EILEEN

AUGUST 1967

Granddad is busier and busier with his meetings and day trips. So much so that I only see him at supper, after which he always closets himself in his office with people coming and going late into the night. On more than one occasion, I could've sworn I heard American accents behind the door in the keeping room. I yearn for another game night with him. Whatever Granddad is involved in must be important to have so many people coming and going. So I am left to spend my evenings with the stash of romance novels Gran loved, wondering how she would've handled a man like Brendan.

But the upside is the fact that my comings and goings on the farm are pretty much ignored, with the exception of Hector and Achilles. I have breakfast with Bridey every day, which is wonderful and terrible all at once. She and I talk about everything under the sun except the one thing I really need to discuss. The heat and breathlessness and dreams that leave me frustrated and exhausted. Is something wrong with me? Or is it normal? Is it because of Brendan, or is my body just rebelling? Would any man make me feel like I wanted to shed my skin and lose myself in him? Or just a special man? I want to ask her advice, but how can I tell her about these feelings when her son is the cause of them? It just seems wrong. And I can't ask my granddad because well—he’s my granddad. So I try to keep my feelings bottled up and hope they don't get me into too much trouble. Though I'm sure it would be delicious trouble.

The summer drifts by at its own pace, and every afternoon we spend together at the spring just reminds me that they are coming to an end. I'll be going back to Boston, and Brendan will be going off to college. We will have different lives in different worlds with just the memory of the summer. The idea breaks my heart.

I don't think I'll ever meet another man like Brendan—especially in Boston. The boys in Boston don't care about much besides sailing and baseball and getting involved in politics rather than causes. They don't understand why I love words so much. They don't understand magic; they only understand action. Brendan isn't like that at all. He has a passion for people and causes and still believes in the magic of the spoken word. And he reminds me so much of my granddad, with his soft-spoken strength and integrity. Brendan’s the kind of man you want to make a family with.

One afternoon, we are dangling our feet in the cool water. The air is oppressive. Heavy. It is almost too hot to swim, so we just sit side by side, enjoying the occasional breeze. Despite the heat, I crave his touch.

"Your hair is getting so long." I twirl the soft black hair at the nape of his neck around my finger and give a little tug. "Surely you can spare a lock for me to take home."

"Are you planning on enchanting me? Take as much as you like, although I think you've already done the job." He laughs heartily and turns to kiss me, laughter bubbling from his lips.

I pull back and look at him in disbelief. "I hardly—I'm just a girl. I don't know how to bewitch anyone."

He locks eyes with me, and for the first time, I notice they aren't black. They aren't brown. They're an inky navy. The color of the midnight sea where the Selkies make their home. He puts a hand on my chin, his thumb caressing my cheek so softly before he draws it across my mouth, resting on my lip. I want to draw it between my lips and suck on it, but I lose my nerve and gently kiss it instead.

"Ahhh, but you have. These lips. They speak such beautiful words, whether they're your own or the writers you love so much. They cast a spell. And when you use them to speak to me without words…"

I kiss his thumb again before drawing it into my mouth, caressing it with my tongue. After a moment, he pulls his thumb away and tangles his hands in my hair. He kisses me gently at first, biting my lower lip then soothing it with the tip of his tongue, then kisses and bites me harder and hungrier. I put my hands inside his shirt and brush my fingers against his nipples. He gasps into my mouth, but he doesn't break the kiss. I feel a sort of power in his reaction, and with that, I explore more. Loving the way they feel like velvety hard, flatter versions of mine, I skim my nails across his nipples, getting a little rougher as his kiss becomes deeper and more aggressive. The muscles of his chest are so sleek and smooth. God! I want him to touch me the way I'm touching him. His kisses drop to my neck, sucking and biting and soothing, and his hands soon follow.

Suddenly, his hands are at my waist and under my shirt. Stroking my bare back, they leave a hot trail of need wherever they move. I don't know if I want him to go on or stop. When he pulls his hands away, it is like winter has come. Before I know it, I am pulling off his shirt, scrambling to undo his buttons with trembling hands and finally pushing it off of his shoulders. As he wrangles his arms out of the sleeves, I strip off my shirt and wrestle down the top of my swimsuit. I want him to see me again in the way we first met. The real me. Exposed.

His eyes widen, and he hesitates before he gathers me into his lap. I straddle him as we continue to kiss and explore each other. Finally, skin to skin. It’s the most glorious feeling ever.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Yes, we should. We don't have much more time together. Give me this please."

I take his face in my hands and kiss him with all I am worth. I want to crawl inside him and never leave. He kisses my neck, my collarbone, and then—oh my God. I thought I would die when he kisses my breast. Just my nipple. Gasp. Please don't stop. I wrap my fingers through his hair and urge him on. Now. Now.

I didn't have the strength to fight him when he lifts his head, his teeth tugging my nipple before he lets it go with a pop. "Now, lass, patience. Do you want me to ignore the other one?"

He winks and resumes kissing and tugging on my other nipple, biting gently then harder, caressing and pulling on the first with his free hand. Every tug sends a pulse of sensation straight to my core. All I can do is hang on for dear life, rocking in his lap. He leans back, pulling me on top of him.