Dancing on the Wind (11 page)

him.

He got to his feet, giving her a look that made her stop chewing and stare up at him

with unease.

“Just wait,” was all he said as he stomped into the kitchen.

Keenan felt her heart thud hard against her rib cage and she had difficulty

swallowing the food in her mouth. Watching him warily when he came back with his

own plate, she was unnerved with the way he just stared at her. She squirmed under

that silent, steady regard but refused to give him the satisfaction of complaining. Even

when he was finished and went to take his plate back to the kitchen, she felt even more

on edge. In the back of her mind she couldn’t stop thinking she’d pried open a big can

of worms by not fixing him a plate when she’d done her own. Hearing him running

water in the sink had an ominous sound to it.

Fallon came back into the great room, went over to the desk in the corner and

opened the briefcase he’d brought with him without saying a word. He sat in the desk

chair and began going over the grid maps of the Quebec Province, no doubt planning

the next morning’s flybys.

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Dancing on the Wind

After finishing the rest of her food, Keenan carried her plate to the sink and washed

it in the water he’d left. She cleaned up the kitchen, let the water out and then came to

the door with a kitchen towel in hand.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “There’s Pepsi in the fridge.”

He shook his head, not looking up from the maps.

“You want some coffee? I could make a pot.”

“I don’t drink coffee at night,” he replied. “Reapers don’t sleep all that well to begin

with.”

She turned back to the sink, laid the towel over the rim to dry then turned off the

kitchen light. Coming back to the sofa, she fished in her carryall for the romance novel

he had lifted from her apartment the day before and settled down to read with her legs

tucked under her.

Fallon glanced at her, saw what she was doing and secretly smiled.

* * * * *

The clock said ten minutes after eleven and Keenan tried to hide her yawn. Fallon

was still poring over the maps—this time of the Manitoba Province—but her eyes were

growing heavy. She’d been putting off going to bed because she didn’t want to think

about lying beside him on the full-size mattress, his big body pressed against hers. That

he would refuse to sleep on the sofa was a given, and despite the fact it looked

comfortable enough, she really didn’t want to sleep there either.

“We’ll start at first light and that seems to be roughly 5:25 tomorrow.” He began

folding the maps. “I suggest you get that cute little ass of yours to bed before you break

your jaw yawning.”

“What about you?” she asked then blushed heatedly as he looked over at her. She

felt tongue-tied, her mouth dry. “I mean, you’ll be piloting. Don’t you need your rest?”

He locked his gaze on her. “I’ll get what I need,
myneeast caillagh,
” he said softly as

he stuffed the map into the briefcase and closed the lid, snapped the latches shut.

“Ah, you weren’t really serious about us…” Her gaze moved to the bedroom. “You

know.”

“Sleeping together?”

She bobbed her head slowly up and down, chewing on her lip as she did, angry at

herself for being so hesitant to speak her mind. She had never been a coy, demure

woman, but this man intimidated her, made her feel so weak. To a small degree, she

feared him.

And she wanted him so badly her teeth ached.

“Go to bed, McCullough.”

“But…”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

He turned away toward the front door, opened it and walked out, closing it gently

behind him.

For a moment she stood there staring at the closed portal then her anger rose—hot

with insult. “What the fuck?” she snapped, and actually took a step toward the door

only to come up short.

Not only weak but indecisive as well, she labeled herself. And unsure of her ability

to control Mikhail Fallon.

“But do you want to control him?”
a sly little voice inside her head whispered
. “He’s a

bad boy, Keenan, and you know how you
love
bad boys.”

She stood there undecided for a moment or two longer then went to the door and

opened it to find Fallon standing against the porch rail, his hands hooked over the

header that ran between two columns.

“What do you hear?” he asked.

Keenan turned her attention to the moonlit forest beyond the gravel driveway. The

forest was awash in a soft gray blanket and there wasn’t a hint of air movement, no

insect noise or furtive critter pattering.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Neither do I,” he said quietly, “but I can feel it.”

Tuning in to her surroundings, Keenan let her psychic talent flow out over the

forest. What she discovered drew her brows together. “It’s not the same thing I have

been feeling.”

“Not the
drochtáirs
?”

“No. This is oily,” she said. “The air feels oily.”

“Oily and heavy,” he agreed. “And that weight is sitting on my shoulders like a

fucking albatross.”

She shifted her own shoulders, knowing exactly what he meant. It felt as though a

greasy blanket were clinging to her back. She put a hand to her chest. “Someone is

watching us and it’s making me very anxious. My heart is actually racing.”

“Some
thing
is watching us,” he corrected, and lowered his hands. “Go back inside,

baby.”

“Not without you,” she said. “If there’s something out there…”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of whatever it is.”

“But…”

He reached out to drag her into his arms, lashing his mouth over hers, parting her

lips with his tongue. The kiss was hard, thorough, and when it ended, Keenan’s heart

was thudding against her rib cage.

“Go. Inside,” he ordered, his tone brooking no challenge. “I don’t need my mind

divided right now.”

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Dancing on the Wind

There was resolution in the way he stared back at her. Powerful, authoritative,

rejection of his words was not an option. She did as he demanded, watching him from

the doorway as he stepped off the porch and into the night.

“Close and lock the door,
myneeast caillagh
.”

She shut the door but defiantly did not lock it. Her eyes widened when the lock

secured itself with a firm snap and she heard the faint sound of laughter coming from

the man for whom she was beginning to develop deep feelings—against all odds and

good sense, she thought.

“Conceited prick,” she whispered.

“
But I’m
your
conceited prick
,” a soft voice came back to her.

“Maybe,” she acknowledged.

Pulling aside the window curtain, she looked out into the streaming moonlight and

realized a rolling fog had developed low to the ground. It was undulating like a restless

sea creature over the oyster shell driveway and reaching its ghostly tentacles into the

forest. So eerily quiet that she could hear the breath rasping in her chest, she strained to

get a glimpse of Fallon, to pick up any hint of sound coming from him. Putting a thumb

nail to her mouth, she nibbled on a loose cuticle—a habit she had often tried to break

but could not shake. To those who knew her well it was a sign of how acutely she was

stressed.

“Where are you, Fallon?” she asked, her breath fogging the glass.

By the time she saw him striding toward the cottage, an hour had passed—an hour

in which she had imagined all manner of terrible things befalling him. The sight of him

climbing the three short steps, his boot heels scuffing on the porch floor were such a

relief, she snatched back the lock and bolted out the door, flinging her arms around him

as he reached the doorway.

“Don’t you
ever
do that again!” she hissed.

His arms wrapped her. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that, Fallon!” she said in a voice that said he should have known

what had upset her. “I was worried about you.”

Her body was pressed tightly to his and she was shaking, so he bent his knees and

scooped her up in his arms, took her into the cottage and kicked the door shut. Once

more the lock engaged on its own.

He carried her to the bedroom without another word between them. There was no

need for words and both knew it. Once at the bed, he let her feet touch the floor then

took his time undressing her. He tugged off the pullover, unbuckled the trendy belt

circling her waist, unsnapped her fly then released the zipper. Tucking his fingers

beneath the waistband, he hunkered down before her as he peeled the slacks down her

long legs, reveling in her hand on his shoulder as she steadied herself while she stepped

out of the garment. His gaze lingered on the lace and silk panties that molded to her

shapely hips as he removed her socks then he stood, reaching behind her to unhook her

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

bra. The weight of her breasts caught and held his attention as they were released.

Drawing the straps of her bra down her arms, he kept his attention riveted on those

lush globes and their dusky areolas. He tossed the bra aside and molded his hands to

her breasts.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. He fanned his thumbs over her nipples and smiled

when they swelled instantly.

“Are we taking it slow this time?” she asked, running her fingers up and down his

right forearm.

He lifted his gaze from her breasts to her smiling eyes. “Unless you want it

differently.”

She was standing there in only her panties but she didn’t seem self-conscious or

inhibited by her near nakedness. Her body was toned and silky without a blemish or

scar in sight. Not one stretch mark or red mole or broken vein marred her beauty, but it

was enhanced by a small, heart-shaped birthmark that rode low on her left hipbone.

“I like you best when you go all caveman on me, Fallon,” she admitted. “No man

has ever dared do that before, and I never expected to allow one to, but with you…”

She slid her hand up his arm, across his shoulder and spiked it through his dark hair.

“With you, I like the edginess, the danger.”

His lips stretched into a knowing smile. “Do you now?”

She brought his head to hers and kissed him, slipping her tongue along the seam of

his lips, licking at the corners then thrusting it slowly inside to taste the warmth of his

mouth. She ground her hips against his groin.

“What do you think?” she growled.

Fallon snaked out a hand, grabbed the waistband of her fragile panties and ripped

them off her. Despite her frown at the destruction of her undergarment, he slipped his

fingers into her hot channel and cupped her sex, making her lift to her toes as he tugged

at the soft haven.

“I think I’m gonna fuck your brains out, McCullough,” he warned. He rubbed

vigorously between her legs then released her, slipping his hands beneath her rump to

lift her, grinning evilly as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her arms

around his neck. He backed her up to the wall and held her there with his body as he

brought one hand between them to undo his jeans.

“I’ve never been taken against a wall,” she told him.

“It won’t be the last time,” he said then thrust his cock deep inside her.

Keenan grunted with the force, feeling him stretching her, filling her, bumping up

against her womb as he pulled out and shoved his shaft into her again. With each

stroke, her back scraped up the wall and she knew she’d have bruises come morning.

Using his strong, powerful legs, he arched his body into hers, locking his teeth

lightly into the soft flesh along her collarbone. He rubbed hard against her so that her

sensitive breasts were being abraded by the material of his shirt. Her fingernails dug

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Dancing on the Wind

into his shoulders for a moment then she grabbed his head and brought his mouth to

hers, wanting the thrusting of his tongue in rhythm to the thrusting of his cock, and

Fallon obliged her.

His cock was larger and longer than any that had ever been inside her and she was

caught up in the pleasure-pain by the way he wielded it. Him slamming roughly into

her was what she’d wanted, and he was accommodating her wishes. The pressure was

building so intensely she thought she might well pass out when she came.

Grunting with each upward flex of his hips, Fallon lost himself inside her silken

heat. Her inner muscles were grabbing him with quick little clutches that were driving

him out of his mind with need. His cock was so hard, burning so brutally he felt tears

gathering in his eyes. The bonding between them was taking its toll not only on his

body but his soul as well.

“Come for me, Fallon,” she murmured against his mouth. “Come hard for me!”

Her voice was a silken purr and it was all the encouragement he needed to release.

Hard and hot and savagely he shot into her, his head going back as he roared with the

sheer force of the pleasure claiming him. Almost instantly he felt her answering spasms,

and like a man possessed, rammed into her in a frenzy he worried might well unhinge

his hips.

“Yes!” she cried out as her cunt muscles quivered around him. “Yes, Fallon.
Yes
!”