Daring The Moon. Sherrill Quinn
outside. Vanilla and honeysuckle assailed him and a low growl left his throat before he could stop it. It was a woman, somehow familiar, and she was on his island.
Voices carried to him on the wind. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?” The husky feminine voice with a distinct note of exasperation curled around his senses like wispy smoke, tantalizing him, enticing him.
“Well, when we caught sight of the wolf again in Atlanta, I reckoned we should just get on out here. It’s only a few days early, lass.” Declan’s deep voice was calm, the way Ryder remembered him.
“Okay, but that would mean he’s expecting us. Why did you just tell me he isn’t?”
He heard the huff of Declan’s sigh, then the other man mumbled something that Ryder was too far away to clearly catch, even with his exceptional hearing.
“What?” The woman’s voice rose in pitch.
“I said he told me not to come.”
“And yet, here we are.” Although her tone was rich with sarcasm, she still managed to sound as smooth as honey. Her voice slid over Ryder like silk on skin, tightening his entire body with need. When she added, “What’s the plan now, Sherlock?” Ryder almost felt sorry for Declan.
Almost.
His two visitors rounded a curve in the path that became cobblestoned at the edge of the lawn and followed a straight line to the front door. Before they could spot him, Ryder drew back into the study, staring at Declan’s companion as she stopped and rounded on his friend.
“I cannot believe you brought me all the way out here. You…You…” Dropping her two small suitcases, she threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t even have the words!”
Ryder’s jaw clenched against the brutal arousal that slammed into him at his first good look at her. The open flaps of the lightweight jacket she wore revealed full breasts above a narrow rib cage and small waist. Hips curved out, inviting a man’s hands. Long legs encased in worn blue jeans led down to slender, booted feet, one of which tapped against the ground.
His gaze swept back up and lingered on her face. Even from here he could see the tilt at the end of her pert nose and full lips made for kissing. He had a sudden vision of those sensuous lips wrapped around his cock, her hot, wet mouth sliding up and down his shaft, taking him deep. A growl crept from his chest and he trapped it in his throat.
“That’d make a nice change, darlin’,” Declan responded, his grin widening when she made a low, rumbling noise deep in her throat. Setting down one of the suitcases he carried, he laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side with a quick squeeze, making Ryder stiffen.
He was outraged Declan had disregarded his wishes, that was it. It wasn’t that he was jealous over a woman he didn’t even know, no matter how much her scent seemed to meld with his until he had a hard time separating one from the other.
A woman he’d thought was a man, which he knew was what Declan had intended. His former good friend had known Ryder—who lived like a monk, and Declan couldn’t understand why—would never have agreed to have a woman on the island.
Not that he’d agreed that Declan could be here, either.
With a stealthy movement, Ryder pulled the French doors closed and leaned against the wall, out of sight, and continued to listen to their conversation.
“Well, just tell me what we’re going to do when he leaves us standing on his doorstep, Einstein.” Footsteps crunched up the walk. “In the dark.” Her voice wavered a bit, and she cleared her throat.
“He’s not goin’ to just leave us out in the cold, lass.” Declan’s deep voice was still cool and calm, amused.
“Well, it’s hardly that cold,” she said. “Although I’d thought this time of year it would be.”
“It’s the Gulf Stream,” Declan said. “It keeps the climate here fairly temperate. Except during these short late fall and winter months, when some fairly nasty gales can come in off the Atlantic. Which is why Ry won’t leave us stranded.”
Ryder shook his head, knowing before it even began that he’d lost this battle. Declan was right. He wouldn’t deny them, not now that they were here.
“Oh, my God. Look at this place.” The woman’s voice softened with awe. “It looks like something out of Wuthering Heights.”
Declan laughed. “Aye. Ry’s great-grandfather Phelan built the place, hence the name Phelan’s Keep. Look over there.” Gravel crunched as they backed up a few steps. “That’s an honest-to-God tower. Used for storage now, but at one time there was a bedroom at the top.”
“Wow.” A shadow passed by the window, and Ryder saw her walk by, her head thrown back as she looked up at the house. “Just how many rooms are there?”
“Seven bedrooms, five and a half baths. Old Phelan was ahead of his time and gave nearly all the bedrooms their own separate bathroom. All of the stone used to build the house was quarried from the island.” Declan snorted. “Jaysus, Taite. I’m not a flippin’ realtor. It’ll be dark in another hour or so. Let’s get inside.”
She walked back toward the front door, then the door knocker creaked as it was lifted. The clunk of brass on brass reverberated through the foyer and filtered into the study. Ryder listened for Cobb’s footsteps, frowning when they didn’t sound.
“You were saying?” The woman’s voice held a note of wry humor.
The knocker clanked again, and after another minute, Declan muttered, “Son of a…You wait here, Taite. I’ll walk ’round to the other side of the house and see if they’re in the kitchen. Be right back.”
Declan walked past the study, pausing to jiggle the handle and peer through the doors. Ryder, needing a bit of time to come to grips with the emotions stirring within him, stayed in the corner, careful not to draw his friend’s keen gaze in his direction. When Declan was apparently satisfied the study was empty, he went on around the side of the house.
Something thumped against the front door. Ryder grinned at the picture in his mind of Taite slamming her balled-up fist against the unforgiving wood. Another thump and a pithy comment. Then more thumping.
Cobb’s footsteps sounded in the foyer, and the front door squeaked open. “Yes?” his employee asked in a bored, unwelcoming tone.
“Hi.” Taite’s voice was bright and friendly, in direct contrast to the dark comments muttered at his door mere moments before. “My name’s Taite Gibson. I’m here with Declan—”
“Mr. Merrick is not at home to visitors, miss, which I believe he made very clear to Mr. O’Connell when he called.” The door squeaked again, and Ryder knew Cobb was about to close it in the woman’s face.
He sighed at Cobb’s stubborn insistence on maintaining their privacy, even after Ryder had told him not to. When he heard a thud, he cracked open the door of the study to see Taite standing with one hand planted palm-down on the front door.
“Wait a minute. Please,” she said, her smile still in place. “We’ve traveled all day.”
“I’m sorry, miss. But if you leave now you’ll reach St. Mary’s before dark. It’s not convenient for Mr. Merrick to have visitors at this time.” Cobb’s voice was cool and polite, but Ryder heard the underlying thread of steel. The little man didn’t look like it, but he was quite the watchdog.
Even now, he chose to disobey Ryder’s instructions in an effort to protect him. Cobb went on, “As I have said, Mr. Merrick is not available.”
“But we’ve come all the way from the United States to talk to—”
Without a word or even a change of expression, the short, balding man closed the door. Ryder fully opened the study door and leaned one shoulder against the sturdy frame.
When Cobb