Chapter 8 #2
“I’m not leaving this mess for Sinead.” She plucked a few more, then sat back on her heels. “I’m an idiot.”
“I’ll not comment on that.”
“Wait. Just wait.” She got to her feet, took a breath. Quiet the mind first, she reminded herself.
And floated the feathers up. On a pleased little laugh, she gathered them, then cupped her hands, let them fall into her palms.
“Did you see that?” Glowing, she held her cupped hands out. “Did you see?”
“I’ve eyes, don’t I?”
“It’s just so wonderful. It’s feels so right. Watch this.”
She threw her hands up, sent the feathers flying, sent them swirling again, dipping, rising, then once again cupped her hands to gather them.
“It’s so pretty. I’ve been practicing for days, and I’ve finally got it. Really got it.”
Still beaming, she looked up at him. Stopped. Everything stopped.
He looked at her, in that straight way he had—dead eye to eye. It wasn’t wonder she saw there, or amusement, or irritation.
It was heat.
“Oh.” She sighed it, and following her heart, leaned toward him.
He stepped back, a quick and complete evasion. “You’ve got your feathers.” Moving past her, he dragged the two suitcases off the bed. “Grab something. If there’s more, I’ll come back for it.”
“Just my jacket, and my laptop. I’ll get them. I’m sorry.” Mortified, she dumped the feathers in their bag, secured it. “I guess I was caught up, and I misread. I thought you . . . but obviously not.”
“Get a move on, will you?” The words snapped out of him; she felt them like hard finger flicks on her cheeks. “We’ve all of us got work.”
He carried the cases as if they weighed nothing, and breezed right by her.
“Fine. Fine! I get it. And again, I’m an idiot. You’re not attracted to me, message received. But you don’t have to be rude about it.”
She shoved the bag of feathers in her laptop case. “I’ve been rejected before, and somehow I survived. Believe me, I’m not planning on jumping you, so you don’t have to add the slap and kick. I’m a big girl,” she added, snatching up her jacket and scarf. “And I’m responsible for my own—”
He dropped the cases with a bang that made her jump. “You talk too bloody much.” With that, he gave her a yank. Off guard, she plowed into him, and managed no more than a quick oof before he shoved her chin up. And took her mouth like a man starving for it.
Rough and hard, the kind of kiss that gave her no choice but to hang on. Blasts and booms of that heat assaulted her. She’d have staggered from them if he hadn’t hauled her right off her feet.
Dazzled, done for, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rode that high, hot wave.
And seconds later he dropped her unceremoniously back on her feet.
“That shut you up at least.”
“Ah—”
He hefted the cases again. “You want the ride, get yourself moving.”
“What?” She shoved her hands through her hair. “What was that?”
“You are an idiot. Of course I’m attracted to you. Any man with blood in him would be. That’s not the issue.”
“It’s not the issue. What is?”
“I’m not interested in doing anything about it. And if you ask one more question, I’m dumping these bags, and you can find your own way to Branna’s.”
“All I did was move in a little,” she said as she dragged on her jacket. “You’re the one who did the grabbing.” She snatched up her laptop case, and sailed out of the room.
“That I did,” he muttered. “And that’s made me an idiot as well.”
She kept her mouth firmly shut on the short drive. She wouldn’t say a word. It took bitter willpower, as she had plenty to say, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Better to ignore him. More mature to say nothing.
No, she decided, more powerful to keep silent.
Even as she thought it, the truck jolted, as if it hit an invisible bump on the smooth road.
Boyle spared her one brief, hot look.
Had she done that? Iona gripped her hands together, fighting against a leap of glee. Had she actually lifted an entire truck? Unintentionally, but still a big jump from a pile of feathers.
She considered trying it again, just to see, but fortunately for all involved Boyle pulled up at Branna’s cottage.
She shoved out of the truck, started around to the bed to drag out her suitcases. Then thought the hell with it. He’d carted them out, so he could cart them in. She reversed, strode straight for the cottage door.
A sleepy-eyed Branna opened it before she knocked. “You’re timely.”
“He was early. Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“See if you’re thanking me after a week or two.
Good morning to you, Boyle. If you’re after hauling those all the way, it’s the second on the left.
I’ll show you your room,” Branna continued, and led the way up the narrow stairs.
“Mine’s at the back, and Connor’s the front.
I’ve my own bath, as when we added on, that was priority.
Sharing a bath with him was a trial, and one you’ll now experience for yourself. ”
“I don’t mind, not at all.”
“And if you’re saying the same after that week or two, you’re a liar. But that’s how it has to be.”
The bed with its simple headboard of iron slats painted creamy white faced a window where the view of the woods was framed in lace. The ceiling followed the slant of the roof and formed a cozy nook for a little desk and chair with a needlepointed seat.
The dresser, small scale again, bloomed with painted flowers against the same creamy white as the headboard.
A little pot of shamrocks with their pretty white bells blooming sat on the dresser.
The same rich green covered the walls and served as a backdrop for colorful prints of the hills, of the woods and gardens.
“Oh, Branna, it’s wonderful. It’s so pretty.” Iona brushed her fingers over the cloud-soft throw, an energetic pop of plums and purples and lavenders, folded at the foot of the bed. “I love it. I’m so grateful.”
This time Branna was a bit more prepared for the enthusiasm of the embrace, if not the quick bounce.
“You’re very welcome of course, and if you’ve a mind to change anything—”
“I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s perfect.”
“Where do you want these?” Boyle demanded from the doorway in a tone that took no trouble to hide aggravation.
Iona turned, and eyes that had gone misty dried cool. “Anywhere. Thank you.”
Taking her at her word, he dropped them just over the threshold, and kept the toes of his boots firmly on the other side. “Well, I’ll be off then.”
“You’ve time yet, don’t you?” Branna’s mind might have leapt with questions at the temper, the hot and cold of it, running in the room like open taps, but she kept her smile and tone easy. “I’ll fix you breakfast for your trouble.”
“Thanks for that, but I’ve things to do. Nine’s soon enough to come in this morning. Take time to settle.”
He left quickly, and with a clomp of boots on the stairs.
“So, what’s all this about?” Branna wondered, then noting the fire in Iona’s eyes, held up a hand. “Hold that in until we’re down in the kitchen. I’ve a feeling I’ll be wanting more coffee for this.”
She led the way, then poured two mugs. “Go on then, cut it loose.”
“He comes banging on the door. I’d been floating feathers. I’ve got it, Branna. I’ll show you. But he broke my focus, and there’s feathers everywhere, but I pulled it back, and I showed him. I was excited and happy, who wouldn’t be? But I’m not blind or stupid.”
She stomped around the kitchen as she spoke, one hand gesturing wildly. Branna kept her eye on the coffee in the mug in case it threatened to lap over.
“I know when a man’s thinking about making a move. I know that look. You know that look,” she said, pointing at Branna.
“I do indeed, and it’s a fine one under most circumstances.”
“Exactly, and since it felt fine, I went with it, or would have. I mean, for God’s sake, all I did was lean in a little, and he pulls back like I’d jabbed him with a burning stick.”
“Hmm,” Branna said and got down a skillet.
“I felt like an idiot. You know how that kind of thing makes you feel. Well, you probably don’t,” Iona reconsidered.
“What man would pull back from you? But I felt hot, not in the good way. Embarrassed. So I apologized. Just read it wrong, that’s all, sorry about that.
Okay, so maybe I babbled a little, but I felt awful and stupid, and completely flustered because I’d thought he and Meara were a thing, but she said no, so I let myself open that door, which I hadn’t because of Meara, and you don’t poach.
Besides, he’s the boss, and you don’t want to step in it.
And then I did, so it was worse. And I’m apologizing and trying to make it like no big thing, and he grabs me. ”
Branna paused for a moment in her task of frying bacon and eggs. “Is that the truth of it?”
“He yanked me in, and kissed me until my brains leaked out of my ears and the top of my head blew clean off.” She made an exploding noise, threw her hands up, fountained them down.
“And in like five seconds he just drops me, and makes some nasty comment about shutting me up, and says let’s get going. ”
“A poet Boyle McGrath will never be.”
“Screw poetry. He didn’t have to slap me down that way.”
“He didn’t, no.” Sympathy twined around amusement. “He’s brusque, is Boyle, and sometimes that can be taken for unkindness, but he’s not unkind as a rule.”
“I guess he broke the rule with me.”
“I’d say he did, by kissing the brains from your ears. You work for him, so it’s an awkward sort of situation. He’d take that to heart, Boyle would.”
“But I—”