Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

The Cliffs of Mohr.

The Aran Islands.

Ashford Castle and only the best five-star bed-and-breakfasts in between. From Dublin to Shannon and from Belfast to Dungarvin, with pride, Ash O’Callaghan had returned to his homeland a hero instead of a pauper. His chin lifted the moment their Aer Lingus flight touched down to the Emerald Isle, forever the home of his heart. Not because he’d become a successful businessman in his absence, though, but because he’d become a lover and a husband, the ultimate protector of the fierce fighting woman at his side. He knew without a doubt his mum and da would’ve been proud of Colby.

Very proud.

Remember that rich fellow from Cape Cod? None other than the sly Mitchell Rhoades himself. The crafty man had been taking care of the entire Quaid family behind-the-scenes for years. When he’d spied the dynamics, or at least, so he’d claimed, between Colby and Ash at one of her many soccer games, he’d done his homework like only Burton Quaid’s devoted, best friend could.

’Twas he who’d ordered the nautical figurehead from Ash, and ’twas he who’d put the spark of an idea in Ash’s head to fashion it after the Irish pirate queen, if you’d please. ’Twas also he who’d ordered the lovely mermaid that commanded admiration from his office desk.

Aye, it was Ash’s fault and his alone that the Irish pirate queen ended up looking like one of America’s first female Army Rangers, but he blamed it on the magic in his fingers and the song in his heart at the time of the carving. ’Twas a good excuse even if he did say so himself.

It made Ash smile when the big guy needed a chair to set a spell on when at last Mitch feasted his eyes on the original carved version of her mighty self, Grace O’Malley. But it also filled his gut with an unexpected need to bash a chair over Rhoades’ thick head for looking at Colby’s naked carved body like he had.

Ash had curled his fingers to do the deed when two words hissed out of Rhodes: “You’re hired.” Those words saved Mitch’s life, is what they did. Abashed, Ash explained he wouldn’t sell this version of Grace, that it held sentimental value beyond any amount of coinage, even those gold ones at the end of a Killarney rainbow.

But Mitch was not an easy man to be dissuaded. With his hands on his knees, he’d pushed out of that chair, clapped Ash on the back as if they’d entered into a deal when Ash was fairly sure they had nah.

Mitch extended the deadline to produce another figurehead, and, without blinking an eye, he’d made Ash a job offer no man in his right mind could turn down, to work for Quaid, Inc., as special projects manager. Complete with an upfront signing bonus. A new warehouse, retooled and restocked with only the best equipment, the finest cedar and oak, pine and maple inventory North America could produce.

Mr. Mitchell Rhoades needed an expert carpenter in his alliance of professionals. He didn’t seem to care that the one he wanted had recently experienced a devastating loss, as in that his entire warehouse and all of his tools had burnt to the bloody ground.

Ash accepted with grace on one condition. He wouldn’t endanger the position Colby was currently learning, an apprenticeship with Mitch. A gentleman’s handshake clinched the deal, and Ash found himself a successful business man after all.

There he stood atop Rockfleet castle, the stone tower house of Grace O’Malley, with his body curled around the rarest feline in the world, the only All American tigress of Boston, Mass. As lethal as she was, she was nah captured against her will. Aye, Colby fit in the cradle of his arms and chest, his hips and thighs, not as a prisoner, but willingly.

She not only fit, but she belonged, like a precious pearl to that lucky oyster in its shell, like the mythical fae of the Irish glen fit in the velvety petals of a rose. ’Twas the ultimate miracle of man and woman is what it was, the way Ash and Colby fit.

From the rooftop of Rockfleet Castle, they could see for miles. The city of Newport lay to the east, Mallaranny to the west. Beyond that the Atlantic, now tinged purple against a brilliant yellow-orange sunset. Beyond that, the end of Ash’s rainbow, and—home.

“Tula called last night,” Colby said, her chin lifted in defiance to the wind off the ocean. It tossed her hair in light gold streamers behind her.

“Aye, I heard you talking. Is everything okay?” he asked at her tiny ear, a curled shell so perfectly attuned to him that it sometimes seemed she read his mind before he’d so much as whispered what was on it.

“You’ll never guess what the FBI found in Dugan’s home.” As in Hammer and Delores Dugan.

Please, do nah say wee bodies. Ash swallowed hard. After his last visit there, he was nah sure he wanted to know what terrors lay inside their lovely, but unsettling, Cambridge residence. He’d wondered still what happened to their three children, though admittedly, he’d never once seen a school picture in all the years he’d known Hammer. Neither had Kevin.

“Dollzzzzzz,” Colby whispered in a creepy, vibrato voice. “Delores and Hammer never had any children, but they had… lots and lotszzzzz… of dollzzzzzz.” Again, with the creepy vibrato. “Everywhere. She’d had them sitting in chairs, on their sofa, and on shelves. Some had been laid in their beds and cradles with pacifiers and blankets. Teddy bears. Can you believe that? The FBI even found some dolls standing in corners as if they’d been punished.” Colby shivered in his arms, snuggling her butt against his tired and very happy—but not dead—cock. “Your friends were certifiable wack-jobs from Psycho, Ash. Where’d you meet them?”

Hmmm. That must be another American movie he’d not yet seen. Wasn’t going to now. “’Tis no wonder there was no sign of life at their house when I went looking for him. If you must know, Kevin and I met Hammer at the pub one night, but I’d not met Delores until that day.” He’d rather talk about Bella. “How’s Mum?”

Colby ducked her neck into her shoulders. “She’s happy to be home. Thank you for installing that elevator. It’s made things easier for Tula, too. And for cleaning the wooden panels and the eagle in her entryway. I think seeing her home being restored has given Mom a new burst of life. Tula said she started playing bridge with her girlfriends yesterday. She tossed that ridiculous turban out, too. And did you see how pretty her hair was at our wedding?”

“Aye, I did. She’s got girlfriends?” Imagining girls that age was a stretch. But it was true. Bella had a good coat of glossy red lipstick on her mouth at the wedding, and her hair was dyed. Ash had it straight from Mitch that her doctor had changed her meds, too. Bella didn’t have Alzheimer’s, but she was dehydrated, the underlying cause of her dizzy spells and memory loss. Mitch saw to it that a live-in nurse joined forces with Tula in keeping up with the matron of the mighty Quaid empire.

“I laughed when she called them old biddies.” Colby’s chuckle resonated all the way to his groin. “I mean, look at her, Ash. Mom’s no spring chicken. She’s probably older than most of them.”

He nuzzled his nose into the tangled curls of Colby’s hair, diving for the warm crook of her neck. She was the one putting stars in the sky now. Her unconditional love of him worked magic on his male ego, too. His swagger was back, and his zest for life, too.

Colby’s arm curled over his head, holding him to her. Ah, the scent of roses, wind, and gunpowder. ’Twas nothing like it in the world, nor ever would be.

In all his wildest fantasies, he’d never savored a woman so deeply, nor loved one as much. With her tucked against him, he could see down her knit top, straight to the delicious valley between the plump breasts he intended to slather with kisses at the first possible chance.

One crook of her little finger and he was a man not only brought to attention—mighty stiff attention at that—but brought to his knees at the sublime mercy of his new pirate queen. Smitten was he. Plundered, whipped, and bewitched.

“You owe me a walk, Wife,” he murmured, his voice gone hoarse at the power of this tiny thing.

Colby twisted in his arms, her lovely breasts molded to his chest and his blood turning to lava again. “I owe you my life, Husband,” she whispered, her lips drawn into a pout that signaled she meant to kiss him.

Ash pressed a warm, wet kiss to her mouth, and a little bit of tongue as well. Standing there with his future spread before him and his heart on fire, he was never more certain…

His All American girl had stolen his Irish heart away.