Selkie's Revenge (11 page)

She didn’t giggle at his joke. It was all so much to take in, and yet it all seemed to make perfect sense at the same time.

Mack reached for her hand and stroked it. He drew closer. “And a selkie man could love you as you’ve never been loved before.”

As much as Beth was dying for a demonstration of this last talent, she banished the thought from her mind, hoping Mack wouldn’t somehow discern her nasty yen for him.

He was pure desire, hot and heavy and persistent. But she couldn’t… Not with him, not with anyone.

She pulled her hand out of his and ignored the stricken lines in his brow. “Yeah, well, love’s overrated. It just leads to heartache.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I were you, I’d ask for a new power like flying or … the ability to resurrect the dead.”

Whoa, where did that come from?
And why was she on the verge of crying?

Mack stared at her, his features softening in sympathy. “Beth, love,” he murmured in his Orcadian accent, his deep voice almost a lullaby. “If I could trade any of my talents for that one, I would.”

Before her broken heart betrayed her further, Beth turned and closed the distance between them and the house. And before he could follow her in, she closed the door and locked it, needing distance from the selkie man, needing time alone with her frazzled thoughts. She leaned on the door, gulping air, forcing it into her constricted lungs.

There was a soft rap on the door. “Beth? Let me in. Let’s talk.”

She turned her forehead to the wooden door, desperate for his touch and not sure why. “Please go away.”

He didn’t knock again. After a few moments, she heard his footfall on the stone walkway leading to the driveway. She heard a car door open and slam shut, but no motor started. Intrigued, Beth moved to the window and twitched the curtain.

Mack was leaning in the car trunk. He rummaged for a few seconds and then produced an enormous bow and what seemed to be a leather case full of shiny arrows. Beth felt her jaw go slack at the sight of the very dangerous-looking weapons. His stride calm and assured, Mack walked toward the back of the house and she followed inside, running to one of the windows that overlooked the beach. He took up a spot in the backyard, facing the water, and pulled one of the arrows from his pack.

He showed no signs of leaving, just watched the water in silence.

Beth tried to ignore her protector as he stood watch in her backyard. She did some dusting, cleaned the bathrooms, and defrosted her refrigerator. As much as she attempted to distract herself, she kept darting looks out the window.

Mack never moved and never released his hold on the arrow.

She figured he would get bored and leave eventually. He didn’t. After a couple of hours, she went outside with coffee in a thermos and a roast beef sandwich. She didn’t say a word, but her insides wobbled and wove. Mack stared at her, his face inscrutable, his jaw clenched. He took the food, thanked her, and turned back to the pounding surf.

At bedtime, she got dressed in an old nightie, washed up, and pulled aside the covers of her bed. She didn’t look out the window again, telling herself Mack had gone home. And if he hadn’t, well, if a crazy man wanted to stand in her yard and stare at the sea, it was no business of hers.

When Beth awoke in the morning after a fitful sleep, barely rested at all because it was so punctuated by dreams of Mack, the first thing she did was go to the back window and peek.

He was still there, armed like a soldier of old, staring at the waves.

* * * *

Mack sensed her coming, even before he heard the creak of the back door. He turned to see her. The morning sunlight lit up her face. She looked like a tired angel with her gleaming, fair hair and dark circles under her eyes. Her body, clad in loose jeans and a shirt that had seen better days, called to him and made him want to cradle her in his arms. Despite the slump of her shoulders, her head was inclined toward him, making her appear curious.

Damn. She hadn’t slept. He’d revealed too much too soon. He’d handed her an enormous burden, and she couldn’t absorb it. If only she’d let him help her.

“Um,” she began, her voice cracking, “would you like to come in?”

He nodded and walked over. Mack followed her into the little house, his heart heavy. A part of him had hoped that shifting for Beth would lighten her mood, perhaps give her something to dwell on other than her grief, but it seemed to do the opposite. It seemed to have made the divide between them insurmountable.

She was so unhappy. And she was keeping it all cooped up inside her. It was amazing she didn’t burst. It would kill her if she didn’t let it out. He didn’t think he’d ever known such sadness.

That wasn’t quite true. Grief had consumed him when he’d lost Anne all those years ago. He’d been devastated and it had taken him decades before her image stopped haunting him. He couldn’t blame Beth for still mourning. Like anyone who’d lost, she’d always grieve in some way.

He looked around the living room, setting his weapons on the couch as she scurried into the kitchen to make tea. There were photos of Frank and Luke everywhere. He approached the largest, an 8x11-inch picture sitting on the mantel. Frank had Luke, a sweet little boy with brown eyes, tossed over his shoulder. The boy’s mouth was wide open in glee, missing one of his front teeth. Adorable. And Beth was smiling on Luke’s other side, her arms open in case he fell. A good mother. She looked so happy.

The perfect family, wrenched apart by tragedy.

He looked over at Beth as she stirred sugar into a teacup at the kitchen counter, her face wrinkled in pain. She looked so different from how she looked in the photo. Then, she’d been carefree and glad. Now, she broke his heart.

All of a sudden, Mack realized he would do just about anything to put the rapture back in her eyes, the easy smile on her face.

She surprised him by dropping her teaspoon on the counter. For a moment, she just stared at the spoon as it wobbled. Then she lifted her trembling hands up to her face, and she began to make strangled noises, noises that insisted on being let out.

Thank the gods. It’s about time she lets it out
.

“Oh, God, what’s happening to me?”

Her shoulders heaved for just a second before he was at her side. Mack enfolded her in his arms and let her cry herself out. He held her tight, tighter than he’d ever held anyone, and prayed he could absorb some of her pain.

“Don’t hold back, lass,” he whispered. “It needs to come out.”

When her tremors subsided a good thirty minutes later, she looked up at him with a tear-stained face. “I can’t move on, Mack. I’m stuck.”

He brushed a hair from her eyes. “I’m sure it must feel that way.”

“No, you don’t understand. They were ripped from me.” She sucked in some air, her chest rising with halted breaths. “Frank had a small boat. He loved sailing, and he adored taking Luke out on the water. The day they died, I was trying to finish some work. Luke kept getting in my way. He wanted to play, and I told him I couldn’t. My students were in the middle of music exams, and I had deadlines. Luke pushed and fussed. I finally asked Frank to take him out on the boat to distract him.”

“Oh, Beth,” he began, seeing where she was headed. Bile flavored his saliva, he felt so sick for her.

She continued, “When they went outside, the day was clear. There wasn’t one cloud out. All of a sudden a huge storm whipped up. I could see it from the house, could see the little boat flounder.” She smacked her palm against her forehead, as pain racked her fragile spirit. “My family was lost out there. I never got them back. I lost my baby to the sea!”

“Beth, I’m so sorry…”

“Luke was just five. He must have been so scared. When I think of how he must have cried… I sent them to their deaths.”

As he envisioned the terrible scene and realized her savage guilt, Mack almost wept for her. The only reason he didn’t was because he was fighting to be strong. As he held her, he allowed his gaze to wander back to the photo of Luke on the mantelpiece and said a silent prayer that the wee tyke and his father had passed away quickly and without pain. “It’s not your fault they died. It was a freak storm, love. You wouldn’t have known it was coming.”

“I should have known. I should have been more patient with my son.”

It was then the terrible thought hit him like an unfeeling brick in the face. “You said the storm came out of nowhere?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

Mack eyed the finman charm, still around her neck.

Beth’s eyes widened. She touched the charm. With the halted breaths of an injured yet determined animal, her eyes taking on a feral shine, she fumbled at her neck for the clasp on the necklace. She tore it from her neck, ran to the fireplace, and threw it into the pit of ash. “You said finmen control weather. Tell me. Do you think that bastard caused the storm that killed my family?”

Mack gave a slow nod. “He’s probably had his eye on you for some time. A finman wouldn’t think twice about eliminating obstacles.” Damn that bastard to hell. “You didn’t kill your family, sweetheart. He did.”

“Oh, why them?” she whispered from behind the shaking hand that was over her mouth. “Why me?”

Mack let his gaze rake over her from top to bottom. Swelling hips that called to him. Gorgeous breasts that would spill with such ease into his hand. Soft skin that invited one to touch. And pretty eyes that revealed the depths of her soul. She’d seen so much she didn’t need to see. “You’re a beautiful woman, Beth. And a caring one. My guess is the finman is someone you’ve known. Someone to whom you’ve shown kindness.” He shook his head, furious at the situation. “It could be the old lady who checks out your books at the library, the supermarket clerk, or he might even be masquerading as your friend.”

Her hands fell to her sides and her shoulders drooped. “What do I do?”

Mack drew closer. “I doubt he’ll try again right now. Not when he knows we’re onto him. He’ll try when he thinks we’ve let our guard down.” He reached for her hands again, wanting to have some sort of physical contact. Anything. He pulled her to him and she didn’t resist. “We’ll work on selling these antiques, and we’ll be vigilant. And I won’t let you out of my sight. I won’t let him have you, lass.”

Beth moved her closer to him, farther into his embrace. He didn’t mind. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this for me.”

He gazed at her, more rapt than he cared to be. “I’m still figuring that out myself.”

“Machar,” she said, whispering his name. Her lips fell open.

Enflamed, Mack had no choice but to kiss her. Before he convinced himself it was a bad idea, he grazed his lips against hers, and fought the hunger inside. The desire screaming at him to take her. Instead, just knowing she needed a little softness and sweetness in her life, Mack gave it to her in the form of the gentlest kiss he’d ever bestowed on any woman. Easing his mouth into hers, he slipped his tongue between her lips and was astounded at how much her taste appealed to him. She tasted like a bonbon, like a Christmas sugarplum. He swallowed between kisses, knowing each kiss was growing more fevered, and savored her. And then his lips met hers again in an embrace that was more urgent than the first. He grasped her face, holding her close. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair.

Something in their souls met and connected.

Fuck. I could drink this woman’s essence all day long. She’s nectar
.

As his mind raced, his body responded with a vicious heat. Every inch of him seemed alive for the first time, enthralled by her touch. He couldn’t seem to hold her close enough, couldn’t seem to absorb her quickly enough. He wanted the taste of her all over him, wanted to nuzzle her in places he hadn’t seen yet. Wanted to lick every last part of her. Mack knew in that moment that something new was happening to him. He’d never reacted like this to any woman’s kiss. Not Leda, not even his beloved Anne.

Beth was different, and he didn’t want the kiss to end.

He angled his head so he could kiss her more deeply, as if he could get deeper, and was cognizant of a loud
bong
inside his head. He was pretty sure his inner Big Ben had just gone off again and had an image of the clock hands spinning, with smoke coming off the clock face.

Christ on a bike
. Could it be this woman was his mate?

Somewhere deep inside him, a peg slipped into a hole. A cog turned in the machinery. Everything that had been off-kilter in Mack slid into place. Perfect alignment. Everything made sense. Old men were jigging and young girls were dancing around maypoles, tossing wildflowers in the air.

The fucking universe was at peace.

They fell apart on another frantic snatch at a breath, and her sigh poured over him in a warm, sweet breath. “Please, Mack,” she whispered. “Please make me feel something other than pain.”

Yes
. His mind reeled with the need to heal her, to love her, to take her away from everything that had hurt her. “Give your pain to me, love. I can take it. Let me make you feel better.”

She extricated herself from his arms only long enough to rip the shirt from over her head, and then she flew back into his arms. Mack enfolded her in his grip and sought out her mouth. It was open and hungry for him, as his was for her. As he explored her plump lips and the softness between them, he allowed his hand to cup her breast. He had to hold back from grunting his delight. She felt exquisite in his hand, just as he’d suspected she would feel. His fingernail scraped at her stiff nipple through the fabric of her bra and a cry erupted from the back of her throat.

“You like that?” he murmured, smiling against her mouth.

“Do it again.”

She didn’t need to ask him twice. Mack scratched at her nipple, always over her bra so as not to scrape her skin, and she arched against him. His cock hammered against her belly, and he couldn’t think straight for wanting her so much. She was so responsive to his touch, almost as if she’d been waiting for it all her life. And he felt the same. Something in him had been waiting for Beth to arrive, and he felt giddy and delirious at being able to hold her.