Night Games (8 page)

But before she could fling any body parts, Brian reached down and pulled her to her feet, slowly sliding her the length of his slick gleaming body. Her blouse and jeans were soaked, so she felt everything as if no cloth separated their bodies. She wished she could strip herself as bare as he so she could feel
more
than everything.

Running her hands along his thighs, she felt them flex beneath her fingers, drew in her breath at the thrust of his arousal against her stomach, and denied herself the pleasure of reaching between their bodies to glide her fingers over the length of his erection.

She splayed her hands across his chest and wondered at the heat, the hard muscles moving beneath smooth skin, the pounding heartbeat that matched her own.

Once standing, Ally leaned into him, allowing the warm water to flow over her, knowing that once she moved away from whatever magnetic force his body exuded, she'd collapse bonelessly back into the tub, never to rise again.

She would become another Irish legend: The Woman Who Sits in the Tub. A tourist attraction to rival the Blarney Stone.

“I wonder what I should do with you, Ally O'Neill.” His breath warmed the side of her neck, his husky whisper heated her from the inside out.

So many possibilities, so little time.
If he'd just undo the buttons on her blouse and unhook her
bra, she'd probably be able to prioritize the possibilities better. All that extra oxygen would help her think.

“I can't have you, Ally. There's a no-sex clause in my contract. Besides, I promised Jupe. And I always keep my promises.”

She could feel his lips move against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. What? What was he talking about?

“But I want you.”

His tongue traced a path from her earlobe to the base of her neck where her pulse pounded a mad rhythm.

“I didn't think you were a passionate woman. I was wrong. Passionate women please me.” He pushed aside the top of her blouse and kissed the swell of her breast.

Please me.
She fought her way to the surface through sensual desire and the heavy ache of want. She'd heard those words before. Where?

Remembrance that she didn't intend to
please
any man came at the same moment she noticed a subtle change in their environment. The warm water pouring over them had cooled considerably. Uh-oh. She knew what that meant.

Before she could voice a warning, the aging hot water heater gave up its last drop of tepid liquid, and they were deluged with an icy cascade.

Brian's curses covered planetary and various other unknown bodies. He lifted her from the tub, then leaped out behind her.

She stood shivering on the bathroom rug, watching Brian lean over. With a jerk that made the pipes rattle, he turned off the water. She was treated to an eye-popping view of excellent male buns. Then, still muttering dire threats against outdated plumbing, he raked long fingers through his thick black hair and sat on the edge of the tub.

He looked up at her through a fringe of black lashes and smiled. “Loved your approach. All that enthusiasm was great, but I got the feeling it wasn't a planned visit.”

Her attention to what he was saying faded in and out. She was a lot more focused visually.

“What's the matter?” He followed her gaze down. “The naked thing, right?”

“Yes.” No use creeping around the point. She picked up a towel and dropped it in his lap. He let it rest there.

“So let's hear your story.”

“Your cat was chasing me.”

He brightened. “Great. I hope she didn't find Ca . . . McDermott.”

“Didn't you hear me? Your cat meant me bodily harm.”

His smile softened. “She's trying to scare you. She always plays intimidation games. Where is she now?”

Ally glanced toward the door. Two large round yellow eyes stared back at her through the steam.

Brian nodded. “I'll talk to her.”

In the bright light of logic, Ally felt foolish.
She'd let his tale get to her, grow in her mind to gigantic proportions. The Old One wasn't going to rip out her throat and leave her lifeless body sprawled in the hall. Ally glanced again at the cold yellow eyes glaring at her. Okay, she'd admit the possibility existed.

“Fine. Talk to her.” Smiling weakly, she turned to make her escape.

“Hi, everyone. Any hot water left?” Katy pushed past the Old One, skirted Ally, and came to a halt in front of Brian. “You are one fine-looking man. Don't know why you bother with that towel. Breaks up the flow. Don't you think it breaks up the flow, Ally?”

“Sure. Breaks up the flow.” Brian was on his own. She was outta here. With as much dignity as she could muster, Ally squelched out of the bathroom in her soggy shoes and back to the relative safety of her room.

She could hear the phone ringing even through the closed door. Now what? Flinging open the door, she didn't even take time to shut it as she raced to get the phone before it could stop ringing.

“Yes?” Ally collapsed onto an old overstuffed chair.

“Mavis, sweetie. Got the word from your editor today. She likes the coping-with-single-life premise. Your readers will be dying to know how you're handling single life.”

Why did Ally sense a “but” in there somewhere?

“Bunch of voyeurs, really,” Mavis offered as an aside. “Anyway, she feels the book needs something more, a hook.”

“Hook?” The total collapse of her marriage wasn't a hook? What else did she need?

“Ever had a one-night stand, Ally?” Mavis's voice sounded noncommittal.

Ally knew where her agent was going and immediately went into defensive mode. “No. I had a few long-term relationships, but I didn't do one-nighters. That doesn't have to be part of single life. There're a lot more meaningful—”

“We can talk about your experience later. There's something else we have to discuss.”

Ally tensed. Mavis had shifted into her this-is-about-your-career voice.

“Your editor says your proposal's been done to death. Yes, you have a following, but they're not going to follow you into your single lifestyle unless you make it unique and sexy. And the word ‘perfect' has to be in the title. It's about the expectations your readership has built up.”

“Nothing about my marriage was ‘perfect.' ”

“Wrong.
You
were the perfect wife, but Dave wasn't the perfect husband. The world sympathizes with you, sweetie. And your editor feels you can turn that sympathy into huge sales. She wants us to go with
The Perfect Wife in Search of the Perfect Husband
for the new series. And since sexual compatibility is part of finding the perfect husband, as well as being extremely marketable, she wants your first book in the new series to be
about finding a man who's sexually compatible with you.”

“So what she wants is Martha Stewart meets
Sex in the City
.”

Mavis chuckled. “Guess that sums it up.”

“No.”

“Look, you don't have to go from man to man. Just try it once then write about it.” Mavis's voice had turned wheedling.

“How about not trying it at all and writing about it from other people's experiences?”

“Uh-uh. The power of your writing is the emotional truth you bring to it. You lived being the perfect wife, and readers picked up on the truth of what you were saying. They believed you. You can't fake it, Ally.” Pregnant pause. “Your publisher doesn't want your original proposal, sweetie, and I agree with your editor on this. Women will empathize with what you're going through. Innocent wife dumped by jerky husband. Wife now is thrown into the sex game where the rules have changed since she first played. It happens to a lot of women.”

Oh God. Writing was her career. She couldn't imagine doing anything else. But this . . . ? “Fine. I'll find my sexually compatible man and write about my experience. Of course, if he's sexually compatible he'll probably also be a jerk.”

“Then that'll be another book, Ally. Look on the bright side. Dave will hate your book.”

“Wonderful. Can't wait to write this one. Talk to you later, Mavis.” Sarcasm didn't become her,
and she really wasn't being fair to Mavis. Her agent and editor had been instrumental in guiding her to where she was today. But what the heck was she going to do about this book?

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Sex games.” She wasn't going to play. “Mavis is wrong. I can fake this.” But would she respect herself in the morning?

The sound of soft laughter spun her attention to the open door where Brian Byrne stood holding her soap and towel.

“Men who hunt never change, babe. You want to know about sex games? I can tell you about sex games.”

 

 

 

 

“Ye have the look of the Byrnes, lad.” Mr. Fitzpatrick paused with his spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth as he studied Brian from the other end of the long table. “It's in the eyes. All the Byrnes had the devil's own eyes.”

Brian smiled. Ironic, he knew more about his ancestors who'd lived five hundred years ago than he did his parents. Probably should thank his mother for at least leaving his history chip around his neck when she deserted him. She'd deleted everything about herself, but she'd left information about his father's origins. Not his name, just his family's history. Brian had tried to use the history to track down his father, but no luck. Good old Dad didn't want to be found.

“Aye, and the Byrnes had the devil's own way with the women. Scoundrels, every one.” Mrs.
Fitzpatrick harrumphed her way around the table as she served everyone breakfast.

Katy looked interested. “Any more of those Byrne men around here?”

Mr. Fitzpatrick shook his head. “It's been many a year since we've seen a one. Some said they'd all died, but I didn't believe that at all. Ye've come in time to save the place, lad.”

Brian frowned. All the Byrnes couldn't be dead. If all the Byrnes were gone, then he wouldn't exist.

“I've never eaten this much for breakfast in my life.” Ally pushed the remnants of her meal around on her plate.

“Looks pretty normal to me.” Brian glanced down at his half-eaten plate of eggs, sausage, ham, brown bread, and bowl of oatmeal.

Ally stared at him. “You're kidding.”

“Team breakfasts are twice this size.” He raised his gaze to a roomful of interested stares. Uh-oh. Better watch what he said. Guess he shouldn't mention that in 2502 everyone ate twice as much as this. Gluttony was a way of life ever since scientists invented a stay-thin pill. Eat all you want and never gain weight. “When you train hard you have to eat enough to maintain your energy level.”

“Ye play a sport?” A heavyset man at the end of the table stopped eating long enough to ask the question.

“I'm part of a—”

“Football team.” Ally looked desperate. “He plays football.”

Even Cap seemed to feel a need to change the subject. “ 'Tis a fine meal ye serve. Me sainted Uncle Pat would have loved it.” He winked at Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “ 'Tis no blarney I speak.”

The Fitzpatricks stared while Brian winced. As the conversation flowed around him, Brian glanced at the others seated at the large wooden table. Ally still seemed fascinated by her unfinished breakfast, but she didn't fool him. She was probably adding up every speck of evidence he'd let drop and coming to a logical conclusion. He wondered what it would take for her to forget logic, to do something completely spontaneous.

Brian's gaze wandered to Katy. She was busy questioning Mrs. Fitzpatrick about the local ghosts and fairies. And Cap? He'd stopped talking and was staring at Brian while making rapid head jerks toward the door. Cap was a subtle kind of guy. Brian got the message. Cap wanted to talk to him. Alone. That was fine with Brian. He had a few things to say to Cap, and he didn't want anyone else listening.

A prickly feeling between his shoulder blades made Brian turn his head. The Old One sat behind his chair studying him with big yellow eyes. No anger this morning, just watchfulness.

“Is it yer cat now, Mr. Byrne?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick seemed more worried than angry. “Ye might want to put her in yer room. The dog enjoys a
good chase, and he'd give the poor thing a terrible fright.”

On cue, “the dog” appeared in the doorway. Brian shook his head. When did dogs become woolly mammoths? He'd never seen one this big. In 2502 most large dogs had disappeared, replaced by those that were small and portable. People in 2502 wanted compact in all things.

“Meet Finn. Ye won't see many Irish wolfhounds bigger than Finn. He's gentle with people, but he has a grand time with cats.” Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed proud of Finn's cat attitude.

Poor Finn. Brian watched the inevitable happen. Finn saw the Old One. Finn stiffened into cat-alert mode. The Old One stared. Finn turned and skidded on the hardwood floor in his eagerness to escape. His yelps could be heard all the way through the house. The Old One stood, stretched, and quietly followed the dog. She loved to intimidate, and Finn would amuse her until it was time to leave.

Brian ignored Mr. Fitzpatrick's sounds of dismay at his dog's cowardice. Mr. Fitzpatrick didn't appreciate a smart dog when he saw one.

Brian was more interested in Ally's reaction. Her attention was riveted on the Old One, and Brian knew she was making a tally mark in her mental column marked “time-travel story is true.” He still wasn't sure whether that was good or bad.

Cap got up and grinned at Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
“Sure and I'd better leave now or the devil will roll me out of here in a soro-tor.”

“Soro-tor?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick paused with a fresh plate of sausages in her hand.

Brian savored Cap's look of desperation as he searched for something to explain his mistake. Better save him, though. Cap might not have any power here, but he was still the owner of Brian's former team. Never knew when Cap might get Brian back into the loving arms of the Titans. “The soro-tor is an American brand of wheelbarrow, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”