needed her. They started a trend, and soon other couples lining the walls were also dancing in the small space, giving Gabhran an excuse to hold Miranda a little closer. When the band finished, the crowd roared, and Gabhran casually draped his arm around Miranda’s shoulders.
“Thank you, lass, for indulging me, now let me buy you that drink. Unless you havna had dinner yet?” he asked as he guided her through the crowd to the door and into the street. Since she’d already eaten, they settled for having a drink. Although this was her hometown, he led the way to a small local’s bar near their home that had a good variety of top shelf liquors.
****
Randi liked the feel of Gav’s hand against the small of her back, acting as a rudder and guiding her through the crowd as they walked down the street together. Women turned to gape at him. For that matter so did the men. He was a vision of masculinity in tight, faded jeans and a black polo shirt that hugged his ripped chest muscles. His black hair was lose, and hung an inch or two below his shoulders, and his blue-gray eyes sparked with an unrepressed excitement. He made her feel petite, dainty even. As a member of the police force, that was an unfamiliar and not very comfortable feeling.
He hadn’t really needed to steer her. People gave him wide berth, the crowd parting as he approached, making room for him, and turning to admire after he passed. More than once she’d spotted people taking pictures of him, as though he were someone famous. It’s hot as hell knowing I’m walking with a sex god.
Twice they had to stop to wait for passing cars, before they could cross the street. The first time, he let his hand drop from her waist, and she shivered with the sudden loss of the searing heat he radiated. The second time was even more disturbing. He had taken his hand from her waist, and slowly traced his fingers up her bare spine, until his hand settled on the nape of her neck. She glanced up, only to discover he was looking down at her, his expression hungry. Then he’d laughed, kissed the top of her head lightly, and returned his hand to her waist. That had made her shiver, too. He led her across the street and into Finnegan’s Pub.
Even though the pub was near her apartment, it was not one she’d visited before. Such was life living in the French Quarter, so many bars, so little time. Not that she drank often, but she could certainly hold her liquor well when she did. As a young female cop, she’d had to prove herself many times, and being able to toss back shots with the guys was a prerequisite.
The building was a deep narrow strip in the center of the block, with nothing flashy to lure in the tourist trade. Inside, the bar itself was a gleaming plank of oak, with brass foot rails, and a giant mirror behind the shelves of bottles. There were padded leather stools at the bar and several small tables filled the rest of the space. Although there were a few empty tables, Gabhran led her straight to the bar. Randi noticed several people raise their hands or a glass to the mountain of a man walking by her side. He is known here.
“What would you like, lass?” he asked once they had pulled up two stools and sat.
“What do you drink, besides the Turbodog Ale we had the other day?”
“Och, ‘tis for hot afternoons. For evenings I prefer a good single malt whisky, preferably Macallan. Why not give it a try?” he suggested. He held up two fingers to the bartender, who clearly already knew what Gabhran drank.
The bartender brought two glasses and placed a bottle of fifty-year-old Macallan on the counter. “Evenin’, Gav. Thought ye should know your shipment came in, I have your bottles ready to go. You ne’er brought a lady in here a’fer. Will ye be havin’ dinner then tonight?” he asked in a thick Irish brogue.
“Och, Finn, you might want to shut yer bloody feckin’ mouth in front of the gendarme,” Gabhran shot back, his own brogue thickening and taking on the lilt of the Irish. Then he tossed his head back and roared with laughter, a warm rich sound, that rebounded off the brick walls. Just as she’d noticed at the club, all conversations in the pub halted, as the sound of his laughter washed over everyone. Randi smiled, unable to resist joining in on his private amusement. Then she realized every other person in the pub was smiling too. After a minute, normal conversations resumed, but a sense of joy lingered in the air. Wow.
“Miranda, this large-mouthed bass pretending to be a bartender is Seamus Finnegan. Finn, meet my neighbor, Miranda Close, police detective.”
“Randi,” she automatically corrected as she put her hand out to shake.
After the pleasantries, Finn opened the bottle and poured a glass for each of them. Gabhran invited Finn to join them and the three touched glasses, then both men took a reverent sip while Randi shot hers back, the way she’d seen her fellow cops toss back liquor. The whisky warmed her from the inside out, and she looked up to find both men staring at her with identical expressions of horror on their faces.
“Christ woman! You’ll be lucky if Gav does not kill you. I should shoot you meself. Do you know how much that bottle cost?” asked the bartender. His voice was a harsh whisper.
“Easy, Finn, she meant no harm.” Shaking his head and smiling, Gabhran turned to her. “Lass, Macallan whisky is one to be savored. I will show you how to enjoy it. Do you want to sit here at the bar, or is a table more to your liking?”
They moved to a table, taking their bottle with them. Gabhran poured them each a second glass, and taught her how to hold the drink in her mouth, to notice the subtle nuances as she sipped the fine whisky.
Gabhran was nearly a foot taller and one hundred pounds heavier than Miranda, and he kept the drinks coming. She matched him through four, well used to a night out drinking with the guys, having to keep up with a bunch of competitive men. Then she lost count because he topped her glass off, rather than actually letting it empty.
“I think I need to be taking you home now, lass. Doona fash yourself, I will make sure you get home safely. Are you ready to go? Wait here. I will return in a moment.”
While Gabhran returned the remains of the bottle to Finn and retrieved the bag with his bottles for home, Randi thought about his promise to get her home safely. She had enjoyed their evening very much. It had been a gentle seduction, the shared music, the laughter, and his stories. He had told her stories of Scotland and asked questions about Louisiana. He never asked her to share deeply personal information, he kept it all light, and he focused all of his attention on her.
He’d done everything he could have to put her at ease. It should have worked. It very nearly had. When they’d first met, she had sensed a duality, and tonight that feeling was stronger than ever. Randi knew she should never have had so much to drink around this man; not being in control around Gabhran was dangerous.
She watched the way his big body moved, sleek, like a giant, predatory cat. He was a man who could make her forget her promises, get her to let down her guard. What was it about this man that made all her careful isolation, all the effort she made to protect her heart, seem like a wasted effort? If she walked home with him tonight, she had no doubt she would be protected from random street violence, but who would keep her safe from him?
****
Gav stalked back to her side and put his hand out, waiting for her to choose to go with him. He knew she would; he knew she would be his before this night was through. His darkness was in its element. When she put her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet. She staggered slightly, and Gabhran laughed softly.
They were less than two blocks from the town house, which was a good thing, the less time she had to recover the better. He was consumed by the darkness, he needed her, needed her now. It had been weeks since he was with B
rianna, and that had ended badly, before he’d been fully sated. He kept his hand on her as they walked, but instead of keeping it chastely on her waist as he had earlier, now he slid it along her bare back, tracing up her side, and down her spine. He occasionally let his fingers slip inside the halter-top of her dress, a feather light caress on the side of her breast, but no more. He could see the hard buds of her nipples pressing against the cotton fabric.
“Come on, lass, time to put you to bed,” he purred. He pulled her protectively to his side and led her toward home.
Chapter Six
Alysone had been deeply disturbed all day. She’d awakened unrested and anxious. It felt as though someone was watching everything she was doing. Despite living in a mental hospital, there really wasn’t anything remotely paranoid about her; she was at a loss to explain the feeling.
She and Gabhran had walked the grounds and sat in the courtyard most of the morning, while she’d tried to explain the dream she’d had. She recalled the fabric of the dress she’d worn, the sound it made as she moved, the feel of the material against her skin. She knew the texture of the stones, the smooth, polished wood of the door. She could describe every piece of furniture, every color, every scent in excruciating detail.
What she couldn’t explain were her feelings about the man she’d thought of as the master. Was he the Lord of the manor? Maybe she was a maid or maybe the Creole history of this place was seeping into her bones and in her dream she had been a slave. She shuddered at the cruelty associated with that thought.
At first she thought she’d never seen him, but in the way of dreams that seemed to change. When he called to her to come in, she’d looked everywhere to avoid looking at him. When she finally had looked, he was a massive expanse of golden flesh, black hair, and flashing black eyes. There was recognition in his gaze, and something more. Hunger? Passion? The intensity of his scrutiny scared her, because it was something she knew was futile to resist.
The whole experience was unlike any dream she’d ever known. Gabhran thought it was more than a dream, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept that. It couldn’t be a memory, because doors and stairways didn’t disappear in real life. But, if it wasn’t quite a dream and it wasn’t a memory, what was it?
With her hands clutching the railing of the wrought iron gate, Alysone pressed her face against the bars of her prison and stared out. She desperately wanted to leave the hospital grounds, just to get a way for a few hours. It wasn’t as though she had anywhere to go, no one she wanted to return home to. Just a short walk beyond the walls of the grounds would be liberating. She knew they wouldn’t let her leave, but she wasn’t really locked up. Could she sneak out for a few hours after bed check? Was it safe? She just couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.
****
Liam waited outside the bar for Gabhran and the woman to emerge. He’d been following the doctor for two days, and the pattern was always the same. He worked at a mental hospital during the day, and at night he walked for miles. Each night he stopped to listen to music, then dinner at a local bar. Predictable was good when you were following someone, bad if you didn’t want to be found.
When the man had left his house earlier in the evening, he’d been alone, now he had picked up some woman, and with any luck, he would take her home and bed her. Liam was sure he’d be able to get in and recreate the scene with Brianna. If they were to convince Gabhran to come home, to join them, they needed some leverage.
Liam was a very powerful Druid, and his father was the Druid Master, Martin Worthington, III, an even more skilled Druid and sorcerer. Although they hadn’t been completely successful in recruiting Gabhran, they had been close enough to plant a dark claiming spell within him. If his father was correct and Gabhran wore the Talisman, the claiming spell would be impossible to resist. Worthington wanted the Talisman and he wanted Gabhran’s untapped power.
When Gabhran and the woman exited the bar, Liam knew instantly the game had changed. The dark was in charge now. Exactly what they’d been hoping for. Liam would stand back and let things play out.
****
Gabhran opened the carriage gate. He led her into the courtyard, and up the stairs to her apartment. After taking her keys and unlocking the door, he set the bag with the whisky bottles on the porch and turned to face her, standing close, crowding her. She swayed as she tried to look up at him through blurry eyes. He cradled her face in his hands, then ever so slowly he lowered his mouth until his lips were a hair’s breadth above hers. “Miranda.”
His voice caressed her senses. Randi’s body went soft, and she leaned in for the kiss she’d been thinking about all evening. His lips softly brushed hers, then again, before he pulled back, an intense look etching his handsome features.
Randi wanted more; she reached her hands behind his head and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. His lips were firm, and he parted them slightly before Randi went wild. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, finding his, engaging it in a sensual dance. She knew it was the alcohol, she recognized the lowering of her inhibitions, yet she felt powerless to resist. It had been too long since a man had held her; she needed to feel desired.
She slid her hands over his chest, her fingers tracing over the hard muscled ridges, before she ran them through his silky hair. She wondered what it would feel like to have that hair against her bare skin. She wanted to feel his kisses on her breasts, her stomach, lower.
Randi knew she was in over her head. She couldn’t seem to stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. If she just let him continue, she would be shed of her vow of abstinence, of self-flagellation, and recrimination. No one would know; there was no one left to care. She could blame it on the whisky.
She ran her hands down his back and settled them against his ass, pulling him even tighter against her, telegraphing her willingness to keep going. He pushed her hard against the wall, held her up with the press of his leg between her thighs. Her breasts were tight with desire, her nipples hard and achy, and her breath caught as he moved his hand to gently trace his fingers over the material covering them. She moaned with pleasure and wanted more.
When he loosened her top and began to knead and then suckle her breasts, she felt a thousand butterflies take flight deep in the pit of her stomach. Muscles deep within her clenched in anticipation, wondering what it would feel like to have that hard cock buried deep inside. Randi dropped one of her hands to scrape her nails up his thigh. Then he began a slow bump and grind, pumping his hips against hers.
Again, she sensed the duality of this man, a sweet, aching longing mixed with a mad desire to take her. Who is he, really?
Thoughts from her past rose, unbidden. Unwelcome. A wave of sadness mixed with her desire, creating a sense of desperation, and she pressed into him, seeking release. She longed to be free of the guilt.
****
The moment his lips touched hers, he felt the force of a thousand shocks as raw electricity surged through him. An unfamiliar sense of possessiveness coursed through his veins; he wanted this woman as he’d wanted no other. A small voice within him warned him to pull back; he would lose her if he took her tonight.
As she pulled him into a fierce kiss and placed her hands on his chest, he couldna hold back his groan of desire. With a sense of futility undermined by lust, Gav wrapped his arms around her and splayed his palms across her ass, then pressed her hips forward, molding her to his body. The darkness within him roared his approval.
Sliding his hands upward, along her rib cage, over her soft, bare shoulders until he cupped her head in his hands, he loosened her hair so that fell down her back in golden waves. With one hand he kept her pressed tightly to him, with the other, he threaded his fingers through her hair and held the back of her head. He deepened the kiss, stealing the breath from her. He felt her knees begin to weaken, and he tightened his grip.
Gabhran pulled his kiss back and slowly ran his tongue over her lips, tasting her innocence, her innate goodness. When he m
oved his mouth to her neck, planting open-mouth kisses along her collarbone and shoulders, he felt the shiver that passed through her. He dragged his tongue up the long column of her neck then returned to her sweet lips. He sucked her full bottom lip into his mouth, pulling it gently, before releasing it slowly, nibbling.
Gabhran held her face in his hands, and slanted his mouth over hers and his kiss possessed her completely. He thrust his tongue in, then pulled it slowly back, intimating acts yet to come. The darkness pressed for release, knew it would have her.
He followed the signals her body was telegraphing, and deepened his kiss, pressed their bodies together, and the darkness knew it had won. Take her now, carry her inside, and fuck her. He pushed her hard against the wall, and slid his leg between her thighs, never releasing her from his kiss.
Miranda’s moan of pleasure was swallowed in his kiss, as he untied the knot on her halter-top, exposing her. One hand began to knead her breasts, alternating between them, while the other kept her head in position for his kisses. He lowered his lips to scatter kisses before he roughly sucked a nipple into his mouth.
Gabhran could feel the intensity of her desire wash over him, her inhibitions were lowered. She was ready; he would take her now. His darkness rejoiced. Then Gabhran was hit by sadness interlaced with her desire, before a flood of heartbreak and desperation washed over him with the force of an icy wave.
Chapter Seven
Gabhran reached out to try to sense Miranda’s intentions. There was confusion, sadness was emanating from her in waves, yet her body was telegraphing desire. The darkness within took over his thoughts, his sense of honor. It would not be denied; it knew she wanted him. He would take her now; make her forget any objections. He grabbed a fistful of hair and ruthlessly yanked her head, exposing the column of her neck, and bit down hard.
“You are mine, Miranda. Mine, do you hear me? Do not think to deny me now. I will fuck you until the dawn, so doona be thinking you can change your mind.”