to her arm, and he lifted it gently, turning it toward the light. “You sure you’re all right?” he asked, his thumb sweeping lightly across her now completely healed skin.
The lump in her throat precluded speech. She could only give a slight nod.
He gave a satisfied nod of his own and then planted a hard kiss on her mouth. It was over before she got to enjoy it. “I’ll see you later?” he asked, his voice deep and husky. As soon as she shook her head in agreement he kissed her again, this time a little softer and a little slower, pulling her close to him again. She relaxed into him, letting his big body support most of her weight, and rested her hands on his lean waist. The stubble of a couple days’ worth of beard scratched her face, making her want to feel that roughness in her most intimate places. Too bad there wasn’t enough time.
His mouth lifted and he sighed. “Bye,” he murmured. He stroked his fingers over her jaw, then turned and left the room.
Keira heard him say something to Rudi about coming back later and to set something aside for him, but she couldn’t hear all of it over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She did hear the chime over the front door sound, and slowly moved out of the alcove. She left the Cactus Room and walked onto the main floor. After drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, she yelled, “Bye, Rudi.”
The gallery owner came out of his office. “I’m sorry I haven’t moved anything for you today, Keira.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get another sale soon.” She wasn’t worried about her art selling. In the past she’d had no trouble. It would move, eventually. She said her good-byes and went out to her car. She started it up but sat there, pondering her next move. She would go to the meeting and mask her emotions in case there were any other empaths in the room. She didn’t want them to pick up on her true feelings. She’d listen. And watch.
Centuries ago, over a millennium actually, she’d been friends with some of the Fianna, the strong, powerful men who’d guarded the High King of Ireland. She’d admired their courage and the stoutness of their morals even while she had to fight so hard to have even a thimbleful of the same. The code by which they’d lived had been one she’d tried to adopt: Honesty in our hearts, strength in our limbs, and deeds to honor our vows.
Her natural instinct was to manipulate people to her advantage, not be honest. And while as a fey she had strength of body, in the past she had rarely put her promises into action and followed through with them. Which meant that no matter how difficult it might get, no matter how much danger she might get herself into, she’d keep her promise to Caladh. She owed it to herself. And because of that, she was being dishonest and manipulative. Doing what she did best for the greater good. No one but the two of them could know she was infiltrating the rogue group of preternaturals who were trying to mess with the rift. She couldn’t even tell Finn.
Speaking of Finn, what was she going to do about him? In spite of herself that one time they’d made love had meant more to her than she’d expected. She might even be halfway in love with him, which tempted her to take their relationship to a deeper emotional level. Except her logical side told her he wasn’t ready for—or interested in—that type of commitment. Not now, maybe not ever.
She’d been alone for so long. She’d never been one to make friends easily, perhaps because in her former life in the other dimension her “friends” had been people she could call upon for a con job. They’d been the kind of friends who wouldn’t have hesitated to turn around and sell her out. Then she’d come to Earth only to discover she was immortal. Any human friends she’d made had grown old and died while she stayed the same. And, of course, there had been the whole having to pick up and move every fifteen years or so to keep her immortality hidden.
The few preternatural friends she’d made had quickly moved on as well. Before the computer age it was even more difficult to keep in touch. After the Internet and cell phones came on