Beyond the Highland Mist (47 page)

Helplessly, as if mesmerized, her gaze followed, snagging on that big dark hand tugging at the faded denim. At the huge swollen bulge cupped by the soft worn fabric. For a moment it closed its hand over itself and rubbed the thick ridge, and she was horrified to feel her own hand clenching. She flushed, mouth dry, cheeks flaming.

Suddenly it went motionless and its preternatural gaze locked with hers, eyes narrowing.

“Christ,” it hissed, surging up from the bench in one graceful ripple of animal strength, “you see me. You’re
seeing
me!”

“No I’m not,” Gabby snapped instantly. Defensively. Stupidly.
Oh, that was good, O’Callaghan, you dolt!

Snapping her mouth shut so hard her teeth clacked, she unlocked the car door and scrambled in faster than she’d ever thought possible.

Twisting the key in the ignition, she threw the car into reverse.

And then she did another stupid thing: She glanced at it again. She couldn’t help it. It simply commanded attention.

It was stalking toward her, its expression one of pure astonishment.

For a brief moment she gaped blankly back. Was a fairy
capable
of being astonished? According to O’Callaghan sources, they experienced no emotion. And how could they? They had no hearts, no souls. Only a fool would think some kind of higher conscience lurked behind those quixotic eyes. Gabby was no fool.

It was almost to the curb. Heading straight for her.

With a startled jerk she came to her senses, slammed the car into drive, and jammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Adam was so caught off guard that it didn’t occur to him to do a series of short jumps and follow the woman, until it was too late.

By the time he’d tensed to sift, the dilapidated vehicle had sped off, and he had no idea where it had gone. He popped about in various directions for a time but was unable to pick it up again.

Shaking his head, he returned to the bench and sat down, cursing himself in half a dozen languages.

Finally, someone had
seen
him.

And what had he done? Let her get away. Undermined by his disgusting human anatomy.

It had just been made excruciatingly clear to him that the human male brain and the human male cock couldn’t both sustain sufficient amounts of blood to function at the same time. It was one or the other, and the human male apparently didn’t get to choose which one.

As a Tuatha Dé, he would have been in complete control of his lust. Desirous yet cool-headed, perhaps even a touch bored (it wasn’t as if he could do something he hadn’t done before; given a few thousand years, a Tuatha Dé got around to trying everything).

But as a human male, lust was far more intense, and his body was apparently slave to it. A simple hard-on could turn him into a bloody Neanderthal.

How
had
mankind survived this long? For that matter, how had they ever managed to crawl out of their primordial swamps to begin with?

Blowing out an exasperated breath, he rose from the bench and began pacing a stunted space of cobbled courtyard.

There he’d been, lying on his back, staring up at the stars, wondering where in the hell Circenn might have hied himself off to for so long, when suddenly he’d suffered a prickly sensation, as if he were the focus of an intense gaze.

He’d glanced over, half-expecting to see a few of his brethren laughing at him. In fact, he’d hoped to see his brethren. Laughing or not. In the past ninety-seven days he’d searched high and low for one of his race, but hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of a Tuatha Dé. He’d finally concluded that the queen must have forbidden them to spy upon him, for he could find no other explanation for their absence. He knew full well there were those of his race that would savor the sight of his suffering.

He’d seen—not his brethren—but a woman. A human woman, illumed by that which his kind didn’t possess, lit from within by the soft golden glow of her immortal soul.

A young, lushly sensual woman at that, with the look of the Irish about her. Long silvery-blond hair twisted up in a clip, loose shorter strands spiking about a delicate heart-shaped face. Huge eyes uptilted at the outer corners, a pointed chin, a full lush mouth. A flash of fire in her catlike
green-gold gaze, proof of that passionate Gaelic temper that always turned him on. Full round breasts, shapely legs, luscious ass.

He’d gone instantly, painfully, hard as a rock.

And for a few critical moments, his brain hadn’t functioned at all. All the rest of him had. Stupendously well, in fact. Just not his brain.

Cursed by the
féth fiada
, he’d been celibate for three long, hellish months now. And his own hand didn’t count.

Lying there, imagining all the things he would do to her if only he could, he’d completely failed to process that she was not only standing there looking in his general direction, but his first instinct had been right: He
was
the focus of an intense gaze. She was looking directly at him.

Seeing
him.

By the time he’d managed to find his feet, to even remember that he had feet, she’d been in her car.

She’d escaped him.

But not for long, he thought, eyes narrowing. He would find her.

She’d seen him. He had no idea how or why she’d been able to, but frankly he didn’t much care. She had, and now she was going to be his ticket back to Paradise.

And, he thought, lips curving in a wicked erotic grin, he was willing to bet she’d be able to
feel
him too. Logic dictated that if she was immune to one aspect
of the féth fiada
, she would be immune to them all.

For the first time since the queen had made him human, he threw back his head and laughed. The rich dark sound rolled—despite the human mouth shaping it—not entirely human, echoing in the empty street.

He turned and eyed the building behind him speculatively. He knew a great deal about humans from having walked among them for so many millennia, and he’d learned even
more about them in the past few months. They were creatures of habit; like plodding little Highland sheep, they dutifully trod the same hoof-beaten paths, returning to the same pastures day after day.

Undoubtedly, there was a reason she’d come to this building this evening.

And undoubtedly, there was something in that building that would lead him to her.

The luscious little Irish was going to be his savior.

She would help him find Circenn and communicate his plight. Circenn would sift dimensions and return him to the Fae Isle of Morar, where the queen held her court. And Adam would persuade her that enough was enough already.

He knew Aoibheal wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye and deny him. He merely had to get to her, see her, touch her, remind her how much she favored him and why.

Ah, yes, now that he’d found someone who could see him, he’d be his glorious immortal self again in no time at all.

In the meantime, pending Circenn’s return, he now had much with which to entertain himself. He was no longer in quite the same rush to be made immortal again. Not just yet. Not now that he suddenly had the opportunity to experience sex in human form. Fae glamour wasn’t nearly as sensitive as the body he currently inhabited, and—sensual to the core—he’d been doubly pissed off at Aoibheal for making him unable to explore its erotic capabilities. She could be such a bitch sometimes.

If a simple hard-on in human form could reduce him to a primitive state, what would burying himself inside a woman do? What would it feel like to come inside her?

There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon find out.

Never had the mortal woman lived and breathed who could say no to a bit of fairy tail.

Don’t miss
the previous Highlander adventures …

Karen Marie Moning’s

To Tame A Highland Warrior
The Highlander’s Touch
Kiss of the Highlander
and
The Dark Highlander

All available now
Read on for previews.…

to tame a highland warrior

It wasn’t easy for Jillian to hide in her chambers all day. She wasn’t the cowering sort. Nor, however, was she the foolish sort, and she knew she must have a plan before she subjected herself to the perils of her parents’ nefarious scheme. As afternoon faded into evening and she’d yet to be struck by inspiration, she discovered she was feeling quite irritable. She hated being cooped up in her chambers. She wanted to play the virginal, she wanted to kick the first person she saw, she wanted to visit Zeke, she wanted to eat. She’d thought someone would appear by lunchtime, she’d been certain loyal Kaley would come check on her if she didn’t arrive at dinner, but the maids didn’t even appear to clean her chambers or light the fire. As the solitary hours passed, Jillian’s ire increased. The angrier she became, the less objectively she
considered her plight, ultimately concluding she would simply ignore the three men and go about her life as if nothing were amiss.

Food was her priority now. Shivering in the chilly evening air, she donned a light but voluminous cloak and pulled the hood snug around her face. Perhaps if she met up with one of the oversized brutes, the combination of darkness and concealing attire would grant her anonymity. It probably wouldn’t fool Grimm, but the other two hadn’t seen her with clothes
on
yet.

Jillian closed the door quietly and slipped into the hallway. She opted for the servants’ staircase and carefully picked her way down the dimly lit, winding steps. Caithness was huge, but Jillian had played in every nook and cranny and knew the castle well; nine doors down and to the left was the kitchen, just past the buttery. She peered down the long corridor. Lit by flickering oil lamps, it was deserted, the castle silent. Where was everyone?

As she moved forward, a voice floated out of the darkness behind her. “Pardon, lass, but could you tell me where I might find the buttery? We’ve run short of whisky and there’s not a maid about.”

Jillian froze in mid-step, momentarily robbed of speech. How could all the maids disappear and that man appear the very instant she decided to sneak from her chambers?

“I asked you to leave, Grimm Roderick. What are you still doing here?” she said coolly.

“Is that you, Jillian?” He stepped closer, peering through the shadows.

“Have so many other women at Caithness demanded you depart that you’re suffering confusion about my identity?” she asked sweetly, plunging her shaking hands into the folds of her cloak.

“I didn’t recognize you beneath your hood until I heard
you speak, and as to the women, you know how the women around here felt about me. I assume nothing has changed.”

Jillian almost choked. He was as arrogant as he’d always been. She pushed her hood back irritably. The women had fallen all over him when he’d fostered here, lured by his dark, dangerous looks, muscled body, and absolute indifference. Maids had thrown themselves at his feet, visiting ladies had offered him jewels and lodgings. It had been revolting to watch. “Well, you are older,” she parried weakly. “And you know as a man gets older his good looks can suffer.”

Grimm’s mouth turned faintly upward as he stepped forward into the flickering light thrown off by a wall torch. Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes were whiter than his Highland-tanned face. If anything, it made him more beautiful.

“You are older too.” He studied her through narrowed eyes.

“It’s not nice to chide a woman about her age. I am
not
an old maid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he said mildly. “The years have made you a lovely woman.”

“And?” Jillian demanded.

“And what?”

“Well, go ahead. Don’t leave me hanging, waiting for the nasty thing you’re going to say. Just say it and get it over with.”

“What nasty thing?”

“Grimm Roderick, you have never said a single nice thing to me in all my life. So don’t start faking it now.”

Grimm’s mouth twisted up at one corner, and Jillian realized that he still hated to smile. He fought it, begrudged it, and rarely did one ever break the confines of his eternal self-control. Such a waste, for he was even more handsome when he smiled, if that was possible.

He moved closer.

“Stop right there!”

Grimm ignored her command, continuing his approach.

“I said
stop
.”

“Or you’ll do what, Jillian?” His voice was smooth and amused. He cocked his head at a lazy angle and folded his arms across his chest.

“Why, I’ll …” She belatedly acknowledged there wasn’t much of anything she could do to prevent him from going anywhere he wished to go, in any manner he wished to go there. He was twice her size, and she’d never be his physical match. The only weapon she’d ever had against him was her sharp tongue, honed to a razor edge by years of defensive practice on this man.

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Tell me, lass, what will you do?”