Inked Magic (23 page)

Rhys stiffened in outrage on his behalf. “You believe Cathal’s motivation for bedding her is solely so she can be used for some purpose?”

Eamon shrugged. “There’s attraction between them, perhaps more. For the moment I’m willing to allow it to run its course. If he hurts her emotionally, it will only place her more firmly in my arms. It will make it easier, when she learns of her heritage, for her to put aside her concerns for those humans who aren’t part of our world.”

“The Dunnes might present a greater danger to her than heartbreak.”

“If that proves to be true, then there will be a reckoning as a result of it.”

S
taying in the car or going with me to Derrick’s apartment?” Etaín asked.

“With you,” Cathal said, bombarded by the same feeling he’d had at his club, the desire to remain close to her.

He joined her on the sidewalk, his hand going to the base of her spine and remaining there as they made their way to the front door. She tapped lightly, her smile intriguing him, beguiling him to the extent it was all he could do not to touch his mouth to hers so he could taste her amusement, share it.

“Afraid of interrupting something?” he asked as she knocked again, a little harder.

She glanced at him, dark eyes sparkling, her pleasure infectious, pulling an answering smile from him. “I hope so.”

The door opened to reveal a bare-chested, barefooted stranger in
jeans with an incredible dragon on his skin. “My work,” Etaín said, shades of meaning in her voice as her eyes flicked downward at the bulge defined in soft, worn denim.

Jealousy surged through him with the thought she and Derrick might share the same lover. Possessiveness gripped him and he shifted the hand at the base of her spine so it cupped her hip, at the same time fighting to keep the other from balling into a fist.

“Quinn, Cathal, owner of Saoirse. Cathal, Quinn, possibly a PI with McAlister Investigations.”

Fuck!
The bombshell she casually dropped blew away everything else in an instant of alarm.

His chest went tight and his heartbeat rabbited until he focused on one word—
possibly
. Meaning Quinn wouldn’t know about the tracker on the Harley or Sean’s brief investigation of Etaín.

He gathered his calm though it was tinged with guilt at ever having set Sean on her to begin with. He told himself knowing who her father and brother were might help keep her safe from his family.

It salved his conscience. And after having been with her, he knew he wasn’t sorry for the promise he’d made to his father, not when it had led to Etaín.

He breathed again.

“Derrick in bed?” she asked Quinn.

“Yeah.”

“I need to talk to him for a minute and change clothes.”

She turned and the feel of her pelvis against his sent a jolt of heat through his cock. “Be right back,” she said, giving him a quick kiss.

Etaín slipped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Derrick was on his back, sprawled in naked, inked glory, the sheets and blankets spilled onto the floor.

A single eye opened in acknowledgment of her presence.

“I’d say a good time was had by all,” she said.

He grunted, then opened the second eye at noticing she was wearing
the same outfit he’d seen her in the night before. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Cathal.”

Derrick rose onto his elbows. “Was he as delicious as he looked?”

She grinned. “Prime beefcake. And Quinn?”

Derrick’s thumb and forefinger went to his mouth in a pinching gesture. “My lips are sealed.”

“That’d be a first.” She sat down on the bed next to him and opened her purse, removing the drawing and showing him the Harlequin Rapist’s tattoo. “Do you recognize the work?”

Derrick gave a dramatic shudder. “No.”

She leaned in, touching her mouth briefly to his. “You’re happier. I’m glad.”

He grabbed her wrist as she stood. “Thanks.”

“Call Bryce. Okay?”

“If I must.”

“You definitely must.”

“Okay. I will. Promise.”

She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, stripping out of her clothes and putting on fresh ones. She transferred the contents of the purse into the pockets of her jeans before dumping last night’s outfit into a hamper in the closet and swapping the fuck-me boots for shoes.

“I’m off,” she said at the door. “Don’t bother behaving yourself.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

“Ready?” Cathal asked as soon as she stepped into the living room.

“Just need to grab my kit.”

She paused next to Quinn, touching his shoulder. “Prayers for your father. Take care of the artwork.”

“Thanks. Will do.”

Habit made her pull a sketch pad and pencils from the suitcase when they reached Cathal’s car. She drew as they drove to Aesirs,
capturing the dream tattoos and putting them on paper by the time they arrived.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. She hadn’t missed the possessive display when Quinn opened the door, though she’d done her best to suppress her own reaction to it.

Cathal’s answer was to leave the car, coming around to her side. She let him help her out, desire coiling inside her as they passed through the doorway where bells tinkled and cold blue flames licked along the vines on her arms.

She was underdressed for Aesirs, as she had been the first time she’d walked through its doors with Cathal. The place was full of dealmakers and wealthy sightseers, the men wearing expensive suits and power ties, the women designer dresses and real jewels.

She saw now how much the place was an extension of Eamon. He surrounded himself here with beautiful things, too. Not the least of which were the waiters and maître d’, the necessary disguised as total eye candy.

Cathal’s hand at the base of her spine burned through the material of her shirt, the electric, barrier hum of need accompanying the heat. She knew he was jealous of Eamon, understood his touching her was as much a possessive, in-your-face gesture meant for Eamon’s sake as a desire to extend contact.

It shouldn’t turn her on. The underlying danger she felt at being involved with either of them should be enough to have her shunning them completely.

The urge to bolt came, habit more than anything else. She suppressed it because there was no running from herself.

Bells tinkled again as they entered the terraced area, arriving with the muted sound of surf, the inked sensation of flooded streams rushing after a hard rain.

The feel of magic? she wondered, thinking back on the conversation with Eamon.

Looking at the low bridge crossing the shallow waterway, the live
plants and decorative brazier burning incense, the word
containment
settled inside of her for a second time. Like a witch’s circle, she thought before turning her attention to the diners.

Cathal’s uncle and father were unmistakable. Black Irish. Handsome men even with worry lines and hints of gray in their hair.

They rose from their chairs as she and Cathal neared. Greeting him with handshakes extending into a one-armed hug and three slaps on the back in typical male style.

He pulled out her chair for her, making the introductions, “My father Niall. My uncle, Denis. This is Etaín.”

Denis took her hand first, trapping it briefly in a hard clasp. She had a fleeting impression of seething emotion barely contained, a boiling cauldron with the lid clamped down hard and tight.

Niall followed, holding her hand between his. Keeping it longer but giving her the same impression as Denis had, only more so, of an intensely private man with his secrets locked behind an iron door of self-control.

“Etaín what?” Niall asked, reclaiming his seat.

“Just Etaín.

He snorted. “One name, like a rock star?”

She laughed but didn’t expand on her answer. Taking the menu offered her she studied it as a way to avoid saying more.

There was no point in dredging up old rumors. Everything about Niall and Denis screamed money and plenty of it, not that she would have expected otherwise given the house Cathal called home and the fact they frequented Aesirs.

They probably knew the woman the captain was married to, socially at least. And if not her, then her family. Offering a last name would lead to “are you related to,” which would in turn lead to a reminder of the scandal created when the captain was presented with a bastard child.

“You have family in the Bay Area? People you’re close to?” Niall asked.

She lowered the menu enough to see his face. He was probably a great poker player. She couldn’t tell if he was making polite conversation or trying to get a last name from a different angle.

She limited her answer to, “Yes.” Bryce, Derrick, and Jamaal had as much right to wear the label of family as Parker and the captain did.

“That’s good,” Niall said, glancing at his brother. “Family is important.”

Denis nodded. “Family is everything.”

Polite conversation
, Etaín decided before returning to the breakfast choices. Like the dinner menu, there were no prices.

She handed it off to the hovering waiter and ordered eggs, bacon, and toast, not quite regretting she’d let Cathal’s sexual persuasion bring her here, but not wanting to prolong the experience, either.

The men followed suit, ordering before turning their attention back to her.

To her relief the conversation slipped into something easily managed.

What did she do for a living?

How did she and Cathal meet?

Had she been to Saoirse and what did she think of it? Leading to a discussion about the fund-raiser and the shelter, which they seemed genuinely interested in, promising a donation.

She felt relaxed in their company by the time breakfast arrived. And Eamon with it.

Desire intensified inside her, curling like thick, sinuous smoke. He stayed back as plates were set on the table and drinks refilled, then stepped forward, acknowledging Denis and Niall’s presence with a small nod before taking up a position to her right, with Cathal at her left.

“I missed seeing you last night,” he said, the sexual purr in his voice unmistakable. “But I’m glad to have the chance to say good morning.”

He covered her hand with his, lifting it to press a kiss to the eye on
her palm before releasing it. “I have every confidence I’ll see you tonight.”

He met Cathal’s gaze fully and for long enough to convey the intended message, his lips curving in a slight smile, challenging and mocking at the same time. “As I promised Etaín yesterday, when the two of you were here, meals at Aesirs are hers for the asking and at no cost. I’ll treat her companions as well.”

“There’s no need,” Cathal said, a distinct edge to his voice.

“I insist.” Smooth honey and not so sweet amusement.

She realized a part of her had wanted to see Cathal and Eamon together, the murky
why
of it making her uneasy.

Hope for something long-term? To indulge in the fantasy of having them both?

Whatever the truth of her motives, the urge to separate herself from men who were taking up too much of her thoughts returned. She picked up her fork, a hint Eamon took though he leaned down to brush a kiss over her cheek and send a spike of heat to her clit by touching his lips to her ear. “Until later, Etaín.”

The silence that descended after he departed was uncomfortable. Cold, cold anger magnified by two and not offset at all by the heated fury in Cathal’s eyes as their gazes met.

Not her problem, she told herself, turning her attention to her plate. She made no pretense of taking her time to savor the food or stretch out the necessity of breakfast beyond providing sustenance.

Eat and go. Those were her primary objectives.

Cathal barely tasted the food as he cursed in a long stream of silent invectives. She’d warned him what Eamon’s reaction would be. He’d heard her words but hadn’t stopped to anticipate what they could mean.

Jealousy pulsed through him, and anger—at himself, at her, at Eamon—but those emotions paled in comparison to the fear making him sweat in the presence of his father and uncle and what he knew they were capable of.

In bringing her to Eamon, he’d cast doubt on his ability to deliver on his promise. He’d increased the risk to her rather than diminished it.

There was ominous weight in the silence, one that ratcheted up his heartbeat. His father and uncle watched. They contemplated. And if he didn’t find a way to deter them, they’d act.

Etaín finished eating and stood. “I need to take off. I’ve got to head to the shelter.”

She didn’t mouth platitudes, or linger, just said, “See you around.”

Maybe
. He heard it as surely as his uncle and father did.

It was all he could do to remain at the table long enough for her to get out of hearing range so he could play the only ace he currently held—and that one thanks to Sean. “Chevenier. As in daughter of SFPD Captain Chevenier and sister of Parker, FBI. I’ll be in touch.”

He left the table, “intense” describing his thoughts and emotions since meeting her. His gut telling him only casual had a chance of working with her now.

He caught her on the bridge, taking her hand and halting her there. “I’m willing to grovel. Or you could remember the great sex and let me off easy by saying ‘I told you so.’”

The knot in his chest loosened with her slight smile. “I rarely say those words.”

“I’m glad. I hate hearing them.” He stepped closer, cupping her cheek, daring to touch his mouth to hers. Reminding her of how good they were together with the trace of his tongue along the seam of her lips. “I have to swing by the shelter to make decisions about the music. Let me give you a lift, Etaín. Your kit is already in my car.”

Etaín shoved her free hand into the pocket of her jeans. She should tell him no, she knew she should. Worse, she suspected a part of her had known he’d catch up and make this offer when she’d named her destination.

The urge to separate that had swamped her at the table couldn’t hold against the desire resulting from the press of his mouth to hers,
or the electric heat originating where her palm touched his skin. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. “I’ll take the ride.”