Authors: Loucinda McGary
His fingertips brushed a strand of her hair. “To be sure.” Awash in feelings of possessiveness he shouldn’t be having, he
pulled his hand away and reached to start the car. “Ready to see the Causeway, then?”
She turned her gaze back to Rathlin Island and nodded.
In spite of it being the off-season, the car park at the Giant’s Causeway was over two-thirds full. Donovan eased into the
first empty spot he saw, and the two of them hurried to the Visitor Centre. They spent a half-hour inside looking at the various
displays along with the other tourists, and Rylie purchased a disposable camera. When he wasn’t paying attention, she snapped
his picture while he was studying a rack of sweets.
“Just for that, I’m not buying a Cadbury bar for you,” he threatened with mock severity. But, of course, he wound up sharing
his with her all the same.
They opted not to ride the shuttle bus, walking down the steep road to the sea instead. Donovan hadn’t seen the thousands
of bizarre, honeycomb-like stone pillars in over twenty years, but they were every bit as impressive as he remembered. Rylie
seemed equally awed by the massive hexagonal formations. Hand-in-hand they clambered over and around the dark volcanic rocks,
taking more pictures as they went. Rylie posed in front of the “pipe organ” formation. Donovan by the “harp” formation. And
another tourist took one of the pair of them, with Rylie snuggled close under his arm as if she were meant to be there.
After an hour in the increasingly gusty winds, they rode the shuttle back up the hill to the Visitor Centre.
“Thanks so much for bringing me, it was great!” Rylie enthused.
The chilly wind had left her cheeks almost as rosy as her red sweatshirt, and the constant buffeting had loosed wisps of hair
from her ponytail. They framed her face in such an appealing way that it was all Donovan could do to keep from kissing her
right there in front of the building full of tourists.
Mentally chastising himself, he replied, “Glad you enjoyed it. I thought we’d stop for an early supper in Ballymena.”
“Sounds good. But one more picture first.” And before he could stop her, she snapped what would undoubtedly be a very unflattering
photo of him, next to a trash bin.
A few kilometers down the road, she made him pull over so she could take a photo of Rathlin Island. Even though he told her
it probably wouldn’t turn out in the fading light, she insisted. Sighing at his own foolishness, Donovan complied.
When they reached Ballymena, they found a cozy little eatery in the bottom floor of a three-story Victorian.
“This place is a bed and breakfast too,” Rylie observed as they got out of the car. “Why don’t we get a room and stay the
night?” Then at his startled look, she added, “They must have better beds than that thing you sleep in. I’ll bet your mattress
is the worst in three counties.”
“You’re most likely right,” he conceded. “But things are very old-fashioned here. Unmarried couples, especially those with
no luggage, don’t blithely check into B&Bs.”
“You’re so cute when you’re all prim and proper,” she giggled. Then standing on tiptoe, she gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Okay, I’ll put up with your horrible bed tonight, just don’t try to tell me you’re not that kind of boy.”
Her closeness momentarily robbed Donovan of reason and he pulled her against him for a fast, urgent kiss. The truth was, he’d
always been exactly the opposite of “that kind of boy”. Every relationship he’d ever had he made short, superficial, and completely
commitment-free. That’s the way he’d always wanted them, until now. Shaken, he pulled away, but Rylie pressed herself against
him for another long moment.
“That’s my kind of appetizer,” she said in a husky whisper. “Let’s hurry up with dinner so we can get to your place for dessert.”
Though he finished every morsel on his plate, Donovan scarcely tasted any of it. Before the meal arrived, Rylie had gone to
the WC and emerged with her hair freshly combed and loose around her shoulders. The light from the single candle on the table
made it gleam like burnished gold, while her smoky-eyed gaze sent all the blood to his groin. She kept teasing him with double
entendres that made him squirm with growing sexual frustration. But he answered her sass with a bit of his own all the same.
At this rate, he thought, they might not make it back to Ballyneagh.
Near the end of the meal, their verbal antics were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile, but he ignored it, knowing it
was likely to be unpleasant news. However, once they finished and he’d paid the bill, she reminded him to check his messages.
“Oh, hullo Donovan. ’Tis Brenna McRory,” said the anxious-sounding voice. “I’m sorry to be calling again, but I’ve still had
no word from Aongus and I was hoping . . . ” The message trailed away for a moment and when she spoke again, there was a catch
like a sob. “I suppose I should call the police. I don’t know what else to do.”
Stopping next to the car, Donovan hit the redial without thinking.
“What’s wrong?” Rylie asked.
But Brenna answered before he could tell her anything.
“Brenna, ’tis Donovan O’Shea. Any word from Aongus?”
“Donovan, I’m so sorry I disturbed you again.” Her tone sounded strained. “I called everyone I could think of and no one’s
seen or heard from him. I even drove out to the dig site, your family’s old homestead, isn’t it? All I saw were some muddy
prints inside the cottage, but I don’t think they were Aongus’s. They looked to be American trainers.”
“Yes, those would be mine,” Donovan reluctantly admitted. “I was out there a couple of nights ago.” He hesitated a moment
then asked, “Have you talked to Sybil Gallagher?”
“I tried, but she’s not returned my calls either.” Her voice cracked and he heard an unmistakable sob. “This is just not like
Aongus. I’m so afraid something’s happened to him.”
“Don’t worry,” Donovan soothed, though the image of McRory with his assistant leapt to the forefront of his mind, making him
clench his hand around the phone. “I’m sure he’ll show up any moment.”
“I pray you’re right, but I was so distraught that before I left the cottage, I called the PSNI.”
His stomach did a sudden pitch and roll, as Inspector Lynch’s squint-eyed glare materialized in his mind. “What did they say?”
Brenna gave a ragged sigh, “Same as you. They took a report but told me he’d probably turn up in a day or two.”
“There ya go then.” He forced a cheerful tone he definitely didn’t feel. “If I should hear anything, I’ll call you straight
away.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re too kind.” Then she rang off.
“What’s going on?” Rylie asked as he shoved his mobile back into his pocket.
When Donovan looked at her, the flash of McRory as the rampaging Norse warrior flitted through his head.
Why was he suddenly full of ugly imaginings?
“Professor McRory’s not been home in a couple of days.” He didn’t bother disguising his sour tone.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he held the passenger door for Rylie, then walked around and got into the driver's seat before
he spoke again. “Poor Brenna’s so worried she called the police.” He buckled his seat belt and reached for the ignition. “I
didn’t have the heart to tell her he probably ran off with Sybil Gallagher.”
“He hasn’t run off with Sybil,” Rylie said, her voice oddly tight and defensive. “I know, because yesterday morning, I put
her on the ferry to Scotland.”
Startled, Donovan cast a quick look in her direction, but her features were indiscernible in the darkness. Clearly there was
something going on, but she didn’t elaborate.
Finally, when she remained unmoving and speechless, he gently probed, “Why Scotland? And why you? Talk to me, Rylie. Please.”
She sighed wearily, “I guess I was the available neutral third party. Sybil needed to be alone, away from McRory, to think.”
She gave another long sigh, then added in a hoarse whisper, “She’s pregnant.”
Donovan groaned aloud. “I’m guessing the professor wasn’t happy to hear that news.”
Rylie gave a derisive snort, “Let’s just say he made his preferences very clear.” She shifted in her seat. “Now Sybil has
some hard choices. And she wanted to be alone, so I helped her.” Her voice dropped back to a whisper. “I’m just glad it’s
not my decision.”
“A bad situation, to be sure,” he muttered, starting the car.
The drive was long and quiet with both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. In truth, speculating on the whereabouts of
McRory gave Donovan a welcome reprieve from the other disturbing revelations crowding his mind. Thoughts he’d managed to hold
at bay all afternoon.
When the sparse lights from Ballyneagh twinkled ahead in the darkness, Rylie broke the silence. “With everything that’s happened,
do you still want me to stay tonight? I’ll understand if you don’t.”
Donovan nearly swerved the car off the road in his surprise.
“You must be joking!” he blurted, steering the vehicle back into the proper lane. “Unless, of course, you don’t—”
“Get real!” Rylie interrupted. “I’ve hardly thought of anything else all day.”
“Well, in that case . . . ” Donovan hit the brakes, pulled the car over and threw it into park. Then he leaned across and
planted a big kiss on the side of her face.
“Hey!” Laughing, she pushed him away. “What happened to Mr. Traditional who prefers a bed?”
“After last night, I’ve become far less traditional.” Then Donovan captured her mouth with his for a kiss that started playful
but quickly changed to sensual.
A long moment later, Rylie broke away, panting. “The protection is still sitting in your living room.”
Groaning, he put the car in gear and proceeded to set a new land speed record for the remaining distance to Ballyneagh. Gravel
spewing beneath the tires, he flung the car into the first available space behind the pub, which sported the usual Saturday
night crowd.
The two of them piled out of the car and raced for the back door, their own laughter mingling with the loud noises coming
from the main room. With this din,keeping their activities quiet would not be an issue. Donovan’s smile widened with the realization.
Hand in hand, they bounded up the steps.
While he fumbled to open the door, Rylie pulled his head down so that she could sprinkle a line of wet kisses from his chin
to his jaw. When she reached his ear, she gave the lobe a teasing nip that sent his libido into overdrive, and his keys jangling
to the floor.
“Wanton little minx!” he gasped with laughter as they both dove to retrieve the keys.
She snatched them off the floor first and made a tsking sound. “How clumsy of you.”
“Clumsy is it?” he demanded, pressing her against the wall, their mouths scant millimeters apart. “You’re the one who bit
me.”
With one hand, he pried the keys from her clenched fist, while with the other, he traced his finger around the edge of her
ear.
“I’m going to do a lot more than that to you, if you ever get the door open,” she vowed. “Starting with this.”
She claimed his lips, her hot, provocative tongue darting into his mouth. Her firm round breasts poked against his chest and
her fingers tunneled into his hair, her nails raking erotically against his scalp.
The need for the sweet oblivion she offered overwhelmed Donovan for a moment. With a guttural moan, he kissed her back, plastering
his body against hers, his arousal thick and hard against her stomach.
Breaking the kiss, she whispered, “The door, hurry!”
“You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered, struggling to fit the key into the lock.
“You’ll die smiling,” she promised, nuzzling at his neck again. “My Ulster warrior.”
But before Donovan could turn the key in the lock, the door swung open. His sister Doreen stood on the other side of the threshold,
arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her expression could curdle fresh cream.
“About time you got home.”
THE DARK-HAIRED WOMAN’S GLACIAL TONE FLASH-FROZE Rylie’s blood.
Holy freaking hell!
She stumbled against Donovan, who stood as if he’d been frozen also.
His mouth hung slack for another agonizing moment before he finally croaked, “Doreen, what are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you,” the ice queen replied, skating her frosty glare over the two of them.
Talk about bad first impressions! Cringing like a lower life form, Rylie dropped her hands to her sides and took a step backward,
hoping against hope she would fade into the wall.
“You could have phoned,” Donovan’s voice sounded equally chilly.
“I would have, if I’d known you were . . .
entertaining.
” Her pointed emphasis acted like instant antifreeze and sent all Rylie’s blood rushing to her face.
Donovan cast a quick glance in her direction then returned his sister’s arctic stare. “Miss Rylie Powell, this is my sister
Mrs. Doreen Sullivan.”
“H-hi,” Rylie managed.
The other woman said nothing, just continued to stand in her regal splendor. Donovan grabbed Rylie’s hand and towed her past
Doreen into the apartment.
The first thing she saw was the box of condoms, sitting in the center of the coffee table on top of the plastic bag.
Great.
She might as well have worn a flashing neon sign that said
I’m the slut who’s here to
screw your brother’s brains out.
Guiltily, she pulled her hand from Donovan’s grasp.
“Have you put on the kettle then?” Donovan asked, his voice still stiff with formality.
“You’ve run out of tea.” Doreen’s answer sounded accusatory, as if she knew why her brother had no groceries.
“Then I’ll go downstairs and get us some,” he countered.
“No, I will!” Rylie jumped at the loudness of her own voice, but no way was she staying up here alone with Donovan’s sister
for even a minute. “Please, I insist.”
Doreen inclined her dark head as if she were a queen bestowing a favor on a lowly subject. Rylie averted her eyes and shifted
her feet. But when she glanced up, Donovan’s gaze met hers, bleak with apology and longing.
“Hurry back,” he said.
Right, like that was going to happen.
She spun on her heel and marched out. However, as soon as she heard the door click behind her, she sprinted down the steps.
Breathing hard, she headed straight for the bathroom under the stairs and splashed some water on her face. Then she gave herself
a pep talk.
She refused to let Donovan’s sister intimidate her any further. Meekly turning tail and running was not her style. Not that
she could anyway, since Donovan still had her car keys. Squaring her shoulders with new resolve,Rylie assumed her walking-tall
stance, strode out and headed for the main room of the pub.
“So that’s your trouble-making little Yank,” Doreen sneered. She crossed the room and perched on the straight-backed wooden
chair. “Seems to be one thing after another since she showed up here.”
“None of this is her fault,” Donovan declared defensively. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he swept the offending box of
condoms back into the bag, and dropped it on the floor next to his feet.
“Isn’t it then?” Her censorious gaze followed the bag’s movements. “When I stopped in to see Da this afternoon, he was too
upset to be understood, raving on about tests and such.
Her
paternity tests, I’m guessing. The nursing staff was afraid they’d have to send him to hospital. Then I get here to find that
police inspector nosing about asking questions about you and that Professor McRory.”
She raised her eyes to his, and he was shocked at the anguish he saw in them. “God in heaven, Donovan, please don’t tell me
you’re sleeping with that girl when she might be your half-sister!”
“You bloody well know she’s not!” Outrage brought him to his feet before he realized what he was about. “Not that it’s any
of your business,” he flung the words at her and turned his back to regain control.
He paced to the end of the couch before he spoke again, his tone restrained. “Da admitted who her real father is.” He faced
his sister with a fierce scowl. “Those tests he was raving about were of him and me. Seems he’s not my father either.”
Doreen’s critical attitude dissolved before his eyes. With a strangled sound of distress, she covered her face with her hands.
“Damn that Lizzy Cassidy to hell!” she muttered between her fingers.
“What?” Donovan queried in utter confusion.
After a long moment, Doreen lowered her hands, but her voice was still shaky. “Remember when I was fourteen and wanted to
become a nun? Well, Lizzy Cassidy told me I couldn’t because my mother was a whore.” Her voice took on a low, steely undertone.
“When I told her to take it back, she said, ‘everybody knows your brother was born only six months after your father came
home from Liverpool.’”
“Bloody hell!” Donovan swore. “Does everyone in County Armagh know except me?” Feeling unsteady, he sat back down on the sofa.
His sister wiped her nose with a tissue and gave a defiant little toss of her head. “Not from Lizzy Cassidy. I pushed her
down into a muddy ditch and told her if she said another word about my mother or my brother again, I’d bash her over the head
and drag her into the fens where nobody would ever find her.”
A greasy ball of apprehension formed in the pit of Donovan’s stomach, while he stared silently at Doreen for a long moment.
“Like our mother did to Malachy Flynn?”
“Stop it!” she hissed. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“Not any more,” he insisted, leaning across the coffee table. “Tell me, Doreen. Tell me what happened that day Mum went missing.”
Doreen bit her lip and clasped her hands tightly in her lap before she finally spoke in a halting voice. “We were packing
up our things to move here. Da had left early to go to Belfast. I heard Mum on the phone. She sounded strange, so I went down
to see what was the matter.” Doreen stopped and squeezed her eyes shut as if she could see the scene playing out once more.
“She was pale as death but her eyes were crazy wild. She told me to go and fetch you. The two of us had to go to Ballyneagh.
And we were not to go on the road. We must cut across Mr. Farrell’s pasture.”
“I remember,” Donovan murmured, rubbing his temples to soothe the dull ache that throbbed there. “You made me get into the
sheep crib. It was full of moldy old straw and I didn’t want to.” He touched his sister’s tightly clenched hands and she opened
her eyes. “You went back, didn’t you? What did you see?”
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Not a lot. I stayed on the other side of the wall and peeked through the rocks. There was
a black car parked in the yard . . . ” She swallowed convulsively. “I could hear a man shouting, and Mum screaming. I was
scared. But then everything went deadly quiet, and I was even more scared.”
“Did you go to the cottage?” Donovan asked when she stopped speaking.
Doreen shook her head. “I started to, but then Mum came out. She was dragging something. I couldn’t see very well, but it
was something heavy. And she was crying.” A single tear slid down Doreen’s face too. She dashed it away with the back of her
hand. “She dragged it into the fens. I—I waited a long time, but she didn’t come back. I was afraid to leave you alone any
longer, so I ran back to the crib.”
The dull pain inside Donovan’s skull had intensified to a pounding. “We waited in the barber shop for Da, didn’t we?”
Nodding briefly, Doreen’s gaze shot to the door. The pounding wasn’t inside his skull after all. Donovan covered the short
distance quickly and threw open the door. Rylie stood outside balancing a large tray with a teapot, cream, sugar, and a plate
of scones. She craned her neck to see around him.
“Let me help you,” he offered.
But she shook her head and stepped inside. “I’m okay. I’ll just take this into the kitchen.”
Silently, Rylie walked past Doreen, who was now completely composed and sat ramrod straight in her chair.
As Rylie disappeared from sight, Donovan shut the door and turned to his sister. “We need to go to the PSNI and tell them
the truth.”
Doreen cast a doubtful glance toward the kitchen. “What truth is that, Donovan?” She got up and walked toward him, her voice
low. “Mum may have killed that man, but for all we know it was self-defense. All those years ago, when I told Da what I saw
and asked shouldn’t we go to the RUC, he told me we couldn’t trust them. He said there were those who would do all of us harm,
even the police.”
His mind didn’t want to accept her words. He would rather believe things were straightforward. “That was a long time ago,”
he argued to himself as well as her. “A lot has changed. The Sinn Fein and IRA are all legitimate nowadays.”
“Maybe so, but there’s something about that Inspector Lynch I don’t trust.” She stopped abruptly when Rylie walked back into
the room carrying two mugs.
“Do you take cream or sugar, Doreen?” she asked, her voice just a bit too sweet.
His sister shot Rylie one of her most sour disapproving glares. “I shan’t be taking tea, thank you.”
“Okay.” Sarcasm laced Rylie’s saccharin tone. “Since Donovan and I take our tea without anything, we’ll drink these. I don’t
suppose you want a scone?”
“As a matter of fact, Doreen was just leaving.” Donovan placed his hand against his sister’s back and gave her a look that
dared her to say otherwise.
Rylie set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down in the corner of the sofa. “Guess I’ll see you later, Doreen.”
Doreen snatched her purse off a pile of boxes and turned away with a disdainful sniff.
“At least I know why Da was so upset,” she said stiffly to Donovan as she walked out the door. Then she added, “I’m sorry
Lizzy Cassidy was right. And I’m sorry you found out this way.”
“Me too,” he acknowledged.
Before he shut the door, he watched her sweep down the stairs, regal as a queen. Then, feeling as if he’d been thrashed by
a gang of street thugs, he walked back to where Rylie waited on the sofa.
“What was that last thing she said?” Rylie asked, her face pensive with concern.
Donovan lowered himself into the opposite corner from where she sat and rested his head wearily in his hands “Seems she’s
known for years about Da and me, along with half the town.” He blew out a frustrated breath and continued, “And you were right.
She remembered quite a lot about that day. The day our mother killed a man and disappeared into the fens.”
“Oh, Donovan,” she murmured, touching his forearm in a comforting gesture. “First that stuff about your father and now this.
I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “I’m the one who’s sorry.
Sorry that you have to be here in the middle of all this.”
“Don’t be sorry about that,” she said, drawing up her legs and scooting next to him. “I’m not.” She brushed her fingertips
through his hair. “In fact, I’m glad I’m here, because I intend to make you forget all about everything for awhile.”
He looked up into her silvery eyes, and saw fire smoldering in their depths. Then her small hands settled on both his cheeks,
framing his mouth, and her lips slanted across his. With a shuddering sigh, Donovan pulled her onto his lap, and answered
the beckoning of her tongue with his own.
Rylie’s hands left his face and moved to the buttons on his shirt. Once those were undone, she yanked both his shirttails
and T-shirt free of his waistband. But when he tried to return the favor, she broke the long hot kiss to pull his hands away.
“Let me finish with you first,” she insisted. “Then it’ll be my turn.”
“Never let it be said that I couldn’t take turns,” he replied while she divested him of his shirt.
“Smart man,” she breathed, wrestling his T-shirt over his head. “Very smart man.”
Then her mouth trailed down his neck and settled warm and moist on his collarbone, while her nails grazed hot paths over his
stomach. Stifling a groan, he tossed the T-shirt onto the floor and stroked the silky strands of her hair draped across his
chest.
Long, torturous moments later, when her fingers reached his waistband and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, Donovan had indeed
forgotten everything.
The bed springs creaked out a noisy chorus that roused Rylie awake. An icy draft of air hit her bare bottom, announcing that
Donovan was out of bed. With a muffled groan, she rolled over and saw his tall, lanky form silhouetted in the gray pre-dawn
light from the window. Dressed in flannel pajama pants and nothing else, the sight of him sent a warm rush of desire spiraling
through her.
Amazing, considering he’d brought her to orgasm how many times last night? Didn’t matter, however many times, she was ready
for one more. In a distant corner of her mind, a voice told her with Donovan, she would always be ready for one more.
Knock it off, Rylie!
She chastised herself. She and Donovan were having a fling. A very pleasurable one, maybe the best one she’d ever had, but
a fling nonetheless. Even if it didn’t feel like one. It was still a fling.
By this time next week, she’d be back home in California and life without Donovan. Or anybody, for that matter. But she wasn’t
going to let herself think about that and spoil any of the time she had left. She intended to enjoy every minute.
Starting now.
“Come back to bed,” she called.
“Sorry I woke you.”
When he turned in her direction, Rylie could see by his profile that she wasn’t the only one ready for round whatever. “Then
make it up to me.”
“Go back to sleep,” he urged instead, facing the window again.
Rather than argue, she shook her hands free from the overly long sleeves of the pajama top she wore and crawled out of the
noisy bed. The wooden floorboards sent a chill up her bare feet and legs that made her shiver. She slipped up and pressed
herself against Donovan’s back, wrapping her arms around his torso and linking her fingers across his bare chest. His skin
felt cool to her touch, but his muscles seemed tense. Not with desire, but with something else she didn’t recognize.