The Selkie (10 page)

Her eyes softened, although she still resembled a wild animal looking for an opportunity to pounce.
“
You’re very stubborn.
”

“
Back at ya, babe, as they say in America.
”

“
I’m from Canada,
”
she muttered.

He picked up a couple of the items she’d tossed during her closet desecration and threw them back in the closet. He looked back at her, letting his gaze travel up and down her form.
“
Same thing.
”

And then he ducked as another gigantic girdle was launched at his head.

Chapter 5

There were no other break-ins that day, which was a blessing because Maggie didn’t think she could handle any more stress. It was bad enough Calan had decided to camp out on her gran’s couch. He’d set aside a couple of blankets for himself in preparation for the evening and was making himself quite comfortable. He’d already raided her cookie jar a few times and had made her a sandwich at lunch. Now he was going through the main floor with a fine-toothed comb, searching for the skin, annoying her with his constant humming and comments about the house needing a maid service.

Maggie tried to ignore him for much of the day, embarking on some little tidy-up projects. She didn’t want to. It was still way too early to be going through Gran’s things, but she wanted to be the one to find the pelt. It had to be there somewhere. Then she could present it to Calan and wish him a not-so-fond adieu.

And yet every time she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she realized the sight of him puttering in her house did something to her. It scrambled her brain. It produced wiggly feelings in her stomach. It made her want to keep watching him.

Why did someone so gorgeous have to be so irritating?

Sometime near evening, Calan declared his intention of continuing his search for the pelt outside. Nora had a sizable property, at the end of which was a small greenhouse. Maggie could see he was beginning to get antsy. It wasn’t easy being in the house of a hoarder, even though Gran would never have called herself such.

“
I’m going to search the greenhouse before it gets dark, Maggie.
”
He headed for the door.

“
It’s probably just as messy in there,
”
she volunteered, trying not to look so eager to join him.
“
Maybe another pair of hands would be useful to you?
”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. His gaze held hers for a dizzying moment.
“
Come along, then,
”
he said in his penetrating, deep voice.
“
You might want your boots. It’s wet outside.
”

It’s wet inside.

Cursing her vagina, which felt all too ready for action in his presence, Maggie followed him out toward the greenhouse. She was careful where she stepped. There were mud puddles everywhere. It must have rained while they were inside. She hadn’t even noticed because she was hyperaware of Calan’s every sinuous move throughout the house. She put her foot down near one mud puddle and went flying, but he caught her and held her up. She froze in his arms, staring up into his face, unable to steady her heartbeat. From the cocky grin on his face, he could hear her heart pumping.

“
If I put you down, do you think you can walk the rest of the way? Or shall I call you a carriage, Princess?
”

She vaulted out of his arms, suddenly peeved that he’d label her in such a way.
“
I’m
not
a princess. I just slipped.
”

“
Don’t be offended. There’s nothing wrong with being a princess. Nothing wrong with having someone take care of you.
”

She stomped away, inexplicably mad.
“
I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, thank you very much.
”
She had. With two

dead parents and relatives a world away, she’d always been forced to fend for herself. And it bothered her when people assumed she couldn’t handle her own business.

It bugged her even more to have Calan presume it. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was just the sort of man she would have liked as a protector.

Man, her feelings were throwing her under the bus here!

He didn’t follow her right away and hung behind. She could feel his gaze burning into her back. Ignoring his flame-throwing eyes, she plodded on to the greenhouse door. She didn’t dare look at him as he approached. She didn’t trust herself to look in his direction. For some reason, she wanted to cry.

And it was all his fault. Intruding into her life with his sexiness and devilish smiles. Damn him. She didn’t want to feel this way, whatever it was she felt.

Calan brushed past her as he entered the greenhouse and just his proximity was enough to make her burst into flames in the little glass structure. It was so small in there, too close. If anyone had been observing from the road, surely they would have seen sparks behind the glass.

He didn’t say a word as he searched for the skin. Just gently moved Nora’s bags of fertilizer and overgrown plants. After a while, it became clear the greenhouse was not the hiding place for the pelt.

Sighing, Calan looked at her.
“
It’s not here. We might as well go back.
”

She didn’t say a word, just walked out and left him there as she tried to stomp away, merely succeeding in squishing away through all the mud.

He deftly caught up to her, his feet seemingly immune to the mud that was dragging her down. God, what was it with the man? He had the grace of a large cat!

“
You’re angry with me,
”
he said.

“
No, I’m not.
”

“
I’ve known a lot of women, dear heart. I can tell when one’s pissed.
”

She spared him a glance, righting herself as she slid again.
“
How wonderful for you that you’ve had so many women! It must be so easy to make comparisons!
”
She stared him down as he blanched.
“
Believe me, we’re not all the same.
”

He slowly looked up and down the length of her.
“
Oh, you’re different, all right!
”

“
What’s that supposed to mean?
”
And as Maggie turned to confront him, she lost her footing once again. She flailed but there was nothing in grabbing distance to steady her, other than Calan.

Her hands reached out automatically, and she pulled on his jacket. And as time seemed to travel in slow motion, Maggie fell and brought Calan down on top of her. Her boots slid in the mire, making her legs fall open, and Calan fell between them. They landed in the biggest mud puddle of all. The brown goo waved over the two of them like a mucky tsunami, covering them in filth.

She looked up at him as he lay on top of her, catching his breath. He was drenched in it. There was mud in his hair, mud caking his clothing, and she shuddered to notice, mud all through his beautiful leather jacket.

“
Oh,
”
she whispered, waiting for his wrath. The jacket must have cost a fortune. It looked vintage.

He stared at her, shocked, and then his face broke up, splitting into a goopy grin. He began laughing, began howling, in fact.

“
What’s so funny?
”

“
You,
”
he managed to say through his peals of hilarity.
“
You look like something out of a nightmare, Maggie. We’d better get you cleaned up or you might frighten the neighbor’s kids.
”

She pushed him off her, even though her legs suddenly wanted to clench around his body and keep him there on top of her for a good long while. He helped her up, and they made their way back to the house, the walk back being little more than sticky torture. Sticky because of the mud, and tortured because Calan kept chortling at her and her new brunette hairdo.

As they both yanked off their mud-encrusted boots at the front door, Maggie felt a little sheepish for her outburst. She couldn’t explain why he fired up her emotions to such a violent degree. Ever since she met him on the beach that night, indeed ever since she’d begun dreaming of him, she felt frazzled.

It had to stop. The man was loony tunes.

“
There’s, uh, only one shower,
”
she admitted quietly.
“
You go ahead. I’ll wait for my turn.
”
She opened the door.

And then, to her simultaneous horror and delight, he began to strip out of his clothing. Right there, at the front door. She averted her eyes. It took a moment, but she managed to avert them.
“
What are you doing?
”

“
We can’t go in like this, love. We’ll track mud all over your granny’s house. I suggest you do the same. You’re dripping.
”

She paled at his choice of words. She was dripping, just not the way he suspected. But, seeing his logic, she began to slowly disrobe too. Keeping her gaze off him the whole time. By the time she got down to her skivvies, she sensed he’d stopped moving. She looked up under her muddy lashes at him.

He was nude. Caked in mud in spots, but deliciously nude. As she gawked at him, he cocked a playful eyebrow at her.
“
You’re as slow as molasses, Maggie. I guess I do get the shower first.
”

Before she could stammer any kind of response, he entered the house and ran off toward the upstairs bathroom, his delectable ass tensing as he moved. In her bra and panties, she watched, unable to move. After forcing her useless limbs back into action, she went inside too. Within a couple of seconds, she heard the water turn on. As if pulled by a magnet, she stumbled toward the bathroom.

As she reached the top landing, she poked her head down the hallway. Calan had left the bathroom door wide open, and she wasn’t sure if it was done on purpose or not. Either way, she meandered toward it, called by the sound of the coursing water and his voice.

He was singing in the shower. That song by the Stones, the one about the devil. She approached, catching garbled bits about the nature of his game, making her wonder if Lucifer himself was in Gran’s shower stall.

She reached the bathroom door, and her gaze flew to the frosted shower curtain, the one that did very little to hide certain details. She could still make out the long, hard length of him, could see the tempting color of his lips and the thick ropes of hair. And she could imagine each drop as it traveled over his sculpted arms and legs and his perfect behind.

She needed to get out of there pronto before he caught her. She turned.

“
Maggie?
”

Too late.

As she listened to the scrape of the curtain rings on the rod, she felt a shiver of anticipation tickle her spine. She turned back to face him, as ripples of want shook her being. He stood there, unashamed, his eyes hooded and hungry.

“
Would you pass me a towel, love?
”

She did, hastily, and then froze.

He quickly dried himself off and wrapped his lower half in the terry cloth. He got out of the shower, his gaze always on her, and moved past her.
“
Your turn. If you’d like, I could stay to hand you a towel when you’re done.
”

Mortified beyond belief, Maggie gestured at the door and watched him leave. She then slammed the bathroom door on him. She took the quickest shower known to woman, raced to her bedroom, barricaded the door, and got dressed in her nightgown. Then she got into bed, and didn’t move a muscle until sleep finally overcame her.

* * * *

Maggie woke up the next morning, desperate for three cups of coffee. Or five. It had been, hands down, the most stressful night of her life and she’d barely slept a wink.

And, she realized with dread, it had nothing to do with Gran’s passing. Nothing to do with the burglar or the missing skin she never wanted. Certainly nothing to do with Matthew lurking somewhere on the island.

It was because Calan Kirk, her dead grandmother’s sexiest drinking buddy, had slept under the same roof. Again.

She hadn’t been able to stop picturing him all night. Did he sleep in his clothes? Did he sleep shirtless? In the nude? Did he lie on his stomach with his fine ass in the air, or on his back with his … The pornographic possibilities made her mind spin.

It had been bad enough picturing Calan in his birthday suit because she already knew how infuriatingly flawless he was naked. To make matters worse, he’d kept the television on for much of the night. For two hours straight, he’d roared with laughter as he watched some Three Stooges reruns. When Maggie had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, her dreams had been littered with images of a naked Calan seducing her, until Moe showed up and brained her with a frying pan.

And now she was just ornery.

Clearly,
“
selkie folk
”
didn’t need a lot of sleep.

She stumbled downstairs and toward the kitchen, her eyes half-closed. Not caring that she might be disturbing her exhibitionist houseguest.
“
Serve him right for keeping me up.
”

She needed coffee, and she needed it now.

Suddenly, she smelled it. Dark Columbian. And it made her taste buds water.

She peeked around the kitchen wall before entering the room, and the sight made her jaw drop.

Calan was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Washing up some dishes she’d left in the sink yesterday. His hands submerged in suds. Quietly humming what she could have sworn was a Barry Manilow tune this time. Wearing nothing but his mud-caked jeans. Barefoot. Shirtless. Clean, long hair tied back.

Mind-bogglingly attractive. Drool inspiring. Erotic as all hell, in spite of his sometimes-tragic taste in music.