The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (17 page)

When he still didn’t turn to face her, she understood his reluctance to listen to what she was saying.  He didn’t trust her.  She’d given him no reason to.  It was time that changed.  “My father used to cook the stew I was making earlier for me when I was a child.”  Her gaze dropped to the now congealed dish she’d been working on most of the day.  “It was my favorite.”

When his hand stayed on the door, Tara took a deep breath.  “I wanted to make this, because I wanted to share it with you.  It was my way of sharing a part of my life and my real past with you.”  She took a tentative step toward him.  “I realize you have no reason to believe me.  There are things that I’m still not ready to share, that I’m still not ready to talk about.  That I’m not even ready to say out loud.  But I wanted to do this.  To share this small thing with you in my own way.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because…”   Tara struggled for an answer. 
Why was she telling him this?  Why was it suddenly so important for him to know the truth?
  “I think… because you made Liam go to college.”

Dominic let his hand drop from the door and he turned.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You refused to let him be anything less than what he was capable of.  You believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.”

“He’s my brother.  That’s what you do for family.”

“No.”  Tara took another step toward him.  “That’s what
you
do for family.”

“Tara—”

“No.”  She shook her head.  “I’m not finished.  I had a good family once, too.  I used to know what that was like.  To know what it was like to have someone believe in you, encourage you, even love you.  Unconditionally.  I lost that a long time ago.”

She was standing directly in front of him now and he reached for her hand, just the slightest brush of his fingers on hers.  “What happened?”

“My mother died when I was thirteen.  It was winter.  She hit a patch of black ice on the bridge.  Most people in New Orleans don’t know how to drive in the ice.”

“What about your father?”

“My father died of lung cancer when I was seventeen.”

Dominic threaded his fingers through hers.

“We left New Orleans after my mother’s death.  My father couldn’t stand to be in the same city, to have the memories, to feel her presence around every corner.  It hurt me.  A lot at first.  I didn’t understand why he was taking us away from our home.  It’s hard to leave the home you grew up in.  But when I got older I realized that sometimes you have to move yourself away from a place physically to get over it emotionally.”

He tipped her chin up and gazed down at her those quiet eyes.  “Is that what you’re doing now?”

Tara nodded.  “I think that’s part of it.”

He touched his lips to hers, and she felt the tenderness, the compassion spread through her like a warm wash of light, and she rose up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck.

When she pulled back, she rested a palm on his cheek.  “You have to understand, this is a huge step for me, telling you this.”

“I know,” Dominic said, quietly.  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Not tonight,” Tara admitted.  “But there is something I want to know about you.  Liam told me to ask you about your grandfather.”

Dominic shook his head, smiling slowly.  His little brother was getting crafty.  “Fair enough,” he said, letting his gaze drift across the room to where a faded photograph of a large, broad-shouldered man sat propped up on the highest shelf.  “My grandfather was more of a father to me than my own ever was.  He was… there for me, when no one else was.  He was the best man I’ve ever known.  Everything I do is measured up against his standards.  And if I die even half the man he was, I’ll know I did alright in this life.”

“You must really miss him.”

Dominic nodded.  “Every day.”

“Your grandmother must have been a very lucky woman.”

“She was.  Still is.  After he died, she took the money they’d saved up their whole lives to see the places they always talked of seeing, to do some of the things they always talked of doing, and never got to.  When I spoke to her last week, she was in Madrid, and she’d met a group of widows like herself who invited her to travel with their group.”  He gazed back at Tara, tipping her chin up.  “But she’ll come back, like they all do when they get the wanderlust out of their system.”

Reaching around her, he switched off the burners on the stove and, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he led her out to join the party.  When he drew her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her head, Tara ignored the islanders’ stares and let her fingers twine with his as she watched Kelsey tap out a complicated Irish jig in the center of a small crowd.

Leaning down, Dominic’s lips grazed her ear.  “I’ve a mind to take you home tonight, Tara.”

When she looked up at him, Tara couldn’t mistake the heat in his eyes.  And a thrill that wasn’t fear, but nervous excitement, raced through her.

Maybe it was what Glenna said.  Maybe it was because of that faith he had so much of.  Maybe it was because whenever she thought of him, she wanted to smile.  But whatever it was, she hooked a finger in his collar and tugged that rugged face back down to hers and whispered, “I’ve a mind to let you.”

***

Nerves danced up Tara’s spine as Dominic cut the engine of his truck outside her cottage, left the keys dangling in the ignition.  Moonlight danced over the dark shadows and hard lines of his face as he slid his pale eyes over to her.

“Are you sure that Kelsey’s okay with Liam tonight?” Tara asked, nervously.

“She’s fine.”

“Was she asleep when you—”

“She’s fine, Tara.”  His knee brushed against hers, sending electric shocks into her system, making her blood race and her skin hot to the touch.  “Are
you
fine?”

She nodded, her breath catching when he tipped her chin up.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded again but his eyes searched her face and saw doubt.

“If it’s too soon…”

“It’s not,” she said quickly.

“They why are you so nervous?”

“I’m always nervous… before.”

He skimmed a thumb over her soft cheek.  “I don’t want you to be nervous.”

“I don’t think I can help it.”

He traced a finger lightly along her chin.  “Then why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Her blood hummed when his knuckles skimmed down her throat, his fingers brushing over her collarbone.  “I’m not sure I’m very… good at this.”

“At what,” he murmured, dipping his mouth to the spot where his fingers had been.

Her breath caught as his lips brushed her collarbone and then cruised up along the curve of her neck.  “At this,” she whispered.

His lips curved against her skin.  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Dominic,” Tara breathed, struggling against the need building into heat deep inside her.  “I’m not sure I’m… going to be what you… expect.”

He drew her shirt down one shoulder, letting his mouth glide over her bare skin.  “What exactly do you think I expect?”

“I don’t know,” Tara whispered, her pulse hammering when he eased the strap of her bra down her shoulder.  “Someone else…  Someone better.”

Dominic lifted his head, cupping his face with his hands.  “I need to know now,” he said, his voice thick with need.  “If you’re not okay with this.”

“I’m having a little trouble… thinking at the moment.”

“Good,” he said, fisting his hands in her hair.  “Stop thinking.”

“Dominic, I—”

He crushed his mouth to hers, silencing her.  “I don’t want anyone else, Tara. 
You
are what I want.”

She gasped as he caught her hips in his strong hands, dragged her into his lap.  She felt his obvious desire pressing against her and he dipped his mouth back to hers, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth.  “Do you believe me now?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, her lips parting for his, drinking in the taste for him, the feel of him.  She curled her arms around his neck, pressing her body closer to his.  Desperate to be near him, touching him, every inch of him.

He groaned when her hands dipped under the bottom of his shirt, the muscles of his stomach tightening when she slid her hands up and over them.  “If it’s all the same to you,” he murmured as her clever hands sent shivers across his skin.  “I’d like to make it into the house tonight.”

She let out a breathless laugh and pressed her lips back to his, clamping her legs around him.   The cool night air spilled into the truck as he pushed open the door.  Her teeth nipped at his neck as he lifted her, climbing out of the driver’s seat with her legs wrapped around him.  He had to press a palm to the bumper to keep from dragging them both to the ground, taking her on the grass under the warm breath of the engine.

Her hands were all over him.  Desperate for him, sliding under his shirt, raking fingernails down his skin, her mouth like fire on his neck.  She pushed her house keys into his palm.  She didn’t know how she got them out of her pocket.  They were just there, in her hands, and then in his, as he pushed them into the lock.

He had her inside, and in the bedroom, before she could suck in a breath.

“Tara,” he breathed, and backed her slowly, step by step, onto the bed.  “I want to see you.”  He lifted the hem of her shirt, helped her pull it up and over her head.  “All of you.”

His eyes went dark when he saw the swells of pale flesh rising over her simple white cotton bra.  And when he lowered his mouth to her breast, she rose up, tugging at his shirt, dragging it over his head, sliding her hands up the hard muscles of his stomach, the hard muscles of his chest, up over the hard planes of his shoulders.

Where had this been before?  How had she lived without this?  How had she not known she needed this?

How had she not known she needed him?

When his teeth closed over the material of her bra, she arched, gasping.

He tore at the thin straps, dragging them down her shoulders, releasing her breasts, filling his hands with them, as his mouth closed over hers, drinking in the taste of her, the scent of her, the need for her driving him mad.

She was breathless, when his hands dipped down, releasing the clasp of her jeans, sliding the zipper down and pushing the material down her hips.

Tara’s fingers fumbled as she reached for his.  She felt clumsy, desperate, her fingers shaking with the need for him.  She didn’t know what she was doing.  She’d never done this before. 

Not like this.

Never like this.

It had always been so cold before.  So terrifying.

She felt like a dolphin, like a silver fish escaped from a net, diving back into the black waters where she could breathe again.  Where she could taste again.  Where she could live again.

Her fingers fumbled over his waistband, pushing the material down his hard, narrow hips.  Her hands were like a teenager’s, desperate to do it right, desperate to touch him in all the right places so she could please him, like he was pleasing her.

But she only had to touch her lips to his and he was hard for her.  She felt his muscles clench when she brushed a hand up his side, felt his jaw tighten when she scraped her teeth up his neck.

When he caught her hands in his wrists, held them up over her neck and let his hot gaze slide up and down every inch of her, his eyes went black with need for her.  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Her fingers curled into the sheets when he lowered his mouth back to her breast.  Her muscles turned to liquid gold as he edged his hand up the inside of her thigh, skimming those warm fingers over her, dipping them into the heat already building between her legs.

She arched, opening for him as he slid inside her.  And just when she was coming to that place where her vision began to blur, where her breath came in shallow rasps, he pulled back.

Her hands fell from his back, curling into the sheets.

“Tara.”  His voice was thick, hoarse with need.  “Open your eyes.”

She did, and shattered as he drove into her.

He covered her mouth, needing to taste her, to feel her, all of her.  He was drowning.  Water was spilling into the room.  A current was sucking them both out to sea.

Tara let out a sound, somewhere deep in her throat, and grabbed onto his shoulders, holding on to him, bracing herself for the wave.

The water rose.  And Dominic was dragged under, held there.  He couldn’t see.  He couldn’t breathe.  He moved hot and hard inside her.  Blind in his need for her.

Saltwater.  Rainwater.  Rushing water.

The wave built, the tension cresting, the madness, until she met him beat for beat, demanding the speed, the friction, the chaos he craved and fisted his hands in her hair.  He felt the clench, the crash, and the damn that burst inside her as she cried out, clinging to him.

And when he let the wave take him, he felt the air spin, felt the ocean slam into him, and later, when his mind cleared, when he could finally breathe again, he would remember the voice, calling to him, far off, a hollow echo deep under the ocean.