ago (the trick on her driver's license had not worked on him for some reason). He was talking to one of the young librarians who worked with Ingrid, an arm around her shoulders. Meanwhile Joanna was eating profiteroles at a nearby table, her face a mask of bliss. "I told you, like I told you that night. I can't see you again," Freya whispered.
"But you want to," Killian insisted.
"No. No, I don't."
Yes, they had made love the night of her engagement party . . . no, they had fucked. The minute he had locked the door behind him she had practically thrown herself at him, had ripped his clothes off to be able to touch his body. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to scream the moment his hand slipped between her legs. When he'd pinned her against the sink and had his way, she was open and hungry and afterward . . . afterward . . . she had looked into his beautiful face and wanted to cry. In response, he had kissed her again, and they had made love for the second time, slowly this time, savoring every moment, which made it even hotter than the first. . . .
But that was enough. After that she had regained her senses. She had told him under no circumstances could they ever do that again, as she had made a terrible mistake. She had fled the party and had not looked back, not once.
Freya was aware she wasn't perfect, and she never claimed to be. But she would never do anything to hurt someone she loved so dearly. It was a slip, an accident, bridal jitters, her own commitment issues. After all, it had been a very long time since she'd had a husband . . . but now she was set and determined. She loved Bran and one moment (or two, really, if one was counting) of weakness with Killian did not change that. It did not change anything.
"Killian, I should have called you to talk about it. I'm sorry I didn't. I meant what I said to you that night, I don't know what I was doing, I was out of my mind, it was a horrid lapse of judgment."
He placed a strawberry on her plate, ripe and luscious. "Call it what you want . . . but you know where to find me." He slipped a key into her pocket. "This will get you into the Dragon, it's docked on the far side of Gardiners Island. Don't worry, Bran never goes there. I'll be waiting for you every night this week. If you don't come see me by Sunday night, I won't bother you anymore."
Before she could reply he stepped away suddenly and disappeared into the crowd.
"Sorry! What did I miss?" Bran asked, finally appearing by her side, looking tired and drained from his travels. "Has the silent auction started?" he asked, picking up the fruit skewer from her plate and taking a bite. "I'm starved! Is there any food left?"
"Let's go see," Freya said. She kissed her beloved on the cheek, the key heavy and hot in her pocket, an iron poker.
Chapter fifteen
A Certain Wild Magic
Her dress pinched at the waist and Joanna squirmed in her old-fashioned girdle. It was why she did not go to very many fancy parties these days, as she despised wearing tight clothing. Was it her imagination or was her dress so much smaller than she remembered? Her feet hurt, too; why did she let Freya talk her into wearing heels? It was a nice event, and good to see the community pulling together after a disaster. There was a lot of unease and uncertainty in the air. No one was quite sure how it would affect the local economy, but certainly not only the fishing industry but many of the local restaurants that specialized in seafood from the coastal waters were in danger. It was such a shame, and one that no one mentioned since it was much too painful, but the consequences were already being felt; instead of the usual northeastern summer spread, the dinner entree was some sort of chicken a la boring.
Joanna bade her good-byes to her daughters: Freya was huddled somewhere with Bran, while Ingrid sat at a table with a few of her cohorts from the library. She left the party and began to walk home. The city square was a few blocks away from the beachfront, and her house was just