Whiskey & Witches Page 3

  Goddess, she loved gardening, as did all earth elementals. The soil fed her soul and strengthened her magic. Working this patch was the only time she felt truly centered and as if she were part of something greater. Although, what that larger thing could be, she was clueless to know. Her life had taken a tragic turn, and she was as isolated as any living being could be. Alone. No friends. No lover to whisper sweet nothings or to caress late at night when she missed human contact the most.

  “Evil witch!”

  Taken by surprise, she didn’t move fast enough, and a large, jagged rock hit her on the shoulder. She twisted in time to avoid the second stone, narrowly avoiding having her unmarred cheek struck.

  “Husband stealer!”

  Whack! Another rock.

  “Skanky hag!”

  Those little feckers must’ve searched for the sharpest damned stones they could find. Two more hit her in rapid succession before she had the presence of mind to react. Placing her hands on the ground, she directed a blast of energy toward the three teenage boys. The trees’ branches swept dangerously close to their heads, and the ground buckled, knocking her attackers flat on their backsides.

  Their cries of fear gave her a fierce sense of satisfaction. As Roisin, she’d never have thought to retaliate, but posing as her sister, it seemed like every day she turned meaner, more Meg-like. She experienced a small pang of regret that she’d never tried to understand her sister better. Meg had her reasons for her bitterness and anger, but Ro had stopped trying to get through to her years before. Or she had until the day of the accident, when Meg insisted they talk, that she had something important to relay. But she died before she could, and the fact tormented Roisin daily. Whatever Meg had intended to say had died with her that day.

  She couldn’t climb to her feet because her back had gone into spasm when she’d twisted, but she continued to send milder shock waves toward the boys until they scrambled up and ran down the dirt lane. When she knew she was safe, she sent her thanks and the last remnants of her magic to the trees to repair what her anger had wrought. Easing onto her back, she watched the clouds gather in the late afternoon sky.

  A lone tear rolled down from the outer corner of her eye into her hairline. She was so lonely. Why did she stay in this goddess-forsaken place? She had the power to go anywhere in the world. Why did she torture herself and allow the ridicule from those ignorant of who she was?

  “Ro!” Carrick’s concerned cry reached her seconds before he did.

  He was why she stayed.

  And Aeden.

  Goddess, she was an eejit.

  Kneeling beside her, Carrick cradled her face within his palms. “Tell me where you’re hurt. Where’s the blood coming from?”

  Blood? She tilted her head as much as his hands allowed. The rock to her shoulder had cut her sleeve and nicked her skin along with it.

  “I’m grand, Carrick.” With impatience and a strength she thought had deserted her, she brushed his hands away. “Just some little feckers out to teach the evil witch a lesson.”

  “Jaysus, Ro! Who were the boys? I’ll see they’re punished.”

  The temptation was strong to let him, but she shook her head. “I’ll deal with it in my own time.” And although she hated to ask, she needed his help to stand. “Could you… give me a hand?”

  He surprised her when he laid down beside her and folded his arms over his chest instead.

  “Are ya mad? What are you doing?” she demanded, turning her head to look him in the eye.

  “It’s occurred to me, we haven’t done this in a long while.”

  “This? Get stoned by a couple of juvenile delinquents?”

  Anger pulsed from him, and Roisin gasped her shock when it lightly smacked into her body. “Carrick! When did you learn to do that, now?”

  “Do what?”

  “The magic.”

  “What are you talkin’ about, Ro? I didn’t perform magic.”

  “Ya did! I felt it, I did.”

  He rolled to his side, propped up by his elbow, and gazed down into her face. “What are you going on about?”

  “Your anger… just now. I felt it,” she repeated. “It burst out of you.”

  Carrick stared, nonplussed. “Yeah, I experienced a tingle, but here, I thought it was you.”

  She grinned. “It was all you.”

  It was easy to tell he didn’t believe her by his doubtful expression.

  Then his moody green eyes dropped to her smiling lips.

  Uh oh! She recognized the look. Carrick O’Malley was feeling amorous.

  Maybe the magic coursing through his system was affecting him in other ways.

  Roisin’s pulse sped up considerably.

  In a lightning-fast move, he was kneeling over her, a hand braced on either side of her head. Trapped, she couldn’t move even had she wanted. And if she were being honest, she had absolutely no desire to escape the cage created by his beautiful, sculpted forearms. After a lifetime together, she recognized the sign; Carrick intended to steal a kiss.

  A kiss was a bad idea.

  The worst.

  Top-of-the-charts terrible, in fact.

  But she didn’t say no when his eyes begged permission. Hell, no! She wanted this. Wanted him.

  Tangling her fingers in that rich, raven-colored hair, she pulled him to her. Chest to chest. Lips a tease away. She closed her eyes and inhaled when his mouth met hers. His delicious scent reminded her of a delectable banana loaf, with hints of cinnamon and allspice—and he tasted even better.

  How long their tongues danced in their lazy waltz, she had no idea. She got lost in the sweeping back and forth. The seductive give and take. Moaning into his mouth, she strained for more. Back pain be damned!

  Carrick broke the kiss and nibbled little love bites along the left side of her jaw. She arched her neck to allow him access to her throat, celebrating the feel of his velvety-soft lips—so at odds with the man himself. He devoted his attention to the deep valley between her breasts, and Roisin gasped when he licked the skin there. She hadn’t been aware of him unbuttoning the top of her blouse, but she was all for it.

  He leaned his body into hers and ran a hand underneath her shirt, lifting her bra enough to access her breast. As he cupped her and gently squeezed, as if familiarizing himself with the weight in his large hand, he met her gaze again.

  Desire darkened those heart-stealing eyes of his, and Roisin thrilled to see it. Lowering his head, Carrick sucked her nipple through the aged material of her button-down top. Passion bested her, and the ache between her thighs became unbearable, mercilessly prodding her to do something about her long dry spell.

  As one of those talented hands of his found its way past the waistband of her knickers, reason returned.

  What the hell did she think she was doing?

  Hadn’t she firmed her resolve and told herself she wouldn’t settle for scraps anymore only thirty or forty minutes ago? Not from him. Not from anybody. With a burning regret, she forced the words from between kiss-swollen lips. “Carrick, no.”

  CHAPTER 3

  It took a pulse-pounding second or two, but Roisin’s rejection penetrated Carrick’s fevered brain. With great care, he withdrew and straightened her clothing. There was nothing he could do about the damp spot on her blouse. Neither would he feel guilty for giving in to temptation and kissing her. He’d wanted her for too long and Jaysus, did he miss her!

  Rolling onto his back, he adjusted himself to allow more room for his erection and slowly blew out a breath. No was no, and he’d respect her wishes, but damned if he wouldn’t be a bit sulky about it.

  “What’s with the blast of cold, pet? The signals you were giving were clear.”

  “It’s hard to say no to you, Carrick, but this isn’t going to do either of us any good.”

  “I beg to differ. It will do us both a great deal of good.” He turned his head to meet her searching gaze. “We’d both enjoy a hearty shag and be more relaxed for it.”
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  “Sure, if it were only about the physical. We both know what we shared was more. Once.”

  He sat up and hooked his arms around his bent knees, clasping his hands together. Roisin was right, of course she was, but her response wasn’t any less galling. All these months without sex had made him a bit irritable.

  “I’m sorry, Carrick.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he snapped. With a deep inhale, he purposefully softened his expression. “A woman never has to feel bad for saying no. You know that.”

  She nodded but didn’t look convinced, and Carrick hated the insecurity flowing from her.

  “Ro? Has someone…” His mouth went dry. “Did someone… since…?”

  “What? No!” She shook her head and swatted his bicep. “You know I’d cut off a man’s bollocks if he didn’t respect my wishes.”

  Relief, swift and fierce, swept through him. She’d been hurt enough, both by him and the incident that scarred her. Because most of the town knew he sought her out without knowing the why of it, they treated her poorly, and he was constantly worried on her behalf. It was why he stopped back by today. The nagging feeling something was wrong wouldn’t leave him.

  “Who were the boys, Roisin?”

  “And didn’t I say I’d deal with it in my own time, Carrick? Let it go.”

  “I’ll not stand around while others harm you. Don’t ask me to.” He frowned because she still hadn’t moved. “Your back’s seized again, hasn’t it?

  “A little.”

  Cursing under his breath, he lifted her into his arms. It cost her plenty to admit she was in pain, he had no doubt. The least he could do was see to her comfort.

  “It’s not your job to take care of me, Carrick. Not anymore.”

  “Look, I’ll not be havin’ this argument again. If I can make life easier for you without cost to Aeden, that’s what I’ll be doing.”

  She went still, and he could feel the stiff tension in her body. With an internal sigh, he strode into the ramshackle cottage. The place was tiny and could use updating, but she’d made it quaint with her little touches here and there. Roisin knew how to transition brick and mortar to a home, using only bright curtains, a pot of flowers, and a heart full of love. He made a mental note to bring his toolbox back with him the next free time he had.

  “Couch or bed?”

  “Bed, please.”

  After he’d laid her on the mattress, he rifled through the top drawer of her dresser for the liniment she usually created by the liter. Finding it, he opened the lid, took a whiff, and grimaced. “It still smells like shite. You’d think you’d have found a better fragrance for the bleedin’ stuff.”

  She grinned as she held out her hand. “Lucky for you, you’re not the one who’ll be wearing it.”

  “And I’ll be thanking the Goddess for that.” He rolled his eyes skyward to emphasize his comment. “Can you remove your clothes and turn over, or do you need help?”

  “Carrick, you don’t—”

  “Jaysus! Can you not stop arguing with me for five minutes, woman?” Carrick set the pot of ointment on the bedside table and gently sat her up. When he began unbuttoning her top, she smacked his hands and growled. He fought a smile and averted his eyes until he heard her clothing drop to the floor.

  She attempted to shift, but her sharp hiss gave her away along with her difficulty.

  Careful not to move her too fast, he eased her legs straight and her back flat. Then, he rolled her onto her stomach with another glance skyward. This time he added a few silent curses that he couldn’t take advantage of his wife’s naked state.

  He scooped up a euro-sized amount of the goop and warmed it between his hands. Her flesh quivered in direct relation to the cold air, or perhaps his nearness, and goosebumps formed from the base of her neck to her ankles. Scars marred the previously unblemished body all down her right side. It was the first time he’d seen some of the accident’s reminders carved into her delicate skin, and it made him ill to think of the pain she’d gone through—was continuing to go through.

  “Cold?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  He pinched the sheet between his index finger and thumb and drew it up to cover her legs, in addition to the bottom half of her bum. Regret struck at being forced to cover her loveliness.

  Carrick skimmed his palms over her back. After a liberal application of the greasy mixture, he used his thumbs to work the kinks from her muscles, and her soft moan of pleasure caused him to smile.

  “You can thank me for insisting,” he teased.

  “Your head will swell.”

  “My head is already swelling, but probably not the one you’re thinkin’.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Then it’s a good thing for me you’ll not take advantage.”

  “Good for you, bad for me.”

  Roisin tried to hide her smile in her forearms, but he caught the fleeting grin.

  “Thank you for insisting, Carrick,” she murmured a few minutes later. Her voice was sleepy and, for once, without an edge of bitterness.

  He missed this side of her. “My pleasure, love.”

  “Am I?”

  Her whispered question held a ton of angst, and it cut him to the quick that she had any doubt.

  “Always, Ro.” He kissed the crown of her head. “Always.”

  Later that evening, as Roisin was heating up leftovers from lunch, a wave of loneliness struck. Carrick had been lovely earlier, and his massage had worked wonders for the tight, painful muscles of her back. She’d forgotten to ask why he’d come by, but if it was important, she’d find out in due time.

  At some point after she’d fallen asleep, he’d left her, but not without writing her a note and propping it up beside a single rose in a drinking glass. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to read it yet, knowing the sharp, bittersweet blade would impale her heart and make her cry. His sweet gestures always triggered strong reactions in her.

  A short while later, as she stared at her meager dinner, trying to work up an appetite, her eyes drifted back to the folded paper. Giving in, she opened it, already knowing what it contained.

  Carrick & Roisin 4-Ever

  The tears came, but she smiled anyway. From their first day of primary school, he’d been writing her these little notes, and she’d kept every single one.

  Goddess, she loved him.

  With his dark hair and laughing eyes, he could’ve had anyone, but for some reason, he wanted dull Roisin with her stubby braids and hand-me-down clothing. Too shy to speak to him, she’d smile her greeting and allow him to do all the talking. Oh, the stories he’d tell. His mind had been ripe with imagination, and he’d thrilled her with his tales of the fae. When they were grown, she encouraged him to write children’s stories. And when he signed a contract for a three-book deal, he’d swept her off her feet and said he couldn’t have done it without her. It was the same day he’d proposed marriage.

  Roisin wiped away the moisture from her cheeks and gently folded the paper in two. No good could come of recalling the past with such frequency and longing. Dwelling would get her nowhere fast. With a wave of her hand, she sent the paper fluttering upward to the cardboard box, decorated to hold her memories. A flick of her finger lifted the lid for the air current to deposit the note inside. She snapped to put the box back to its original state then dusted her hands together.

  That was that.

  A sharp rap on her door caught her attention, and she frowned at the urgency behind the sound. With a grimace and curse for the visitor on the other side, she ambled her way over to answer.

  “Who’s there?”

  “I’ll give you one feckin’ guess, Roisin Byrne-O’Malley!”

  She’d recognize that strident tone anywhere. Bridget O’Malley. Her sister-in-law.

  “You’ll open the bleeding door, or I’ll kick it down, Roisin!”

  After admitting her, Roisin winced when Bridget connected with her injured shoulder as she passed by.


  “How did you know it was me, Bridg?”

  “So it’s true then? You’ve been lying to everyone—me included—while pretending to be her?”

  Meg and Roisin had always looked similar enough for her to pull off the ruse. The only difference was their hairstyle and the scowl Meg had preferred to grace everyone with. Their height, build, eye color, and facial features were nearly identical. The scarring helped. No one was comfortable looking at her face for long.

  Refusing to answer Bridget’s fury-packed question, Roisin lifted her chin. They stared at each other, both unable or unwilling to cross the divide of their differences and Bridget’s anger.

  “What are you doing here?” Roisin demanded.

  “Carrick wanted me to stop by and bring you dinner. He said you had nothing worth eating in that temperamental refrigerator of yours.” She tossed back her gleaming auburn locks and nodded toward the antiquated appliance with a grimace.

  Her husband’s sister was as prickly as she was beautiful, and Roisin deeply regretted the loss of their friendship. But she’d had a part to play and couldn’t risk anyone finding out she was alive. Bridget knew her almost as well as Carrick had, so the lie was necessary to keep her away. Everyone in their town knew Bridget had hated Meg with every cell in her petite body and wouldn’t seek her out if her life depended on it. Roisin had been banking on it when she convinced Carrick to tell everyone besides Aeden she was dead.

  “You didn’t need to do this,” Roisin said, accepting the dish. Saliva pooled in her mouth as the drool-worthy smell hit her olfactory glands. People could say what they wanted about Bridget being a salty bitch, but the woman could cook.

  “I know I didn’t, but I promised my no-good brother. When I refused to lift a finger to help ‘Meg’, he broke down and confessed to me, not an hour past, that you’re still alive and living in this hovel. Apparently, he’s worried about you, although why he gives a shite after what you pulled is beyond me.”