His Wicked Celtic Kiss (7 page)

Liam dropped his hand and strode away. Lorcan caught the bartender's attention and ordered a coffee to go.

He left the club and headed toward the car. After he locked the gun away, he leaned against the headrest sipping the scalding hot coffee, hoping it would clear his head. What in the hell brought that on? He was more professional than that. Never had he spoken out to a client before in such a manner. Too much to drink, but it wasn't the only reason.

He knew. He wanted what Liam De Luca had. A woman to love and love him back.

Too bad he didn't deserve any of it.

• • •

Lorcan awoke. He scanned his dark bedroom, his breathing ragged as sweat poured down his face. His entire body shook as cold, clammy goosebumps rose on his skin. He inhaled and then exhaled, trying to regulate his breathing before this turned into a full-blown panic attack. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat upright. He let the tears come. First time he'd had this nightmare in months. He thought he had licked them, but Lorcan had the sick feeling they would never leave him. This happened over five years past, but in this moment it felt like it happened five minutes ago.

He had been told by more than one person in the medical field to seek help for these night terrors. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Aye, he had it. He had been told it was mild to moderate, as the recollections had not invaded his daytime awakened state—there's a mercy. No, instead they haunted his nights, appearing when he least expected them. Just when he dared hoped he had licked it, they returned.

Lorcan stumbled across the hall to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn't have to peer in the mirror. He knew what he would see. An empty shell of a man with a bleak, haunted look. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the saline nasal spray, squeezing a few shots up each nostril. Anything to get rid of the lingering, fetid smell of death.

Since he'd left the army, he'd kept people at arm's length. It's why he would have to tread lightly with Julie. Get to know her to a point, only let her get so close. In the long term, she deserved better than him. A broken, empty man.

He walked back into the bedroom, reached for his boxer briefs and slipped them on. He inhaled. The smell of stale blood and burnt flesh still lingered slightly. Lorcan sat on the floor facing the end of the bed and hooked his feet under the footboard. With his hands behind his head, he began the stomach crunches.
About 250 should do it.
Grunts left his throat with each upward push of his body. After fifty, sweat tricked down the valley of his back and the horrific smell finally began to dissipate, but he could still hear Drima calling for him. He moved faster.

The incident had never been officially reported, it was if the village and its occupants had never existed. No CNN or BBC news crews, no mention on the news stations anywhere in the world. But Lorcan would never forget. How could he? Drima's death played in his head like a never-ending video loop some nights. He saw the blood and heard the crunch of small, fragile bones under the truck tires. Lorcan passed the 100 mark and pushed his body farther with quicker, punishing sit-ups. The muscles in his abdomen burned and pulled taut.

Tonight, he would need 300. Anything to push the nightmare back into his black soul.

“Will you go for it?”
Lorcan had asked on the dinner date. Six days had passed and Julie had not heard from him. Besides feverishly reliving every sweaty, thrusting second of his wicked kiss, Julie waited. She religiously kept her cell phone charged and barely out of her grasp, waiting for it to ring, vibrate, jump around, do cartwheels, anything. It didn't.

So she marked the time by sifting through her few paltry possessions, deciding what to take to her new place. Ronnie had left behind the furniture and dishes and such, so she could get rid of a lot of her own stuff like the chair with the annoying, probing spring that always managed to lodge itself in her ass. She'd be moving in two weeks. Nick offered to help, so did Ronnie's older brother, Tyler Barnes, if she needed him. She wanted Lorcan to assist her. Ronnie had playfully suggested it, but she hadn't heard from him.

Of course, Ronnie had cross-examined her about the dinner date with Lorcan like she was a suspect in one of those cop procedural shows. Julie skimmed over most of it, including the hot, body rubbing, heat-igniting kiss. She wanted that memory for herself alone. She did tell her the kiss had been intense, but the word seemed inadequate.

She wished they'd talked more about his life at dinner. It was clear from the hints about the Irish army and various jobs he'd done that he'd had a varied, adventurous past. Julie wondered what had led him here to Rockland of all places, a small, blue-collar city on the Chesapeake?

She was so busy wondering she almost jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang. She tripped over herself grabbing for it.

“Hello?”
Yeah, this would work, already I sound needy. This might not even be him.

“Julie ... ” Lorcan's deep, lyrical voice rolled. “Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. I've been busy.”

Keep it casual.
With a calm coolness she didn't really feel, she replied, “Of course. No problem, Lorcan.”

“What are you up to, love?”

She glanced around her small apartment. Boxes lay about everywhere with two garbage bags and the contents of her few kitchen cupboards spread all over the floor. “I'm spring cleaning in August. Actually, I'm going through my things and getting rid of a lot. I'm moving into the back of the bakery end of this month.”

“Ah, Veronica mentioned she was going to make the offer. Can I be of any help?” his deep voice purred.

He always called her Veronica, never Ronnie as the rest of them did. “I would love it, Lorcan,” she purred back.

“Darlin', if you knew what hearing my name on your lovely lips does to me. Shall I come over?”

Her place looked like a bomb had gone off. Her appearance no better. Hadn't even had a shower yet. “Ah ... umm ... ”

“Are you dithering? It's a yes or no question,” he teased.

“I would love it if you dropped by, but my place is an unholy mess—”
And so am I.

“Well, it's almost supper. Why don't I swing by and take you away for a wee bit? We can pick up take-away or take-out, whatever you call it, and come back here to my place.”

She didn't hesitate. “Oh yes, that sounds fine.”

“Be there in an hour, is that enough time, Julie?”

She stripped off her sweatpants and T-shirt as she sprinted toward the bathroom for her shower. Alone. With him. At his apartment.
Holy Shit.

• • •

Lorcan was prompt. Julie waited downstairs at the main entrance when the Mercedes whipped into her parking lot. He opened his car door and stood, leaning on the top of the door. She suddenly stopped in her tracks. Lorcan posed like a model in a photo shoot for
GQ
. He was dressed all in black—jeans, shirt, leather jacket, and dark sunglasses. The gentle breeze caught his hair, which he'd had trimmed just as she suggested. Long layers caressed his perfect jawline. Lorcan opened the passenger door for her. A gentleman as well. Utter perfection. There had to be something wrong with this man. He seemed too good to be true.

And in her experience, if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was.

Classical music played on the satellite radio. “Impress me, Lorcan. What piece is this?”

He rubbed his chin, if thinking deeply. “Chopin, Piano Concerto Number 21.”

She laughed. “I've no idea if you're telling the truth or not. I only know of Beethoven and Chopin from reading Peanuts comics. And I pronounced it
Chop-pin
well into my teens, until some snotty boy corrected me.”

He chuckled, then lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly enough to touch spark to the flint. “My poor darlin', and now you've another snotty boy flouting his so-called knowledge. I assure you it is pronounced
Szopen.
”

His mesmerizing tractor beams locked on her and twinkled with merriment. He could tell her Snoopy himself played this music and she'd believe him. Lorcan released her hand and started the car. The engine purred seductively as he backed out of the parking place. “I thought we'd pick up food at the diner not far from my place, nothing too heavy.”

“That sounds fine,” Julie said.

Fifteen minutes later as they climbed the stairs to his apartment carrying the bags of food, her stomach began to twitch and roll.
Nerves.
A sacrifice to the gods to have sex with this man would be all right with her. Or maybe he just wanted to talk. Or both. Or neither. Any or all of those options had her insides quivering madly.

Julie first thought when she walked into his place was he lived in a near empty storeroom.

He pointed to the kitchen for her to deposit the food. As he walked down the hall to hang up his jacket, curiosity got the better of her and she opened a few cupboards. They were empty, except for a small fry pan, small saucepan, and a couple of cans of soup. No dishes at all. A large package of paper plates sat on the counter with plastic cups and utensils right next to it. She opened his fridge. A carton of eggs, a few condiments, a quart of milk, two apples, and a container of yogurt. That was it.

When she closed the fridge door, she looked up. Lorcan leaned against the doorframe, his arms and ankles crossed and his face unreadable for once. “Hungry, darlin'? Or perhaps snooping?”

She flushed. Might as well confess. “Um. Snooping. Sorry.”

He took her hand and led her into the living room. “Not much to find. The place came semi-furnished. The recliner and coffee table aren't mine. Nor the bed.” He leaned in close and his warm breath caressed her skin. “Do you want to see my bed?” He asked, his voice low and husky.

Oh, hell yeah. Now.
“That's okay. We don't want the food to get cold,” she murmured.

He stepped away and Julie immediately regretted her response. That might have been the only invitation she would get, even if it sounded half-assed and not very sincere. Or was it? For some reason, he was unreadable tonight.

Lorcan moved to the kitchen. “Come and help yourself, Julie. As you said, before it gets cold.”

She winced
. I may have blown it here.
Julie walked into the small kitchen, grabbed a paper plate and utensils, and helped herself to one of the grilled chicken wraps and spooned rice and bean salad on the plate. She looked around, no table and chairs? Did he even live here? He motioned to the living room.

“I eat off the coffee table, hope you don't mind.”

Sitting opposite him cross-legged on the floor, Julie took a bite of the wrap. “You really have no plans on staying here, do you?”

He chuckled. “It's that bloody obvious, is it? No, I've been away from home for a long time.”

“Where have you been, Lorcan?” He hesitated and her nerve faltered. “If you don't want to talk about it, I understand.”

He looked up at her and myriad emotions swirled in those sea green-blue eyes. Some of them seemed troubled. He cut his wrap with concentrated precision as if taking the time to formulate his answer. “A lot of places. I was a soldier in the Irish army as I told you. Peacekeeping missions in Chad and Darfur. A better opportunity came along, or so I thought.” His lips quirked wryly, as he popped a piece of the wrap in his mouth.

“You were in Darfur and Chad? You must have been there at the worst of it,” she murmured.

“Aye, I was. I still have nightmares ... ” His voice trailed off. He frowned, as if he admitted to something he had no intention of admitting to anyone. Dark clouds passed through his eyes at the slip.