He was a dead man.
For a fleeting moment, he thought of Culley. And empathized. His brother had fallen victim to this woman at a much younger age than Riley.
And Riley couldn't resist her either—didn't want to....
One leg of her jeans lay impotently beneath her, while the other was still in place. He slid his hand inside her plain cotton drawers and found her mound beneath the tight curls. Lower still, he found her hot and moist as he discovered the center of her desire and stroked until her hips left the ground to meet him.
"Take me," she said, her voice barely more than a strangled whisper. "I want you. I want you." She rocked her pelvis as a woman did with a man buried to the hilt within her. "I want you inside me."
Oh, Jaysus.
She couldn't have known he would find her moaning and writhing, alone and undressed, in the castle. She couldn't have known he would
need
to finish what her imagination had begun. Could she?
Did he care?
No. Right now, all he cared about was surrounding himself with her heat, her softness, her womanhood. He would die if he couldn't.
He dipped one finger inside her, felt her muscles contract around him. Sucking in a breath, he held it until he brought the urge to explode right here and now under control. Barely. She contracted, drawing his finger deeper inside her. He slid two more in to join the first, mimicking the very action he ached to do with another, much larger, much
needier
, part of his body.
He was going to explode if he couldn't do it now. She'd driven him mad with this constant craving since the day she'd arrived. He'd go off his nut and lose what remained of his mind if he couldn't join with her
now
. As he so desperately wanted. Needed.
Must
.
He had to have her.
Possess her.
Love her.
Love?
He tore himself away, pulled his trembling hand from inside her drawers, and stared down at her passion-stricken features. The moonlight gave her a surreal appearance, making her even more beautiful.
"
Shite
," he said, his voice harsh in the night.
"Cailleach.
Witch." She'd cast a bloody spell on him.
The only other sounds were the waves crashing against the rocks below, and the infernal whispering of
Caisleán Dubh.
The castle seemed determined to drive him toward the biggest mistake of his life.
Toward his brother's wife.
But when he gazed upon her bathed in moonlight, he didn't see Culley's wife or Jacob's mum. He saw Bridget—the woman who'd turned his life arseways and topsy-turvy.
And he wanted her. Only her.
* * *
The fire pulsing through Bridget almost hurt. No, it
did
hurt. She needed Riley to fill her so full she would never want again. He stretched her with his fingers, but that wasn't enough. She wanted more.
She wanted
him
.
Without warning, he bit off a curse and called her a witch again. She wasn't a witch. She was a woman who needed him more than her dignity. He withdrew his fingers and hovered over her. Torturing her.
"Bronagh," he whispered.
"What?" Her flesh turned icy as the ocean breeze swept over her nakedness. "What did you say?"
He shuddered and stood, facing the sea. "Get dressed." He shoved his hands in his pockets and didn't look at her again. "Just... get dressed."
The fire subsided and Bridget shivered. He'd used the word from her dream. Or was it a name? Trembling, she realized just how naked she was and shame washed over her. What if someone had seen them like this?
"Oh, God," she muttered, squirming until her panties and jeans were righted. Her bra lay a few feet away, bathed in moonlight. She shook sand from it and put it on. "Where's my sweater?"
He looked down at her without turning away from the sea. "Don't you remember?" His tone was mocking. "It must be inside."
Confused, she looked toward
Caisleán Dubh
, where her flashlight still glowed from the base of the stone steps, aimed toward the high ceiling. Remembering what had happened when she'd touched the banister, she made a choking noise.
"What... what did you do to me?" she asked, her voice quavering.
He spun around and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet. Dizzy, she slammed into him, but quickly recovered her balance and maintained her distance—if not her dignity. Touching him was dangerous. "What did you do to me?" she repeated, aiming her thumb over her shoulder. "In there?"
He stared at her with moonlight bathing his features. "Are you bloody daft?"
"No, I'm confused." She shoved her hair back from her face. "I'm standing here without my clothes and I don't know what... happened to them." Her voice fell to a whisper as she spoke. She turned toward the castle. Her sweater was inside. She remembered now.
And he'd called her "Bronagh."
Oh, God.
Was Riley her dream lover?
"Have mercy!" She clutched at her throat as the enormity of it all pressed down on her. "It was you. All along, it was you. You said... you said 'Bronagh.' Just like him..."
He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, and at this moment she wasn't sure she hadn't. "Just like who?"
"My dre—" She looked away. The last thing she wanted this man to know was that she'd been having erotic dreams starring him.
Is it true?
"Why did you say—call me—Bronagh? Is it a name? What does it mean?"
"You're very good at trickery," he said, his voice low but fierce. "Poor Culley."
Rage licked through Bridget. With a roar of anguish, she slapped Riley Mulligan's smug face, the loud crack echoing off the castle walls and out to sea.
His head snapped to one side, but he quickly returned his gaze to her, unharmed. His ragged breathing and the wash of the tide against the rocks below were the only sounds. Even the whispers of
Caisleán Dubh
had fallen silent.
"I..." She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest, remembering that only her bra covered her above the waist. "I'm sorry I hit you," she said. "I've told you before that the only thing I ever did to Culley was love him. I can't force you to believe me."
"You would be right about that." Rubbing his cheek, he turned toward the sea again. "You and your son have made me break a lifelong vow today. Twice."
"There is no curse." She brushed sand from her arms and off her back as far as she could reach. "We've been in there two times now and nothing's happened." Determined to find her clothes and cover herself, she spun around and marched toward her flashlight.
What in tarnation had happened to her? How could she have stripped off her clothes inside and ended up rolling in the sand out here with Riley? And why had he called her Bronagh? The more Bridget thought about it, the more convinced she was that it was a name. A woman's name.
The woman from her dreams? But that had been Bridget. Hadn't it? Otherwise, she wouldn't have felt it all so... so...
"Don't go in there," Riley said just as she reached the opening. "I forbid it."
Up yours.
Granny would've been more proud of Bridget if she'd said it out loud, but thinking it would do for her now. She was too shaken, too confused, too aware of all the ways and places Riley Mulligan had touched her to be logical or brave.
Already inside the castle, she found her sweater and shook the dust from it as best she could, then pulled it over her head. Her cardigan was in worse shape, so she shook it and draped it over her arm instead of wearing it. Besides, she wasn't a bit cold now.
Not after... She stood a few feet away from the banister where her flashlight lay near the bottom step pointing toward the ceiling. The fluttering of wings overhead made Bridget shudder, but she reminded herself that bats would eat mice since there were no snakes.
Definitely "tetched."
She almost managed a breath, but she had to reach too near the banister to retrieve her flashlight to manage that. The urge to grab that banister again clawed through her and the whispering commenced again. "Stop it," she whispered. "Just stop. Not now."
Amazingly, it did.
All of it was too bizarre. She clutched the flashlight in a death grip and headed back toward the opening, where Riley's big body blocked all the light from outside.
She stopped near the opening and shined the flashlight right in his eyes. "Move." She was too tired and confused to be polite now.
He didn't budge, and his smirk really grated on her. "Won't y'all please move? Pretty please?" she asked with false sweetness. "
Now?
"
He leaned against the edge of the exposed door frame as if he had no intention of ever moving from that spot. "I told you not to go in there again."
"My clothes were in there, as you well know."
"How would I know that, since I wasn't there when you removed them?"
"I didn't—" She stopped, holding her breath. "I'm not sure how that happened." And that was the truth.
Dang it
. "But I'm dressed now and I just want to go to sleep. Move." Why couldn't they just use a door like normal people?
He shifted to one side, remaining close enough that she had to brush against him as she exited the castle. Awareness spiked through her again, and she sucked in a breath. Her nipples perked up expectantly as she eased her way past his broad chest.
Traitors.
No matter how much her body wanted Riley Mulligan,
she
was determined to maintain her dignity.
What was left of it.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and the jolt that shot through her was almost as powerful as the one that had seized her when she'd touched that danged banister. His left shoulder was against the door frame, and her backside pressed against the castle wall. She wasn't pinned by him, but by the complete force of her own desire.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, staring up at his face through the shadows.
"Bronagh." His voice sounded strange and his grip on her shoulder tightened as he pulled her toward him. "Bronagh," he repeated.
Bridget wanted nothing more than to lean into him, to seek his lips, his touch, his possession again and again. She forced herself to remember her son and their precarious situation. If she slept with Riley, she'd lose her self-respect. And if Fiona ever learned of it, she would surely lose her place in the family.
And, worst of all, Riley would believe himself right about her and Culley.
That thought gave her the strength to force herself through the opening and past him. The moment she emerged from the castle, she felt some control return. With the flashlight still clutched in her fist, she bent over at the waist and gulped the cool night air, bracing the heels of both hands against her knees.
Strengthened, she straightened and turned to face Riley. Still leaning against the castle, he seemed to be in some kind of trance. He kept staring straight ahead and his breathing sounded labored.
"Riley?" Cautiously, she walked toward him.
"Bronagh," he whispered.
"No, I'm not Bronagh."
Whoever she is.
Or was.
He blinked and she aimed her flashlight in his face again. His scowl returned and he shoved himself away from the castle. "What the devil just happened?"
"I asked you the same thing earlier," she reminded him. "I wish I knew. I don't believe there's a curse, but there is some kind of... power here."
He nodded. "Would you mind not shining that bloody light in my eyes?"
The real Riley Mulligan had returned.
Grinning, she lowered the flashlight. With the half-moon rising higher, she didn't need it now and turned it off. Later, she would try to determine just what had happened here tonight.
The castle's whispering encircled her again and she squeezed her eyes closed. She'd proven three things to herself this evening.
First of all,
Caisleán Dubh
was safe—at least part of it was—and it could be restored. She didn't need an inspector to confirm it. She just
knew
.
Secondly, the castle possessed some kind of power or magic. She'd never given supernatural things much thought before, but whatever force had seized control of her when she'd gripped that banister wasn't something to ignore.
And that power had taken control of Riley, too. Why had he called her Bronagh?
Why
? Was he
really
her dream lover, or had he just been here at the right—or wrong—time? A tremor raced through her and she hoped the dreams would end now. Maybe now that she'd faced
Caisleán Dubh
and her ridiculous fear, they would.
She watched Riley's profile as he gazed out to sea, as lost in thought as she. Was he asking himself the same questions? Did he realize he'd called her that name? And what did it all mean?
With a sigh, she swallowed hard and admitted her third discovery. There was nothing magical about this one. Nothing supernatural. But it was every bit as dangerous and uncontrollable.