Page 4

CHAPTER 4

P atrick stole from his precious store of magic to teleport Fionola and her father back to their residence. He smothered a groan as he settled James on top of the man’s bed. While there, he concealed any sign of weakness, both with his magic and his body, but if he didn’t go soon, he’d give himself away.

Still, he needed to discover what he could about Tadhg Bohannon’s disappearance before leaving. Unable to hide his limp this time, he followed Clara Bohannon back to the kitchen and eased into the chair she pointed to.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” she asked matter-of-factly as she turned her back to set the kettle to a boil.

“Nothing.”

“Sure, and that’s the greatest load of malarky I’ve heard this week. And believe you me, I hear loads, I do. I’m married to that one.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the primary bedroom.

“Tell me about your son,” Patrick said, in an attempt to deflect her attention away from what ailed him.

Clara half turned and narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “Why are you hidin’ your injuries? And why haven’t ya been healed yet?” When he opened his mouth to protest her conclusions, she waved a wooden spoon, cutting him off. “I’ve birthed three children and have a man who lives for a pint or ten. Don’t think to lie to me, Patrick O’Malley. I’ll not have it in me house, I won’t.”

An unwitting smile curled his lips, and as soon as he realized he’d cracked his cool exterior, he sobered and shot her a glare. “Mind your own business, then, yeah? I’m here to find your son and not a mother.”

“You’re too bleedin’ old to be any child of mine.”

He scowled. “Jaysus, woman! You make me sound ancient!”

“Meh. If the shoe fits, you’ll be wearing, to be sure.”

From behind him, Fionola laughed. “Give the man a break, Mam. He brought Da home without complaint.” With a light touch of his shoulder, Fi drew out a chair next to him and sat.

Oddly, Patrick didn’t feel tired anymore. Around her, he seemed to receive larger bursts of energy and, with them, power boosts. Up close, she was lovelier than he’d first believed. Her skin was unblemished and glowed with health, pinkening when she noticed his admiring regard.

Although reserved, her gaze sparkled with life, and he couldn’t help but recall how those eyes had snapped pure fire when she gave her boss what for. She’d denied an existing relationship with the man, but Noah Riley had claimed they were lovers once, and she’d blushed from neck to hair roots. They made a beautiful couple, him with his striking good looks and her angelic appearance. Darkness and light.

“Why did the pub owner end things with you?”

Hearing himself speak the low-voiced question shocked him, and he fought the urge to cringe. Yet the driving need to uncover the truth behind their relationship was stronger than his desire to remain detached. Although he told himself he didn’t ever intend to fall in love again, he wasn’t opposed to a steady shag. Fionola Bohannon would fit the bill if she was willing, unentangled, and preferred older men.

She gasped her surprise at his forwardness.

“And what business is it of yours, Patrick O’Malley?” Her tone was haughty, and her already wide eyes flared wider with ire.

Patrick’s blood stirred. As if it had a mind of its own, his gaze zeroed in on her compressed mouth and refused to budge as his brain tormented him with all the possible ways he might tease a kiss from those delectable lips.

“Maybe I’m interested,” he heard himself say.

Her flush darkened, spreading down her neck to the exposed V of her chest.

“I’m not,” she retorted.

“Fair enough. I don’t want what’s not freely given.” He nodded and, hiding his disappointment behind a blank expression, shifted to look at Clara. The elder Bohannon woman’s knowing expression grated on his last nerve, and Patrick desired nothing more than to see the last of this house and the people in it.

“Tell me about Tadhg,” he demanded again.

Fionola surprised him when she answered for her mother. “He’s been haunted lately. It’s the only way to describe it. Right, Mam?” At Clara’s nod, she continued. “Always looking over his shoulder, as if someone were on his heels.”

“He wasn’t eatin’,” her mother added.

“Aye, and it showed. He lost at least a stone, and he was haggard.” Fionola bit her lip, and her hands were in constant motion as she poured herself a spot of tea and stirred in a spoon of sugar.

“He never mentioned any reason for his nervousness? Said someone was actually following him, then?” Patrick asked, curbing his urge to clasp her hands and steady her nerves.

“Not that I recall. Mam?”

Clara shook her head, cementing she was as clueless as her daughter.

“Do you know if he phoned anyone in the days before he went missing?” To be on the safe side, he’d have Dubheasa see what she could uncover on that high-end computer of hers. The girl was smarter than anyone he knew and possessed the skill to hack their government’s database with one arm tied behind her back and a one-minute egg timer ticking loudly in her ear.

“No, but I’ve his provider’s name. Does that help?” Fionola said.

“Aye.”

He guzzled the last of his tea. What he wouldn’t give for a shot of whiskey within its depths! Maybe he should stop by Noah Riley’s pub for a few before heading to the Black Cat Inn. If he drank more than a pint or two in front of Bridget, he’d be subjected to one of her scoldings, and he had no mind to hear it.

Taking care with the cup and saucer, he set them on the table and climbed to his feet, barely managing to suppress a hiss of pain. His body reminded him of his age, and it felt battered, as if he’d fought a bull and lost. Surviving another excruciating day of aches without alerting the world to his plight was his aim.

Clearly, he hadn’t succeeded in straightening without wincing, because both women frowned their concern, and Fionola reached out a hand to steady him. Without expression, he brushed her aside.

“Thanks,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

Rose had unmanned him. First with her taunts and affairs, and second when she’d joined Loman’s team to make Patrick’s life hell within the confines of the island prison. He’d been the victim once, and he wouldn’t be weak in another person’s eyes. Not physically. Not emotionally.

The world as a whole could fuck all the way off.

As Patrick limped his way toward the door, Fi shared a worried look with her mother. He was obviously hurting, but the stubborn jackass shunned her help. Mam had experience with mulish men, and Clara simply shrugged as she gathered the remains of tea to store for later.

Left with no choice, Fi followed Patrick outside.

“Do you think you can find Tadhg with so little to go on?” She hated that her voice cracked, but maybe if he understood her fear for her brother, Patrick might work harder to uncover his whereabouts. “What if he’s come to harm?”

He turned so quickly she couldn’t stop fast enough, and her chest pressed to his as one of his arms wrapped around her waist to steady her.

The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she stared up into his weathered face, still handsome despite any hardships. The green of his eyes lightened marginally as they locked with hers, and his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile or laugh. But standing in front of her was someone who refused to let his guard down. This much she sensed about him, over and above what she’d already witnessed by his actions.

“Who broke your heart, Patrick O’Malley?” she asked, whisper quiet.

His shutters came down, and the light left him. If he hadn’t been holding her as gently as he was, Fi would’ve been terrified of the abrupt change. Cold. Lifeless. And a sneer bordering cruel.

“My wife,” he replied in a clipped tone after what felt like the longest time. “Sure, and she liked to discover new ways to torment me daily.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Fi shifted her grip from his shoulders to his face, cradling it between her palms. “She was a fool.”

He softened. Not enough to invite confidences, but his terrifying look relented. A slight shift of his head pressed his lips to her skin.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Fi said. “I don’t know a thing about you other than you volunteered your time to come here and search for my brother without expecting payment or praise of any kind. That alone tells me you’re a good man.”

A twinkle entered his eyes, and his mouth curled fully for the first time. His engaging grin stole her wits and made breathing difficult.

“Who says I’m not after payment?” His low, sexy timbre sent a shiver of delight throughout her body.

When he focused on her mouth, she licked her lips.

“I’m of the mind to collect with a kiss. Are ya willing?” he asked gruffly.

Her delayed comprehension was embarrassing, and his brow shot up as he waited for his comment to sink in. When it did, she blushed like the foolish schoolgirl she no longer was. Hell, she’d left crushes and girly sighs behind twenty-five years ago. At forty-three, she possessed enough experience to make their tame encounter laughable. Certainly not enough to draw attention from the censor police! Why, then, was she reacting as she was?

Regret twisted his mouth, and he dropped his arm. “I’ll take that as a no .”

But as he stepped back, her body reacted, willful and mindless to the bitter end. Taking the lead, she kissed him. The instant their lips connected, color burst behind her closed lids, and Fi experienced a sense of rightness. He sighed his pleasure into her mouth, and she drank it in, enjoying the heady sensation caused by his passion. What person didn’t want to be desired?

Her arms snaked around his neck as her fingers burrowed into the hair above his nape, and locking his head in place, she tasted her fill of him. His wasn’t the kiss of a young man, inexperienced and seeking. His held a lifetime of expertise, and that skill came into play as he languidly explored her mouth. Large, gentle hands traveled down her back until he reached the hem of her shirt, then explored underneath. His cool, skillful fingertips brushed along her spine, and she mewed as he leisurely stroked her like a cat, creating pleasure with every pass.

There was no accounting of time or space during their lengthy kiss. But if Fi had to say, it was a lifetime of perfection in the sum total of those moments they shared. When she dredged up the will to break away, she met his searing-hot gaze. His irises were the color of éire’s wet fields after a storm passed. Gorgeous and bright like the Emerald Isle she loved.

“It’s the Goddess’s honest truth when I say that’s the best snoggin’ of my life, and one helluva thank you.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip.

Laughing, she pushed him away.

“You’ve the Devil’s own charm when you want to, Patrick O’Malley. And if I’m being true, I’d have to admit it was feckin’ grand, too.”

A mischievous light danced in his eyes. “Better than Ned Riley’s?”

“Ned—oh, ya mean Noah ,” she corrected as if she hadn’t caught on to his game. Scrunching her nose, she squinted. “I’ll need more to compare. Maybe we should head back to the pub, and I could host a contest? The winner earns the title of best snogger and a night in my bed.”

The teasing left him, and the distance between them was miles wide with no bridge for the gap.

“Patrick?” She touched his arm, but he jerked away. “What’s wrong? Where did you find the hurt in the craic?”

The hand he ran through his hair trembled, and he stared at the village in the distance.

“Am I supposed to guess, then?” she asked. “Perhaps walk on eggshells around you from here on out?”

“No. It’s sorry I am for taking the shine off a lovely experience. I’m a surly bastard, to be sure.” His smile was self-deprecating, but the lighthearted man was gone.

“And it’s sorry I am that your wife was a horrid creature to cause you such pain.”