AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Some history, but mostly nonfiction references on being a priestess of the light. What my publisher calls ‘New Age’ material.”
He smiled. Of course. She was a witch. She wrote books about witchcraft. “How are they doing?”
“They sold very well over here, that’s why Silver Moon was interested in publishing me. My first book of theirs is already in its fourth printing, and they contracted for an open-ended series. The second book will be out in two months.”
Dermot whistled. He’d heard of Silver Moon. They had double digit growth rates and 20% profits, when most publishers were struggling for any growth and happy to make 8% profits.
He cast his mind back to the cocktail party cum investment meeting he’d attended in New York, where he’d heard those figures. All but the most inept New Age publishers were doing well, but Silver Moon had a sizable lead over its competitors. One of the reasons given had been their ability to identify talented writers and build a following for them. And one of the writers they’d crowed loudest about had been an Irish witch named Eileen Lyons.
“You’re Eileen Lyons.”
She blushed, her fine alabaster skin glowing rose. He was amazed that someone so uninhibited about sex could be embarrassed about public recognition.
Dermot breathed deeply, the bands of fear that enclosed his chest shattering like sugar candy. She would never expose his secret to the press. Her career depended on her image, and any scandal would destroy her completely.
“Yes, that’s the name I write under. But how did you guess?”
“I was approached about investing in the company a few months ago. I remembered the name.”
She tilted her head, resting it on her bent arm, and studied him. “You’re uncommonly clear sighted for one who doesn’t walk the path.”
“I pay attention and I know what I want.” He shrugged. “No great trick.”
“And what is it you want?”
Money. Power. To make his mark in the world and surpass his father’s achievements. And right now, her.
“To spend the rest of this day in bed with you,” he admitted. “But I can’t. I’ve already missed a breakfast meeting with our Dublin directors. That was only a status meeting, and I’ll get as much from reading their reports as from listening to them. No doubt they figured I was sleeping off the wedding celebration, and carried on without me. But I have to be in London by one o’clock. I can’t miss that.”
She rolled away from him, then leaned over the edge of the bed to gather some of the covers. “So you won’t be staying in the area, then?”
“No. The only reason I was down here was the wedding.” He reached out and touched her shoulder, turning her to look at him. “I’d like to see you again, Eileen. We could meet in Dublin.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Is it seeing you’ve a mind to do, or could you as easily keep your eyes closed?”
He blew out his breath in a disgus
ted snort. “Yes, I want to make love to you again. But it’s more than that. Beautiful women throw themselves at me all the time. I don’t need to import lovers. I want to see you again because there’s something special about you, something I don’t have the time to explore right now even though I wish I could. I hoped you might feel the same way.”
Now she looked at him, gazing deeply into his eyes as if she could read his soul. For all he knew, she actually could.
But he’d told the truth. The sex had been phenomenal. After all these years of denial, finding a lover who understood and encouraged his desires was like a dream come true. And to have her be an intelligent, successful woman on top of that? If there was one thing he admired more than anything else, it was a person who’d succeeded because of their own tenacity and competence. God, he couldn’t have asked for a more ideal woman.
A chill ghosted over him, and it had nothing to do with his nakedness. She was exactly what he’d asked for. And the leprechaun had delivered her.
Dermot leaped out of the bed. His clothes were in the bathroom where he’d left them, although the pants had been hung on a peg to dry.
“Where’s my jacket?” he asked.
“You weren’t wearing one. Just your shirt and shoes. You’re lucky I saw your pants, black as they are.”
“Damn.” Now that he thought about it, he recalled carrying the jacket over his arm as he walked through the woods, his blood warmed by the Irish Whiskey.
“Are you in such a hurry to be leaving?”
“No, it’s not that. I wanted to give you my business card. It has my office number, and I’d give you my cell phone number, too, so you can call me no matter where I am. Except the cell phone was in the pocket of the jacket.”
She lifted the pants off the peg, and held them out to him. The wool blend fabric was stiff with dried mud and blood.
