Sloane snorted, but Jenny wasn’t done. “Listen, I’m the one that man asks about you every time I see him, okay? Nothing too involved or nosy. Just like, have we talked lately? Are you well? And there is something so . . . I don’t know, wistful about him when he does.”
Sloane stared at her friend in the mirror. “Wistful? Mac? We’re talking about the same man here, right? Six foot five, dark, glowering and scary beyond all reason?”
Jenny chuckled. “I know. But he’s not so scary when he talks about you.” She cocked her head. “He missed you, Slo. I’d stake my life on it. Or at least Gery’s.” She grinned again, tossing those wild black curls at her long-term boyfriend’s name. Gery was catching a ride to Ramsey tonight.
That gave Sloane an idea, one that instantly eased the churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with her vanished hangover.
“I know, you two can come with us!”
“Fuck no.”
“Why not?” Sloane pleaded. “I got you your ‘fizzies’ this morning.”
Jenny snorted. “Which you needed more than me.”
Sloane wasn’t going to debate that. “Give me one good reason why.”
“Fer one I was no’ invited.” Jenny’s accent was barely noticeable to Sloane most days, not like the older islanders’, but when she got excited it thickened considerably. “And fer another, Mac would no’ like it.” She folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head so adamantly her hair started to bounce with a life of its own.
Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said Mac wasn’t so scary.”
“Yeah, well.” Jenny cleared her throat. “No need to take chances either. Come on, he’ll be here any second. You want him to see you like tha’?”
Sloane glanced down at the skirt pooled around her ankles and sighed. Once upon a time, she would have given anything for Mac too see her like this. Now, she couldn’t afford to bare anything to the man, literally or otherwise.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d ditched the skirt in favor of a simple handkerchief dress in a colorful paisley print, flats and a green cashmere sweater that was one of her go-tos. Jenny insisted she put on gloss and mascara, but that, along with pinning up a couple of tendrils of her nearly waist-long hair, was as far as Sloane was willing to go with her appearance. Such efforts had been wasted on Mac when she’d wanted him, and now that she most definitely didn’t, why bother?
The knock on the door made her jump. Jenny muffled a laugh against her hand, ignoring Sloane’s glare as she opened it. Her expression immediately went blank.
He wasn’t dressed up, not really.
It didn’t matter. In dark, fitted slacks, nice shoes and a crisp white shirt that was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled casually halfway up his tanned forearms, Mac was devastating. Until this moment, she’d never seen him in anything other than work clothes, usually with his hands around a hammer or a pair of boat oars or . . .
There were flowers in those big hands. The image took her breath away in one hard whoosh. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the bright blossoms. She’d almost managed to convince herself this was not a date, that Mac was only doing his part to mend fences, be neighborly. But flowers were more than neighborly. Weren’t they? “What’s that?” she squeaked.
Jenny gave a cough from behind the door that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“They reminded me of you.” She managed to look up from the tangled array of violet, gold, pink and white at the sound of his voice, still trying to find some oxygen in the soft evening air. “The way you smell, I’ve always thought it’s like wildflowers, elusive and sweet.”
Her mouth fell open even as Jenny sighed. Mac smiled. “Tha’ slack-jawed look is very becoming. I think I like making you speechless.”
She closed her mouth with a snap that rattled her teeth, but his grin only widened.
He pressed the flowers into her hands. Sloane took them numbly, resisting the urge to bury her face in the tiny blooms and see if she could smell what he did. How many hundreds of times had she imagined silly, romantic things like Mac giving her flowers?
Giving herself a figurative shake, she said shortly, “Thank you.”
She reached back through the door and shoved the flowers at Jenny with a warning look, before shutting the door in her friend’s face. “Let’s go.”
The evening was just as fine as the day had been. Twilight was starting to fall, a light purple haze taking over the blue sky. Ramsey was small, not even eight thousand people, though usually it felt bigger due to all the tourist traffic. Right now, with night hovering and the tide rolling in, it had never seemed more peaceful.
Or it would have, had it not been for the disconcerting presence of the man beside her.
Mac was too big to be ignored, even without the firm press of his fingers against her elbow as he guided her down the steps. Everything about Mac was just too.
It was starting to piss her off that he still affected her this way. She hadn’t anticipated that. Yes, she’d had a crush on him. Maybe even more than a crush.
Okay, so she’d fancied herself in love with the man. Completely and irrevocably in love. She stared at the lights on the water. Like Mac had said, that was a long time ago. And after what had happened between them, Sloane had been sure any attraction had been burned right out of her.
It damn well should have been.
Once she’d returned to California after that morning in Cashtal yn Ard, she’d had a miserable few weeks.
Then she’d picked herself up and moved on.
She’d begun dating a lot, defiantly at first. Then she’d actually started to enjoy it. Eventually, she’d lost her virginity. Not as she had always dreamed, of course, but it had been a revelation. Sloane had discovered she thoroughly enjoyed sex. Josh had been her third lover, and they’d got on very well enough in bed, though after they’d been married, he’d proven he wanted to be taken care of there just as in all areas of life. Wrinkling her nose, Sloane pushed away the thought of her ex. Sloane hadn’t experienced real attraction in so long, she’d almost forgotten how it felt.
She hadn’t expected Mac to so thoroughly reduce her to a quivering jumble of nerves and hormones all surrounding a nameless ache deep inside her. An ache that she was beginning to admit had never quite disappeared when she left Manx. She’d just learned to ignore it. Now she had a name for that hole.
Mac.
She glanced over to see him eyeing her, his expression soft but somehow almost predatory. Possessive.
It was an alarming look and one that made her knees weak, especially when he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her up the hill.
“I’ve missed ye.” His softly murmured admission had goose bumps feathering her arms under the light sweater. Enough. Frustrated and confused, Sloane simply stopped. Right in the middle of the street.
“What is this, Mac?” she demanded, the words short and sharp.
“Me taking ye to dinner,” he said calmly.
She stepped away from his hand. “But why? And don’t give me any more bullshit about being neighborly. Or missing me,” she hissed.
“But it’s not bullshit, Sloane.” He chuckled, the sound low and somehow compelling, like the sea murmuring a few blocks over. “Not the missing part anyway.”
“Mac.” Her fist were clenched now, knuckles white. “Before you at least had the courtesy to give it to me straight. I’d take that over this, whatever the fuck this is.”
For several minutes they stood there, the wind off the sea picking up out and growing chilled. Sloane’s eyes on the dark water, though she could feel Mac’s on her. Finally, he sighed. “I wanted to do this over dinner, no’ here in the goddamn street.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me, Sloane.” Taking a deep breath, she did, tossing her hair as if attitude could give her protection over the growing unease in her stomach. “I wanted to explain what I did. On the cliffs that day. I—”
Christ in a
handbasket. She couldn’t take his pity. She wouldn’t.
“Fine. I accept,” she said dully.
“What?” He cocked his head, the touch of wind stirring those unruly auburn waves.
“Your apology. I accept. There was no need for dinner, or flowers.” She forced her fingers to uncurl as she turned back toward the flat. “You could have just said you were sorry and be done with it.”
“But I wasna going to say I was sorry.” He stood in front of her suddenly, big and dark and solid, though she hadn’t seen him move.
She gaped up at him. “What?”
“I’m sorry enough for hurting ye, tha’s true, but I was right to do what I did.”
“Were you?”
“Aye.” It sounded like his teeth were grinding together. “Ye weren’t ready for me then, but ye’re a woman grown now and—”
“I was a woman then, too, Mac,” she said through her own gritted teeth, not able to stop the words that came out next. “Though you’d have been my first.”
“Ye think I don’t know tha’?” His laugh was low, deep and bitter. “Ye think I don’t know the gift I threw back in yer face? Ye’ve no idea of my regrets, machree.” Mac shook his head, seeming to gather himself. “But I had to do it. Ye needed the choice.”
“You were my choice,” she looked at him, the words choking her throat. “And you tossed me aside.” Like I didn’t mean anything. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
“Nae.” His eyes softened as he tipped her face up with his big, warm palm. “But you came back. Back to the island and to me. Ye’re mine for good now.”
Her eyes widened. Is that what he really thought? That she’d come back for him? “Like hell I am.”
She put both palms on his formidable chest and shoved hard. Mac didn’t so much as totter. His jaw tightened and he looked down at her with such intensity Sloane found herself holding her breath, even as fury sang through her veins. Back to him? After what he did?
“Care to make a wager on tha’, love?” Those calloused fingertips fell from her cheek to drag lightly over her collarbone. The warm promise in his touch cascaded down her body in waves until her toes were curling in her sandals. Sloane yanked away, her heart racing. He raised an eyebrow.
“Bet on this, you arrogant son of a bitch. My coming back had nothing to do with you,” she snapped, her voice whipping down the street. “Forget dinner and forget me. It may be a small island, but it’s damn well big enough for me to avoid you indefinitely.”
She spun on her heel and left him standing in the street.
Mac let her go, smiling faintly at her retreating figure.
He knew he should probably have taken his time and eased her into this with more finesse, but impatience had gotten the best of him for the first time in eons. Maybe he should let her cool off a day or two.
Before he got started making Sloane realize just how small his island really was.
With a grin, Mac strode off down the hill, unaware that he was being watched the whole way.
7
What a colossal ass!
Sloane fumed as she stormed down the street. A dinner date and some flowers. Did he really think that was all it would take to make her fall at his feet?
Ye’re mine. Never mind that the possessive growl in the simple words had melted her insides and left her breathless; the sentiment itself was fucking dangerous.
She wasn’t Mac’s. She wasn’t anyone’s.
Maybe he thought the woman who’d thrown herself at him all those years ago would be a nice and easy distraction? Her skin prickly and hot, Sloane slowed as the harbor came into sight, then turned around abruptly so that the sea was behind her.
That was unfair, she knew it was. Sloane highly doubted a man like Mac had problems finding booty calls. She ignored the hot lick of jealousy, trying to sort through their conversation with more perspective, which was easier without Mac’s presence jumbling her nerves.
Was it possible that he was telling the truth? That he’d only turned her away before out of some misplaced sense of honor? She snorted. If that was his excuse, it was a bullshit one. Whatever age difference there was between them, she’d been legal, an adult. He was being archaic.
Then again, that was Mac.
Sloane blinked, coming slowly to a stop, a small, reluctant smile curving her lips.
If he was telling the truth, Mac was admitting he’d wanted her all along. Which meant she’d been right all those years ago. No matter how much he’d pissed her off tonight, that admission right there was enough to make her fist pump just a little. Her eyes sparkling, she started walking again.
Not that the truth made any difference, she told herself sternly a minute later. However tempting it was.
God, it was tempting.
The thought of letting herself get swept away by Mac, of living those fantasies she’d buried away . . . She shivered. It might be just what she needed to get her mojo back.
Sloane knew she was soul-tired. More tired than she had admitted to anyone. Josh had been exhausting for years before the divorce. At first, his sheer neediness had been part of his appeal. This was not a man who would ever push her away, toss her aside as if she meant nothing. To Josh, she meant everything.
That sounded pretty on paper, but in real life?
It had been maddening. The constant assurances, the non-stop ego-stroking, the slow eroding of her inner self to shore up her husband’s fragility. The way he had made her feel cruel and selfish when she finally started to protest, to suggest he needed help.
She pulled at her sweater, wrapping it tightly around her body. It had taken her a long time to accept Josh’s issues were not because of her and that they could not be solved by her.
A long hard road. And yes, the idea of using Mac to put that behind her was a tantalizing one.
But Mac wasn’t a safe bet for a little post-divorce fling. He’d tangle her all up again, make her crazy again. There was no way she could trust that his sudden interest was genuine. Sure, he’d inferred he’d wanted her all along, but it that were true, why hadn’t he called, written, done something to let her know his change of heart long before now?
Of course, she had been married. Her lips tightened.
Fuck it, none of this mattered anyway. She couldn’t let it.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Jenny she needed a break from men. For her own sanity, she had to stick to her guns. Whatever Mac was feeling was his problem and his alone. She was done trying to fix other people’s lives.
Mind made up, Sloane sped up around the last corner before Jenny’s flat only to be brought up short by a voice coming out of the dark.
“Hello there, Isleen.”
Startled, she took a step back. Someone was lounging against the alley wall, Jenny’s stoop just behind them. A single dark figure, a man. Feeling vaguely uneasy, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out more details before going any closer. He was certainly tall, and the streetlights glinted off hair that appeared curly and very pale, almost white.
“Nice night for a stroll, isn’t it, love?” Unlike when Mac had employed the term, the sound of it on this man’s tongue was repulsive. The accent was off, not Manx. Maybe Irish?
“Do I know you?” After her initial hesitation, Sloane began to skirt around him, going halfway into the street, but keeping a determined path to Jenny’s door. A goal that seemed very far away at the moment.
“Not really.” The stranger seemed amused as he followed her progress. She caught the flash of a smile before he spoke again. “Though I expect we’ll become familiar quite soon. I’ve been dying to get to know you, inside and out.”
Those warning prickles exploded into sick fear.
“That sounds like a threat. I don’t appreciate threats.” Fighting the panic filling her chest, Sloane kept her tone calm, but firm. The stoop taunted her, seeming to pull farther away with each step she took, as if she were caught in every horror movie ever made. She wanted
to believe her imagination was running away with her, but there was something primal deep inside her that was screaming already.
She’d dealt with stalkers before. Any author with her level of success had—it came with the territory—but she’d never an encounter that had made her feel remotely like this.
He lifted a negligent hand. “Now, now, no need to be alarmed.” The mocking tone only underlined his words as an outright lie. He was enjoying her fear.
In one quick stride, he stepped from the shadows, cutting her off from the flat. Sloane opened her mouth, on the verge of letting loose a shingle-rattling scream. If Jenny wasn’t inside and fucking awake, someone in the surrounding flats would be. Then her gaze lifted to the man’s face. The scream stuck in her throat.
His eyes were so . . . mesmerizing.
They pulled at her in the strangest way. Her mouth closed and she swayed. The abject fear was still there. But it had receded under a thick layer of glass, pounding away in silent warning while her traitorous body continued to go lax.
With a smirk, the man held out a thin, pale hand. “That’s it. Come here, sweets.”
Languidly, she reached out, though everything inside of her thrummed in panic at the thought of touching him. There was a roaring in her ears as that smile widened.
His teeth. Dear god, what was wrong with his teeth?
They were so white, and far too sharp, seeming to elongate as her fingertips brushed his palm. His cold hard flesh had begun to close around hers just as the door to the flat burst open.
Jenny’s boyfriend, Gery, took a single, startled look at Sloane’s face and yanked her up the stairs, tossing her behind him.
Sloane’s weird lassitude vanished as soon as she watched Gery step forward. The young man filled the doorway, folding his arms over his chest.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“Shut the door,” she croaked, her throat stiff with terror as she reached for the back of his shirt. “Gery, please.” Either the young islander didn’t hear or he was ignoring her to stare down the man outside.
Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3) Page 5