Night Games (12 page)

“Never saw anything like this before. They don't have stuff like this at Braddock's Hardware. Look at this. The knobs are boobs, and the faucet is a man's—”

“I can see what the faucet is.” She'd discovered a new talent. She could talk through gritted teeth.

Air. She needed pure asexual air. Ally hurried from the wagon and climbed down. She noted that Brian had finished the bathroom. On the outside it was a square nondescript building, but Ally now knew how Mr. Byrne's dark mind worked. The building was suspiciously large for just a toilet. Thank heavens it wasn't floating.

She turned her back on whatever new horror he'd created and started taking the harness off the horse.

“Want to see the bathroom?” He walked over to help her.

“Nope.”

Brian squatted to remove the strap from under the horse's belly, and as Ally glanced down at him she had the impulse to slide her fingers across
his tangled hair . . . then grab a huge hunk and yank. She'd almost given in to her impulse when he looked up at her.

“Not a good idea, babe. Wouldn't want to force me to physically restrain you.” His eyes promised that physical restraint could involve a number of exciting sensations.

Ally stared into his eyes, watched them darken with a sensual promise she didn't believe, knew he didn't intend. Because Brian had made two things clear: Sex was simply a game, and he wouldn't have sex on his vacation.

Fine. This was exactly what she wanted. A man with sexual expertise who didn't want to practice on her.
And when did you become such a liar, Ally O'Neill?

Ally turned away, trying to ignore him as he took care of the horse then turned it out into the walled paddock. It was time to come to grips with the truth.
Brian Byrne was from the future.
She couldn't refute the proof of her own eyes. She was a writer, so she'd store as much information as she could before he left, not for her present book, but for a future book. One she'd write years from now. One the rest of the world would believe was fiction.

Years from now.
Something about the thought saddened her.

She stopped thinking as the air seemed to shift and heat around her. Brian had moved into her sensual monitoring area. Every atom of awareness
in her vibrated and hummed when he approached. Amazing phenomenon.

Katy stuck her head out of the wagon. “I'm making soup and sandwiches. Should be done in about fifteen minutes. You want mayo on your sandwich, Brian?”

He frowned. “I guess so.” Mayo? Wasn't that a county in Ireland? The Language Assimilation Program he'd used for this trip had a lot of gaps in it.

But right now he wasn't thinking about food. “Let's walk up to the keep, Ally. I came a long way to see where my family began. Maybe we can start talking about your book.”
Maybe we can start talking about you.

She seemed distracted as they turned toward the hill in silence.

Katy's yelled order caught them before they'd taken a few steps. “Keep your eyes peeled for that white deer. Saw it again yesterday morning. Probably stays around here.” She shouted into the wagon. “You want mayo on your sandwich too, Boss?”

Brian bit back an oath. The white stag had brought another meddler to poke his nose into Brian's down time. And Brian could pretty much guess who it was. Maybe he needed a new agent, one who didn't interfere in his clients' personal lives.

“It always amazes me how Katy adjusts so easily. Nothing fazes her.” Ally avoided one of the many rocks littering the hill as she glanced up at
him and smiled. “I mean, she's already accepted that your cat isn't your cat at all. The Old One still looks like a cat to me.”

Brian returned her smile. “Katy hasn't seen the Old One in her true form. Believe me, she'd be fazed.”

“Tell me about the Old One. Tell me about
you.
” She held up her hand to ward off his argument. “And I don't mean just the surface stuff you've told me. You'll be helping me with this book, and I'll bet you'll do some in-depth digging into my psyche, so I deserve some info in return.”

He shrugged. “I'll tell you about the Old One. Not much to tell you about me that you don't already know.”

Her expression said she didn't believe him. Maybe he shouldn't have offered to help her. He didn't need anyone digging up his past. He'd stopped thinking about his early life a long time ago. Okay, so he'd
tried
to stop thinking about it. He must still need a sense of family if he'd decided to come here for his vacation. He pushed the thought away. “The advent of space travel opened Earth up to a whole new type of immigrant. Some were easier to accept than others. The Old One settled on Earth about 2200. No one really knows how old she is. She's accumulated massive wealth and has investments that span the known universe.”

“The shape-shifting concept is hard to believe. Does she have a . . . mate?”

Good. He'd turned Ally's attention away from
him. “She doesn't need a mate. The Old One can be a he, she, or it. For the last hundred years or so, she's chosen to be female. In her true form she's an ‘it.' Doesn't need a mate to reproduce. She's chosen not to. Too busy making herself rich.”

Ally looked horrified. “No relatives?”

“Not that I know of.”

“She must get lonely.” Ally's gaze was warm with sympathy.

Brian had never thought of his boss in personal terms, had never thought of her as anything more than the owner of his team. He was uncomfortable with personal. Brian shrugged. “She gets by.”

“Like
you
get by?”

Where had the conversation taken a wrong turn and ended up back at him? “I have people who take care of my needs.”
That's what I pay them for.
“I have friends.”
As long as I stay on top.
He hadn't brought any friends from his old life, didn't
have
any friends in his old life.

She cocked her head to study him, and he felt like a Marwin subspecies under a thought-scan.

“What would you have if all your fame and wealth were taken from you?”

He knew his smile didn't reach his eyes. “I'd have myself, babe.”

“And that would be enough for you.” Her whispered comment wasn't a question, so he didn't answer.

“Let's talk about your book.” He came to the
spot where he'd left his shelter and reached for the Constructor.

“Where's your tent? It's gone.” She swung in a circle looking for it. “It was here yesterday. Do you think someone took it?”

He pressed a button on the Constructor and the shelter materialized. “It was still here. I put it in sleep mode while I was away so no one would stumble across it.”

“That's amazing. How does—?”

“I don't know.” He was relaxing now that the conversation had shifted away from him. “I'm not into technology enough to want to know.”

“More into touch.”

“Right.” He caught the teasing sparkle in her eye and momentarily lost his train of thought. Women never teased him. They were focused on only one thing during competition. And his contract discouraged friendship with females outside of the game. The team owners didn't want players expending energy randomly, then showing up at training camp out of shape. “I have to change. Wait here and I'll be out in a minute.”

Ally turned to study the castle while she waited, tried not to think about Brian sliding his jeans down over lean hips, muscular thighs. Did her best to block out pictures of him stripping his shirt off, baring all that warm skin and . . .

She took a deep breath and forced her thoughts to the castle. The number of years represented in this spot was mind-boggling. The castle had stood for untold hundreds of years, while
a few feet away a man from five hundred years in the future changed clothes.

Ally had never believed in ghosts or the paranormal, but a few days ago she wouldn't have believed in Brian Byrne either.

She wandered over to what must have been an entrance at one time. There wasn't much of the building left, but as she stepped inside, darkness enveloped her. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature made her shiver, and she clasped her arms across her chest.

Silly reaction. It was just an old building. She'd let Katy's stories get to her. Ally eyed a winding stone staircase that disappeared into the gloom and thought about seeing what the view was like from the top of it. On the outside she'd noticed narrow openings placed at regular intervals all the way to the top. An icy breath of air touched her. Well, maybe not. She'd just wait here for Brian—

Strong arms circled her, warm breath moved over the skin at the base of her neck, and she screamed loud enough to convince the people in Liscannor that the banshee was alive and well.

“I've waited for ye, I have, Ally O'Neill. Many a long cold night I've called to ye, and now that ye've come I'll never let ye leave me.”

Brian.
She couldn't help it, her legs shook and she slumped against him. His arms tightened around her, his soft laughter echoed off the ancient walls, fading into the blackness.

“Don't do that again. If I were the Old One,
eight of my lives would've been gone. Poof.”

“Ye've wounded me sorely, lass. Do ye not remember?” he slid his hands down her arms, her sides, and when he reached her hips, he pulled her tightly against him. Slowly, he rotated his hips in a sensual rhythm no woman could ignore.

“I . . . would've remembered that.” It was getting more memorable by the second.

“It was a fine summer eve with the moon full when I first saw ye.” He paused to glide his tongue along the side of her throat, then placed his mouth over the spot where her pulse pounded madly.

“Got it. You really
are
Black Liam, the evilest vampire in all Ireland. Katy would want to know about this.” Her breaths came in short gasps. Must be the humid Irish air and damp stone walls causing her respiratory problems. Made perfect sense.

His soft chuckle sent an anticipatory shiver down her spine. He raised his head, and cool air touched the spot where his mouth had been.

Ally knew if she turned her head she'd see the wicked slash of his smile, the predatory gleam of his eyes in the darkness.

“I watched ye stop yer gypsy wagon at the bottom of yon hill. Ye climbed down, then lifted yer long golden hair away from yer neck. . . .”

“How long?” She was into details. Specifics were important.

“It hung long and heavy all the way to yer round bottom.” He cupped her bottom in his
large hands just in case she couldn't remember its location.

Long and heavy.
Pause for mental picture development. Ally smiled a feline smile. If he didn't want her thinking about him, then he shouldn't use such provocative adjectives.

“I never had hair that long.” She was really having a concentration problem as he moved his hands deliberately over her stomach until he was cupping her breasts.

“Ye were a gypsy, and gypsies have hair to their bottoms.” He sounded firm in his conviction.

“If you say so.” His thumbs lightly skimmed her nipples, a pattern of seduction that forced her to bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out. She'd agree to hair sprouting from her toes as long as he kept touching her.

“Ah, then came the greatest joy.”

There
was
no greater joy. Ally closed her eyes and focused her complete attention on her nipples. Who cared that this could lead to clinical nipple fixation? So she'd have to deal with nipple withdrawal, nipple rehab, then avoid nipple temptation for the rest of her life. Who cared? She was into the moment.

“Ye flung off yer gown and danced naked in the moonlight.” He paused, and she sensed he was having some difficulty with the humid air and damp stones, too. “Yer breasts gleamed pale in the moonlight. Yer body tempted a man to—”

“To
what?
” He couldn't stop now that he was getting to the best part.

She felt him draw a deep breath. He abandoned her breasts, let his fingers glide down her stomach and hips once more, then stepped back.

Damn and double damn. She didn't know which amazed her more: the fact that she really wanted him to finish what he'd started, or her desire to touch him. When it came to sex, she'd done everything for Dave. He'd made a few generic passes at her lips and breasts, but she'd done the grunt work. After all, the perfect wife was supposed to be an enthusiastic, engaged sex partner. She'd sworn if she ever let a man touch her again, she'd lie back and let him do all the work. While he was slaving away, she could do her nails, finish a book . . .

“Was that a seduction attempt?” Ally swung to face him.

He turned and strode out into the sunlight. “No.”

“It sure felt like a seduction attempt.” He'd given her a one-word answer. He needed to explain what had just happened. “Okay, you can at least tell me what happened after the naked dancing was finished.” Did he stride from his castle, pick her up, then carry her into the wagon where their passion rocked the bed and scared the horse?

Brian shrugged and narrowed his gaze on a donkey cart wending its way up the road to the
castle. “The lads and I went back to our drinking and fighting.”

“Lads?” This was so
not
what she wanted to hear. “How many watched me dance naked?”

He began striding down the hill toward where the donkey cart had stopped next to the wagon. She trotted along beside him.

“About twenty. The others had passed out below from the drink. Or it might have been the fighting.” He slanted her an appreciative glance. “Ye were fine entertainment.”

They were close enough to see that three people sat in cramped discomfort in the cart. The donkey didn't look too happy either.

“You know, Byrne, if that's the kind of fantasy you feed women during competition, I don't know how you became the MVP of anything.”