Grave Stones Page 23

  “Last time we spoke, I wasn’t your favorite,” Lassi replied. She fiddled with the crisp bed sheets.

  “Heartache will do that to a person.” She shifted Paul to her other hip. “Turns out my happy marriage was all a mirage. Oh, I think Dylan loved me and all. And, he adored Paul, here. But he had a roving eye, that man. I’ve got some sorting to do. I’m sorry I was so harsh. To the both of you.” She acknowledged both Cillian and her.

  Cillian nodded but still stayed mute.

  Lassi wanted to shake him. There he goes again, getting all moody and broody and still as a statue. She turned her attention back to Siobhan. “I’ve seen more grief than I care to remember. I know how sorrow can fuck you up.”

  Siobhan managed a wan smile. “What will you do with the cottage?”

  Paul began to fuss.

  She bobbed him up and down in her arms.

  “I’ll have to take another week off from Dublin. I need to clean out stuff I should have cleaned. I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

  A loud whistle filled the air.

  Lassi blinked.

  “There’s your tea kettle. I don’t like to use those electric things. I found Roberta’s old kettle buried in the cupboard.”

  Lassi groaned. “Do you mean I could’ve simply lit the flame and had tea when the power was out?”

  “You didn’t?” Siobhan asked.

  “No! I’m an idiot.”

  “Well, let’s set that to rights.” She spun and hurried from the room.

  Lassi glanced at Cillian.

  He continued sitting stiffly, frowning at her and rubbing his jaw.

  “Tea! This is a good thing, Cillian. I’m going to drink tea. At last! It only took three murders, a showdown with a Dearg-Due, and a Leviathan to finally get my tea.” Her mouth seemed to sputter and shoot words without her consent. “That’s a joke,” she said, her stomach twisting into knots.

  His frown deepened. He stepped toward her, kissed her tenderly on the head like she was a wee child, and said, “Get some rest.”

  “Uh. Okay. What will you do?”

  “I have some things to tend to.” He pivoted, said his farewells to Conway, and strode away.

  “See you, man,” Conway said, lifting his chin.

  Lassi stared at Cillian’s back. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m sure he feels responsible,” Siobhan said, returning with her tea. She handed the baby to Conway. “Here.”

  He stiffened and took the child.

  “You know what? You’re all right, Conway. I think I misjudged you,” Lassi said.

  You do have tiny eyes and a ferret’s face, but, hey. One of my friends in Dublin had a ferret for a pet. Cute little thing. Playful and inquisitive and the like.

  “Yeah,” Conway said, appearing awkward and uncomfortable holding Paul. “You’re all right, too. I didn’t know how much you knew. I had to fool Brown into thinking you were a suspect.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I hated that part.”

  “I know.”

  Siobhan placed the tea cup in Lassi’s hand. “Drink. This tea will set you right.”

  Lassi took the cup. “Thank you.” She listened to Cillian’s retreating steps. Her heart sank. She let out a long sigh. This is not the way I’d wished things would go with him. “Let’s hope. I’ve been missing my tea. I haven’t had a good cuppa since I set foot in this place.” She brought the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. Swallowing the warm liquid, she sighed. Then, she laughed. “Nothing happened. It’s simply a cup of tea I’m drinking. And, good Christ, does it taste fine.”

  “What do you mean?” Conway asked.

  “Long story.”

  The front door slammed shut.

  Her smile vanished.

  Conway glanced over his shoulder. “At least the killings have stopped.”

  Lassi nodded. “I hope you’re right. But I think my heart will be the next victim.”

  Chapter 25

  Two weeks later, dressed in sea-green sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, her long hair pulled away from her face, Lassi stood in the doorway of her Great-What-the Fuck’s cottage, saying her farewells to Mary.

  She shook out her limbs, fatigued from channeling so many electrical impulses of the last couple of weeks. She’d practiced lighting bits of paper until the whole house smelled like a fireplace. However, it had effectively taken care of some of the remaining clutter. She planned to pile the rest of the paper in the back yard, after Mary left, and letting her magic rip—once I’ve recovered, of course. Cillian’s right. It takes a fair bit of time to get my strength back.

  “Thanks for the intro to magic these last couple of weeks, Mary.”

  “Baby steps, dear. You have to start somewhere.” Mary opened her mouth, then, closed it, hesitating for a second.

  “What?”

  Crusty McKitty slunk around the house. He beelined toward Mary, butting his head on her legs. Then, he eyed Lassi, scrutinized the door, studied Lassi again, and then took his chances, rocketing past her to get inside.

  Lassi wanted to give him an assist with her slipper-clad foot. “Fecking cat. Some familiar.”

  “He’ll come around.”

  “Not much progress so far.” Lassi turned her head to glare at him.

  He’d plunked himself in the foyer and sat grooming his paws.

  “You both need time to adjust.”

  “What did you start to say then swallow back?” Lassi asked, turning around and putting one hand on her hip.

  She eyed the sky. Patches of blue shone through the clouds, making the world around her almost pretty. Sheep with painted dots on their backs grazed on the green hills in the distance. The temperature leaned toward cool, but she didn’t mind. At least it’s not that fecking banshee wind blowing about. The whole scene looked bucolic, like one of those paintings designed to make one think the place was innocent and full of wonder. Lassi knew better.

  Mary pursed her lips. She switched her blue and gold purse to the other hand. “Are you sure you won’t be staying? You could use the help with magic training and...” She shifted on her feet.

  “Cillian?” Lassi sighed. “He’s not interested. He’s come around a couple of times to check on me, but he’s always cordial, at best.”

  “Oh, please, child.” Mary scoffed, waving Lassi’s sentiments away. “I may be old but I’m not daft. The sexual tension between the two of you could power all of Ireland.”

  Lassi’s skin grew hot. “Well...” She scuffed her slipper on the Not-Welcome mat. “He’s made it clear what his intentions are.”

  Mary’s eyebrows stitched together. “Has he? Or, is he waiting for an invitation? He’s been through a lot, poor dear, and, don’t forget—the last time he was sexually active was in the 1700s. Things have come a long way since then,” she said in a no-nonsense practical tone.

  “I suppose,” Lassi said, eager to move off the topic of what to do with her tempestuous lust for Cillian Ward. “I do have to get back to the hospital in Dublin. All those moms and their kids need tending.”

  “Piffle,” Mary said, waving her hand around again. “You’re the one who needs tending. Cillian’s, too. I think he has trust issues.”

  “Trust issues? What about moral issues?” A laugh burst from Lassi’s throat. “He’s supposed to be a priest, for God’s sake. I thought I was defiling God by being with him.” She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “And yet you did it anyway. I think in your heart, you knew something else, far deeper, was at play. He wouldn’t have done that unless there was reason to do it. Cillian Ward is a good, good man.”

  Lassi took a turn at the ‘hand waving moving things along’ gesture. “I do need to get back home.” She wrinkled her nose. “I sure hope my erratic power doesn’t cause amniotic sacs to levitate or babies to freeze mid-cry. Imagine the horrified mothers looking on their newborns, frozen like ice cubes and me the tongue-tied culprit.” She shook her head. “Let’s
move on. Pretty wild all the documents I uncovered about the Finn clan, huh?”

  “Yes, it’s a rich history, to be certain.”

  “And, Penny. Rest in peace. Who knew? I always wondered about her lack of interest when it came to Liam.” She rubbed her cheek.

  “I didn’t know her well, but she proved a bit touched to be sure.”

  “She did.” Lassi pushed away from the door frame, letting her arms fall by her side. “All those jobs gone, though, what with the Laughing Rat being closed. And no place for the locals to drink away their misery.”

  “It’s a tragedy to be sure,” Mary said.

  “How’s your son?”

  “Ryan? Oh, he’ll be all right. He’s adjusting to the new position. Cillian is offering him a lot of support and counsel, as well, for killing Penny.”

  “He is, huh?” Lassi tried to shove away the stormy sensations rocking her insides whenever Cillian came to mind. But, they refused to be tamed. Maybe I should pay him a visit and set things straight finally.

  “I’d best be going, Lassi dear.” Mary lifted her hand in farewell.

  “Yes. I’ve got a few last-minute things to do before I leave. Tomorrow’s the day. Back to Dublin.” She tried for a smile and failed. Her attention drifted to the rectory, clearly visible on this gorgeous day.

  Mary lifted her eyebrows. “Uh huh. Well, keep in touch,” she said, glancing to see where Lassi’s gaze had drifted.

  “To be sure,” Lassi said.

  Mary pivoted and headed up the path toward town.

  Lassi strode into the cottage and closed the door. She scurried down the hallway, scanning each room as she passed.

  The place looked transformed. All of Roberta’s debris and clutter had been sorted, discarded, or given to charity. I’ve worked my ass off this past couple of weeks. Commemorative plates? Gone. Tacky, worn furniture? Gone. Lassi had kept a few of the sturdier antiques, such as the dining table, the bed, and a chair or two. She hadn’t decided on a few odd items she’d found in the pantry—incense, candles, mirrors, and such. Maybe they’ll come in handy for spell casting. She’d need to paint, add some new wallpaper and such, but it was almost ready for a Realtor, whoever that might be, now that Ailis was no longer. She figured she’d hire some trusty local lads to finish the sprucing and be done with it.

  She darted into her bedroom, changed into something low cut and skin-tight to intrigue if not seduce—okay, heavy on the seduce part—and rushed out the door before she changed her mind.

  She scampered along the path toward Cillian’s house, not minding the chilly air blasting the tops of her breasts, revealed by her tight shirt. It was the one she’d bought for Barbados, but never mind. If he strips me, my nipples will be perky rosebuds. The breeze kept pushing her loose skirt up, in a manner she hoped Cillian would do, only without making her legs so cold. When she got closer, she slowed her roll to a hip swaying stroll, in case he was watching. She didn’t want to come across as an overeager idiot.

  Once she arrived at the rectory, she found Cillian, outside, crouched in the dirt, engrossed in some task. The chink, chink, chink of a hammer against something solid met her ears.

  “Cillian,” she called.

  His shoulders tensed and the hammer clattered to the ground.

  “Lassi,” he said. He rose to standing, and slid something into his pocket before brushing gray concrete and light-golden stone dust from his casual black work pants. The soft fabric clung to his muscular legs. A hint of an outline of other parts was visible, as well.

  She licked her lips and lifted her eyes to his. “What are you doing?”

  A rosy flush colored his cheeks and neck. His attention lowered to her breasts. He clenched and unclenched his fingers.

  He pried his gaze away from her cleavage and focused on her lips. It looked like it took effort to haul his attention to her eyes. “Oh, this waterfall structure needed some work.”

  Lassi glanced over his shoulder. The ring no longer sat embedded in the stone. Chunks of concrete and stone lay scattered on the ground. A thrill shot through her spine before she could stop it. Will he ask me to marry him? Then, she frowned. Don’t be daft.

  “The ring, huh?”

  “Uh, right. I forgot you saw it. Yes. That thing.”

  “So, it’s a thing now, not a treasured piece set in concrete to be commemorated.” She spoke flatly, then pressed her lips together in disapproval.

  “No, I...it needs a bit of polishing. What can I do for you?” Once again, his gaze fell to her breasts. “Leaving tomorrow, are you?”

  She thrust them out as surreptitiously as she could. “Yes,” she breathed. “Unless someone begs me to stay.”

  Inwardly, she groaned. Did I say that?

  He stood rigidly, his attention pinned to her boobs, his lungs rising and falling. His gray shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his broad chest and shoulders. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few more times.

  “Can I offer you some refreshments?” His eyes lingered on her chest.

  A light breeze swept toward her nose, bringing his heady scent in her direction. She nearly swooned. “That would be fantastic.”

  “Okay. Right then. Let’s see what I have inside.” He stepped toward her, avoiding looking at her, and gestured toward the house. “After you.”

  As she walked, he caressed the small of her back, guiding her toward the open side door. No—it was more like pushing her inside. Her heartbeat quickened. He wants me, I know he does.

  As soon as she crossed the threshold to his home, he backed her against the wall next to the window, securing her jaw with his powerful grip. His forearm fell across her collarbone and shoulder, securing her in place.

  “What the hell are you doing coming here dressed like that?” he growled. His sea-green eyes flashed with fury.

  Not what I expected. Her eyes grew so wide they ached.

  “I...I...” She tried to shove away his hand but his strength proved too much for her. “It’s kind of hard to talk,” she croaked.

  Arousal, hot and heavy, flooded her. Which is stunning, if you think about it. Being bossed around usually doesn’t work for me. When Billy Murphy tried this on me—or Dr. Bill as he insists the hospital staff call him—I threw hot tea at his groin. She shushed her rampant thoughts. You’re doing that thing you do when you get afraid. You’re... She tried to tear her attention from his succulent mouth.

  “Are you with me?” Cillian said, in a low, hypnotic voice. He increased the pressure on her jaw and throat.

  “Mm hmm,” she managed, her voice a whisper. “Here I am.”

  “Are you going to answer me?” Keeping a tight grip on her face, he reached down to the hem of her skirt and raked his calloused fingers up her inner thigh.

  His touch lit a match in her core. Wow. Just wow.

  He pushed one finger inside her panties and slid it up and down her slick folds. “Oh, the wonders of modern day panties.”

  She stifled a giggle. “I take it this is a new experience for you?”

  “All, new. I’ve waited nearly three hundred years.” He closed his eyes briefly as he fingered her. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re wet.”

  She widened her stance to give him better access. “I saved it for you.”

  “Did you now,” he stated, letting his eyelids flutter open.

  A dark, nasty little notion flitted through her mind. What if I’ve released Pandora’s box and now he’ll want to explore another girls’ lingerie? Or, several girls?

  Dropping his lips to hers, he stifled her meandering mind with a slow kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth.

  She moaned and sucked on it, swallowing back her jealous thoughts.

  As he kissed her, he continued stroking between her legs. Then, when orgasm became imminent, he withdrew both his mouth and his finger.

  Their lips made a juicy smack as they disconnected. She panted, mewling with need.

  He brought his sex-smeared finger to his nose and drew in a
long, deep breath.

  “Christ, you smell sweet.” Then, he licked it. “And the taste...wicked heaven. See for yourself.” He dragged his finger across her lips.

  She opened her mouth and sucked him in, humming noises of pleasure.

  He inhaled sharply, leaning his hand against her throat.

  Her core pulsed and throbbed, begging entrance. “Can’t breathe, Cillian.”

  He loosened his grip slightly, making circles against her neck with his fingers. His other hand pressed into the wall by her head.

  “Oh, Lasairfhíona,” he said, his lips millimeters from hers.

  The musky taste of her intimate wetness, coupled with his breath puffing against her mouth, stoked her desire.

  “I’ve managed to restrain myself, thinking you’d be gone tomorrow and I’d not have to see your bewitching face again. But, no...” He nuzzled her ear with his lips, whispering, “No. You come a’ calling with your luscious peaches tempting me, taunting me, on full display. You’re a witch to be sure, my Lasairfhíona.”

  His words, his fingers, the furnace-like heat rolling off his body, all worked in concert to send shivers of pleasure cascading through her body. She wanted to do something cool like send sparks dancing across the wall with her fingers, but she feared lighting his pants on fire. And, besides, the swell of his erection grazing her belly obliterated any clever ideas she might have, turning them into smoldering desire and need.

  “Oh, Jesus, Cillian. I’m the one bewitched,” she managed. Hands by her sides, she ground her fingertips into the cool stone wall, pushing her hips toward his.

  He kept his hand curled around her throat. “I can’t stop myself now. Make sure this is what you want, Lassi, because whatever willpower I clung to is gone.”

  “I want this,” she breathed. “I want you.”

  He let his forehead press into hers, pinning her against the wall. He stroked his hand along her shoulders in slow, sensuous sweeps.

  She moaned, rolling her hips in circles against his solid erection.