Just Believe (28 page)

"I just made it up," he
admitted.

Immediately her defenses sprung up.
What could be so bad that he couldn't even tell her? What was the
worst it could be? Maybe he'd want her to walk in naked or
something?

The thought made her laugh softly as
Gaelen brought the Mercedes to a stop in front of Mrs. O'Hara's Bed
and Breakfast.

"We're going back in here?" she asked,
the hairs on her neck stirring.

"Sure. Why not?" Gaelen came around and
opened her door, offering his hand in a study of chivalry. "If
you're worried about Linette, don't. She'll be long gone from here.
I'll wager Mrs. O'Hara won't even know us."

"There's a real Mrs.
O'Hara?"

"Oh, sure 'n there is. Linette just put
her in a closet or something and took over her form for a bit." He
linked her arm with his and strolled up the steps to the dark door.
When he knocked, an old woman peered out the window through pure
white lace curtains.

The woman opened the door and smiled.
"I'm sorry, folk, but I'm full up tonight."

Gaelen leaned forward and whispered,
"Yes, Mrs. O'Hara, we're the folk in the front bedroom."

The woman studied them for a second
before she slapped her palm to her comfortable bosom. "Lands, sir,
and wouldn't I be knowing you. Please," she said, stepping aside,
"come in, come in."

Annabelle studied the new Mrs. O'Hara
closely. Mrs. O'Hara didn't stare back, but did cut a glance or two
to Annabelle.

"Is everything all right, Missus?" Mrs.
O'Hara asked.

"Oh," Annabelle stammered, embarrassed
to be caught staring. "Yes, I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara. You remind me
of someone I knew, that's all."

"Well, I hope the reminder is a good
one. Now, will you both be takin' supper with me?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara, we'd been
thinking of going out for a pint and some music and dancin'. Would
you like to accompany us?" Gaelen asked with a smile no woman could
refuse.

Mrs. O'Hara waved his words away with a
cackle. "Ach, and gi on wi' ya. Such a one you have here, my dear,"
she said to Annabelle. "No, you young folk go and have a grand
time. The closest public house is O'Looney's, no more than a small
walk away."

Thanking their hostess for the
recommendation, Gaelen and Annabelle went to their room and
freshened up, one at a time in the bathroom across the hall. Then
they walked hand-in-hand down the narrow cobbled street to the
corner where O'Looney's was lit up and spilling the sound of song
and dance out the door and windows. The pub was packed, but almost
magically a small table for two appeared near the
window.

"Did you do that?" she whispered as
they made their way to it.

"Do what?" he asked as he held out a
chair for her. "Oh, this? Sure, we'd never have gotten a table
before ten, and we have to be up early tomorrow mornin'." He pushed
in the chair for her and leaned over, kissing her on the temple.
"Got to play the lovin' newlyweds, no? What will you have,
love?"

Love sounded good.

She shook the sudden erotic vision back
into the mists of her mind.

"I don't know. A beer, I
guess."

"Beer! Gads, no. A pint of good Irish
ale for you, my girl."

"I don't have to drink it warm, do
I?"

"For certain you do. 'Tis the only
decent way to drink ale."

He left her to go to the bar to order
their drinks. She watched him mingle with the men, welcomed as
though he'd lived among them his whole life.

It only hit her then that she knew very
little of his life. Suddenly she wanted to know everything about
him. Not only what had happened, but what he dreamed of.

"Omigosh," she yanked her head around,
away from the sight of him by the bar. It didn't take a genius to
figure out what had happened.

She was in love with Gaelen Riley. She
was in love with a fairy.

It would be funny if there weren't such
terrible consequences. Like not being able to be
together.

Not that he'd shown any sign of
succumbing to her feminine charms. Far from it, he'd been able to
control himself well.

Annabelle caught her reflection in the
window. Objectively now, she told herself. Really look. And for the
first time in a long time--probably ever--she really studied
herself.

Her eyes were large, the deep brown of
her father. Her hair was a warm brown, unaided so far by chemicals.
She was neither too fat nor too thin, and proud of her size ten
figure. She'd never thought of herself that way, but she suddenly
realized she was pretty--in a plain sort of way.

So why did men have no problem at all
staying away? Did she put out some kind of warning vibe? Beware the
she-devil. Keep hands and feet and anything else that sticks out
away!

Gaelen chose that moment to return with
two mugs of ale.

"Here we are, dearling. I took the
opportunity to order us some food."

"What are we having?" she
asked.

"Here you are, lady," a waiter in a
plaid vest set a steaming bowl before her, then one for Gaelen.
With a flourish, he placed a big bowl of hot, crusty bread in the
middle of the small table. "Anything else, sir?"

"No, not right now. This is
splendid."

"Indeed it is, sir," the waiter smiled,
"the best stew in all Ireland. If you're needin' anything else,
just holler if you can be heard over this din."

Annabelle hadn't realized how hungry
she was and dug into the rich, creamy gravy full of sweet carrots
and peas and potatoes and chunks of tender and flavorful
meat.

"Good?"

"Um-umm," she replied, her mouth
full.

Gaelen broke off a hunk of the bread
and handed it to her, then took some for himself. "Nothing like
real Irish lamb stew."

"This is lamb?" Annabelle asked,
setting her spoon back down in the bowl.

"Aye. And you love it. So eat, and stop
thinking about Lamb Chop." He filled his mouth with stew. "Think of
it this way. Lamb Chop wasn't a lamb at all. She was a large gym
sock stuffed with other gym socks. I guarantee she'd never have
tasted like this."

"You're right," Annabelle agreed and
returned to enjoying her meal.

They ate as they had spent so much time
lately, in silence. That is, they didn't say anything, but the pub
around them was full of laughter and song.

When he'd scraped the last of the stew
from his bowl with a hunk of warm bread, Gaelen sighed mightily and
pulled his chair around the table, closer to the wall. He leaned
back, his pint in his hand, his smile just a shadow on his kissable
lips.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing. Everything." He sipped his
ale. "It's been a long time since I was here."

"In Ireland?" Annabelle had a feeling
there was more.

"Yes. But not just Ireland. Here." He
tapped his temple. "Where I am. Do you know," he asked, sitting up
and resting his forearms on the table, "I've got fifteen
graduate-level papers waiting on my desk I've not even looked at?
And an unfinished article for a professional publication? And three
dissertations I'm supposed to be evaluatin'? And here I sit." He
laughed. "Last week, I'd be sweating like a junkie to be this far
away from my work."

"There's nothing wrong with working
hard or enjoying your work."

"No." He frowned. "I suppose the only
thing wrong is using work to hide what you are from yourself.
That's what I've been doing."

Annabelle thought about that. Had she
been doing the same thing? Hiding what she was from herself? But
what exactly was she hiding? She couldn't say she knew.

"Now, Lucas," Gaelen said, waving his
pint at nothing in particular. "There's a boy who still knows who
he is. Leads with his heart all the time."

Lucas's name reminded Annabelle with a
jolt just why she was sitting here with Gaelen Riley in a pub in
Ireland. Her anxiety for Erin swamped her in one big wave, along
with guilt for enjoying herself while her little sister was being
held prisoner.

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

Gaelen's softly asked question made
Annabelle jerk her gaze up from the last remnants of her meal. How
could he tell so quickly her worry had returned? His eyes crinkled
with a sympathetic smile.

"Worrying about Erin, are you? I'm
sorry." He took her hand in his. His warmth flowed into her. "I
wanted to help you forget your troubles for a bit."

"Thank you," she replied, enjoying the
intimate play of his fingers over hers. "This all seems so unreal
somehow, like I'm dreaming. Like I'll wake up in my own bed, and
none of it will have happened."

"Oh, don't wish that." He leaned
closer. "If our siblings hadn't acted so precipitously, I would
never have found you." Never releasing her gaze, Gaelen raised her
hand and pressed his lips to her palm. His kiss lasted a long
moment.

Her breathing stopped.
"Gaelen…"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh.
No more sad face now." Turning toward the bar, he waved his empty
mug. "Jocko! Could you get us another two of these?" To Annabelle,
he said, "Let's dance."

"To this?" she asked. "How does one
dance to this?"

"What's the deal, darlin', never seen
Riverdance?"

"Yes, but--"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto
the floor, to the applause of the crowd. The fiddler struck up a
tune, one sounding like Ireland, though how she could have told
that, she couldn't say. She'd never heard the tune before, but it
had such a wonderful beat, and everyone clapped and laughed and
sang along the words she could barely understand--something about a
bridge and meeting girls there--she just followed Gaelen's steps as
he pulled her around the floor, jumping and nearly flying in a
definite pattern, but not one Annabelle could ever
follow.

"Ah!" she finally gasped.
"Stop!"

Never letting go of her hand, Gaelen
turned toward her, his eyes shining in pleasure and freedom and
fun.

"Tired already?" His own breathing was
heavy.

"Yes. I give." She laughed and tried to
drag him back to their table when the music slowed. Instead of an
Irish aire, the band now squeaked out a slow, bluesy tune, quite
fit for--

"Here, now," Gaelen whispered, pulling
her into the circle of his arms. "That's more like it."

Annabelle allowed her arms to rise, to
find a comfortable resting place on his broad shoulders. He
snuggled her against him, wrapping her as though he were a sweater.
She absorbed his heat, his scent. Her breasts pressed against his
chest, and she dared allow her starved imagination to wonder what
lay beneath his cotton shirt. Was it as good as her dream vision of
his naked body?

"You feel so good," he said, nuzzling
her hair. "And you smell good. Like a rain-splashed summer
day."

When had she ever felt like this?
Protected and, maybe, even wanted?

He stopped leading her in a slow
circle. Feeling his unspoken words, she raised her eyes to meet
his, even as afraid as she was to let him see what lived in her
own.

The din of the pub faded, drowned by
the pounding of her blood. Like waves, one after another, crashing
in her ears. Her eyes lay in the trap of his gaze, unwilling,
unable to break free. Suddenly, there were so many things she
wanted to tell him. But she had no breath to carry the
words.

He studied her, as though marking every
feature. What was he thinking to be so intent?

His mouth came closer, lips invitingly
parted. Her own responded. Their single real kiss flashed through
her mind, making her smile at the memory. Then a bolt of heat arced
through her as she remembered how his lips had felt against
hers.

Her dreams flooded right behind, making
her body hotter.

His arms closed around her, pulling her
even tighter against him. When his mouth captured hers, she fell
completely under his spell again.

"Well done, lad!"

"Bets on who comes up first for
air?"

"He's a big lad, but I'll take the lady
for endurance."

The voices echoed through the fog
blanketing her mind, but she had no trouble ignoring them. Then
raucous applause had her and Gaelen breaking apart, as though each
had set the other on fire.

He glared around, but his irritation
vanished in an instant, so fast she didn't know if she'd actually
seen it. He flipped on his charming switch.

"Thank you, lads and ladies," he said,
with an ironic bow, shooing Annabelle toward their table where two
pints waited, foamy heads drooping. "Jocko, let's have a round for
the house."

His call roused applause of another
kind, thankfully taking the attention off the two of them. Gaelen
sat with unnecessary force on the chair at the table.