Night Games (29 page)

“When does
my
life begin?” He'd felt the stirrings of discontent this past season, but nothing like this.

“You have one of the best lives in the universe. You're famous, wealthy, in the prime of your life.” Jupe sounded a little desperate.

Jupe had left one thing out. Brian had no one to love. And the concept of love as a need rocked Brian's world. He'd never thought beyond his job, his obligations. He enjoyed the senses, especially touch. A good meal, a soft bed, a hard workout. Love was an abstract, an
emotion.
Abstracts made him uneasy. How did you touch an emotion?
You touch an emotion every time you slide your fingers across Ally's body
.

“You and the others can go home in two days. I'm staying. Oh, and tell the travel agency I'll stick with my original time of departure.” He needed to be alone to sort out his feelings, to figure out where the love-and-Ally connection was going.

He turned and walked away from Jupe. Stopping at his shelter just long enough to grab something to eat, Brian wandered into the keep. The mystery of the great hall beckoned. Seating himself on a large stone, he stared across the open space that had once been the center of the castle's life. Now overgrown and shadowed by growing darkness, he could still imagine how it had once been.

Ally found him there. She'd wrestled with the problem of the very real Brian and the Brian who might never be until her stress headache had driven her to Advil. When the pain had finally eased, Katy's snoring had driven her from the wagon. With the light of a full moon to guide her, she'd gravitated to the keep's great hall, a place of mystery and violence that might take her mind off her own unanswered questions.

She stood studying him. His leather jacket emphasized broad shoulders she knew instinctively would always be able to bear life's problems,
or the ones of anyone he loved.
Even seated and relaxed, his back was straight. He'd never bend under pressure or abandon obligations he saw as his. She frowned. This might not be a good thing, especially if honoring his contractual obligations by going home led to his ceasing to exist. He'd stretched his legs out in front of him, and she couldn't help wondering if they'd ever again carry him into a packed stadium, if frenzied fans would ever again scream his name.

And as much as she didn't want to think about his returning to the Monarchs, she'd choose that scenario a million times if it meant he would still exist.

He glanced up and caught her stare. Patting a spot beside him, he returned his gaze to the moonlight-bathed center of the great hall.

Wordlessly, she sat beside him.

“Feeling better?” He cast a searching look.

“Yes.” No.

“I've been sitting here wondering about them.” He rubbed a spot on his thigh that must ache in the damp Irish weather. “They must've had their own problems, things they thought were really important. Then they died.” He shrugged. “And nothing mattered anymore.
Nothing.”

“How does that translate to our lives? Does it mean we should just relax and let fate decide what happens to us, that in the end nothing matters?” No, she could never think that way. As long as she had a breath in her body, things would matter.
He would matter.
Despairing, she knew that particular truth would follow her to the last minute of her life.

He shook his head. “Never, babe. It means take joy where it's given, because tomorrow doesn't come with a guarantee.”

Tell him now.
He'd offered her a lead-in. Ally took a deep breath for courage. “When I was in town with Cap the other day, I started thinking about what Eamonn Clancy said. He thought
Kieran Byrne never had a son. I was curious, so—”

“Why were you curious?” He turned a strangely intent gaze on her.

Because, God help me, I've fallen in love with a man from the future who makes women happy by the thousands. “I read mysteries. I
love
mysteries.” Did her lie carry the right degree of indifference?

“Sure. Makes sense.” He glanced back at the great hall. “What did you find out?”

Ally had the feeling her answer had disappointed him.

“Kieran Byrne was a priest, a man who never would have broken his vow of celibacy. He couldn't have sired a child.” There it was. She'd wait for him to think it through, to come to his own conclusion.

He grew still. She sensed the moment he realized the implication.

“What you're thinking is that if Kieran Byrne was the last of his line, then I couldn't possibly exist.” He didn't sound upset, only thoughtful.

She nodded. “Someone had to carry on the line.”

“You're thinking that I stayed, that
I
was the Brian Byrne history recorded as Kieran Byrne's son.” He didn't pause to let her answer. “But I wouldn't stay even if I wanted to.”

The last pitiful spark of hope she'd tried to keep alive flickered and died. “Of course not.”

“I have a five-year contract with the Monarchs.”

“You could come back.” She knew it wouldn't happen. He probably knew it wouldn't happen either. People changed. Life got in the way. Memory faded. In five years his life wouldn't include a trip back to a barely remembered interlude. “But what if—”

“What if I don't exist anymore? I'm not worried.” His voice was grim with his determination to exist. “History can't be changed. Besides, after so many years, records aren't always too accurate. Most of the Byrnes came from County Wicklow. Maybe my history chip is wrong. Maybe I'm a County Wicklow Byrne.”

History can't be changed.
The statement hung between them. And she wondered whether he was as sure as he sounded. She wouldn't think about it any more right now, or she'd need another Advil.

“Why are you sitting here?” It was warm for an Irish night, but still chilly.

He grinned. “Getting over my anger at Jupe. Before he left 2502, he decided that since I'd probably be bored after a few days here, he'd move my departure date up a little.”

Ally's stomach clenched. “When?”

“In two days. But I told him to forget it. When the stag comes, it can take Jupe and the others home. I'm staying my full three weeks.”

Ally mentally pried loose the stomach muscles that had shifted north and clamped around her
heart. As her heart picked up its former rhythm, her stomach plopped back into place. Her internal organs didn't handle shock well.

“You never explained much about the stags. How do they travel through time?” Ally glanced at the moonlit center of the great hall. She let the peace of the place seep into her. For the first time, she considered the joy rather than the tragedy that had taken place here. Weddings celebrated, children born. Long-dead Byrnes had probably loved this place. Warts and all, home was still home.

Brian stood, then stretched. Ally followed the motion, and hoped her hunger for him didn't show.

“No one knows. They've always been here. Legends of white stags have existed during most periods of history.” He sat down again. “We keep them safe because if they feel threatened, they won't return to that particular time period.” His gaze shifted back to the great hall.

Okay, what to talk about now? Should she leave? Had she overstayed her welcome? Infringed on his privacy? She sighed. The heck with his privacy. She wanted to be with him as long as possible. Ally O'Neill had no pride where he was concerned.

“We need to get back to your book soon.” He slanted her a grin. “Better think up some good fantasies before my consultation time expires.”

She glanced around her, at the ancient stone walls, the open space filled only with moonlight
that both drew and repelled her. And remembered.
Why do I have to dance in that particular spot?

It's about family. Once in my life, I want to feel that connection, to know that this was the spot where my ancestors danced . . . loved.

There weren't many things she could give him. He already had fame, wealth, and millions of fans. She couldn't give him back his lost childhood. But there was one thing no one but Ally O'Neill
could
give him.

She would dance for him.

 

 

 

 

Brian watched as Ally stood, then walked to the center of the grassy space. The sensual sway of her hips drew him. She couldn't disguise the erotic message of those hips even under her oversized tunic sweater. He'd noticed that sexy walk the first night they'd met. Coming or going, Ally O'Neill was a treat.

He smiled. He'd never thought of a woman's walk as arousing, but then he'd never watched women move. Not enough time. No, that wasn't the truth. It was Ally. Only Ally's walk could affect his body.

Brian frowned as she stopped and twirled to face him. What was she doing?

“If the great hall were still here, where would I be?”

“A long table would be there. Why?” He
watched, puzzled, as she moved away from him to stand close to the far wall.

“Here?”

“The fireplace.”

She grinned. “The one big enough to roast a whole ox? It's a yucky thought, but at least I'll be virtually warm.”

He returned her grin. “You don't need to be virtually warm when you're wearing the wool from a thousand Aran sheep in that one sweater.”

“Not for long.” She turned her back to him, grasped the bottom of her sweater and started to pull it over her head.

“Have you lost your mind? What's this all about?” Any minute now he'd have to cough because his heart had leaped to his throat, and he couldn't breathe.

“Nope. My mind's not the part I lost. Guess again.” Her voice was muffled by the sweater that briefly covered her face.

He rose and strode to the center of the great hall, then stopped as though he'd walked into a stone wall. She'd finally managed to remove her sweater and drop it to the ground.

No bra.
He stared at the long slim line of her bare back, the slight indentation of her spine, and the smooth expanse of skin shaded golden by the sun, and heard the roar of his inner beast, alive after thirty years of silence. “Okay, what's this about?” Mild words that gave her no hint of what churned inside him.

Ally didn't turn to him, but kicked off her shoes
and worked at her jeans until she could slide them down over her hips. He narrowed his gaze as she made a big production of wiggling her bottom to make the jeans slide more easily. His inner beast had added breathing fire to its repertoire.

No panties.
Her narrow waist flowed into a rounded bottom that made him weak. He wanted to go down on his knees, slide his fingers up her long legs and touch each soft cheek with his lips, his tongue.

“It's about a fantasy, Byrne.” Slowly, she turned to face him. “Tonight, a gypsy will dance for you.” Her voice died on a whisper as she began to move.

He stood riveted by her motion. She raised her arms above her head and her breasts lifted, swayed gently to the rhythm of the music only she could hear.

If he went to her now, he could fill his palms with her breasts, rub his thumbs across her nipples until they grew hard, as hard as the erection pressing against his jeans. He was in pain, pain he wanted to end by burying himself inside her. Pain he wanted to savor and enjoy until he couldn't stand it anymore. His body was undecided about which he wanted more.

But his mind knew. He'd been trained to finish fast, but tonight he'd make it slow. An endless feast of looking, touching, and tasting. And if the doing killed him, the on-site spirits could drag his satiated body from the great hall.

“Why'd you change your mind?”
Idiot. Don't question, just enjoy.

Her smile mocked. “I had a change of heart.” She looked past him and her gaze grew distant. “Do you hear the harp?”

“No.” How could he hear anything with the roaring in his ears?

Her smile turned teasing. “If you could, you'd probably recognize it as the famous Irish harper Turlough O'Carolan's ‘Carolan's Welcome.' ”

“Sure.” Brian edged closer, the better to see what she was doing with her hips. “You know a lot about everything, don't you, sweetheart?” Her hip motion looked like one of Nebula's clench and thrust exercises but with a rhythm guaranteed to bring a strong man to his knees.

“I'm a thorough researcher.”

He figured she was thorough in all things as she turned her back to him. Spreading her legs, she lifted her long blond hair from her neck in a display of blatant temptation. She finished him off by slowly rotating her hips.

“Like to see a man suffer?” He moved closer.

Ally turned to face him, then lifted her breasts in her palms, an offering no man could resist. “Are you suffering?” She looked hopeful.

“Payback is sweet, babe.” Every body part he owned seemed swollen with need; his throat was no exception. He didn't even try to get rid of its huskiness. “Is that an authentic gypsy dance?”

She rolled her eyes up in her head as proof she was giving his question great thought. “Umm, I
don't think so. I think an authentic dance has more kicks and twirls. But when I twirl too much I get dizzy and fall down.”

He was close enough now to see the thin sheen of sweat that made her body glisten in the moonlight, her wide-eyed uncertainty that belied the boldness of her dance.

Tentatively, she reached out and touched a strand of his hair that lay on his shoulder. He clasped her hand, holding it to him. “I want you, babe. Here, where generations of my family made love.” Love? He'd never thought of having sex as making love.

She shivered, and he didn't know if it was from the chilly air or fear.
Excitement?
He could hope.

In a part of him that recognized cosmic truths, he knew this would be one of the determining moments of his life. Why? He didn't know, didn't care. All he understood was his need, and his need went beyond anything he'd ever felt, beyond the hard demand of his body, beyond his drive for release. “I'm safe, Ally. An inhalant that won't wear off for another couple of weeks.” His smile was grim. “I've traded away my incentive clause for this.” The incentive clause would have been useless anyway. Right now, he couldn't imagine feeling any incentive for anything that didn't involve Ally.