The Scarlet Deep
Page 35
Somehow, Murphy had managed to wrap himself around her without Anne even realizing it. His leg was propped behind her back, pressing her slightly forward. One hand played with her hair while the other played with the silken sheet over her knees. Her thighs. Her—
“You know, I never agreed to this plan of yours.” She tried to lean away, but dammit, his arm was suddenly on that side too. How had the irritating man managed to wrap her completely up? Had he suddenly grown five arms to trap her on his bed?
He blinked innocently. “What? You don’t want to give this a chance? We’ll be in London anyway. Spending time together. There are already various social functions we’ll be forced to attend.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Murphy—”
He kissed her. Hard. “Don’t call me Murphy. If you still want to go back to Galway by the time Terry and Gemma’s summit is over, then go.” His voice was deceptively casual. “I’m certainly not going to kidnap you. I’m just warning you that while we’re in London, I’ll be doing everything in my power to show you what excellent partners we’d be.”
“Partners?”
He kissed her neck. “Lovers. Mates. Companions in eternity. Husband and wife, if you’d still like. Bound before God and all the saints.” He lifted his head. “And so fecking much more than friends.”
It was a good thing she was a vampire, because he’d stolen the last breath from her lungs.
“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you, Mr. Murphy?”
“Of course I am, Dr. O’Dea.”
In the pain of their separation and his anger after, Anne had forgotten how he could delight her. His charm. His play. His wit.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “While we’re in London.”
“Good.”
His hands slid down her back, playing along the edge of her silk camisole, teasing the skin at the small of her back. Then without warning, they dipped down to her ample backside and gave it a good, hard squeeze.
“Patrick!”
“Just checking it was still there, love.” He laid a smacking kiss over her collarbone before she shoved him away. “I always did prefer a filly with an ample rump.”
“Rude man! I’m a vampire.” She refused to laugh at his impertinence. “My bottom has not changed in the past seventy years.”
He did nothing but laugh and fall back into the pillows lining the bed alcove. His face was alight with amusement. His eyes teasing. His mouth spread into a smile. Dark hair fell into his eyes and dusted his chest, trailing down in a tempting pattern that pointed toward the part of his anatomy she was very decidedly ignoring. Murphy was naked as the day he was born. And God help her, she never could resist him when he was laughing.
His eyes stayed locked on her. “How do you like my caravan?”
“It’s beautiful. I love it, though I’ll admit”—her eyes darted around—“it scares me a bit. I feel very exposed, even without windows. My house in Galway has rooms underground.”
He banged a fist against the wall, which thudded in a very un-wood-like manner. “Think of it as a large vault on wheels. No one’s getting in. Even if they could find this place.”
“You opened up your sire’s land.”
“Just for my people. They invite others occasionally, but for the most part, it’s still the same clan. It’s good for the children to have a safe place. The local school has a special program for them.”
“Do they follow it?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Some of them do. I won’t force them, Anne.”
“I know. You shouldn’t. The choice is there if they want it.”
He said nothing. His mother’s people had always been a sore spot. She’d run away with a settled Irishman, then left him and gone back to her clan, her infant son in tow. Murphy’s people considered him a bastard of a sort, neither fully Traveller or fully settled. But at the end of the day, they’d been the only family he had, and they were fiercely loyal in their way.
“Your driver. Is he related to James?”
He nodded. “His great-nephew. He’s a good man.”
“I thought he looked familiar.” James had been their driver before the First World War. “They still protect you.”
The light in his eyes flickered. “They fear me. But they like the benefits of calling me their own, don’t they? They’re good at keeping secrets anyway.”
She crawled over, lying down next to him, crossing her arms and nudging his shoulder with her own. “You are a good man, Patrick Murphy. Probably better than they deserve.”
He was having none of it. He snuck an arm under her waist and tumbled her into his chest.
“Don’t fool yourself, love.” Dark brown eyes narrowed with intent. “I’m not a good man at all. You said it yourself. I don’t win. I conquer.”
Chapter Nine
London
THE TWITTERING HUMAN FLUTTERED her hands like a panicking goose. “But… but Mr. Murphy—”
“That will be fine.” He checked off a room on the notebook he had absconded with. “That one will not. Dr. O’Dea will require the suite next to mine. Our security team will flank either side.”
“Mr. Murphy, I must insist—”
“Are any of the other attendees staying in this location?” He gave her a cool glare, railroading her objections with a look. Their London assistant might have been competent, but she was not Angie. Nor was this Dublin. He needed to establish his authority over the Irish contingent immediately, or they would have to move house.
“You know, I never agreed to this plan of yours.” She tried to lean away, but dammit, his arm was suddenly on that side too. How had the irritating man managed to wrap her completely up? Had he suddenly grown five arms to trap her on his bed?
He blinked innocently. “What? You don’t want to give this a chance? We’ll be in London anyway. Spending time together. There are already various social functions we’ll be forced to attend.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Murphy—”
He kissed her. Hard. “Don’t call me Murphy. If you still want to go back to Galway by the time Terry and Gemma’s summit is over, then go.” His voice was deceptively casual. “I’m certainly not going to kidnap you. I’m just warning you that while we’re in London, I’ll be doing everything in my power to show you what excellent partners we’d be.”
“Partners?”
He kissed her neck. “Lovers. Mates. Companions in eternity. Husband and wife, if you’d still like. Bound before God and all the saints.” He lifted his head. “And so fecking much more than friends.”
It was a good thing she was a vampire, because he’d stolen the last breath from her lungs.
“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you, Mr. Murphy?”
“Of course I am, Dr. O’Dea.”
In the pain of their separation and his anger after, Anne had forgotten how he could delight her. His charm. His play. His wit.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “While we’re in London.”
“Good.”
His hands slid down her back, playing along the edge of her silk camisole, teasing the skin at the small of her back. Then without warning, they dipped down to her ample backside and gave it a good, hard squeeze.
“Patrick!”
“Just checking it was still there, love.” He laid a smacking kiss over her collarbone before she shoved him away. “I always did prefer a filly with an ample rump.”
“Rude man! I’m a vampire.” She refused to laugh at his impertinence. “My bottom has not changed in the past seventy years.”
He did nothing but laugh and fall back into the pillows lining the bed alcove. His face was alight with amusement. His eyes teasing. His mouth spread into a smile. Dark hair fell into his eyes and dusted his chest, trailing down in a tempting pattern that pointed toward the part of his anatomy she was very decidedly ignoring. Murphy was naked as the day he was born. And God help her, she never could resist him when he was laughing.
His eyes stayed locked on her. “How do you like my caravan?”
“It’s beautiful. I love it, though I’ll admit”—her eyes darted around—“it scares me a bit. I feel very exposed, even without windows. My house in Galway has rooms underground.”
He banged a fist against the wall, which thudded in a very un-wood-like manner. “Think of it as a large vault on wheels. No one’s getting in. Even if they could find this place.”
“You opened up your sire’s land.”
“Just for my people. They invite others occasionally, but for the most part, it’s still the same clan. It’s good for the children to have a safe place. The local school has a special program for them.”
“Do they follow it?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Some of them do. I won’t force them, Anne.”
“I know. You shouldn’t. The choice is there if they want it.”
He said nothing. His mother’s people had always been a sore spot. She’d run away with a settled Irishman, then left him and gone back to her clan, her infant son in tow. Murphy’s people considered him a bastard of a sort, neither fully Traveller or fully settled. But at the end of the day, they’d been the only family he had, and they were fiercely loyal in their way.
“Your driver. Is he related to James?”
He nodded. “His great-nephew. He’s a good man.”
“I thought he looked familiar.” James had been their driver before the First World War. “They still protect you.”
The light in his eyes flickered. “They fear me. But they like the benefits of calling me their own, don’t they? They’re good at keeping secrets anyway.”
She crawled over, lying down next to him, crossing her arms and nudging his shoulder with her own. “You are a good man, Patrick Murphy. Probably better than they deserve.”
He was having none of it. He snuck an arm under her waist and tumbled her into his chest.
“Don’t fool yourself, love.” Dark brown eyes narrowed with intent. “I’m not a good man at all. You said it yourself. I don’t win. I conquer.”
Chapter Nine
London
THE TWITTERING HUMAN FLUTTERED her hands like a panicking goose. “But… but Mr. Murphy—”
“That will be fine.” He checked off a room on the notebook he had absconded with. “That one will not. Dr. O’Dea will require the suite next to mine. Our security team will flank either side.”
“Mr. Murphy, I must insist—”
“Are any of the other attendees staying in this location?” He gave her a cool glare, railroading her objections with a look. Their London assistant might have been competent, but she was not Angie. Nor was this Dublin. He needed to establish his authority over the Irish contingent immediately, or they would have to move house.
