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  “Yeah,” Lassi said. “I had friends like that. One got her perfect little nose done to the tune of seven-thousand euros, all so she could feel chic. She used to be fun and sweet. Now she’s a haughty bitch.”

  “Yep.” He nodded. “People can do whatever they want. They can have all that pretension. But I wanted something deeper out of life. I wanted to know and care for the people I treat. And I have that in spades, here in Dungarvan.”

  “Yes. I get it. Me, too. I was down at the pub last night, sitting with Billy, Seamus, and Sixpack. Billy was going on about some bet he wanted to make…” She paused, reframing her words to keep Siobhan’s name out of the picture. She knew how Bres felt about Siobhan. “And they were all loud and goofed like they usually are when they come into the pub. And I thought, ‘I traded Dublin, for this?’ Then, I thought, ‘heck, yes, I did.’ It’s small, but it’s real.” She swept her palm back and forth along the smooth, polished wood. “Do you ever have contact with Lois?”

  He scoffed. “No. A friend told me she’d moved on to some neurosurgeon. I’m sure she’s surrounded by the trappings of success.” He let out a guffaw. “Want to hear how we split up?”

  “Sure, if you want to share.” Lassi leaned back in her chair and pivoted to and fro.

  “I knew I had to come here. I just knew it. So, I arranged to take Lois to Haute Vie, a chic-chic restaurant off of Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia. All the who’s who and the what’s what dine there, you know?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s celeb central. Anyway, I also knew if I didn’t make a move to Ireland soon, I’d never do it. I’d get all swept into a life I didn’t want.”

  “Right,” Lassi said. “I kinda think unconsciously that’s why I chose to live in Bally, too. Besides keeping the Dearg-Due all tucked in her grave, that is. I could have had a great life full of parties and whatnot in Dublin. I could have made a bundle. But, all the paperwork and bureaucracy that defines a hospital! It was always about the bottom line and less about the people.” She sat up. “Oh. I hope to hear about my license to practice midwifery, soon. I sent in the paperwork last week. We can chat about that more in the morning when I can think again.”

  “Good,” he said.

  She waved her hand. “Get back to your story.”

  “Right. So, we’re sitting there with a nine-hundred-dollar bottle of Salon Blanc de Blancs Le Mesnil-sur-Oger—I figured I needed to win her over with her favorite champagne—and I said, ‘Lois. I have something to ask you.’ She sat forward, her eyes glistening, maybe thinking I was going to go for residency in Paris. And, then I said, ‘how would you like to move to Ireland with me?’ She stood up so abruptly that she knocked her chair back. Then, she chucked her ring into the foie gras, exclaiming that she was done, that if I wasn't going to be serious about my life, then I couldn't be serious about her. And, I was deadly serious…more than I’d ever been in my life.”

  “I thought you said she got the ring,” Lassi said. She pushed her long locks away from her face.

  “She did. She came back later and demanded to have it, saying it was hers by rights.” He pulled a long hound dog face. “While technically she was wrong, I let her keep it after I cleaned the goose liver pate from it with my linen napkin. I was such a sap.” He shook his head. “No, actually, I was stunned. Confused. I honestly thought she loved me.”

  “Were you sad after that?” She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Cillian wanted to break up with her.

  “For a bit, yes. Well, actually for a good while.” He stood up and strode toward the sink. “I’m parched. Want some water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He tugged open the cupboard and retrieved two paper cups. After filling them from the tap, he stepped back, setting one on the desk for Lassi, and then sipped from his own before plunking down on the chair. “But, then the strangest thing happened. I realized that while yes, I was confused and hurt, I wasn't heartbroken. The love that should have been putting down deeper roots and twining itself around my very soul wasn't there. Lois had been funny, charming, adventurous, and an excellent partner at helping me stay organized, fed, and laundered during medical school and residency. But, she wasn't at the heart of all things for me. She wasn't my heart.”

  “And then you met Siobhan shortly after Dylan was murdered,” Lassi said quietly, as she reached for her water.

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes growing dark. “Both Siobhan and Paul have captivated me. But I could be on a fool’s quest. She’s still in love with her dead husband. She’s obsessed, more like it. I’ve been wicked patient, but geez.” He set his paper cup on the desk. It made a hollow thwack.

  “Yeah, she is. I don’t know what it will take to shake her free of her obsession.” Lassi glugged the water. “Anyway…” She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at it. No funny texts from Cillian, asking if she wanted to see his new moves with his tentacled arms, or “let’s twirl beneath the sea” waited for her. “I’ve got to see if I still have a boyfriend.”

  “Right,” Bres said. “We got off on a reminisce.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll be right back. Let’s do a blood test for the pregnancy. I’ll put a rush on it. And why don’t you take a pee test now, so you can at least know one way or the other? The blood test will be the confirmation.”

  “My thoughts, too.” She leaned her palms on the desk and urged her body to stand. “I’ll take care of the pee test, while you gather the other things. I’ll meet you in the exam room.”

  “Gotcha.” He nodded and exited her office.

  She made her way toward the supply closet in the hall. Once she found a pregnancy test, she shuffled toward the bathroom. After unwrapping the plastic device, she lifted her skirt, pulled down her undies and sat on the porcelain toilet. She wiped herself with a sani-wipe, peed a little, then reached for the test stick. Positioning it between her legs, she held it under her urine stream. Please be a no. Please be a no. Once finished, she carefully set it on the counter, stood, washed her hands, and then waited.

  A soft knock rapped the door.

  “How’s it going?” Bres asked.

  “I thought we were going to meet in the exam room,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m curious. Medically, we know nothing about how your Leviathan status will affect a child.”

  She laughed. “It’s hardly a status, Bres. It’s not like a question posted on Facebook.”

  “I know, I know. Poor choice of words.”

  She turned toward the door and opened it.

  His face brightened. “How many more minutes?”

  “One.”

  He stepped into the loo and stood by her side while they stared at the stick.

  “Maybe it won’t work if we stare at it,” Lassi said. She lifted her gaze to Bres’.

  “Maybe not,” he said, returning the gaze.

  They stared at one another for a few seconds.

  Forcing herself to not look away, she said, “I think a minute’s up.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain. Ready? On the count of three.”

  He nodded.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  Both heads swiveled toward the counter.

  Lassi gripped the edge of the sink. “Oh, make me wet and feck me hard.”

  “That about sums it up,” Bres said. “Looks like you’re pregnant.”

  “It does.” She glared at the two pink lines on the stick, hoping to turn them a different color. Sudden heat burned through her body.

  Bres turned toward her. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m heading over to Cillian’s to fuck his brains loose from his cranium, and then I’ll share the news with him.”

  Bres laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, how can he be anything but overjoyed?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” Lassi smiled.

  Her stomach formed a tight Celtic knot. In her heart, she wasn’t so sure.
>
  Chapter 5

  Day 2, Wednesday evening - Lassi

  Later that night, Lassi armed herself for the biggest seduction of her life. This one would be greater than the time she dressed to impress Tommy McCallahan at her Debs ball. Okay, so she’d destroyed the evening by heaving her Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort pickled guts all over Tommy’s rented tuxedo. She had been drunk, not pregnant, though. His dad made enough money to pay for cleaning the suit. And the little American floozy whose name she couldn’t remember had consoled him later. Or, at least she’d heard enough rumors about their stupid tryst. Tonight, she wanted to dazzle, not throw up, and get Cillian’s mind so amped up on endorphins he’d happily accept the news: she and Cillian Ward were going to be parents, like it or not. If their little one popped out all squid-like, they’d have to deal.

  Personally, she hoped for a boy.

  She dressed in high heels that made her ankles feel like tops on a shaky spindle. Then, she slipped into the same low-cut shirt she’d seduced Cillian with the first time, ever, and a shimmery blue skirt with a thigh-high slit. She weeble-wobbled up the dirt road toward the rectory, dodging potholes and spearing leaves with the spikes of her stilettos. Once she made it to his driveway, she stooped to pick the leaves from her heels. No sense waddling in the door like a forest elf. That wasn’t the look she aimed for.

  Click-clacking through his house, she found him in his small, sparsely furnished bedroom, reading. Golden lamplight cast warm hues across his beautiful face. The cross and chain he usually wore around his neck to keep up appearances, stretched across the bedside stand.

  He gave her a deer in the headlights stare and then pitched his book to the floor.

  “Come here,” he said, gesturing with his fingers.

  Shoving aside her haunting fears, she said, “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.” Slowly, she took off every piece of her clothing, from shoes to shirt.

  Cillian’s eyes looked like twin grenades with the pins pulled. Any second he might detonate.

  “My God, you get more gorgeous every day,” he said.

  Once naked, she climbed on the bed, and, channeling her Leviathan strength, literally ripped his pants apart.

  “Whoa. Where’s the gentle foreplay?” Cillian said, inclining his head to stare at his ruined slacks. “I might need these pants for my sermon on Sunday.”

  Ignoring his concern, she stroked his gearing-for-pleasure, growing erection. Then, she brought her head down and kissed him through his boxers.

  “There. That’s foreplay.” She pushed herself up to gaze at him, lowering her eyelids the same way she’d seen Scarlett Johansson do over a bowl of pasta in a movie called Chef. Wagging her finger at him, she said, “Someone’s been a naughty boy sleeping up here all by his lonesome.”

  “I…,” he said, looking away while bunching his austere beige bedspread with his strong fingers.

  “Shh.” She placed her finger over his lips, ignoring the play of dark emotions dancing across his face. Whether guilt or nerves or secrets flashed through him didn’t matter to her at this moment. And, while she wanted to whimper, “Please tell me you haven’t taken a new lover or grown tired of me,” she held back the thought. Tonight, she needed strength, not insecurity. “I think you might need a spanking. After I blow your mind by blowing your cock.” She tugged his ripped pants and boxers over his hips, kissing her way down his legs.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice simmering like a tea kettle reaching the boiling point. “Okay.”

  She went down on him like a wanton sea serpent. She sucked him. Her fingers danced along the inside of his thighs. She tickled his balls. Her tongue twirled around the soft head. She licked him along the pulsing vein that ran the length of his erection.

  His moans and growls of pleasure let her know he enjoyed every second.

  She made certain to stop right at the apex of his release. If his pleasure could build, he’d be that much more comatose when she dropped the baby bomb.

  He practically mewled with need when she crawled on top of him. “Take me, Lassi. I’m yours.”

  “I want you inside of me so bad, Cillian. I’ve missed you.”

  Again, his gaze sidled away from her.

  Never mind. With purpose, Lassi urged him toward the core to her desire, and slowly slid down his length.

  They moaned in mutual satisfaction.

  His hands found her breasts. He squeezed.

  “I need these babies in my mouth,” he said, eyes glittering.

  She stiffened at the baby word but forced herself to smile. “Of course,” she said, lowering to give him access. “Anything.”

  Cillian sucked her nipples, drawing so much pleasure from her she wanted to scream.

  She writhed, wanting more, more, more. The heat of Cillian’s mouth on her tender nipples felt like fireworks at midnight. Her skin tingled with aroused heat. If baby-making created this much pleasure, she was in.

  They ground against one another until they came in a thunder-and-lightning orgasmic pleasure burst.

  Lassi collapsed onto his chest and practically melted. Still, she kept enough awareness to stick with her plan. Glancing at the wall clock, she thought, Okay, maybe ten minutes recovery, then I tell him.

  His hands moved tenderly along her back. “Sweet Lasairfhíona. My sweet, sweet Lassi-love.”

  He really loves me. Maybe he’s just been stressed lately.

  She took a long, deep breath, and blurted, “I’m pregnant. We’re with child.”

  His hands stilled, becoming two dead-weight stones on her back. “I thought you used birth control.”

  Okay, he’s surprised. I might have eased into it better. “I do. But it seems new life is inside me. I tested today at the clinic.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and rolled her off him. “How could you let this happen? Did you trick me?”

  “Trick you?” Outrage detonated in her belly. “You’re the one with potent enough sperm to get past the best birth control money can buy.”

  “You never should have become a Leviathan,” he said, his expression darkening.

  “That’s what this is about? My becoming a sea monster?” Her jaw fell open. “I did the transformation for you. I did it to keep Ballynagaul safe. I performed the ritual so I could find a way to ease the suffering of the poor spirit who resides in the grave. You know that.” She pushed herself up to sitting and scooted away from him. “Great response, Cillian Ward. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. You could have said anything kind. But, no, you chose to berate me for becoming a Leviathan, instead. Good job.”

  “You don’t get it,” Cillian growled, reaching for his ripped pants. He stared at the destroyed zipper and then threw them across the room.

  “What don’t I get?” Her hands jabbed the air. “That we might produce a baby squid? We might have to raise our son or daughter in an aquarium? You think I haven’t thought about that all evening, ever since I found out?”

  Cillian clapped his palm over his mouth. Then, he dragged it down his chin and neck. He held it over his chest. “I apologize. Forgive me.”

  “Don’t you love me anymore? Have you found someone new, is that it?” she asked, not giving him a chance to answer the first question.

  “Good lord, no. You’re the only one.” He sat up, his distress glaring at her like an inquisition spotlight.

  “Well, then, what? You’re not giving me much to go on. Matter of fact, you’re not giving me anything. What’s going on with you lately? That’s the thing I don’t get.” She rolled from the bed and snatched her clothes from the floor.

  Cillian did that thing he did when faced with her emotional distress—he became reasonable. Three hundred years as a priest had taught him well in the art of thinking before he spoke and reining in his emotions until the snaffle bit forced his mouth to close. “Let’s think this through.”

  “What’s to think about?” She attempted to wriggle into her skirt, but her toenail got caught
on the silky fabric, creating a tear. “Stupid, fucking skirt.” She wadded it up and hurled it across the room.

  “Arrangements,” he said. “Care for the child.”

  “You say that like ‘the child’…” she said, making air quotes, “belongs to one of your parishioners.”

  She stormed to the closet. There, she found one of Cillian’s plain bedsheets, neatly folded. She shook it out vigorously and wrapped it around her. When she turned about, he seemed to have retreated to sullen, moody Cillian, her least favorite. She hated when he withdrew. But, poor guy, she could be a bit tempestuous when anger hit her like a punch to the face. She sighed, crossing the room, then sat on the bed, next to him.

  “Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t planned or intended.”

  He gave her a pinch-faced glare.

  “I’m as surprised as you are.” She reached out to stroke his hair from his face, but he yanked his head away. “Cillian,” she wailed. “You’re killing me. You’ve been acting all weird and twitchy around me. You haven’t been sleeping with me. We’re having a baby, now. I don’t want to do this alone.”

  “You won’t have to. Of course, we’ll share the load.”

  “The load…” She let out a bitter laugh. “What, as cordial strangers?”

  He stayed silent.

  “Would you at least consider moving in with me?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

  “Well, then, I could move in with you,” she said, a tentative smile on her face. “We are kind of an open-secret anyway.” She placed her palm on his ribs. When he didn’t flinch or move away, she relaxed a little.