Tangled Souls (47 page)

Gavenia’s jaw fell slack.
What just happened?

“Have ye ever seen the Gentry?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward again.

Gavenia’s mind reeled. They’d gone from a tense confrontation to discussing fairies in a matter of moments. “Yes, on a midsummer’s night on a hill in Wales many years ago.”

Fiona nodded as if that didn’t surprise her. “Well, I’ve seen ’em, too. Ye’ve got some of their blood in ye, all right. I’d wager on it.”

Gavenia shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“I suspect ye’re keen to see my grandson. Ye’ll find him at Brogan’s. Agatha will give ye directions.”

Short and to the point. I really like this lady
, Bart announced, rising to his feet.

Fiona continued, “Do ye have a place to stay?”

Gavenia nodded. “I have a room at a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Well, then, go collect my grandson, and I’ll see ye in the morning at eight sharp. Tell him not to come back tonight and wake me up.”

Their eyes met, and Gavenia couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face. They both knew what would happen the moment she and O’Fallon were alone.

Fiona winked. “I was young once myself and known to indulge a bit of . . . tomfoolery.”

“Why do I think you were a handful?” Gavenia asked as she rose from the chair.

A wry grin mingled with the wrinkles on Fiona’s face. “Me? No, no. I’m just a sweet old Irish lady. Now off ye go.”

Gavenia straightened her cloak. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“It wasn’t that hard. It’s plain ye love him.”

“I do. Now to convince him of that.”

“Well, he’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He’ll get it,” Fiona said, “eventually.”

“I hope so.”

* * *

Doyle’s nonstop chatter had ended when his wife called the pub and demanded he come home, a joint of mutton in hand. O’Fallon welcomed the solitude. He could brood in peace now.

Another body slid into the booth across from him. He frowned instantly, aggravated. Why the hell did everyone think he wanted company?

He blinked, then stared. Two slim hands dropped back the hood of the emerald-green Kinsale cloak, revealing two fiery sapphire-blue eyes.

“
Dia duit
,” the woman said in lilting Irish.
Hello.

O’Fallon’s mouth fell open. “Gavenia . . . how . . . ?”

Her eyes danced in the dim light, mischievous. “What, no widows keeping you company? From what I heard, you were hip deep in them.”

He leaned forward and pushed his beer out of the way. Grasping her two hands, he asked, “When did you arrive?”

“A few hours ago. It took me a while to drive here. You live in the middle of nowhere, do you realize that?” Her voice was warm, full of joy, the cuts on her face completely healed.

He gave a short nod, still stunned by her presence. She’d flown all the way from Los Angeles to see him. It was what he’d hoped for, but never believed would happen.

A thought speared his heart. “You’ve met Gran?” he asked.

“Yes. We had a nice chat. She’s a character. She reminds me of Aunt Lucy—very blunt.”

“Everything went . . . well?” he asked, his throat suddenly dry. He let loose of one of her hands and took a quick sip of beer.

“Very well. She’s okay with us, provided we’re okay with each other.”

“Ah . . . good.” He sighed heavily and he kissed her palms. They smelled like her perfume. The sounds of the pub receded. “We’ll need to find you a place to stay. Gran’s only got one spare bedroom, and while you may have passed muster with her, there are the neighbors to contend with.” He kissed her hands again and then released them. “Some of them are a bit old-fashioned.”

“Problem solved. I have a room at a B-and-B.” She leaned toward him again and he followed suit. “One with a big comfy bed and a fireplace.”

He knew his smile had to look lecherous, but he couldn’t stop it.

“Well, now. Perhaps I should let Gran know I’ll be a bit late tonight.”

“No need. She says she’ll see us tomorrow morning and no sooner.”

Did she just say . . . ?
“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Besides, the goddesses have been replaced by something new.”

“With what?”

“Best to find out in person,” she said, grinning mischievously.

O’Fallon downed the remainder of the Beamish in a single gulp and was out of the booth like an arrow shot from a crossbow.

“Let’s go, my lady. I need to officially welcome you to Ireland.”

* * *

The trail of clothes led from the door to the bed, his and hers intermingled, tossed aside in frank haste. There had been few words spoken, but reams had been said. They had cried out together as one, souls united, bodies entwined.

Still nestled deep inside his lover, O’Fallon tipped her chin up and gazed into those blue depths. How close he’d come to losing her, losing himself.

Tell her, you fool. Just tell her.

“
Gráim thú
,” he whispered.
I love you.

He waited, wondering how much Irish she understood.

Her eyes widened. “
Tá grá agam duit
,” she said, more formally.
I love you.

He moved his hand down and caressed the closest nipple, marveling at the silver harp that hung from it.

“The harp is the symbol of Ireland,” he said. “Did you know that?”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said in a teasing tone.

He was moved by the gesture. “You’re enslaving my heart with everything you do, Gavenia,” he said.

“You’ve done the same to me.”

He puzzled on that. “How so?”

“You thought enough to bring me a rose, one that gave me light in the middle of the dark. You fought to stay at the warehouse for as long as they’d let you. You never gave up on me. I’m not used to man who cares that much, Doug.”

“Well, you’d best get used to it. I’m yours, for good or ill.”

He tilted her face toward his and kissed her nose. Then his eyes drifted down to her breasts. “Maybe we can find you some parrots.” She gave him a mock glare. “Or maybe little handcuffs . . .”

“We’ll get those for you,” she said, reaching up and pinching his closest breast.

He winced and shook his head. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. They’d look better on you.”

“I think it’s time for more harp music,” she said, deflecting the conversation.

“Really? So soon?” As Gavenia nodded, she raked her nails down his side, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath. “So how many movements are in this harp concerto of yours?”

She gave him a smoldering smile. “Don’t know. It’s a work in progress.”

“Those are the best kind.”

The End