Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (10 page)

Still, qualms mattered little. When Desmond kissed her it was moonbeams and pixie dust, a magic so rare that a woman would be an idiot not to follow what her body told her. She wasn’t asking for tomorrows. Just tonight.

Her stomach tightened in crippling desire, in nagging self-doubt. She didn’t take a drink of whiskey often, but craved a dram now to steady her nerves. And och, were her nerves jangling! B.A. spied the cottage coming into view—the drive was too damn short. She was unprepared for this step, but was one ever ready to face a force of nature?

The car coasted to a halt in the driveway and Desmond shut off the engine. In the big hush, B.A. heard the leather seat creaking under his weight. His slow controlled breathing. The jingle of keys as he removed them from the steering wheel. Finally, the release of the handle as he opened the door. Each noise was magnified, yet she couldn’t understand how she heard any of it over her heart thundering in her ears.

She watched him through the windscreen, coming around to open the door for her. A momentary reprieve, the cat jumped in her lap and scampered out. Without slowing, he bounded away, up the steps and into the house through his kitty entrance.

“Not your cat?” Desmond mocked.

B.A. smiled, nervous. She explained the cat door: “He stoods in the window and yowled till you let him in.”

At the front door he held out his hand for her key, but she’d already turned the knob. The cat reappeared, weaving around her legs. Desmond paused and shook his head.

“You don’t lock your doors?”

“We dunna have crime on the isle. There’s no need.”

“You
do
have a lock on the door?”

“Aye, though I’m not sure where the key is. If you stole anything, what would you do with it? That way of life never touches our shores. When I’m in England or Kentucky I use locks. On Falgannon, doors are for keeping out the weather, not people.”

Desmond removed his jacket and draped it across the back of the new sofa the Scots had brought in that morning. B.A. touched a long match to the peat bricks in the fireplace. She was skittish, searching for excuses to avoid him; when the cat meowed from the kitchen doorway, she rushed to feed him.

Slowly stalking her, Desmond finally stopped, coming to lean against the door frame. Sticking his hands in his pockets to still the restless urge to reach for her, his eyes followed as B.A. doled out food to the fat cat.

“Small wonder Dudley’s a tiny Goodyear Blimp, he hasn’t stopped eating all evening.”

She laughed. “When he’s eating he’s well behaved. Call it bribing him. We see it as keeping him occupied.”

“I’d say—looking at this football with legs—he’s
occupied
frequently.” Desmond chuckled when the cat displayed an uncanny human expression. Kitty clearly said,
Sod off
.

“Can I fix you tea or coffee?” B.A. rubbed her hands together nervously.

“Thanks, no. I’d enjoy a whisky if you have some.”

“A Scot not having whisky? Unpatriotic. Only, Doc said no alcohol.”

He leaned forward at the waist. “Want to look into my eyes?”

B.A. wasn’t fooled by Desmond having his hands in his pockets. She sensed if she got near, he’d kiss her again. Worse, she knew she’d let him. And if he kissed her, there’d be no turning back.

Accustomed to the buffer between the world and her, it was hard to drop the shield. Easier to stand on the sidelines than risk pain that could come from loving. B.A. comprehended if she took this step her emotions would be engaged. There’d be no retreat. She wasn’t the sort to indulge in a casual affair simply for physical attraction.

“What’s wrong, B.A.? Afraid I might bite?”

A nervous giggle popped out. “I’m sure you bite—all predators do.”

“Is that how you view me?” His pale eyes flashed.

“I’d be a fool to see you any other way.”

“And that scares you?”

“Not precisely…” It
terrified
her. B.A. tossed up her hands, at a loss for words. “Look, I don’t fall into bed with every man who comes along.”

He nodded.

“It’s… I don’t…”

“B.A., shut up and come here,” he rumbled.

The moment had come. She could play safe, stay secure in the cocoon she’d created on this isle, or take a gamble. Throwing caution to the wind, she stepped toward him.

Welcome to the real world,
Devil B.A. whispered from her shoulder perch, a hand firmly over Angel B.A.‘s mouth.

Keeping his hands in his pockets, Desmond wasn’t going to make things easy for her. B.A. Montgomerie had too many things in life come easy. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, precious granddaughter of the great Sean Montgomerie, she’d gone to the best schools, worn designer clothes. Over the years he’d built up a mountain of resentment for B.A. and her beautiful siblings. They’d often made the celebrity section of the newspapers, and he’d kept up with their privileged lives.

He thought of the faded magazine clipping with her picture announcing her engagement, hidden at the back of his wallet. He’d never understood why he cut it out. Why he’d carried it for almost fifteen years—a bizarre touchstone in some sick, sad way.

Not once in her life had she lain in bed at night, trying to ignore hunger pains grinding her stomach against her backbone. She’d never heard her siblings cry for the lack of food. For once in her perfect, protected life, she should want something so much it ate at her insides.

The primitive side of him nearly punched past the civilized uncle, the angry man, reached out and dragged B.A. to the kitchen floor to claim her with all the finesse of an animal. But no, there were demons stronger than mating instincts driving him. He craved B.A. with a grinding need, but he’d do this right. Oh, he’d take her—upstairs in that room of mirrors, on that big George III platform bed in a tussle of sweat and mindless desire. He’d savor her screaming for him, pleading with him to touch her in a way no man had before.

Instead of kissing him, B.A. slid her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. Disarming him. Though the sexual response was there, and so strong in some ways it was frightening, this was an embrace of solace. As if she sensed the scarred-over pain inside him and offered succor.

For an instant he resented her fae ways, took umbrage as she reached inside of him and cradled his heart. A violent urge swelled in him to shove her against the wall and let loose the primeval male. To stun her with his raw desires.

But then there was an odd ripping inside his chest, and he fisted his hands in his pockets.
He dared not touch her.
But the profound need grew. Desmond closed his eyes, leaned his head against hers and simply soaked up her gentle, overwhelming comfort as the desert would lap up rain. He was coming into the sun after years of darkness.

Finally trusting himself to unclench his fists, he slid his hands around to rub her back. Nothing had ever felt this good, just holding her. Desmond would’ve stood there until hell froze over, but the phone rang and shattered the magic spell.

His lids lifted; he blinked. Down low, pressed against the bottom pane of the door was a disembodied face. Tail twitching, Dudley was nose-to-nose with the Peeping Tom. Desmond’s head snapped back in shock. B.A. jerked as well, due to the shrill intrusion of the phone. She likely presumed he’d done the same.

The face vanished. Desmond stood, trying to decide if he’d imagined it, while B.A. took the call. “Maybe, whatever’s in the water of the isle that causes lunacy is starting to affect me,” he muttered under his breath.

With a tentative smile, she passed him the phone. “For you.” Then, giving him privacy, B.A. moved to the alcove off the kitchen where her laptop was set up.

As he heard his brother’s voice in the receiver, Desmond watched her boot the computer. “They
do
have phone service in that bloody rock. Feared it was a rumor.” The voice added unnecessarily, “It’s Jago, by the way.”

Desmond snapped, “Have I ever confused Trevelyn with you, even on the phone?”

Jago laughed. “You ruined the fun of being a twin for Trev. He couldn’t blame me for the rotten things he did, because he never fooled you. Anyway, I’m stretched out on a lumpy bed, staring at cracked ceiling tiles. How go matters on your end? Anything more thrilling than cracked ceiling tiles?”

Desmond strolled to the back door and peered into the night, attempting to spot any movement. He wondered if the Falgannon lads spied on B.A. regularly or if they had adopted nightly strolls due to her having a male under her roof. “Whole isle’s friggin’ nuts,” he said.

“Island inbreeding,” Jago joked.

“In this case, the island’s under a curse and doesn’t have females because of it.”

“There you go. No women would work a… hardship on the male… um, er… brain.”

Desmond’s eyes caught a flicker in the moonlight. Three or more males skulked along the rock wall bordering the rose garden. Kitty stood up on his hind legs and scratched at the door to get out. Desmond cracked it open.

“Sic ‘em, Dudley,” he whispered to the cat, who bounded down the steps after the lurkers.

Jago queried, “Who’s Dudley? Is he nuts, too?”

“Dudley’s a cat—of sorts. How’s it there?” He didn’t say Kentucky. If B.A. picked up that bit of conversation, she’d be suspicious his brother happened to be in the Bluegrass State, the same as her sister, Asha.

“Not a rock in the Atlantic, but strange, too. There are guys called Joe-Bob and Bubba. Versailles is pronounced
VURsales
. Rather pretty country. I could learn to like it here.”

“I see you one Bubba and raise you a Michael the Story, Michael the Fiddle and several other Michaels.”

“Accounts for the strange names here then—Scots settled heavily in this area. Has Trevelyn checked in?”

“You expect him to?”

Jago’s laughter came through the line. “How does big brother fare on his end? Is B.A. as gorgeous up close as she was from a distance?”

“Yes,” Desmond replied tersely, not wishing to discuss B.A. in the manner of locker room talk.

Missing the clipped tone, Jago plowed on. “Considering bedding her before the big revelation?”

Desmond growled, “Good night, Jago.”

“Uh-oh! Wait a sec, Des. I detect something in your voice—sounds suspiciously like solicitousness.”

“Good night,” he repeated, then he hung up the receiver. Shoving his hands in his pants pockets, he stared out into the night.

It floored B.A. There were so many e-mails from women wanting to be brides! She’d never expected this response. She nearly danced with excitement. The Web site’s design was wonderful, eye-catching, and she had an island full of bonnie males. The site had only been up a month, but it had over five thousand hits today.

“Modern day magic,” she said and smiled.

She’d welcomed the interruption of the phone call. The intensity of holding Desmond Mershan shook her to the core. He’d felt so right, his strong muscles under her hands. The radiant heat. The pure male scent headier than any cologne ever distilled. Agonizing sensations flooded through her, warming her after seven years of being alone, cold.

Distanced from him and his panther magic, Angel B.A. blethered in her ear about how things were moving too fast. And she had to agree—such physical desire was scary. Never had she needed a man so strongly, never ached with this soul-deep hunger. But it was more.

So much more.
Too easily, she could fall in love with Desmond Mershan.

She could also crash and burn when he walked away.

Desmond strolled into the alcove, pondering the goings-on outside. It was incongruous her islanders would foster him off on their lady if they feared for her safety. Then, why snoop?

As he entered the alcove, he caught sight of his reflection in the far windowpane, the light hitting so it became a mirror. He paused, his vivid green eyes staring back at him. Unsettling, after hearing Michael the Story’s spiel about The Curse.

“Your brother’s all right?” B.A. queried, glancing up.

He nodded absently, distracted by his reflection. “Just checking in.” Shaking a peculiar feeling, he glanced at the computer, seeing she sorted through a flood of e-mails.

She smiled. “Ah, the big brother syndrome. I always want to know where my siblings are, if everything’s okay.”

Desmond took her wrist, kissed the inside where her pulse jumped, then pulled her to stand. She wanted to protest; he saw her mind grasping for excuses and coming up with none. Instead, she permitted him to tug her into his arms and kiss her. A gentle kiss, a questing kiss, one meant to let her learn the taste of him. To make her relax to the inevitable. Oh, did she relax, molding against him, fitting so well, as if they were two pieces of a whole.

His gut contorted in desire, and Desmond became a ravening beast. He kissed B.A. as he had never kissed any woman: no teeth, no tongue, no wild passion, just true sensual enjoyment of simply kissing. He could kiss her this way for hours. She put her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.

The sound of a clay flowerpot crashing outside the window made her jump in his arms.

“The cat… I let him out,” Desmond murmured into her hair, figuring it wouldn’t go well for her lads if he ratted on their spying.

“Desmond!” she gasped.

“Hmm?”

There was a second crash and an odd choked off noise, similar to someone crying out only to have it smothered. Desmond saw Callum’s face pop up. He swung B.A. around so she couldn’t spot the Mackenzie from the corner of her eye, only to discover Willie on the other side of the bay window—likely why she’d gasped. He spun her again so she faced the kitchen. Over B.A.‘s shoulder, he bared his teeth at the two men. Their heads vanished from view. Thankfully.

Well, that explains why without hesitation they’d dropped him down in the middle of B.A.‘s bed. They were likely camped outside the windows all night.

The phone rang, causing both B.A. and Desmond to laugh. B.A. stepped out of his embrace to answer the call. “Could you hold?” Putting her hand over the receiver she whispered, “It’s my brother. This’ll take a bit, if you want to go up…”