The Mighty Quinns: Rourke

The contact sent a jolt running through him, like being struck by lightning. Only it wasn’t painful, but warm and pleasurable. He set his mug down beside him and slipped his fingers through her hair, pulling her into another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent than the first.

Rourke wasn’t sure what was happening, but he wasn’t about to stop it. From the moment he’d seen her in the hardware store, he’d wanted this to happen. He’d just never expected to get the chance. And now that he was here, Rourke wasn’t going to waste another moment.

His fingers twisted in the damp strands of her hair, but suddenly he heard her gasp and Rourke drew back. He’d forgotten about the cut on her scalp. “Let me look,” he said.

“It’s really much better,” she said. “It just stings a little.”

The interior of the cabin was dimly lit, the sun already down and the lamps providing a feeble kind of light. He gently examined her injury by the glow of the fire and found the spot. There was a substantial knot around the cut, but it looked as if it had stopped bleeding.

“I don’t think it will need stitches.”

“Good,” she said. “I hate going to the doctor.”

“What the hell were you doing out there?” Rourke asked. “You’ve lived by the ocean your entire life. Surely you know better than anyone how dangerous it can be.” He paused. “And what was the herring for? Who buys twenty pounds of bait before a storm?”

“Are you hungry? I should make us something for dinner.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he asked. “What were you doing?”

“Talking to the sea,” she said. “When it gets like this, sometimes I think I can hear voices in the wind. If I just listen hard enough, I think I might be able to hear what they’re saying.”

“Voices? Whose voices?”

“My parents’,” she said softly. He saw a blush rise on her cheeks. “It’s silly. I know.”

Rourke said, “No, it’s not. It’s not.” He wanted to ask her what had happened. Town gossip had never gone into great detail. He knew they’d both drowned, but he wasn’t sure of the circumstances. No one in town had ever offered an explanation and until now, it really hadn’t mattered to him.

“I really should stop. This time it almost got me killed.”

“I guess you were lucky I was there,” he said.

She nodded. “I guess I was.” Annie tucked her feet up beneath her and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Are you sure you don’t have someplace you need to be?”

“Actually, I was on my way home to New York. I was hoping to put a few miles behind me before the storm hit. But I can stay.”

“Maybe you should bring your things in before the weather gets too bad. I’ll just get dinner started.”

Rourke nodded. He stood, grabbed his jacket and slipped into it. “What’s the dog’s name?”

“Kit,” she said.

Rourke patted his thigh and the dog looked up from where he was sleeping by the fire. “Come on, boy.”

The border collie jumped to his feet and scampered to the door, then hurried out in front of Rourke. As he walked down the steps, he noticed that the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped close to freezing. If it got any colder, the rain might become ice or snow.

He moved toward the water. The color of the sky and sea now blended together until the horizon was almost impossible to see. The wind gusts were strong enough to test his balance and within minutes, his fingers had gone numb from the cold.

Kit stood beside him, sniffing at the wind. Rourke reached down and gave him a pat on the head. She wasn’t entirely alone, he mused. And maybe she would have been fine without his help. But Rourke couldn’t regret his impulse to stop and check on her.

After all, she’d kissed him. And he hadn’t been kissed—or touched—by a woman since he’d arrived on the island. It was rather ironic that all this was happening the day he decided to head home. He wasn’t going to question the timing. Whatever happened tonight between them could be a powerful counterpoint to the storm.

2

“CAN YOU PEEL potatoes?” Annie glanced over her shoulder at Rourke. He sat at the kitchen table, watching her move about the kitchen as she prepared dinner. “I think I can manage,” he said. “Unless you’re going to make me do it with a knife.”

“I do have a vegetable peeler.” She reached into a wicker basket on the shelf above the sink and grabbed it, then placed some potatoes in a bowl.

“I wasn’t sure you had one of these newfangled things,” he said, holding up the peeler.

“I’m glad you find my life so amusing.”

Rourke picked up a potato. “Not amusing. Endlessly fascinating.” His gaze met hers and Annie felt a shiver skitter down her spine. The longer they were cooped up in this cottage, the harder it was to deny the attraction between them. It was like waiting for the storm to hit. She wasn’t sure when it was going to happen, but it would happen. And when it did it would be powerful and impossible to ignore.

“I like being self-sufficient,” she said. “I like not having to depend on anyone.”

“Someone brings you wood.”

“I could get my own wood,” she said. “It would just take so much time out of my day that it wouldn’t be worth it. But I could do it.”

“I’m sure you could,” Rourke said. “I suspect you could do just about anything you set your mind to.”

She grabbed a small bunch of carrots she’d brought up from the root cellar and sat down, placing them on the table. Cupping her chin in her hand, she observed him as he peeled the potatoes. Annie was used to doing things her own way, so she fought the urge to give him advice.

“It’s going to be a long night,” she murmured.

Rourke glanced up. “Are you worried?”

She shook her head. Storms usually put her on edge, but Annie felt remarkably calm. Rourke was a wonderful distraction. “I like having you here. I’m glad you stayed.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” he asked.

Annie wondered when the subject of their kiss would come up. She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not sure why I did that.”

“Oh, come on,” Rourke said. “I know enough about you already to know that you never do anything without a reason. So tell me, Annie. Why did you kiss me?”

He was right. She was the least impulsive person on all of Cape Breton Island. “I wanted to let you know I was...interested. And what about you? Are you interested?”

“Interested in kissing you again? The answer to that would be yes. I’m very interested.”

“I think we should try it again,” Annie said.

“Now? Because, I think now would be as good a time as any.”

“All right,” she said. They stared at each other across the table. “Are you going to come to me or am I going to come to you?”

“I think you should come to me,” Rourke suggested.

Annie wiped her damp hands on a dish towel, then slowly stood. As she circled the table, her heart began to race and she felt as if her knees would buckle. When she stood in front of him, she reached out to smooth her hand through his thick, dark hair. But he caught her fingers and opened her hand, pressing his lips to the center of her palm.