Eve of Samhain (6 page)

His laugh was deep and rich and rang out loud.

I gave him my best squinty-eyed glare and crossed my arms with a huff.

“Silly girl.
A ghrá
means ‘my love’ in Gaelic. It’s a pet name often used in the old language.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip harder and turned away. Heat engulfed my cheeks, turning them a bright neon red. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he had feelings for me. Why else would he refer to me as his love? Or maybe he had pet names for all of his conquests, and I was indeed being a total nub. Unsure of how to respond to his new name for me, I focused on my previous question.

“So, the women you have…” I hated to even speak the words. “…dealings with. They only lose themselves to madness if they sleep with you. Is that right?”

“Aye,” he huffed.

“And those two chippies I saw you with at the bar…you slept with them and then erased their memories of it, didn’t you?”

He gave a single nod. He wore a grim expression, his jaw rigid, his lips drawn into a thin line.

My stomach rolled as I conjured an image of him in the club, cradling their faces in his large hands, staring deep into their eyes. I’d witnessed him scrubbing those women’s memories. I felt a little sick and a whole lot angry. But beneath all that anger, I pitied him. I felt sorry for the women, of course, but I also felt compassion for Quinn. True, his curse forced him to do deplorable things, sleep with women and then wipe away their memories or leave them to waste away, crazy. But it also left him completely and utterly alone. He’d never experienced a real relationship or felt the glory of true love. How could he? His touch brought about a false reaction, an illusion. How would he ever know if someone’s feelings for him were real? I suddenly understood his earlier meltdown.

Quinn stood silent, no doubt trying to gauge my reaction. I ran the gamut of emotions from anger to pity to compassion for his horrible plight. He waited patiently while I made sense of what I was feeling, and allowed me to work through the mountain of information he’d dumped at my feet.

“Is that why you won’t let me touch you?” I asked in a soft voice as tears welled in my eyes. I hated how I wore my heart on my sleeve. My body never let me hide my emotions, no matter how hard I tried.

He gave a single nod. “Aye, you’re different from the others. Different from anyone I’ve ever come across. Women, they fall all over me, throw themselves at me without a second thought.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Not you. You were so full of piss and vinegar the first time I met you. Practically radiating spunk and fire, and that was even after I touched you. I found myself wanting to talk to you, to get to know you. I can’t do that if I touch you. The fucking curse won’t let me. I want to keep whatever is between us real. Can you not understand that?”

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the universe. His words left me breathless and dizzy. He wanted to explore what lay between us as much as I did. I looked up at him, unable to stop smiling, and swiped at the warm tear sliding down my cheek. “Yes. Yes, I can understand that,” I whispered.

Quinn closed the gap between us in a few long strides and stood dangerously close to me. So close, in fact, I felt his warm breath caressing my skin. It was intoxicating. He raised his hand so it was mere inches from my head, and slowly ran it through the air from my hairline to my cheek as he would if he were able to touch me.

His haunted, beautiful eyes bore into my own with an intensity that touched my very soul. “Don’t cry,
a ghrá
.”

My stomach growled a loud gurgle in response. The intensity of our little moment flew out the window as we both laughed.

“Hungry, are we?”

I thought back to the pitiful handful of grapes I’d had for lunch. Hell, yes, I was hungry. “Starving actually. I haven’t eaten since noon.” My tummy rumbled again in agreement.

“Aye, me as well. I could eat a baby’s arse through the bars of a cot!”

Oh-kay…

I shook my head, unsure if I’d ever get used to his odd language.

“Come on, then.” He strolled down the cement walkway and turned, looking back at me over his shoulder, motioning for me to follow. “Let’s get some food in you.”

My stomach turned somersaults, not only from hunger, but also from the realization I was going to spend more time with Quinn. I took a deep breath and followed my new friend.

I W
ASN’T
T
HE
L
EAST
B
IT
shocked as I trailed Quinn into The Plough and The Stars, the local Irish pub and restaurant located on the main strip. Most people flock to what’s familiar, apparently even centuries old Irish faeries. I’d passed the establishment countless times, always curious about the very loud and spirited folk music blasting from the entrance, but had never entered before now.

The Plough felt homey, dark with wood paneling and a spattering of Irish political posters hanging about. A large jukebox sat toward the rear of the bar near the pool tables, pumping out a very lively song. A small stage occupied the space directly across from the bar, where both local and traveling bands could play.

A petite redheaded hostess, whose nametag read Tabitha, shamelessly drooled all over Quinn, before seating us toward the rear of the restaurant portion of the pub. Ignoring my presence, she giggled and flirted with him while rambling on about the evening’s dinner specials.

I thought I might pop a vein when she leaned over and shoved her large, medically enhanced boobs in his face.

Hussy!

“Fiona will be your server this evening. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She stared at Quinn like he was a piece of meat, her overly made up eyes reminiscent of a raccoon’s black mask.

I forced a fake smile. “We’re just fine. Thank you so much!”

Tabitha got the hint and left reluctantly.

Unable to wipe the scowl off my face, I turned to face Quinn, who sat shaking in silent laughter.

“Jealous, are we?” The corners of his lips turned up and his eyes shone bright. His smile lit up his entire face, like an explosion of light and warmth, and I wanted nothing more than to bask in its brilliance.

“No, I’m not jealous,” I said with a huff. “It’s just…did you see…she…” I was impossibly tongue-tied, tripping up my words. “Boobs! She shoved them in your face. It was disgusting.”

Quinn sat back against the cushy fabric of the booth as he toyed with a cardboard coaster. “Well, maybe for you. I rather enjoyed them, myself.” He chuckled and ducked out of the way when I threw the rest of the coasters in his direction.

I leveled a harsh stare at him and moved to get up. “Pig!”

“C’mon now,” he said, plucking one of the wayward cardboard squares off his chest. “I was only teasing you. I didn’t mean it.”

I glared at him with my arms crossed. He needed to put the kibosh on the crass talk.

He leaned forward with his lips pressed tight, one side pulled down into a frown. “Sit down, please. I know you’re hungry, I can hear your belly rumbling.”

I pegged him with a harsh glare, hoping to get my point across. “Fine, but no more ogling every pair of fake boobs that cross your path.”

My response was met with a toothy grin. “I wouldn’t think of it. I’d much rather ogle yours.”

Truly, the man was incorrigible. I shook my head and smiled in spite of his remark. He was irresistible.

Fiona waltzed up to our table, water in hand, and placed it directly in front of Quinn. Tall, wafer-thin and blonde, she was a classy helping of filet mignon, and I was a heaping dish of down-home cooking. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, deciding it was nothing but water and Tic Tacs for me for the month. Evidently, I was invisible as she focused all her attention on Quinn, never bothering to look in my direction.

“Hello there, handsome. My name’s Fiona and I’ll be your server this evening.” Not only did she have her back to me, but she also sat one perfect butt cheek on the table as she spoke to Quinn, leaning toward him.

Hello! I’m right behind you.

“Good evening, Fiona.” Quinn greeted her with a polite smile. “If you would be so kind as to remove your arse from the table I plan to eat off of, I’d like to see my lovely date’s face.”

Fiona shot off the table as if it were on fire, turning only briefly to acknowledge my presence. “I’m sorry,” she said with a nervous stammer. “Can I start you off with a drink?”

“You can start by bringing us another water.” Quinn pointed in my direction and winked. “I’ll have a pint of Guinness. We’ll order when you get back. Now off with ye.” He dismissed her with a nod, and I watched as she obeyed, starry eyed and spellbound.

“Wow, you really do have the power of persuasion. She acted like a mindless robot when you told her to leave.” I frowned in the direction our plastic server had gone.

Quinn shrugged off my comment like it was nothing. “Eh, it’s easy to work my mojo when the person’s an idiot. That one that just left, she’s not the full shilling.”

“Maybe not, but she’s pretty.” I cringed inwardly, unsure of why I’d let that little gem slip out, and regretted it instantly. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I was fishing for compliments, even if maybe I really was.

“That bird? She’s a Bobfoc. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“A what?” I couldn’t keep up with his slang, though I loved the sound of his voice. If I had my way, I’d listen to him speak all day long, regardless of whether or not I understood anything that he said.

“A Bobfoc. Body off
Baywatch
, face off
Crimewatch
.”

I drew in a loud breath in mock horror. “That’s awful.”

“Maybe, but it’s true,” he said. “Her face would drive rats from a barn!”

Fiona returned moments later with my water and Quinn’s beer.

I looked down at the table and fought to contain my laughter when she asked if we were ready to order. Every time I opened my mouth, I’d start snickering and was completely unable to speak. As her attention was yet again placed solely on Quinn, it was a non-issue, except for the fact that I really needed to order. I was starving. To hell with the Tic Tacs.

Taking notice of my ridiculous fit of giggles, Quinn manned up and ordered for the both of us. “We’ll have the fish and chips,” he said while handing her the menus. He took a long sip from his beer and closed his eyes, oblivious to the fact that our server still gaped at him.

Spending any kind of time with Quinn was going to take some getting used to, that much was certain. He was like the Pied Piper of women. I’d have to put a bag over his head to get any alone time with him.

He opened his eyes, took one look at the server and sighed. “That’ll be all, now off you go.”

Fiona’s overly made up face fell and she hesitated before finally turning to leave. I couldn’t blame her for lingering. Quinn was like crack—thoroughly addictive.

The restaurant portion of the pub filled quickly, a loud clamor ringing out across the room that made hearing your own thoughts difficult, let alone hearing someone else speak. I leaned forward and did my best to speak just loud enough for Quinn to hear. “How is it that you are known as the Love Talker? Not to be insulting or anything, but I’ve got to say, pretty much everything that comes out of your mouth is far from romantic. How on earth did you get that nickname?”

In the short time I’d known him, Quinn had let loose a barrage of insults, crass humor, sexual innuendos, and curses that would put a sailor to shame. Not that he needed to speak to woo a woman. His godlike features were enough to melt any woman within a twenty-foot radius into a puddle of goo. And his voice…Lord, he had the voice of an angel. Deep and melodic, it was smooth as milk chocolate and pure music to my ears. I knew he could be sincere; he’d proven himself outside of the library earlier. But I’d yet to hear him utter anything swoonworthy and I couldn’t help teasing him about it.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Quinn leaned forward, his smoldering blue eyes dark and serious, capturing all of my attention. I sat breathless, listening to his velvety soft words.

“How do I love thee?

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace…”

He was quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “How about some Shakespeare?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

My hand shot up. “Enough. I stand corrected.” He was, without question, more than capable of reducing me to a quivering mass of flesh with his words. I suppose I should consider myself lucky he’d never unloaded his complete arsenal of talents on me, or my virginity would be no more than a fleeting thought.

Wearing a self-satisfied smile, Quinn downed the remainder of his beer, then waved to one of the servers and pointed to his empty glass.

Feeling bold, I asked another question. “So how old are you?” I’d been tossing around different possibilities since his big reveal earlier. He didn’t look a day over twenty-two, but that meant absolutely nothing. Having witnessed firsthand his wondrous abilities, I knew pretty much anything was possible where Quinn was concerned. Hell, he was a faerie, for crap’s sake.

“Old. Care to venture a guess?” One eyebrow rose slightly as he smiled at me.

Never one to back away from a challenge, I threw a couple of numbers at him. “How old? Two hundred years?” That was a nice large number in my book, and was a solid guess as far as I was concerned.

I watched as he spun one of the coasters between his finger and the table like a top. “Older. Try again.” He grinned and started to down the new pint of Guinness one of the servers brought him.

Well, shit. Two hundred years is damn old. How old is he?

My eyes widened in shock and I sat back in my seat. “Oh-kay…um, four hundred?” That would place his birth sometime in the sixteen hundreds, Shakespeare’s time. I took a sip of my water, the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. That’s when it hit me like a sledgehammer knocking me upside the head. Hello! This guy had seen an incredible amount of history. He was alive when Shakespeare wrote his famous works. He’d probably had front row seats to see Beethoven and Mozart. What the hell was he doing here, drinking beer with me?

My stomach rolled as another thought struck me, much less appealing than the first. Quinn had done more than two hundred years’ worth of womanizing. How had his appendage not fallen off with so much use?

I’m going to be sick!

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly while I reminded myself he was cursed. I thought back to when he lifted the bench off of the ground as if it weighed nothing. Quinn had special abilities. My thoughts took a dirty turn. Did he have some sort of magical peen that could do tricks? Was he like the Energizer Bunny? If a mere touch from him overran my system with desire, what would happen if he kissed me? If he…Heat flooded my cheeks, and I was thankful he didn’t possess the ability to read my mind.

Gah, stop it, Ryann. Get your mind out of the gutter and stop thinking about his wanker.

“You’re getting warmer,” he said, eyeing me with suspicion, and finished off his second pint. “I’m five hundred and twenty-one years old.”

I choked on my water, half of what was in my mouth spurting out my nose. “Five hundred!” I felt bad for my outburst, but it couldn’t be helped. Five hundred? For someone who’d lived over half a millennium, he looked damn sexy. The younger boys of my generation had nothing on Quinn. “Okay, Grandpa. Should I refer to you as Cro-Magnon Man? Talk about robbing the cradle.” I couldn’t resist, the words came out before I could stop myself.

His voice filled with sarcasm as he made a face at me. “Oh look, you made a funny. I may be as old as dirt itself, but all my parts are in fine working order.”

Our conversation stopped briefly when Fiona sidled up to the table with our meal. After haphazardly chucking my plate onto the table, she turned her attention toward Quinn yet again. “Is there anything else that I can get for you?”

“That will be all, thank you.” I dismissed her forcefully. I knew what she was up to, offering to get things for him. I could just imagine what her inner dialogue sounded like: coffee, tea, me? I was surprised she hadn’t slipped him her phone number on one of the napkins yet.

Skank!

The delicious aroma of my piping hot dinner wafted up to my nose, and any and all sense of decorum I’d learned as a young girl flew out the window like yesterday’s garbage. I inhaled my food as if it were the last meal I’d ever eat, barely bothering to chew. I wasn’t a huge fan of seafood, but it didn’t matter in the least. The dinner could have consisted of cardboard and rocks and I would have told you it was the best meal I’d ever had.

After gorging on three quarters of my plate, I looked up to see Quinn gaping at me with a look of surprise. “What?” I asked, feigning ignorance. I knew damn well what he was staring at: my abhorrent manners. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being a total pig, but I was absolutely starving. I hope I didn’t offend you.” I set my fork down and wiped my mouth with my napkin, hoping to God I didn’t have food smeared across my face.

He lifted a hand, waving me off. “Stop worrying, Ryann.”

Heat pooled between my thighs. I loved hearing my name roll off his tongue.

“I’ll admit I was a bit shocked to see you go at your food like that, but I was happily surprised. Most women just order leafy crap when I take them out, and then move it about their plate, insisting they’re not hungry, while I can plainly hear their bellies rumbling. Food is meant to be eaten and enjoyed. I’m pleased to see you taking pleasure in our meal.”

I don’t know how he did it, but I was actually blushing after having just made a pig of myself. Quinn wasn’t lying when he said he had skills with women. After five hundred years of practice, the man was a pro.

Wait…Five hundred years?

I thought back to our conversation in the library when he told me about the myth of the Gancanagh. I remembered him saying the curse lasted five hundred years. If he was five hundred and twenty-one, and had been twenty-two when the curse was placed upon him, his torture was almost at an end.

“Oh my God, Quinn!”

He held up his hands and glared. “Easy there, lass,” he said, pointing to his ears. “Super sensitive hearing, remember?”