Chapter Twenty-Five
Two weeks later, dressed in sea-green sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, her long hair pulled away from her face, Lassi stood in the doorway of her Great-What-the Fuck’s cottage, saying her farewells to Mary.
She shook out her limbs, fatigued from channeling so many electrical impulses of the last couple of weeks. She’d practiced lighting bits of paper until the whole house smelled like a fireplace. However, it had effectively taken care of some of the remaining clutter. She planned to pile the rest of the paper in the back yard, after Mary left, and letting her magic rip—once I’ve recovered, of course. Cillian’s right. It takes a fair bit of time to get my strength back.
“Thanks for the intro to magic these last couple of weeks, Mary.”
“Baby steps, dear. You have to start somewhere.” Mary opened her mouth, then, closed it, hesitating for a second.
“What?”
Crusty McKitty slunk around the house. He beelined toward Mary, butting his head on her legs. Then, he eyed Lassi, scrutinized the door, studied Lassi again, and then took his chances, rocketing past her to get inside.
Lassi wanted to give him an assist with her slipper-clad foot. “Fecking cat. Some familiar.”
“He’ll come around.”
“Not much progress so far.” Lassi turned her head to glare at him.
He’d plunked himself in the foyer and sat grooming his paws.
“You both need time to adjust.”
“What did you start to say then swallow back?” Lassi asked, turning around and putting one hand on her hip.
She eyed the sky. Patches of blue shone through the clouds, making the world around her almost pretty. Sheep with painted dots on their backs grazed on the green hills in the distance. The temperature leaned toward cool, but she didn’t mind. At least it’s not that fecking banshee wind blowing about. The whole scene looked bucolic, like one of those paintings designed to make one think the place was innocent and full of wonder. Lassi knew better.
Mary pursed her lips. She switched her blue and gold purse to the other hand. “Are you sure you won’t be staying? You could use the help with magic training and...” She shifted on her feet.
“Cillian?” Lassi sighed. “He’s not interested. He’s come around a couple of times to check on me, but he’s always cordial, at best.”
“Oh, please, child.” Mary scoffed, waving Lassi’s sentiments away. “I may be old but I’m not daft. The sexual tension between the two of you could power all of Ireland.”
Lassi’s skin grew hot. “Well...” She scuffed her slipper on the Not-Welcome mat. “He’s made it clear what his intentions are.”
Mary’s eyebrows stitched together. “Has he? Or, is he waiting for an invitation? He’s been through a lot, poor dear, and, don’t forget—the last time he was sexually active was in the 1700s. Things have come a long way since then,” she said in a no-nonsense practical tone.
“I suppose,” Lassi said, eager to move off the topic of what to do with her tempestuous lust for Cillian Ward. “I do have to get back to the hospital in Dublin. All those moms and their kids need tending.”
“Piffle,” Mary said, waving her hand around again. “You’re the one who needs tending. Cillian’s, too. I think he has trust issues.”
“Trust issues? What about moral issues?” A laugh burst from Lassi’s throat. “He’s supposed to be a priest, for God’s sake. I thought I was defiling God by being with him.” She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest.
“And yet you did it anyway. I think in your heart, you knew something else, far deeper, was at play. He wouldn’t have done that unless there was reason to do it. Cillian Ward is a good, good man.”
Lassi took a turn at the ‘hand waving moving things along’ gesture. “I do need to get back home.” She wrinkled her nose. “I sure hope my erratic power doesn’t cause amniotic sacs to levitate or babies to freeze mid-cry. Imagine the horrified mothers looking on their newborns, frozen like ice cubes and me the tongue-tied culprit.” She shook her head. “Let’s move on. Pretty wild all the documents I uncovered about the Finn clan, huh?”
“Yes, it’s a rich history, to be certain.”
“And, Penny. Rest in peace. Who knew? I always wondered about her lack of interest when it came to Liam.” She rubbed her cheek.
“I didn’t know her well, but she proved a bit touched to be sure.”
“She did.” Lassi pushed away from the door frame, letting her arms fall by her side. “All those jobs gone, though, what with the Laughing Rat being closed. And no place for the locals to drink away their misery.”
“It’s a tragedy to be sure,” Mary said.
“How’s your son?”
“Ryan? Oh, he’ll be all right. He’s adjusting to the new position. Cillian is offering him a lot of support and counsel, as well, for killing Penny.”
“He is, huh?” Lassi tried to shove away the stormy sensations rocking her insides whenever Cillian came to mind. But, they refused to be tamed. Maybe I should pay him a visit and set things straight finally.
“I’d best be going, Lassi dear.” Mary lifted her hand in farewell.
“Yes. I’ve got a few last-minute things to do before I leave. Tomorrow’s the day. Back to Dublin.” She tried for a smile and failed. Her attention drifted to the rectory, clearly visible on this gorgeous day.
Mary lifted her eyebrows. “Uh huh. Well, keep in touch,” she said, glancing to see where Lassi’s gaze had drifted.
“To be sure,” Lassi said.
Mary pivoted and headed up the path toward town.
Lassi strode into the cottage and closed the door. She scurried down the hallway, scanning each room as she passed.
The place looked transformed. All of Roberta’s debris and clutter had been sorted, discarded, or given to charity. I’ve worked my ass off this past couple of weeks. Commemorative plates? Gone. Tacky, worn furniture? Gone. Lassi had kept a few of the sturdier antiques, such as the dining table, the bed, and a chair or two. She hadn’t decided on a few odd items she’d found in the pantry—incense, candles, mirrors, and such. Maybe they’ll come in handy for spell casting. She’d need to paint, add some new wallpaper and such, but it was almost ready for a Realtor, whoever that might be, now that Ailis was no longer. She figured she’d hire some trusty local lads to finish the sprucing and be done with it.
She darted into her bedroom, changed into something low cut and skin-tight to intrigue if not seduce—okay, heavy on the seduce part—and rushed out the door before she changed her mind.
She scampered along the path toward Cillian’s house, not minding the chilly air blasting the tops of her breasts, revealed by her tight shirt. It was the one she’d bought for Barbados, but never mind. If he strips me, my nipples will be perky rosebuds. The breeze kept pushing her loose skirt up, in a manner she hoped Cillian would do, only without making her legs so cold. When she got closer, she slowed her roll to a hip swaying stroll, in case he was watching. She didn’t want to come across as an overeager idiot.
Once she arrived at the rectory, she found Cillian, outside, crouched in the dirt, engrossed in some task. The chink, chink, chink of a hammer against something solid met her ears.
“Cillian,” she called.
His shoulders tensed and the hammer clattered to the ground.
“Lassi,” he said. He rose to standing, and slid something into his pocket before brushing gray concrete and light-golden stone dust from his casual black work pants. The soft fabric clung to his muscular legs. A hint of an outline of other parts was visible, as well.
She licked her lips and lifted her eyes to his. “What are you doing?”
A rosy flush colored his cheeks and neck. His attention lowered to her breasts. He clenched and unclenched his fingers.
He pried his gaze away from her cleavage and focused on her lips. It looked like it took effort to haul his attention to her eyes. “Oh, this waterfall structure needed some work.”
Lassi glanced over his shoulder. The ring no longer sat embedded in the stone. Chunks of concrete and stone lay scattered on the ground. A thrill shot through her spine before she could stop it. Will he ask me to marry him? Then, she frowned. Don’t be daft.
“The ring, huh?”
“Uh, right. I forgot you saw it. Yes. That thing.”
“So, it’s a thing now, not a treasured piece set in concrete to be commemorated.” She spoke flatly, then pressed her lips together in disapproval.
“No, I...it needs a bit of polishing. What can I do for you?” Once again, his gaze fell to her breasts. “Leaving tomorrow, are you?”
She thrust them out as surreptitiously as she could. “Yes,” she breathed. “Unless someone begs me to stay.”
Inwardly, she groaned. Did I say that?
He stood rigidly, his attention pinned to her boobs, his lungs rising and falling. His gray shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his broad chest and shoulders. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few more times.
“Can I offer you some refreshments?” His eyes lingered on her chest.
A light breeze swept toward her nose, bringing his heady scent in her direction. She nearly swooned. “That would be fantastic.”
“Okay. Right then. Let’s see what I have inside.” He stepped toward her, avoiding looking at her, and gestured toward the house. “After you.”
As she walked, he caressed the small of her back, guiding her toward the open side door. No—it was more like pushing her inside. Her heartbeat quickened. He wants me, I know he does.
As soon as she crossed the threshold to his home, he backed her against the wall next to the window, securing her jaw with his powerful grip. His forearm fell across her collarbone and shoulder, securing her in place.
“What the hell are you doing coming here dressed like that?” he growled. His sea-green eyes flashed with fury.
Not what I expected. Her eyes grew so wide they ached.
“I...I...” She tried to shove away his hand but his strength proved too much for her. “It’s kind of hard to talk,” she croaked.
Arousal, hot and heavy, flooded her. Which is stunning, if you think about it. Being bossed around usually doesn’t work for me. When Billy Murphy tried this on me—or Dr. Bill as he insists the hospital staff call him—I threw hot tea at his groin. She shushed her rampant thoughts. You’re doing that thing you do when you get afraid. You’re... She tried to tear her attention from his succulent mouth.
“Are you with me?” Cillian said, in a low, hypnotic voice. He increased the pressure on her jaw and throat.
“Mm hmm,” she managed, her voice a whisper. “Here I am.”
“Are you going to answer me?” Keeping a tight grip on her face, he reached down to the hem of her skirt and raked his calloused fingers up her inner thigh.
His touch lit a match in her core. Wow. Just wow.
He pushed one finger inside her panties and slid it up and down her slick folds. “Oh, the wonders of modern day panties.”
She stifled a giggle. “I take it this is a new experience for you?”
“All, new. I’ve waited nearly three hundred years.” He closed his eyes briefly as he fingered her. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re wet.”
She widened her stance to give him better access. “I saved it for you.”
“Did you now,” he stated, letting his eyelids flutter open.
A dark, nasty little notion flitted through her mind. What if I’ve released Pandora’s box and now he’ll want to explore another girls’ lingerie? Or, several girls?
Dropping his lips to hers, he stifled her meandering mind with a slow kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth.
She moaned and sucked on it, swallowing back her jealous thoughts.
As he kissed her, he continued stroking between her legs. Then, when orgasm became imminent, he withdrew both his mouth and his finger.
Their lips made a juicy smack as they disconnected. She panted, mewling with need.
He brought his sex-smeared finger to his nose and drew in a long, deep breath.
“Christ, you smell sweet.” Then, he licked it. “And the taste...wicked heaven. See for yourself.” He dragged his finger across her lips.
She opened her mouth and sucked him in, humming noises of pleasure.
He inhaled sharply, leaning his hand against her throat.
Her core pulsed and throbbed, begging entrance. “Can’t breathe, Cillian.”
He loosened his grip slightly, making circles against her neck with his fingers. His other hand pressed into the wall by her head.
“Oh, Lasairfhíona,” he said, his lips millimeters from hers.
The musky taste of her intimate wetness, coupled with his breath puffing against her mouth, stoked her desire.
“I’ve managed to restrain myself, thinking you’d be gone tomorrow and I’d not have to see your bewitching face again. But, no...” He nuzzled her ear with his lips, whispering, “No. You come a’ calling with your luscious peaches tempting me, taunting me, on full display. You’re a witch to be sure, my Lasairfhíona.”
His words, his fingers, the furnace-like heat rolling off his body, all worked in concert to send shivers of pleasure cascading through her body. She wanted to do something cool like send sparks dancing across the wall with her fingers, but she feared lighting his pants on fire. And, besides, the swell of his erection grazing her belly obliterated any clever ideas she might have, turning them into smoldering desire and need.
“Oh, Jesus, Cillian. I’m the one bewitched,” she managed. Hands by her sides, she ground her fingertips into the cool stone wall, pushing her hips toward his.
He kept his hand curled around her throat. “I can’t stop myself now. Make sure this is what you want, Lassi, because whatever willpower I clung to is gone.”
“I want this,” she breathed. “I want you.”
He let his forehead press into hers, pinning her against the wall. He stroked his hand along her shoulders in slow, sensuous sweeps.
She moaned, rolling her hips in circles against his solid erection.
He matched her, grinding his cock against her.
She let out a gasp.
He lowered his head, nuzzling her neck and shoulders, inhaling long whiffs of her scent. Opening his mouth, he gently bit into the curve between neck and shoulder. Then, his incisors dug deeper into her muscle, drawing pain, conveying dominance.
She hissed, inclining her head in the opposite direction to give him greater access.
After several seconds of painful biting, he relaxed his jaw and licked the tender skin he’d assaulted.
Heat poured into the place he’d bit.
“Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. She worked her hands under his shirt, sighing when her fingers met hot skin and muscle.
He made gentle little nibbles against her neck with his teeth, teasing her. His nibbles became sucks, drawing pulls of pain alternating with pleasure. He sought her breasts and massaged and stroked them through the fabric.
“Cillian,” she moaned.
Working his fingers under her neckline, he tugged her stretchy shirt down over her shoulders, pinning her arms, tucking the fabric beneath her see-through bra, forcing her breasts out.
Constrained by the spandex, her only comfortable option was to clasp her hands behind her back and thrust her chest out further.
His eyes glittered, nearly black now, as he gazed at her bust. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
She nearly lost her mind when he sucked one of her sheer-fabric covered nipples into his mouth. Her flesh puckered into a hard nub, aching for more.
He sought her other nipple, sucking hard. He flicked her free nipple with his thumb. Abruptly, he pulled away and, pressing his hands on the wall on either side of her face, he rubbed his hips against her. He studied her with a serious, unreadable expression. Then, he bent one arm so his forearm pressed against the wall and rested his forehead against it.
Is he reconsidering? Changing his mind? His cock pressed huge and hot against her belly. “Please, Cillian. You belong inside me.”
“Not yet. It’s been a long time, love.” He pushed away from the wall. A sweet smile crossed his face. He cupped her face with his hands and gave her several soft kisses, like butterflies brushing her lips. When he pulled back, he said, “How many men do you know who can say they’ve waited three centuries?”
She let out a throaty chuckle. “Only one.” She hesitated before asking, “Why me? How did I get so lucky?”
He brought the tip of his nose to hers and nuzzled. “I’m in love with you, Lasairfhíona. Lord help me, but I’m in love.”
His words brought heat to her heart. “Oh, Cillian, I’m in love with you, too. I thought you didn’t want me.”
“I wanted you too much, Lassi. I’ve tried to resist you. God knows how I’ve tried.” Tortured anguish dragged at his expression, replacing the sweetness.
She wanted to stroke his neck, his jaw, his shoulder, anything—but her arms were still bound by her shirt. Her breasts, poised as they were on top of her neckline, ached to be sucked. Her core longed to be explored.
“I want you like I’ve never wanted before.” She opened her mouth to say something else but he pressed two fingers against her mouth to shush her.
His hands slid down her sides as he crouched before her. Lifting her generous skirt, he disappeared underneath the gauzy fabric. He slid her panties to the floor.
She kicked them off her ankles.
“Open for me, Lassi, love,” he said from beneath the cloth. “Let’s see if I remember what to do.”
She obliged him, spreading her legs wide. Her fingers dug into the plaster as his tongue lapped at her silk. “Good Christ, it must be like riding a bike because you’ll hear no complaints from me.”
He pulled her butt cheeks apart, stretching her, as he worked his mouth along her core. His tongue danced along her clit. As he sucked her hard bud, she gasped with pleasure. Then, he thrust two fingers inside and stroked her G-spot, while licking her with long sweeps.
“Cillian! You’re going to make me come!” Unable to control herself, her orgasm came hard and fast. She let loose, crying his name over and over.
He laughed. It sounded like pure satisfaction, perhaps, the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.
Her legs turned to jelly. She slid against the wall, wrestling her arms free of her shirt.
Cillian fell back onto his ass. In one quick move, he shoved his pants down. His large cock sprang free. Holding out his arms, he rolled backward. “Come here, love. Climb on.”
“Oh, Cillian. You’re beautiful. You’re a work of art, you are.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, in awe of his perfection.
He grinned. “If I’m a piece of art, you’re the artist. You’ve brought me more joy than I’ve ever experienced.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not looking for words, love. I want to plunge inside of you. I’ve craved you since the moment we met.”
She crawled onto his hips. First, she unclasped her bra, flinging it across the room. Then, she lifted onto her knees and fit the head of him into her core. As she sank onto his thick erection, they both let out a moan.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
“I’m sure he’s watching,” he said.
She stilled. “Buzz kill, Cillian. I forgot you’re a priest.”
“Never ordained.”
Relief washed through her. “Never?”
He shook his head. “Father Quinn mentored me but he wouldn’t make it official. We aimed for legitimacy, not perfection.”
“Well, then, non-Father Ward. That changes things. I might stop this short of hell when I die.” She held her thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. “There’s hope for you and me both.” Grinning wickedly, she met his gaze.
He returned the grin. “It’s a valid loophole to be sure.”
“I think you’re tucked into a sweet loophole.” She laughed. Her head fell back, spinning with pleasure. She ground against his hips.
He clutched her hips, his fingers digging into her muscles, as he bucked into her.
She grabbed her forearms and hung on for the ride, gliding against him.
He let out a roar of release. “Lasairfhíona,” he cried.
His skin grew luminescent.
Buzzing electricity shot through her. Sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced rippled through her, like she’d been plugged into some universal socket of energy.
“Oh, God, Cillian. My whole body is an orgasm.” She writhed against him. Pleasure shot through her like bottle rockets of bliss. It seemed to go on and on. Finally, she collapsed against him, molding herself into his electric heat. “Levia-love, huh?” she whispered into his shoulder.
“Who knew?” he murmured. “It’s all new to me.”
He caressed her hair, letting his fingers comb her tresses.
She fell into quietude, unwilling to think about anything except the feel of his splendid body beneath hers.
“Lassi.”
“Mm hmm.”
“The floor is having its way with my bones.”
“Oh!” She pressed her forearms into his chest, propping herself up like a sphinx. “Where can we go that’s more comfortable?” She rolled from him, letting his now soft cock slide from her core. “I miss you already,” she whimpered.
“I’m sure I can get it up again.” He grinned. “I need more practice.”
He rolled over and pushed up to standing. Extending his hand to her, he helped her up. Then, he led her through the front room, past the tiny kitchen, toward the back of the house.
A blur of fur shot from the small, simple bedroom.
“What the...” she exclaimed, leaping to the side.
“Your kitty lends me his comfort from time to time.”
“Huh. What a traitor. He’s supposed to be my familiar.”
“He’ll come around. He needs time. He loved Roberta.”
She eyed him. “Are we talking about you or Crusty?”
Without answering, he drew her toward the bed. “Sorry it’s so sparse. I haven’t many needs. Until lately.”
He gave her a rueful smile.
She glanced at the double bed, covered with an old, colorful quilt. Two pillows lay pushed against the headboard, like he’d been reading or resting. A cross hung behind his bed. A wardrobe made of dark wood stood against the wall. A side stand, made of the same wood, sat next to the bed. “What are you saying? I’m a need?”
“Like essential food. Intense cravings. Extremely unholy-like.” He settled on the bed and stretched the length of it, propping his head against the pillows. Then, he patted his chest. “Come here. Rest your head upon me.”
She curled up next to him, pressing her ear to his beating heart.
His arm curled around her.
A vast stillness filled the space. It probably came from him, not the words in some ancient book, or a belief system. No. His peace is born of sorrow, struggle, and grief, and doing what needs to be done. It rises from atonement and penance. She let her hand stroke his strong muscles. He didn’t manscape. She doubted he knew what it meant to trim and wax. No, as she fingered the curls on his chest, she couldn’t imagine a smooth-skinned Cillian. Everything about him is perfect.
Her mind began to wander. And what of the Dearg-Due? Cillian’s and the red-blood sucker’s lives are intertwined. She was wronged. He was wronged. They both pay for their past but he has room to evolve. What about her? Sure, he keeps her contained but I heard with my own ears the way she can express herself. She still feels rage and sorrow.
“Cillian,” she said softly, in case he had fallen asleep.
“Mm hmm,” he said, stroking her back in response.
“You know how the Dearg-Due is simply trapped in her grave for all of eternity?”
He tensed, ceasing his caresses.
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Do you think there’s a way science can do what magic can’t?”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
She rolled to sitting, folding her legs demurely. Her gaze swept the length of his beautiful body, from his dark, tousled hair and his handsome face, on down to his feet. Perfect. Good grief, the man is fine.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured.
“I can say the same.” He rested his hand on her thigh. “But tell me where your mind has gone. Does it ever rest?”
She chuckled. “Sorry, no. Always churning, making butter out of milk.”
“Or, trouble and change out of systems that have been in place for a long time.” He frowned. “You’ve certainly stirred things around here, Lassi-love.”
“I guess they needed stirring.” She trailed her fingertips along his skin. “Anyway, I wondered about the poor Dearg-due. Sure, you can pile rocks on her, but you can’t ever help her find her peace.”
“No.” He crossed one ankle over the other. “I can only do things to keep life safe here in Ballynagaul.”
She sniffed. “Safe. This village is a cesspool of secrets.”
Scoffing, he gave her a side-eyed glance. Then, he made circles on her inner thigh with the tips of his fingers.
She shivered. “I got to wondering if there’s something science could do for the red-blood sucker that magic can’t.”
He tapped her temple. “You’ve got interesting ideas, love.”
“She needs peace, same as you.”
He let out a long, deep sigh. “Perhaps. Not sure either of us will find it, science or not.”
“What are you saying?”
“I broke three centuries worth of a vow maintaining the ruse of priestly celibacy. That’s nothing to sneeze at.” He chewed on his lower lip. “I’d like to leave things alone and restore some peace in my heart.”
“Yeah.” She stroked his bulging biceps. “Do you ever feel like a fraud? I mean, there are people who trust in you as God’s ordained representative and all.”
He snorted. “I’ve had lots of time to think over the years.”
She smiled. “More than most, to be sure. Anyway, I’m not certain what I feel about religion and salvation and such, but it seems you might want to deal honestly with the people who literally put their faith in you.”
Her eyebrows drew into a crease.
He reached over and smoothed it with his thumb. “You’re thinking too hard. Time has taught me that if nothing else, God’s true message is love. The truest messengers are those who serve with compassion, charity, and love, no matter the stripes on their collar. I’ve been very much the parish priest every single day of 250 years, and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon.”
Icy splinters of fear wound their way into Lassi’s heart. She drew her hands back and placed them in her lap. Then, she looked down at her nakedness and wanted to be anywhere but here. Her head turned this way and that. She grabbed the edge of the bedspread and tugged it over her lap.
“What’s going on, Lassi?” Cillian’s face was dark with concern.
“Nothing. I’m cold, is all.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you like.” She bunched her hands together to keep them from reaching for him.
“Tell me what’s bothering you, love.” His head tipped to the side.
“What was this?” Her words came out all snappish and sharp. She gestured between them.
“What do you mean?” He pushed himself up to sitting, still leaning against the pillows.
“Was it some grand experiment? Did you revisit your old ways as an 18th-century player? Oh, no, no woman will ever get their clutches into Cillian Ward. He’s too hot to handle. He needs to spread his seed.” Inwardly, she groaned. You’re doing that thing you do. Stop it.
“I hardly plan on spreading my seed,” he said, looking perplexed.
“Were you only attracted to me because of the Finn magic bond? Did you think to try out a new arrangement, where you get a house cleaner, a cook, and a good fuck? Is that it?”
“Not what I was thinking, no.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Shut up, shut up, shut up. “You’re going to dump me, aren’t you? This was some sort of one-off, wasn’t it? And you’ll get to go back to your priestly ways and think about the time a Finn lass almost got the best of you.”
His mouth opened to retort. He closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. Then, he said, gently, “I think you should return to Dublin as planned. I’m afraid I’m not going to beg you to stay.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I was joking outside when I said that. It was a joke.” Her hands flew about, gesturing wildly. “I can’t believe I let you get inside me, Cillian Ward. You can keep your Ballyna-fucked-up village. I’m out of here.” She rolled from the bed with a huff.
“Lassi. I don’t want to end things this way.”
Her heart squeezed itself into a tight ball. “But you do want to end things, am I right?”
“No, I...”
She waved her hand in the air. “Save the speeches for your parishioners, Father Ward. This was fun, but...” Her eyes blurry with tears, she searched for her clothes and yanked them on. “It’s over.”
“Lassi, wait. Let me explain.”
She whirled to face him, wincing at the anguish on his face—anguish she’d put there with her sharp-tongued fear. “I’m sorry, Cillian. This was a mistake.”
Pivoting, she stormed from the cottage, determined to never return.