Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3)

by Heather R. Blair

  “Mac! You didn’t bring the condom.” Her hands clutched his bare shoulders, feeling every ripple in the hard muscles as he stalked down the narrow hallway.

  “Aye. We’ll save that for later.”

  Oh. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Take a shower with ye . . . and do everything a man can do to make a woman scream with pleasure without actually spilling inside her. And ye . . .” He had stopped at the bathroom door. She could feel the power caged under her hands, vibrating like the storm outside.

  “Yes, Mac?” She looked up at him through her lashes, wondering why he’d stopped. He dipped his head until his lips ran along the shell of her ear, his hot breath feathering over her skin.

  “Ye will do the same to me.”

  She sucked back a whimper as her nipples tightened instantly. But she forced a brazen smile. “You’d scream for me?”

  His teeth grazed her throat. “I scream for no one, love.”

  She turned her head and captured his mouth, biting his lips sharply, sucking and memorizing that mouth that had haunted her for years. “Don’t be so sure,” she breathed against his mouth. “I’ll bring you to your knees, Mac.”

  “Tá tú cheana féin.”

  “What?” she whispered as he shoved open the bathroom door.

  “You can try.”

  She thought maybe he wasn’t being perfectly honest about that translation, but then he set her down with that arrogant look that made her brain incapable of thought. With a smile, Sloane dropped to her knees on the braided rug, watching his eyes go wide. Her palms flattened over the ridge of his hips, thumbs hooked in the pants that she began drawing down inch by inch.

  “Then let’s get started immediately, shall we?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but soon forgot all about talking.

  For a very long time.

  14

  Mac’s eyes snapped open hours later. There had been no knock, but he felt the approaching presence as if someone were pounding on his soul. He slid out of bed without waking Sloane, sparing only one long glance at the spill of blond hair over his pillow, the careless elegance of that sprawled naked body he’d ravished so thoroughly and that had ravished him in return.

  With a smile on his face, he slipped on a pair of sweats and headed for the door.

  Bav stood outside, her bloodred curls blowing in the morning wind, her head cocked as she regarded him with those bright green eyes. “Good day, Brother.”

  With a curse, he shut the door behind him.

  “What do ye want?”

  It was Fand’s constant nagging that had convinced her to come, but Bav could hardly tell Mac that. He hadn’t spoken to the fairy for years.

  “I am concerned about things I’ve seen in the scrying pool,” she said with as much delicacy as she was capable of. “Things about the woman currently sleeping in your bed.”

  “Concerned, is it? About Sloane?” Mac’s lip curled.

  “No. About you.”

  He blinked at her, clearly not expecting that one.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve some family feeling,” she said with a sigh.

  “Since when?” he muttered.

  Bav shrugged. It was true their bond consisted mostly of despising and trying to outdo one another. The last maybe more on her part than Mac’s, but in the end, he was her brother. Her twin. And the future she’d seen disturbed her. She may hate him most days, but that didn’t mean she wanted to consider eternity without him in it. “You know what I’ve seen?”

  “I’ve an idea,” he muttered.

  “And?”

  He looked at her, then away, at the sea that sparkled to the left of them. “I plan to do it anyway. I am going to keep her, he won’t stop me.”

  She stared at him, her mouth half open. “Keep her? Are you mad? What of the law?”

  When he said nothing, only folded his arms over that massive chest, she blinked.

  “It isn’t done, Mac. And you know it. Hell, you’re the one who pushed Lugh to make that decree about mortals in the first place!”

  “That was two millennia ago.” His voice had gained an edge, one that was fraying her already abused nerves. “And ye know the circumstances as well as I. This is different.”

  “Why, because it’s you doing the wanting now? Danu, have you lost your senses entirely? Fuck her all you like, but show some restraint.”

  “I canna,” he said simply. “It’s nae enough. I love her, Bav.”

  She swallowed at the quiet, but shocking admission, lifting a hand to her throat to quell the fluttering there. Belatedly, she realized it was sheer terror. “Lugh will never allow you to claim her,” she whispered. “Never.”

  “I’ve a plan for tha’.” Bav was taken aback by the grim look on her brother’s face. She’d never seen him look so ruthless. Well, except maybe once. “As you said, she’s mortal, and I am no’. What if tha’ were to change?”

  Bav sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. “You are mad.”

  “Nae,” he replied. Just in love.

  Though, Mac admitted to himself, it might be the same thing.

  She glared at him. “Isn’t that exactly what I did? And you called me a self-serving bitch for it, if memory serves.”

  “This is no’ the same thing at all.” And it wasn’t. Bav hadn’t loved O’Neill, not in the way she needed to, not even close. At least until it was far too late.

  For reasons he didn’t quite understand himself, he laid out the bones of his recently revised plan.

  “Are you sure about this?” Bav stared when he was done, her thoughts obviously straying to a certain vampire as well. “Her father might well kill you.”

  Mac frowned. “O’Neill has no power to harm me, at least at present, and while he might take issue at first, I doona see why he should be fussed once he gets used to the idea.”

  “Do you not?” Bav shook her head helplessly. “Mac, even if your plan succeeds, Lugh will still not have it. Especially after what I did to that family. This is not a fight I see even you winning. You’d be better off to let the chit go.” She said the last gently, remembering when he had told her almost exactly the same thing, on a hill not far from here.

  “Never. She’s mine now. And mine she stays.”

  “Have you asked her what she thinks about your plan? Does she even know what you are?” The lift of Bav’s eyebrow was mocking but Mac only smiled.

  “She’ll know what she needs to in time. And tis my choice in the end.”

  “Oh Brother mine,” Bav spoke softly, “you may be a god, but you have a lot to learn about women.”

  15

  Sloane was roused from a delicious, heavy sleep by the murmur of voices. Mac’s made her smile and snuggle deeper into the covers, but when she identified the other as unknown—and female—curiosity forced her to her feet. Not bothering to dress, she only took the time to wrap Mac’s deep blue robe around her before padding out of the bedroom and through the living area.

  The voices became clearer as she passed the windows, but her mind was still drowsy and slow. Something about being mad and Mac disagreeing with her father?

  She frowned and pushed open the door.

  Only to lay eyes on one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.

  Sloane had never been the jealous sort. She appreciated her own beauty and uniqueness and was confident enough in that to appreciate the beauty of other women and enjoy it as well. But this women’s appearance staggered her.

  Deep crimson curls shone in the morning sun, falling past the woman’s slender white shoulders to hang halfway down her back. Her body was the stuff of men’s most ardent dreams, curvaceous and full, while retaining an intriguing delicacy. There was nothing delicate about the expression on her face, though, or those arresting Kelly-green eyes. This was a woman possessed of a strong personality and keen mind. One that was assessing Sloane just as forthrightly as Sloane was assessing her.

  “Good morn.” The accent was pur
e Northern Irish, that silvery lilt of poets and bards. But the tone was as sharp as mountain air.

  “Morning.” Sloane glanced at Mac, but as he seemed to have no intention of introducing them, she held out her hand. “I’m Sloane, and you are?”

  Her hand was instantly surrounded by slender fingers, silky and soft. There was steel under the silk, a cold steel that made Sloane shiver a bit. This was not a woman to be trifled with.

  Sloane refused to be intimidated, lifting her chin almost imperiously. The woman smiled.

  “I’m Manannán’s sister, Bav.”

  “Sister?” Sloane blinked, then smiled. “He’s never mentioned a sister.”

  “I daresay not.” The redheaded woman seemed to be trying not to laugh outright, but amusement sang through her words nevertheless. “Bit closemouthed, our Mac, about a lot of things, it would seem. Did you say your name was Nelson, the Sloane Nelson?”

  Had she mentioned her last name? She couldn’t remember but nodded cautiously.

  “Oh aye, the writer.” Bav smiled again, and there was something familiar and predatory in that smile. With a shock, Sloane realized it reminded her of Mac. “I’ve read your books. They’re quite good, very entertaining.”

  “Well, thank you so much.” Sloane had learned to accept such compliments with grace long ago, but for some reason this woman flustered her. Her cheeks were burning. Then Mac cleared his throat, looking less than amused. Sloane shot him a glance, her embarrassment vanishing. “It’s nice someone thinks so,” she said.

  Bav grinned as Mac scowled. “Well, I will not be keeping you from . . . whatever it is my brother has planned for you.”

  Sloane flushed again, though for some reason she didn’t think the woman was talking about sex, or at least, not just sex. The look she shot her brother was a dark one, and those full lips trembled once before firming as she turned back to Sloane. “It was good to meet you, Sloane. At long last.”

  Something in her tone sounded melancholy, almost apologetic, but what in the world would Mac’s sister have to apologize for? Sloane gave herself a mental shake, hoping Mac had some coffee around to clear her sleep- and sex-fuzzed brain.

  “You as well. Hope to see you again soon.”

  Bav’s mouth twisted as if she’d said something highly amusing. “Be careful what you wish for, love.” Then she nodded at Mac. “Good day, Brother dear.”

  He didn’t return her nod, his changeable eyes a steely grey this morning. “And to ye, Sister.”

  With a swirl of white, the woman stalked away. Mac’s truck was the only vehicle in the driveway, not that Bav headed that way in any case. She was aiming for the hilltop Sloane and Mac had descended the previous day.

  “Where is she going?”

  “Ye’re not the only one that enjoys a bit of a hike.”

  Hiking, in that fancy getup? But Bav was pushed clean out of her mind when Mac slipped behind her and pulled her to his chest. He was bare-chested still and deliciously warm despite the slight chill in the air. His lips skimmed the top of her head. Sloane sighed, snuggling into his strength as he coaxed her back inside.

  Mac released her when they crossed the threshold, turning to lock the door. She frowned at that, wondering about the woman she’d just met and her relationship with Mac. In twenty years, she’d never so much as heard him mention a sister, even in passing.

  “She called you something. Manannán?”

  “Aye,” Mac acknowledged with an indifferent shrug. “’Tis me given name.”

  “After the god?” Sloane couldn’t help the snort of amusement, thinking of her own books. “Shall I call you Lir?”

  He winced. “Please doona.”

  “The storm is over.”

  “Aye, tis.” Mac grinned at her, stepping over to the kitchen and grabbing the condom from the table. “Though, there is no need for us to rush into town jus’ yet. Come back to bed. I wasna ready to get up yet. What are ye wearing under my robe anyway?”

  She lifted her head, grinning up at him. “Not a thing.”

  Making a low sound in the back of his throat, Mac reached for the tie and yanked it free. Sloane stood unflinching as the thick, soft fabric pooled to the floor.

  “Not an ounce of shyness in ye,” he teased, raising an amused eyebrow.

  “Are you kidding? I spent half my life waiting for you to see me. Now that you do, I’ve decided to enjoy every minute of it.”

  “I always saw ye,” he murmured, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, heading with unmistakable purpose to the bedroom. “Ye fair blinded me at times.”

  She spread her hand over his chest, enjoying the play of muscles there as he moved. “I wondered, but when you rejected me at Cashtal yn Ard”—his arms tightened but Sloane continued, needing to say it, to admit it to both herself and him—“I really thought I’d been a fool, Mac. That you’d never wanted me at all,” she finished in a whisper.

  He snorted, though his arms tightened. “I’d wanted ye for quite a while before tha’ day at the stones.”

  Her fingers halted in their perusal of his chest. “Is that so?”

  “Aye.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the clipped answer. Sloane straightened, her gaze bright in the gloom. “And still you pushed me away.”

  Mac sighed. “I told ye before, ye were so young, too young fer the likes of me. Even now . . .” He shook his head, something dark in his eyes as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom. “How old are ye?” His voice was low, a veritable rumble.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “So young yet.” He tossed her on the bed. Sloane giggled as she watched him drop his pants without preamble, his erection blatant. “But I’m past worrying about corrupting ye.”

  “I’ll say. How old are you then?” Sloane asked idly, her eyes fixed on his cock as he stepped closer and handed her the condom.

  “No’ twenty-seven.”

  She lifted her gaze to see him laughing down at her. “Oh, just tell me. How bad can it be? I’m nearly thirty after all.”

  “Ancient indeed.” Despite the still-somber gaze that rested on her, Mac’s lips twitched, though he hissed out a breath as she rolled the condom down his shaft. She pulled him down into the bed, suddenly impatient, needing to feel him again.

  “I’ll show you ancient, old man.” She threw a leg over his hips to straddle him.

  “Old man, is it now?” he said lazily, his eyes wandering over her naked upper half.

  “Not too old for some things, it would seem.”

  She grasped his cock with both hands, still marveling at the shape and weight of him. He thickened and grew until she sucked in a breath, her eyes bemused as her fingers traced his shaft over the thin barrier between them. “Thank god they make these in your size.”

  “Stop admiring the damme thing and use it, before ye drive me insane.” His words were light, but the need behind them was deep and rough.

  “Bossy much?” With a laugh, she fitted him against her, watching his eyes dilate and his breath catch. This power she had over him was heady, almost frightening. But she craved it. Finally he was letting her see how she affected him and it was addicting. She craved the prospect of pushing him as high as he’d pushed her last night. If anyone was going to pass out this time, she vowed it would be him.

  Sinking down slowly, letting him stretch her inch by inch, Sloane lifted her hair, letting him see all of her as her head fell back. Her nipples tightened and her body shook as his cock sank deep. God, he was ruining her for other men.

  Then again, maybe he already had.

  Mac touched places inside her she hadn’t even known existed. Literally and otherwise. She opened her eyes as the weight of his hands settled on her hips.

  “No,” she whispered. “Hands off. Just watch. Feel. Promise me, Mac.”

  He hesitated, then rumbled his assent, removing his hands and wrapping them around the headboard.

  She purred with satisfaction, then began to circle her hips. Slow at firs
t, long sinuous strokes, tightening her inner muscles to squeeze him hard. Mac groaned, wood creaking under his white-knuckled grip. The muscles in his massive arms bunched and rolled, his breath hitching as he watched her. Another storm was moving in. Sloane could feel the air cooling against her back, the distant rumble of thunder coming through the windows, but she no longer cared about the weather.

  As the room darkened around them, she moved faster, slamming down harder. Soon Mac was cursing, his words becoming broken and harsh, increasing her wantonness. Sweat beaded over her breasts, dripped from her nipples to his heaving chest as she fucked him long and hard.

  He twisted under her, demanding she release him from his promise, cursing when she refused him. He began to thrust his hips, pushing himself deeper, trying to break her, to force need to overcome her determination. Dropping her hands to his shoulders, Sloane laughed softly and rode him until Mac did what he had sworn no one could ever make him do.

  His sharp cry rang out as Mac came so hard, Sloane watched his eyes roll back and felt that powerful body go rigid beneath her as her own vision started to dim and pulse.

  Then the world around them flickered and vanished.

  Sloane gasped. All the shades of blue and green ever imagined swirled around her. Dark images moved through the colors, images that seemed alive. Something rough bumped against her spine, scoring her skin and throwing her sideways. She could no longer feel Mac beneath her, or inside her. When she took a breath to gasp, to clear her head of this madness, there was no air. Instead, liquid filled her lungs, icy and cool.

  Abruptly, Sloane realized she was drowning, the sound of Mac’s shout fading away. The weight of all that blue was crushing her. Pushing her down, down . . .

  16

  “Sloane! Wake up, damme. Wake for me.” She shuddered. So cold. The storm. The light. Mac. Her chest full of ice. It burned.

  Coughing and sputtering, Sloane rolled over and opened her eyes. Mac’s bedroom. The plaid curtains were shivering in the breeze, along with a single candle flame that was burning on the bedside table. She heaved and water rushed from her lungs, splattering the hardwood floor. Again and again the spasms tore through her, until she lay back, exhausted, spent and trembling.