Building From Ashes
Page 10
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“I love it.”
Emily was forgotten on the edge of the crowd. She saw the boy from earlier, Mark, dancing in the middle of the floor. She lifted her arms and swayed, moving without a care as she made her way toward him. Each touch that brushed against her felt like a caress. She sidled up to Mark and caught his eye with a smile on her face.
“Hey.”
He grinned. “I thought you didn’t dance!”
Brigid laughed. “I didn’t. But I do now.”
He placed his hands on her hips and swayed with her. She had been right; they were warm. Inviting. She threw her head back and moved to the beat as Mark pressed closer. For the first time in her life, a man’s touch brought neither panic nor disgust. She was relaxed. Fluid. His fingers trailed up her spine. It didn’t bring a rush of fear or a racing heart. The contact felt natural. Incredible.
Brigid let her arms fall over his shoulders. When she met his eyes, she realized what she’d been missing. He was wonderful. This was right. And when his mouth met hers, time seemed to spin out in one long fluid sigh. They moved together, body and breath, and the music and the crowd embraced her.
Chapter Three
Wicklow Mountains, Ireland
May 2005
“So, Paddy and Mick—”
“This is the last joke or you can carve a new room into this mountain and sleep in the dirt, Ioan.”
His oldest son grinned and pulled his wife into his lap as Carwyn laughed. “No, my love, you’ll like this one. So Paddy and Mick are driving to Cork City, and they need to answer the call of nature. They pull to the side of the road and go into the bushes—”
“A piss joke?” Deirdre rolled her eyes and tried to stand, but Ioan pinched her lips together as Carwyn took another drink of his beer.
“They both start pissin’ and Mick looks over to Paddy. ‘Paddy,’ he says, ‘I wish I was as well-hung as you are, my friend. I can see that you’re using four fingers to hold yerself.’ And Paddy says to Mick, ‘Ah, Mick, yer fine, lad. And I see you’re using four as well.’ And Mick says, ‘Aye, Paddy, but I’m pissin’ on three of ’em.’”
Carwyn and Ioan both burst into laughter as Deirdre snorted. Ioan patted her bottom and held her trapped in his lap. “See, my love, aren’t you happy that you married a Welshman?”
“I’m currently feeling the need to visit Gemma in London.”
Carwyn hooted. “Ioan, if she’s willing to subject herself to shopping with Gemma, you’d better learn some manners.”
“I need a long vacation from my own husband.”
“She would never…” Ioan tugged at a lock of Deirdre’s long red hair and pulled her face down to his. He pursed his lips for a kiss, but she only sneered at him. Undeterred, he chuckled and kissed along her neck, slowly inching his way toward her mouth. “See?” he said between kisses. “She loves me madly.”
Deirdre said, “No, I don’t.”
“Couldn’t live without me.”
“Obnoxious Welshman.”
Carwyn shook his head. “When does the newlywed stage wear off? You’ve been married for four hundred years.”
Ioan finally managed to press his lips to Deirdre’s; then he grinned in triumph. “Never! We’ll always be as obnoxious as we are now and scare the children.”
“And your sire, as well.”
Ioan just winked at Deirdre and continued to pin her to his lap. “You’re just jealous, Father. Get your own woman.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “Too much trouble.”
“Carwyn,” Deirdre said, “what about this American girl? You said you’re going to visit her in Los Angeles. No interest at all? She’s just a friend?”
“Who, Beatrice?” Carwyn shook his head. “No. Just a friend. She’s meant for Giovanni.”
“You’d travel that far—in a boat—for a ‘just a friend?’”
Carwyn could see the skeptical looks on the faces of his oldest son and his wife, who were truly more friends than children. “She is. I travel far longer to see Isabel and Gustavo.”
Deirdre frowned. “But they’re family.”
“Who knows?” Carwyn grinned. “Maybe she will be, as well. Gio’s like a brother to me, after all.” He was frustrated with his friend, certain the stubborn fire vampire loved the young American woman, but equally convinced that Giovanni couldn’t see what was standing in front of his face. Beatrice De Novo was no wilting flower. And if the stubborn Giovanni Vecchio didn’t show up and claim her, he doubted the girl would wait long for him. Fool.
Ioan’s eyes lit in understanding. “Is that so? So the pragmatic Dr. Vecchio has finally fallen to a woman’s charms? A human, for that matter?”
Carwyn shrugged again. “You’ll have to ask him. He’s buried himself in books again, crisscrossing the globe and avoiding my letters. But I don’t expect to see him in female company other than Beatrice’s. Put it that way.” Carwyn sighed. “All my bachelor friends seem to be abandoning me. Caspar is happily domesticated in Houston. Giovanni and Beatrice are… whatever they are. I suppose they’ll figure it out.”
Deirdre chuckled. “Poor old man. You really do need to find your own woman, Father.”
Ioan leaned forward, a serious expression crossing his face. “You’ve been alone for a thousand years, Carwyn. Is it the church? Because you know my opinion—”
Emily was forgotten on the edge of the crowd. She saw the boy from earlier, Mark, dancing in the middle of the floor. She lifted her arms and swayed, moving without a care as she made her way toward him. Each touch that brushed against her felt like a caress. She sidled up to Mark and caught his eye with a smile on her face.
“Hey.”
He grinned. “I thought you didn’t dance!”
Brigid laughed. “I didn’t. But I do now.”
He placed his hands on her hips and swayed with her. She had been right; they were warm. Inviting. She threw her head back and moved to the beat as Mark pressed closer. For the first time in her life, a man’s touch brought neither panic nor disgust. She was relaxed. Fluid. His fingers trailed up her spine. It didn’t bring a rush of fear or a racing heart. The contact felt natural. Incredible.
Brigid let her arms fall over his shoulders. When she met his eyes, she realized what she’d been missing. He was wonderful. This was right. And when his mouth met hers, time seemed to spin out in one long fluid sigh. They moved together, body and breath, and the music and the crowd embraced her.
Chapter Three
Wicklow Mountains, Ireland
May 2005
“So, Paddy and Mick—”
“This is the last joke or you can carve a new room into this mountain and sleep in the dirt, Ioan.”
His oldest son grinned and pulled his wife into his lap as Carwyn laughed. “No, my love, you’ll like this one. So Paddy and Mick are driving to Cork City, and they need to answer the call of nature. They pull to the side of the road and go into the bushes—”
“A piss joke?” Deirdre rolled her eyes and tried to stand, but Ioan pinched her lips together as Carwyn took another drink of his beer.
“They both start pissin’ and Mick looks over to Paddy. ‘Paddy,’ he says, ‘I wish I was as well-hung as you are, my friend. I can see that you’re using four fingers to hold yerself.’ And Paddy says to Mick, ‘Ah, Mick, yer fine, lad. And I see you’re using four as well.’ And Mick says, ‘Aye, Paddy, but I’m pissin’ on three of ’em.’”
Carwyn and Ioan both burst into laughter as Deirdre snorted. Ioan patted her bottom and held her trapped in his lap. “See, my love, aren’t you happy that you married a Welshman?”
“I’m currently feeling the need to visit Gemma in London.”
Carwyn hooted. “Ioan, if she’s willing to subject herself to shopping with Gemma, you’d better learn some manners.”
“I need a long vacation from my own husband.”
“She would never…” Ioan tugged at a lock of Deirdre’s long red hair and pulled her face down to his. He pursed his lips for a kiss, but she only sneered at him. Undeterred, he chuckled and kissed along her neck, slowly inching his way toward her mouth. “See?” he said between kisses. “She loves me madly.”
Deirdre said, “No, I don’t.”
“Couldn’t live without me.”
“Obnoxious Welshman.”
Carwyn shook his head. “When does the newlywed stage wear off? You’ve been married for four hundred years.”
Ioan finally managed to press his lips to Deirdre’s; then he grinned in triumph. “Never! We’ll always be as obnoxious as we are now and scare the children.”
“And your sire, as well.”
Ioan just winked at Deirdre and continued to pin her to his lap. “You’re just jealous, Father. Get your own woman.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “Too much trouble.”
“Carwyn,” Deirdre said, “what about this American girl? You said you’re going to visit her in Los Angeles. No interest at all? She’s just a friend?”
“Who, Beatrice?” Carwyn shook his head. “No. Just a friend. She’s meant for Giovanni.”
“You’d travel that far—in a boat—for a ‘just a friend?’”
Carwyn could see the skeptical looks on the faces of his oldest son and his wife, who were truly more friends than children. “She is. I travel far longer to see Isabel and Gustavo.”
Deirdre frowned. “But they’re family.”
“Who knows?” Carwyn grinned. “Maybe she will be, as well. Gio’s like a brother to me, after all.” He was frustrated with his friend, certain the stubborn fire vampire loved the young American woman, but equally convinced that Giovanni couldn’t see what was standing in front of his face. Beatrice De Novo was no wilting flower. And if the stubborn Giovanni Vecchio didn’t show up and claim her, he doubted the girl would wait long for him. Fool.
Ioan’s eyes lit in understanding. “Is that so? So the pragmatic Dr. Vecchio has finally fallen to a woman’s charms? A human, for that matter?”
Carwyn shrugged again. “You’ll have to ask him. He’s buried himself in books again, crisscrossing the globe and avoiding my letters. But I don’t expect to see him in female company other than Beatrice’s. Put it that way.” Carwyn sighed. “All my bachelor friends seem to be abandoning me. Caspar is happily domesticated in Houston. Giovanni and Beatrice are… whatever they are. I suppose they’ll figure it out.”
Deirdre chuckled. “Poor old man. You really do need to find your own woman, Father.”
Ioan leaned forward, a serious expression crossing his face. “You’ve been alone for a thousand years, Carwyn. Is it the church? Because you know my opinion—”
