Lir's Lady Page 2

  His whole body went tight with longing. He took a few steps toward her before he realized what he was doing and halted. He forced himself to turn away and join the crowd at the buffet. He filled a plate and took a seat at a nearby table where he ate without noticing what he was putting in his mouth.

  He made conversation with his neighbors, but his gaze kept returning to Isleen. As usual, she was surrounded by men like bees around a honey pot, although to be fair, there were women in the mix, too. A laughing, glittering crowd of highborn fae.

  No. Don’t go down that road again, man. You’re every bit as good as them. He was not going to get sucked into feeling inferior as he had as a young, wet-behind-the-ears colt.

  A tall, ginger-headed sun fae slung an arm around Isleen’s shoulders and she grinned up at him. Every muscle in Lir’s body locked. He set his jaw and looked down at his plate while his animal clamored for him to stride across the floor and claim her right then and there.

  Not yet, he growled back. Not here.

  But his animal was so agitated that he said the hell with it and slipped away to wait the last few hours until midnight in his boat under a pelting rain.

  Now he hauled Isleen up against him as they hurried across the grass, both man and animal reveling in the feeling of her warm, soft curves. The rain had petered out, but the only person they passed was a second guard. No sun fae would willingly go out on such a dark, rainy night.

  The marina was dark and quiet without a guard in sight. Why set guards, when anyone who approached the island without an invitation would get lost in the chill white mist that hid it from outsiders? He’d only been able to find the way himself by following the mate bond to Isleen. That was one thing no fae could guard against—the mate bond, the mystical connection between two mates—even one like theirs, which was more possibility than fact.

  Lir led Isleen down the dock and helped her to a seat on the silver cigarette boat he’d used to get to the island. They backed out of marina and swung east toward the mainland.

  Behind them rain clouds were gathering for another round, but the sky above was clear, the stars bright pinpricks in the cold black fabric. A chilly breeze whipped up whitecaps on the Atlantic’s dark surface, and to the southeast there was the white flash of the Loophead Lighthouse on the Clare coastline.

  He set a course north of Loophead and let out the throttle. The three big engines whooshed into life and they swooped forward over the dark waves.

  Isleen lifted her face to the wind, her long copper hair streaming behind her, and slanted him a grin. “This is fun,” she called above the roar of the engines.

  He couldn’t help smiling back. That was something he’d always liked about Isleen; the enjoyment she took in simple things. Even though she’d been born in the 1500s, she hadn’t grown jaded as she aged like some fae.

  She placed a hand on his knee and leaned toward him. “I missed you, Lir,” she said, pitching her voice so that he could hear her. “I want you to know that. I sent a man after you—just to make sure everything was all right.”

  He throttled back the engines so they could talk. “Did you now?” That was news. His heart warmed. Not that he’d have gone back to her—not then—but it made a difference.

  “If nothing else, I owed you an apology. I took you for granted. I should’ve seen you were unhappy. I—I thought everything was good between us.”

  He nodded tightly. “Love isn’t a game, Isleen.”

  When he’d come to her that last time, she’d amped up her glamour. It gave her an unearthly beauty, so that a man’s voice clogged in his throat and he felt compelled to drop to his knees and swear that he’d do anything, anything at all, if she’d just spend one night with him.

  That had been the final straw—that she’d try to ensnare him, to steal what he’d been willing to give freely.

  “Was it love?” she asked.

  “You know it was. For me, anyway.”

  She slanted him an unreadable look. “Even the fada I sent couldn’t find you. It was as if you’d disappeared off the face of the earth. I wondered if…” She shook her head.

  “I was in Ireland for a long time, but as my horse. Then I traveled to Europe, and from there, I eventually made it to America.”

  Those had been long, dark years. He’d gone deep into his animal, become all-but feral. It had been a good disguise, if unintentionally so. Anyone looking for him would see only the black stallion, not the man beneath. Even his scent had changed. By the time he’d come back to himself, decades had passed.

  And then he’d set himself to proving that he was as good—if not better—than all those rich, glittering highborn fae.

  “I did get word of you eventually. You were in New Mexico by then. I even ’ported to your ranch to see how you were doing. You were doing fine—brilliant, in fact. I was happy for you.” She grimaced as if that were a lie and qualified by saying, “Mostly, anyway.”

  “I kept an eye on you, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t come back to Ireland, but I went to the midsummer festival.” Every year since he’d been able to afford it.

  “The one in America? But I never saw you.”

  “No. I used my glamour.” The midsummer festival was the huge party the sun fae queen threw each year on the summer solstice. He’d made sure he hadn’t come too close, because Isleen probably would’ve seen through his glamour if they met face to face.

  Isleen had amped up her own glamour, making herself even more attractive so that she had a constant crowd of men around her. But even though she’d flirted nonstop, she hadn’t taken a lover in the entire three days of the festival. Not one single man. He’d have scented it on her.

  That’s when he made up his mind. He was going to do his damnedest to win her back. Make her see how right they were together.

  But this time, it would be on his terms. He’d been so young when they’d been lovers, barely adult in fae-time.

  Isleen’s pet shifter, Devlin had called him. The fae lord had played Lir like a violin, pointing out that he wasn’t just younger, but a púca, and convincing Lir that Isleen would be better off without him.

  Now, though, he was a man. A man who could be a ruthless S.O.B. when it came to something he wanted.

  And he wanted Isleen. Bad.

  “I wish I’d known. We could’ve…” She squeezed his thigh—and smiled.

  He stifled a groan. Her fingers were long and warm and so damn close…

  “I wasn’t ready,” he managed to say.

  “So what changed?”

  Instead of answering, he set the boat on auto-pilot and pulled her onto his lap. “Tell me, love”—he twined his fingers in her silky locks—“what should I do with you?”

  “Do with me?” Her gaze was on his lips.

  “Mm.” He nuzzled her neck, breathing her in. He’d almost forgotten how good she smelled: hot, spicy woman with a hint of cloves. “Maybe I should tease you until you’re begging for release. Remember how you told me I was too intense? That I needed to learn how to play?”

  Her throat worked. “Did I say that?”

  He nipped her neck in reproof. “You did, and you know it.”

  “It was the truth,” she shot back.

  “It was,” he admitted. He cuddled her closer, enjoying having her on his lap again after all these years. “I was gone a long time, Isleen. I’ve had a lot of women.”

  She drew back a little. “And you’re telling me this because—?”

  “I want you to know that none of them came close to you.”

  “And that means exactly nothing.” Because the literal truth was, none of them had come close to her; they hadn’t even been on the same continent as her.

  “No. Hear me, Isleen. None of them came close to you as a lover. You’re the only one I ever really wanted.”

  She studied him. “You mean that,” she said slowly.

  It was his turn to swallow. He was giving away too much, too soon.

  To distract them bot
h, he caressed her breasts through the leather coat. The gods help him, he was so hot for her he wanted to bend her over the seat and take her right there in the middle of the ocean.

  And she’d let him. She was as aroused as him.

  But that wasn’t the plan. He contented himself with another love-bite to her neck. And when she was moaning and wriggling on his lap, he gave her a last, hard kiss and set her back on her own seat.

  “We should be there in fifteen minutes or so,” he said in as cool a tone as he could manage. “You’re comfortable? Warm enough?”

  She blinked but said, “I am, thank you.”

  He took out a blanket anyway and tucked it around her bare legs before jacking the engines to full throttle again. He sensed her looking at him, but she didn’t say anything.

  They passed the rest of the trip in silence.

  When they reached the mainland, he motored up the coast until they reached a small town and the marina where he’d rented a berth. The marina was quiet, everyone long since gone to their beds.

  He tied up the boat and shrugged out of the duster. Isleen remained where she was, watching him. He slowed down, toeing off his boots and then removing his shirt, jeans and boxers. When he was naked, he stowed them under the seat and turned to her.

  Her lips curved in a wicked half-smile. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “No? I’m not even a little…larger?”

  Her lips twitched. “Perhaps.” Her gaze was on his cock, which was lengthening, pleased at the attention. “I’ll need more data to be sure.”

  “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.” He crooked a finger at her. “Ready, my lady?”

  “I am.” Her gaze was still on his lower abdomen. “Very…ready.”

  He gave a snort of laughter and leapt from the boat to the pier. When he landed, he was a huge black horse.

  He glanced at Isleen and whinnied imperiously. Get on.

  1 AM

  In the ten years they’d been lovers, Isleen had seen Lir as his animal only a few times. She knew why. The fae looked down on the fada and their mixed genes. Shifters learned early to hide their animals from outsiders.

  Now she gave a hard swallow. Lir’s stallion was gorgeous: all powerful muscles and wild, flowing mane, his eyes a fierce dark gold.

  The Irish told tales about the púcaí. That they were tricksters, demons in animal form who knocked down fences, tore up crops and took drunkards on rough all-night rides. In England, they were the bogeymen. But the púcaí could also be generous, leaving food for the hungry or money to pay the landlord. And everyone agreed the púca was beautiful, sensuous—and the best lover you’d ever have.

  Lir snorted impatiently and pawed the pier, his magic hooves shooting sparks, and she realized her mouth was ajar.

  She shut it with a snap and leapt to the pier, where she took hold of his mane and swung herself up. The leather trench coat fell to either side of her legs, leaving nothing between her and his back.

  Oh. My. Stars.

  She dragged down the nightgown so that it covered her bottom, but there was still that warm, velvety coat between her bare thighs—and she couldn’t help recalling that a horse’s hide was rich with nerve endings.

  He cantered off the pier and into the town. It had been years since Isleen had been on a horse, but she knew Lir wouldn’t let her fall. She twined her fingers in his long black mane, tightened her legs around his powerful body and gave herself over to the rhythm.

  They clattered down a narrow cobblestone street lined with quaint stone buildings and turned north toward the hills above town. As they climbed higher, she looked around. The surrounding countryside was dark save for the occasional candle burning in a window in honor of Yule.

  The winter solstice was the time when the sun fae, who drew life-energy from the sun, were at their weakest. These were the days when you went to bed early and got up late. But all that time in bed meant that the following summer usually saw the clan welcoming at least one little one.

  Isleen herself was childless. Unmated fae seldom conceived.

  She’d told herself she didn’t mind. Fae reproduce slowly, but the Ériu clan had over five hundred members, so there were always at least a few children to love even if they weren’t her own. But then in October, Cleia, queen of the seven sun fae clans and a good friend, had given birth to her first child—a baby girl. When the news came, Isleen had been happy, of course, but she couldn’t help thinking that she was twice Cleia’s age and she still hadn’t found her mate.

  So she was feeling down as she’d left the party, alone among all the couples pairing up. It didn’t help that as soon as she left the tent, the skies had opened so that she got drenched even though she ’ported the rest of the way.

  Now, though, all that was forgotten as Lir twisted his sleek black head to look at her. Their eyes met, his a wicked gold. Then he swerved left and left the road for a narrow path through the hills. As he topped the first rise, he gathered his powerful muscles and went to a full-out gallop.

  She laughed and lifted her face to the starlit sky. “Faster, Lir. Faster.”

  He made a low sound that was more a growl than a whinny and together, they pounded recklessly along the dark path.

  It seemed like only a few minutes before he slowed back to a canter and turned onto a gated drive. The gate started sliding to the left to allow them in, but Lir was over it before it was halfway open.

  They cantered up a long gravel drive past apple trees with gold fae lights dancing in their bare branches. On a rise to the east, she could see a large block of stables, and on the other side of the drive there were more fruit trees and the remains of a kitchen garden.

  Lir came to a stop before a lovely old stone cottage. She’d expected something large and expensive, but this small, cozy abode was even better; it would be just them. She smiled—a frankly wicked smile—and ran a hand over his shoulder.

  Lir sent her another gleaming gold look as if reading her mind. She grinned and swung off his back, then had to grab his mane to keep from stumbling. But Lir was right there, supporting her with his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, a little embarrassed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a horse.”

  He snorted and somehow she knew what he was thinking—that of course he wouldn’t let her fall. That was Lir: rock solid when it counted, for all he liked to tease.

  He waited until she had her balance again and then backed up a few steps and threw back his head. She watched, entranced, as gold and silver sparkles danced over his hide, like fairy dust except brighter. The air twisted and then he was a man again, his rangy body glistening with sweat, his eyes still the gold of his stallion.

  He swung her into his arms and strode with her up the narrow brick pathway to the front door, where he muttered a word she didn’t catch. The door slid open to reveal a beautiful wood and stone foyer. More fae lights glowed on in the warm colors of sunset: orange, salmon, purple.

  “Be welcome, Lady Isleen,” he said as he set her back on her feet, then helped her off with her coat and ushered her into the living room.

  “I thank you,” she murmured, and then caught her breath. The cottage itself was beautiful, with white-washed walls and oak-beamed ceilings, but it was overflowing with flowers. Rainbows of lush roses shared vases with irises and spiky mums. Pots of sky-colored hydrangeas stood next to sunny-colored tulips and plump succulents, and lacy baskets of ferns swayed from overhead hooks. They filled the living room and spilled into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Lir.” She fingered a delicate purple iris. “They’re real?” Lir had the fae Gift of chicanery. He could make things appear to be solid when they were actually only air and light.

  “As real as you or me.” He stepped behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. “No tricks tonight, Isleen—I promise. Do you like it?” he added with a note of vulnerability that made her heart constrict.

  “I love it.” She squeezed his fingers. “They
’re beautiful, and so is your cottage.”

  He brushed aside her hair to nuzzle her neck. “I thought you’d like it,” he said, the confidence back in his voice.

  “You’ve been planning this.”

  “I have.” His hand was on her breast. He pinched her nipple and with the other hand, drew her hips back so she could feel him hard against her bottom.

  His mouth moved to her ear. His tongue traced the outer edge to the point at the top that marked her as a pureblood fae. He laved and sucked at the sensitive flesh. She moaned and raised an arm to grip the back of his head.

  He caught her wrist and tugged so that she had to come onto the balls of her feet. He held her there; her body stretched out and pressed against his. She placed her free hand on his thigh for balance, and he slid his other hand under her skirt to where she was already wet for him.

  He kept her on her toes and under his control so that she could only make small movements while he toyed with her.

  “Lir…” She rocked her hips against his fingers.

  He nipped the point of her ear, a small pain that he knew would drive her crazy. “Tell me,” he repeated his question from an hour ago. “What should I do with you, Isleen?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lir. I didn’t always treat you well, and for that I apologize.”

  “You had no respect for me back then. It wasn’t just that you tried to hold me with your glamour. It was that you never saw me as your equal.”

  “That’s not tr—” She halted and blew out a breath. “You’re right. I suppose that’s why I let you go.”

  He nipped that sensitive point again. “You didn’t let me go. There was no way in hell you could’ve stopped me. And for the record, I can always see through your glamour, Isleen. Remember that. But now,”—he teased her clit—“I have you alone. I can do anything I want to you, can’t I?”

  She swallowed. “You can?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve dreamed of this.” His voice was warm against her skin. “You and me, alone. Sometimes I tie you up and fuck you for hours. Sometimes I tease you all night without letting you come. Sometimes I order you on your hands and knees to suck me off, to prove who’s in charge now.”