Page 51 of Wine & Warlocks

Stroking his thick hair, she marveled at the silky feel. “Never cut your hair, yeah? I want to fall asleep just like this every night.”

She felt his grin against her skin and shivered.

“Aye. Every night,” he agreed.

CHAPTER22

“So the plan moving forward is this. We host the faux wedding, tempt Loman away from where we believe the island to be, then stage a rescue,” Castor said. “The O’Malleys will be here, with Eoin glamoured into Dubheasa as Brenna stands in as a bridesmaid. Quentin will glamour into Ronan. That way, if Loman attacks, he’ll face two formidable opponents in Brenna and Quentin.”

“Draven has agreed to stay close and cloaked, as backup if things get bad,” Alastair added.

“In the meantime, I’ll take Ronan, Dubheasa, Trevor, Fintan, and half of Alastair’s security team to where we believe the prison is located. There are a lot of outbuildings, so we’ll need to split up.” Castor tapped the rough sketch he’d drawn of Scotland and its outlying islands. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for, we’ll head to the location Dubheasa initially suspected and search there.”

“Our window is limited to the length of the wedding. My father will get suspicious quickly.” Ronan couldn’t stress the danger to this group enough. “He looks for traps in the most innocent of circumstances.”

Alastair nodded. “It should also be known he’s fond of explosives. If you see anything, don’t be stupid. Get out of there as soon as possible.” He gave Castor a pointed look. “Especially you, Alex. You have a terrible tendency to play hero to get all the attention and praise.”

Castor smoothed back his hair and twirled a pretend mustache. “How else am I to impress the ladies?”

Quentin rolled his eyes and put a hand to his stomach. “Ohdeargod, I think I threw up in my mouth.”

Normally Ronan would’ve laughed, but the seriousness of the situation weighed heavily on him. “If the wedding is tomorrow, how will we spread the word in time for my da to hear of it?”

“That’s the Aether’s part,” Alastair replied. “He’s appealing to the Authority to cast a suggestive spell to implant the knowledge of it into the collective magical community’s brain with a nice boost encouraging them to discuss it at every opportunity.”

Dubheasa nodded her approval. “Clever.”

“The man’s over two hundred years old,cher,” Draven reminded her with a coolly amused expression. “He’s seen and done it all.” Pushing away from where he rested his shoulder against the wall, he reached across the table and picked up a petit tart. His mouth quirked on one side, but the partial smile was without humor. “Sounds like your Loman is as vicious as a copperhead and ten times as deadly. I have a few things to wrap up… just in case. I’ll be back in the mornin’.”

Once again, Ronan wondered about the man’s past. Draven seemed to be void of caring, but Ronan could empathize. Prior to Dubheasa, he was much the same. Sabrina and his cousin Ruairí had proved to be the one soft spot in his hardened heart. However, the events of the last months had caused a monumental shift inside him. Opened him up to change and even the elusive feeling of hope. Hope that perhaps he and Dubheasa could have something real and that a “happily ever after” was within his grasp.

And this new knowledge scared the bejeezus out of him. It made him vulnerable in a way he never had been when he was a cold, unfeeling bastard like his da. To his father, everyone and everything Ronan cared about was a target at which to take aim. It was a miracle Loman hadn’t discovered Ronan’s relationship with Bec. For sure, he’d have exploited it to the utmost degree, using it to strike a blow to the Thorne family.

Dubheasa left to put on the kettle, and Ronan couldn’t help following her, touching her at every opportunity in an effort to assure himself that what he was experiencing was real.

“You’re scaring me, Ronan,” she said softly, worry creasing her brow. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, but my skin feels prickly and my nerves are raw.”

“You’re worried about the plan?”

“In large part, yeah.” He cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the others, who were huddled about the table. “I can’t help feeling this isn’t the right way to go.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Dubheasa’s question was genuine and held no hint of sarcasm, so Ronan answered in kind. “No, but the thought of you comin’ face-to-face with my da shrivels my bollocks. If the Devil had a face, it would be Loman O’Connor’s. Please don’t forget it, love.”

“I won’t.”

When she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his head into the crook of her neck, Ronan sighed his pleasure and kissed the skin exposed by the V of her jumper. Breathing in the subtle scent of her exotic perfume, he allowed himself a brief fantasy about what he’d do to her should he get her alone again anytime soon.

“Your thoughts have turned to shagging,”she accused, using their personal connection.

“Aye.”Why bother denying it? She could sense his amorous leanings through their ever-developing bond.“They always do when you’re within five feet of me.”

Her giggle was the balm his soul needed.

“If we’re to die tomorrow, we should definitely take advantage and shag again tonight.”

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