Moonlit Magic
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Moonlit Magic
ISBN # 978-1-907010-78-1
©Copyright Bronwyn Green 2009
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright August 2009
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road
, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
Celtic Fire
MOONLIT MAGIC
Bronwyn Green
Dedication
For Matt - Tá mo chroí istigh ionat
Chapter One
“You can’t avoid him forever.”
Glaring at her best friend, Beckett Matthews crossed her arms over her chest and turned towards the window, watching the lush, green countryside race by. “Sure I can. Just watch me.”
There had been nights when she thought it would kill her, but she’d avoided him perfectly well for five long years. Of course, the fact that the Atlantic Ocean had stood between them had made staying away from him somewhat easier.
Now that she’d returned to Ireland, steering clear of Kieran Brennan was going to be a bit more difficult. But, she reminded herself, she was just visiting. This was simply a last minute stop on the European museum circuit. She’d be in Dublin only as long as the Tapestry and Textile exhibition. When the tapestries went back to the U.S. so would she, and Kieran would once again be relegated to the land of memories and mistakes.
It hadn’t all been a mistake, had it? Longing flooded her at the memory of his lanky, muscled body pressing her into the cool earth under the stars.
Shaking off the past, she focused on the present. The present consisted of riding from the airport to her aunt’s cottage outside of Wicklow with Tara. Every landmark they passed brought back memories better left buried. The standing stones where he’d first kissed her. The pond where they’d gone skinny-dipping after dark. The castle ruins where they’d made love. She closed her eyes, willing away the memories. All roads led back to Kieran.
“Admit it,” Tara chided, her lilting accent bringing back memories of every summer she’d spent here at her aunt’s home. “You can’t stop thinking about him.”
Beckett sighed. She’d never stopped thinking about him. At twenty-three he’d been gorgeous. She’d loved running her fingers through his long tawny hair and staring into his deep, sea green eyes. And God knew she’d never tired of touching him—lean and muscular —golden perfection. She clenched her hands, remembering the feel of his sweat-slick skin against hers.
She needed to stop behaving like a hormonal eighteen-year old. That chapter of her life was long past. She’d willingly walked away from everything he’d offered—ran was more like it. She ran home to a lonely existence.
It was stupid to think that her relationship with Kieran would have turned out like her parents’ relationship had, but she couldn’t free herself from the bone deep fear that he would leave when she needed him most. That he would abandon her like her mother and father. Granted, her mother hadn’t had a choice, but her father did. And he chose to leave her and her siblings after her mother died.
Part of her knew that Kieran would never do anything that cowardly, but old fears died hard, apparently. Instead, she’d focused on the physical, fucking him at every opportunity and when he wanted more...she’d run. She pushed away the almost tactile recollection of the way their bodies fit together, only to wonder how they’d fit now.
How had he changed? She could only hope he’d developed a receding hairline and a beer belly. Of course, his voice was probably the same. He’d been able to seduce her by simply whispering endearments in his low, sexy brogue. It wasn’t just the accent, though thinking of the way he murmured her name against her neck as he moved inside her had her ready to insist that Tara drop her off on his doorstep.
Frowning, Beckett shifted in the seat of the cramped economy car. “It’s been five years. If he’s not married, I’m sure he’s involved with someone.”
No matter how much she might still want him, she refused to get involved with a man who belonged to someone else. For all she knew, he could have kids. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him with children—he’d adored his younger siblings and cousins.
For a moment, she pictured him happy and in love with someone else. If she’d stayed when he’d asked her—
Beckett tried to swallow past the rock that suddenly lodged in her throat. The sting of tears burned her eyes and she blinked rapidly, hoping her friend hadn’t noticed.
How could she still feel so strongly about him? Sure, he’d been her first love, not to mention her adolescent-long infatuation, but how could she still be moved to the point of tears by imagining him with someone else?
“He’s not involved with anyone.” Tara glanced meaningfully at her. “He hasn’t been with anyone since you left.”
Beckett snorted. “How stupid do you think I am?” There was no way someone like Kieran would go a few months without a lover, let alone five years.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. There’s no way. It’s just not possible.”
Her friend glanced away from the road, again. “Have you been with anyone?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.
“That’s different.”
“I don’t see how.”
Why had she asked Tara to pick her up from the airport? If she had taken cab, she could have dodged the topic for a while longer. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t discussed it during the time they’d been apart, but now it seemed impossible to avoid. Beckett dropped her head against the seat rest. Maybe she was still in love with him. Was that the reason she’d never managed more than one or two dates with the guys who’d asked her out? God, she was pathetic.
She released the steering wheel and laid her hand on Beckett’s arm. “He needs you, Beck.”
She didn’t bother to stifle the laugh that bubbled to the surface. Kieran had never needed anyone—least of all her. She doubted that had changed since she’d last seen him.
“He only slept with me because I threw myself at him.” She didn’t bother to disguise the disgust in her voice.
“That’s not true,” Tara admonished.
It was, and Beckett knew it. She sighed, wishing it were possible to erase the remorse and humiliation. From the time she was thirteen, she’d followed him around like a lovesick puppy. Which, to be honest, was how she’d acted. At the time, he’d been eighteen. The last thing he’d wanted was to deal with a kid with a crush.
When she’d turned sixteen, she’d begun flirting with him in earnest. He’d ignored it, treating her like a little sister—just like always. The summer she’d turned eighteen, she’d attempted a clumsy seduction. Her face flushed with the memory of her awkward advances. He’d probably given in because she’d worn him down. Maybe he’d simply had nothing better to do. Or worse, he’d felt sorry for her.
The only reason he’d asked her to stay was guilt. Guilt and regret. She’d seen it in his eyes, and she’d still been tempted to say yes. But she didn’t. He would have grown to resent her, and that would have hurt more than outright rejection. No. She’d done the right thing by leaving when she did. How often had she tried to convince herself of that over the last few years? More importantly, how long would she continue to try?
She squinted against the late afternoon sun as the car turned onto the gravel road that led to her aunt’s home. The whitewashed cottage sat nestled in a brilliant green valley, filled with heather and gorse. Red and yellow roses climbed the outside of the house and garden trellises. Wildflowers in vibrant pinks, purples and blues rioted haphazardly around the yard. In the distance, she could see the crumbling bell tower at Glendalough. She couldn’t wait to wander through the ruins of the monastery again. Situated in between two valley lakes and ancient forests, it was the most peaceful place she’d ever known. There was nothing better than June in Ireland—except maybe June in Ireland with Kieran. But that wasn’t happening. Not this year. Not ever again. With a sinking feeling, she knew she’d have to remind herself of that as soon as she saw him. It was going to be a long summer.
Tara parked the car behind an unfamiliar motorcycle.
Beckett nodded towards the vehicle. “Is Aunt Bridget riding a bike now?”
“No...that belongs to her friend.”
Getting out of the car, they unloaded the luggage and brought it into the house.
Tara glanced at her wrist-watch. “Shoot.
I’ve got to pick up the poppets from my mum. Are you okay to get settled on your own?”
“Of course. Bring the kids by later. Aunt Beckett needs hugs.”
Tara wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’ve come back. I’ve missed you like mad, you know.”
Beckett hugged her friend in return. “I know. The phone and email just don’t cut it.”
The other woman stepped back and smiled, but a dark shadow crossed her eyes. “We really need to talk when I get back.”
Worry crawled like bugs over her skin. “Is everything all right, Tara?”
“It’s fine—really. There’re just some things you need to know about sooner rather than later.”
Beckett scowled at her friend. “It’s not about Kieran, is it?”
“Not entirely.” With a wave and that cryptic comment, she was gone, leaving Beckett alone with her thoughts.
Needing a distraction, she dragged her suitcase towards the bedroom. Sighing, she walked through the familiar cottage rooms. Since she’d been gone, it seemed that time had stopped. The whitewashed walls gleamed brightly in the late morning light in stark contrast to the heavy, dark wood furniture. Colourful scrap quilts covered the beds and the oak mantel glowed warmly above the fieldstone fireplace.
A gentle breeze, heavy with the scent of summer roses, blew through the open windows and she breathed deeply. Sun-warmed grass, sweet flowers and bitter greens. The smells brought back a collage of memories—most involved Kieran. How many nights had she spent with him lying in the dew-wet grass staring at the stars after making love?
Pushing those thoughts away, Beckett ran a hand over an ornately carved chair—Kieran’s work. He’d still been working on it when she was here last. Absently, she wondered when he’d finished it. What other changes had she missed?
The whir of a lawnmower drew her to the window, away from her memories of Kieran —only to be replaced by a whole new set of memories burned into her brain at the sight of him.
He’d unlocked Bridget’s shed and had begun mowing the grass along the stream that wove through the property. His chestnut coloured hair hung loose about his shoulders and a silver chain around his neck glinted in the afternoon sun. In deference to the June heat, he’d stripped off his shirt, and his jeans hung low, exposing the glorious curve of his hip and the trail of hair that disappeared into his waistband.
She closed her eyes against the almost tactile memory of brushing her cheek and lips over the glossy swirls that covered his stomach. She could remember the sensation of hot, hard silk against her tongue as she’d taken the wide head of his cock between her lips. She could still feel his shuddering intake as she’d engulfed him, still feel his fingers twining and tightening through her hair, still hear his groan as she’d gone down on him.
Beckett rested her rapidly heating face against the cool pane of glass and took a deep breath. Reliving these memories wasn’t going to help her deal with him when they finally had to interact. She might insist to Tara that she was over Kieran Brennan, but she wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the sudden silence. The mower had stopped. Opening her eyes, she scanned the yard looking for Kieran. She didn’t particularly want him to know she was here yet. Especially while she was alone.
The creak of the front door shattered the silence and she whirled to face her past.
“Beckett?”
The rough need in that single word trailed fingers of anticipation along her spine and set her heart pounding in her chest. She swallowed hard, unable to answer any of the questions reflected in his deep green eyes.
Before she could open her mouth, he crossed the room and dragged her forcefully against him. The heat from his sun warmed skin seeped into her as she breathed in his familiar woodsy scent. Now it was overlaid with the tang of sweat and the sharp fragrance of freshly mown grass. His firm, full lips tightened into an annoyed line as he stared at her.
Beckett’s head spun and to her own ears, her breathing sounded too fast and uneven. Kieran’s own inhalations brushed his chest against hers with every breath he took. Her nipples pebbled against him, tight knots of near pain.
“Five fucking years,” he growled. “And not a goddamn word. I don’t know whether to turn you over my knee or take you now.” He shifted, insinuating his thigh between hers. The rock hard proof of his arousal pressed against her stomach and she bit her lip to stifle the threatening groan.
Her cleft flooded with need for his body. Need for him. She hadn’t been in the country for more than an hour and she’d already creamed her panties with want. She was in the same sorry shape she’d been in when she’d fled all those years ago.
Daring a glance at his face, she pushed at his chest. “You don’t want this.”
He laughed, the sound an almost angry bark as his nostrils flared slightly and he pressed her back against the whitewashed wall of the cottage. Lowering his head, he hovered a fraction of a centimetre above her lips. “The fuck I don’t.”
Spearing his fingers through her hair, he held her immobile as he took her mouth, forcing her lips open and delving inside. All thoughts of fighting vanished at her first taste of him. How had she lived without it for so long?
He tightened his grip on her, moulding her to his body as she clung to him, digging her fingers into his sweat-slick skin and pulling him closer. How many nights had she made herself come with the memory of fucking this man, only to fall asleep in her cold, empty bed? Too many. She needed the real thing—needed him inside her—filling her—if only for a little while. Even though it was a mistake of epic proportions, she wasn’t about to stop now.
Kieran groaned as Beckett writhed against him. The rough sound tingled through her body, making her pussy clench. He’d always made that sound when he entered her—like her body was the best place he’d ever been. It was the same sound she imagined when she made herself come with her vibrator, but her toy had never brought her to the same heights Kieran had.
Sliding his hand up her waist he cupped her breast. Her tight nipple hardened further at the brush of his hand. Tight coils of need travelled from her breast to her pussy as he plucked and rolled the tender flesh between his thumb and fingers, catching her needy whimpers in his mouth.
Leaving her lips, he followed the line of her jaw, trailing kisses to her ear and down her neck. He swiped his tongue across the wildly beating pulse at the base of her neck, and her breath hitched as he tasted her.
“I need more,” he murmured against her neck.
Dear God, so did she.
Slipping his hand beneath her shirt, he palmed her breast, smiling against her skin as her nipple knotted and pressed eagerly into his palm. With a hurried motion he shoved the bra cup aside and rolled her tightened flesh between his callused thumb and forefinger, pinching gently and tugging.
The feel of his work-roughened hand on her body had her trembling. It was everything she could do not to beg for more. As it was, a breathy moan that barely sounded like her escaped her lips before she could stop it.
He brought his mouth to her ear and bit down on the lobe before whispering, “Remember all the times I made you come just by sucking your nipples?”
“Uh-huh,” she whimpered, her breathing shallow. Like she could forget that. The sound of him murmuring to her in Gaelic would drench her panties in nothing flat. God help her if he tried it now.
“Think I can still do it?”
She shivered at the brush of his lips against the outer shell of her ear. She met his heated gaze and drew a shuddering breath. Her tongue darted out to dampen her lips. “I think you could make me come just by talking.”
He plucked at the nipple he still held and his eyes glittered brightly at the challenge. “Shall I try, then?”
She trembled, clutching onto his waist. The way he looked at her, she felt like the floor was about to slide out from under her. Her fingers slipped beneath his waistband and she noticed his nostrils flare as he took a breath.
Sliding his free arm around her waist, he pulled her flush against him. His cock was a hard, thick ridge behind his jeans pressing against her belly.