“Sleep well, Ma.” After a final apology, Sinead rang off. She’d thought that talking to her mother would help, but she was still unsettled.

  Ignoring the comb, she continued to the minifridge and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol, priced about four times more expensive than it would have been in the shops. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  She decided right then that she would install these tiny well-stocked fridges in her family’s cottages. If other people were like her, having whiskey available on a whim was a heck of a way to make money.

  She twisted off the cap and took a drink straight from the bottle. Tonight, more than any time in her life, she needed the fortification from a belt of good—or even bad—Irish distillate.

  Unsure of what to do, she rested her hips against the windowsill and stared at the silver comb. It seemed to wink menacingly in the overhead lights.

  It would be impossible to get back to the bathroom to brush her teeth without stepping over the damn thing.

  As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Sinead didn’t want to touch it.

  And how was she supposed to sleep knowing it was there?

  Calling housekeeping to come and remove it seemed absurd, but maybe…

  She was barely surprised at the knock on her door.

  If it had been anyone from the hotel—housekeeping or the front desk with a message—they would have announced themselves.

  It had to be Jack.

  How he found her, she didn’t know, but every feminine instinct screamed it was him, with only a panel of wood separating them.

  For about thirty seconds she debated what to do.

  She was on the fifth floor, and she was terrified of heights. So climbing out of a window wasn’t an option. She could call hotel security and have him removed, but she knew he’d wait her out. If he didn’t see her leave the hotel, he’d figure out where the band’s next stop was, and this whole thing would start again.

  And damn it, the fact that she’d found a comb upset her and he was likely the only person in the entire country who would understand her agitation.

  After that sensual fantasy, part of her wanted him, every bit as much as she wanted not to want him. Her shoulders slumped.

  He knocked again, a determined, forceful sound. “I know you’re in there, Sinead. Open the goddamn door.”

  He hadn’t traveled six thousand miles and traipsed across two continents to turn around and go back home when she ducked out the backdoor of a lower downtown Denver pub.

  Temporarily beaten, she let out a shaky breath and placed the small bottle of liquor on the windowsill. She pulled the belt tighter around her waist and checked to be sure no cleavage showed.

  It would be sensible to stall him while she dressed, but she doubted even a suit of armor would offer protection against the man.

  She opened the door, and he took her breath away.

  Damn but she wished she didn’t have to hate him.

  His arms were folded across his chest. He wore a leather jacket, and he leaned against the jamb as if the room were his own. Just like the man of her fantasies, he had that rakishly long dark hair, and his was a bit tousled from the wind.

  Despite her best intentions, Jack Quinn’s devastating good looks and piercing blue eyes weakened her knees. Oh, aye, not everyone would find him handsome, she supposed.

  Beaten by the wind and weather, he was as rugged as a gale off the north Atlantic. His nose looked as if it had been broken in a rugby match. And it would be rugby. This one wasn’t as lean as footballers. He was broad as a ship’s bow, hewn by the elements.

  His eyes, though, unnerved her.

  Deep, dark blue, the color of the sky as the moon rose. He stared at her unblinkingly, as if seeing into her soul. Despite how warm she was from her bath, she shivered.

  “I told you we weren’t finished yet.”

  Chapter Three

  She sighed. At times she might be reckless, but she was never stupid, and she knew when she was beaten. And truthfully, despite the fact that she didn’t believe in fairies and fae and getting luck from kissing a rock, the discovery of the damn comb bothered her.

  “Invite me in.”

  She took a reluctant step back. Then she squared her shoulders. He might be here, but this was her room, and she was in control. “You’ll make a racket otherwise, I suppose.”

  “Your hospitality is charming.” He crossed the threshold and then hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle. He closed the door and slid the safety bolt into place, locking them in the room together.

  In the small area near the door, he dominated the space. With his broad shoulders emphasized by the leather jacket he seemed so much more overpowering than he had at the pub.

  “Truth be known, you gave in far more easily than I thought you would. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to bribe the manager or sleep in the lobby.”

  “I—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before trying again. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Surprise, that.”

  “I, er…over there.” She pointed. “Silver comb.” She hadn’t meant to tell him anything about it. Yet it had rushed out, unchecked.

  Braced for the sarcasm she no doubt deserved, she waited. She was overreacting to something that had a logical explanation. Although he said nothing, his eyebrows drew together in concern.

  Why the hell did he have to be so nice? “It might not mean anything.” Who was she trying to convince? The one he found might not mean anything, but this one surely did. “The cleaning people could have dropped it.” And perhaps her family’s crest was not on the top. She hadn’t looked at it close enough to be sure.

  Then she heard it again. A soft, keening cry.

  His eyes widened. He’d heard it too? She shuddered.

  “You’ve telephoned your family?”

  “Everyone’s safe.” She exhaled. “My ma says I should enjoy my time in America and finish the tour with the band. Honestly we need the money. Ma’s not superstitious at all. In fact, generally, neither am I. There’s honestly no need for me to go home, but…”

  “You’re concerned.” His voice was soft, sympathetic.

  If she were a lesser woman, she might be tempted to lean on him. And he was broad enough, strong enough, to carry her burdens. “I’ve been on the road constantly over the last few months.”

  “I know. I had a hard time keeping up with you.”

  She wasn’t sorry to have put him through a lot of effort. If he’d left her alone, he could have been at home relaxing. “I’m probably tired and overwrought.”

  “Is that how you are, Sinead?”

  She exhaled. When she answered, she was truthful. “No.”

  “Maybe there’s something to all this bad blood between our families. And you and I have a chance to do something about it.”

  She should have known he’d take the opportunity to try to convince her to do what he wanted. “Thanks. No. I have enough responsibilities to the future without worrying about the past.”

  “I’ve got an airplane waiting.”

  His own damn plane? While her family scrimped and saved? “Don’t keep it waiting,” she said. “Feel free to put your miserable soul back on it and jump back across the pond. I’m certain the world is waiting for you to resume control.”

  “Stop fighting this.” He lowered his voice, and the deep richness of the sound made a sensual thrill slide through her. “Stop fighting me.” His voice was an odd combination of encouraging and demanding. “You’re coming with me, Sinead. By fair means or foul.”

  She was suddenly glad he’d shown up. Because of his overbearing manner, she’d gone from frightened to furious. She feathered back her damp hair and glared. “Listen, Mr.—”

  “No, Ms. O’Malley. ’Tis you who will listen.” He took a step toward her. “Two continents, six thousand miles, dozens of telephone calls and emails. You, woman, will be going home—with me.”

  “Bugger off.”

  “Sharp-tongued wench. I meant it when I said I was done listening to you. You’re coming home with me. Will you do it willingly, or no?” He unfolded his arms and took another step in her direction.

  She backed up instinctively. But she had enough wits about her not to move near the bed that suddenly seem to dominate the room.

  “And when I get you to Éire, if not before, I’m going to fuck you senseless.”

  Jack moved so quickly then that she didn’t have time to react.

  He took her by the upper arms and moved her back three full steps. “And I’ll make you call my name as you come, screaming.”

  Finally he released her, but shock held her immobilized. When she found her voice, she looked up at him and laughed, with more confidence than she truly felt. “I’ll call you many names, diabhal. But it won’t be from anything intimate, I promise. The likes of you isn’t getting anywhere near me.”

  Jack’s nostrils flared. “The likes of me?”

  “Descendent of murdering bastards,” she clarified recklessly. “The Quinns weren’t good enough for the O’Malleys eight centuries ago. You’re nowhere near good enough now.”

  The cold fury in his eyes shocked her. She recognized she’d overstepped the bounds of his good nature, but she stood her ground, even when he took a large stride in her direction. She kept her head tilted back, unsure whether she was being brave or just stupid.

  On one hand, if she made him angry enough, he might decide she and the O’Malleys weren’t worth the effort, and he’d leave them the hell alone. On the other, antagonizing a lion was rarely a good idea.

  Viciously he clamped her upper arms once again. He dragged her onto her toes and then against the solidness of his masculine body.

  His lips found hers, demandingly, punishingly.

  The latent passion, eight hundred years of anger, flared in an instant.

  A slow throb uncurled between her legs, just like the one during her earlier fantasies.

  He forced her mouth apart, and their tongues met.

  He was warm, insistent.

  She worked her hands between them and pushed against his leather-covered chest. The man was unmovable.

  He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She parried, as if they were sparring.

  But he was relentless.

  With his kiss, he dominated her, and Sinead’s body betrayed her with a rush of desire. There was something between them—’twas as if they’d met before. She knew him. And he knew what she wanted.

  No other man had ever been so uncompromising with her.

  Her breaths became ragged as she fought her need to surrender. Abruptly, he ended the kiss and released her. There were no gentle nips. There was no softness, nothing to show that he desired her.

  Her emotions went arse end over teakettle. She suddenly, ridiculously, felt rejected. She wanted more. What was wrong with her? They were enemies, had been for centuries. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands off me in the future.”

  “With that body of yours? No fucking chance.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. As if that could protect her from him.

  “I’ve had a taste, Sinead, and I want more.”

  Even though there’d been no soft words, he wanted her in a carnal way that made her senses whirl.

  “And you want me.” It was a statement of fact, as if he’d read her mind.

  “It’s cold in here. Hell must have just frozen over.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  In case he’d obtusely missed her meaning, she offered a clarification. “If you’re thinking I want you, hell froze over.”

  “Your mouth is far better used for kissing than talking.” With his burning gaze, he took her in. “Much sweeter that way as well.”

  Jack moved fast.

  Before she could blink, he had her arms uncrossed and pinned at the small of her back. He imprisoned both of her wrists in one of his calloused hands. She fought, but she couldn’t get away. In fact, he brought her closer to his body.

  His strength was nearly overwhelming. His chest was solid. And his cock was hard, pushing demandingly against his jeans and against her belly.

  She shouldn’t want his possession, but she did.

  The small struggle had made the robe’s lapels part slightly. Her breasts were thrust toward him, and her nipples had hardened. Most upsettingly, her pussy had warmed with arousal.

  “Not much to say now, hey?”

  “Release me.”

  He relentlessly held her gaze. He wasn’t stupid; he knew she was having a physical reaction to his touch.

  He traced a finger into the V where the robe’s material overlapped.

  Her breaths became even sharper.

  “Tell me you don’t want my touch.”

  “I don’t.” Sinead barely recognized the sound of her own voice.

  “Say it convincingly.”

  “I…” Oh, aye, she wanted his touch. More than anything, she wanted to not want it.

  Still holding her prisoner, he tugged on the knot of her belt.

  “Release me, you unholy bastard.”

  The belt fell apart, the ends dangling at her sides.

  He wouldn’t…

  “Your skin is so soft, Sinead. Inviting.”

  “Perhaps for another. The invitation isn’t for you, Quinn.”

  His eyes blazed fury and possession. “Oh aye; yes it is. I’m the only one here.” His, hoarse whispered words threw her into a seduced trance. “Here with you. I can hear your breaths. I can smell that heat that comes off you. Pungent.”

  “You’re crass.”

  “Am I? Well how’s this? The smell of you? It’s all woman, Sinead. Like you’re in heat.”

  She was going to drown in a sea of her own mortification.

  “I’ll bet, when I part this robe, that your breasts will be full and your nipples hard. Any bets, Sinead?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly the idea. I’ll fuck you. Then you can get on top and fuck me.”

  She wanted to tell him not to touch her, but her damnable body betrayed her. When he moved the robe back across her shoulders, her breasts were heavy, and her nipples were pebbled.

  “You have beautiful breasts,” he said. “And your nipples…”

  He cupped her left breast and gently squeezed.

  “How much pressure do you like on your nipples?” he asked.

  “Don’t…”

  “A little? Or are you as tough as you want people to believe you are? Is it only an act, Sinead?”

  This time she didn’t answer; she couldn’t find her tongue in order to speak. It had been so long since a man had touched her, she was hungry for anything, the gentlest of touches or something wild that ignited her.

  While he held her breast in his palm, he brushed a thumb across her nipple. It tightened a little more.

  “Maybe a bit more pressure?”

  She closed her eyes.

  He gave a gentle squeeze that he instantly released.

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  “Too much?”

  She shook her head, even though she was betraying herself to the enemy. She hadn’t known she liked this kind of intensity. Even the one man she’d been with who was more adventurous than the others hadn’t stimulated her nipples this much.

  Quinn did it even harder.

  She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t object. She’d never had a man apply that much pressure before, and damn, she liked it, the pain with the pleasure.

  He eased up a bit, and she tried to move toward him. His hands and the way the robe had fallen back off her shoulders restricted her movements in a way that aroused her even more.

  “Ah,” he said. “Have you ever worn nipple clamps?”

  What? Through her haze she asked, “Nipple clamps?”

  “You’ll become intimately acquainted with them.”

  Oh God. Just like her fantasies…

  Without further words, Jack squeezed her tortured little nipple hard and for a long time.

  Moisture pooled between her legs. If he knew she was aroused earlier from her scent, there’d be no doubt now.

  She whimpered when he released her.

  Then, dizzyingly, he grabbed the nipple again, viciously pinched it and pulled it up and away from her body.

  “Definitely clamps,” he said.

  He released her nipple, then moved so quickly he shocked her. He shoved a hand between her legs to cup her feminine mound. He tightened his grip against her pussy. She screamed out an instant orgasm. Still holding her wrists, he eased her toward him.

  Her legs were weak, and she offered no resistance.

  “I had no idea you were so perfectly responsive.”

  She drew a few shaky breaths before realizing her cheek rested against his chest, against the leather jacket warmed from his body. He still held her pussy, and his thumb was possessively on her thigh.

  She was all but naked while he was fully dressed and demanding sexual responses to her.

  “Don’t fight.” He released her wrists and wrapped his right arm around her, holding her intimately still, as if she were a lover.

  She stiffened.

  Suddenly, no matter how much she wanted it, how much she’d willingly surrendered, she was angry…with herself, with him.

  She pushed away his hand and ducked out from under his arm. She moved toward the window, away from him, as she frantically struggled back into her robe, trying to reclaim her composure as well as her dignity.

  The distance helped the haze of delirium to fade, and she thought about what she’d done—what they’d done. “You took advantage of me.” She furiously knotted the belt and yanked the lapels over each other.

  She expected his outrage or upset or denial. Instead, he laughed. The arrogant bastard had the nerve to laugh.

  “I took advantage of you?” he asked. “Are you implying that this is not your cum on my fingers or that you didn’t shamelessly grind your cunt against my hand?”

  “Don’t be so vulgar.”

  “Nothing about what I said or what we did was vulgar, and you damn well know it.”

 

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