Sloane was roused from a delicious, heavy sleep by the murmur of voices. Mac’s made her smile and snuggle deeper into the covers, but when she identified the other as unknown—and female—curiosity forced her to her feet. Not bothering to dress, she only took the time to wrap Mac’s deep blue robe around her before padding out of the bedroom and through the living area.

The voices became clearer as she passed the windows, but her mind was still drowsy and slow. Something about being mad and Mac disagreeing with her father?

She frowned and pushed open the door.

Only to lay eyes on one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.

Sloane had never been the jealous sort. She appreciated her own beauty and uniqueness and was confident enough in that to appreciate the beauty of other women and enjoy it as well. But this women’s appearance staggered her.

Deep crimson curls shone in the morning sun, falling past the woman’s slender white shoulders to hang halfway down her back. Her body was the stuff of men’s most ardent dreams, curvaceous and full, while retaining an intriguing delicacy. There was nothing delicate about the expression on her face, though, or those arresting Kelly-green eyes. This was a woman possessed of a strong personality and keen mind. One that was assessing Sloane just as forthrightly as Sloane was assessing her.

“Good morn.” The accent was pure Northern Irish, that silvery lilt of poets and bards. But the tone was as sharp as mountain air.

“Morning.” Sloane glanced at Mac, but as he seemed to have no intention of introducing them, she held out her hand. “I’m Sloane, and you are?”

Her hand was instantly surrounded by slender fingers, silky and soft. There was steel under the silk, a cold steel that made Sloane shiver a bit. This was not a woman to be trifled with.

Sloane refused to be intimidated, lifting her chin almost imperiously. The woman smiled.

“I’m Manannán’s sister, Bav.”

“Sister?” Sloane blinked, then smiled. “He’s never mentioned a sister.”

“I daresay not.” The redheaded woman seemed to be trying not to laugh outright, but amusement sang through her words nevertheless. “Bit closemouthed, our Mac, about a lot of things, it would seem. Did you say your name was Nelson, the Sloane Nelson?”

Had she mentioned her last name? She couldn’t remember but nodded cautiously.

“Oh aye, the writer.” Bav smiled again, and there was something familiar and predatory in that smile. With a shock, Sloane realized it reminded her of Mac. “I’ve read your books. They’re quite good, very entertaining.”

“Well, thank you so much.” Sloane had learned to accept such compliments with grace long ago, but for some reason this woman flustered her. Her cheeks were burning. Then Mac cleared his throat, looking less than amused. Sloane shot him a glance, her embarrassment vanishing. “It’s nice someone thinks so,” she said.

Bav grinned as Mac scowled. “Well, I will not be keeping you from . . . whatever it is my brother has planned for you.”

Sloane flushed again, though for some reason she didn’t think the woman was talking about sex, or at least, not just sex. The look she shot her brother was a dark one, and those full lips trembled once before firming as she turned back to Sloane. “It was good to meet you, Sloane. At long last.”

Something in her tone sounded melancholy, almost apologetic, but what in the world would Mac’s sister have to apologize for? Sloane gave herself a mental shake, hoping Mac had some coffee around to clear her sleep- and sex-fuzzed brain.

“You as well. Hope to see you again soon.”

Bav’s mouth twisted as if she’d said something highly amusing. “Be careful what you wish for, love.” Then she nodded at Mac. “Good day, Brother dear.”

He didn’t return her nod, his changeable eyes a steely grey this morning. “And to ye, Sister.”

With a swirl of white, the woman stalked away. Mac’s truck was the only vehicle in the driveway, not that Bav headed that way in any case. She was aiming for the hilltop Sloane and Mac had descended the previous day.

“Where is she going?”

“Ye’re not the only one that enjoys a bit of a hike.”

Hiking, in that fancy getup? But Bav was pushed clean out of her mind when Mac slipped behind her and pulled her to his chest. He was bare-chested still and deliciously warm despite the slight chill in the air. His lips skimmed the top of her head. Sloane sighed, snuggling into his strength as he coaxed her back inside.

Mac released her when they crossed the threshold, turning to lock the door. She frowned at that, wondering about the woman she’d just met and her relationship with Mac. In twenty years, she’d never so much as heard him mention a sister, even in passing.

“She called you something. Manannán?”

“Aye,” Mac acknowledged with an indifferent shrug. “’Tis me given name.”

“After the god?” Sloane couldn’t help the snort of amusement, thinking of her own books. “Shall I call you Lir?”

He winced. “Please doona.”

“The storm is over.”

“Aye, tis.” Mac grinned at her, stepping over to the kitchen and grabbing the condom from the table. “Though, there is no need for us to rush into town jus’ yet. Come back to bed. I wasna ready to get up yet. What are ye wearing under my robe anyway?”

She lifted her head, grinning up at him. “Not a thing.”

Making a low sound in the back of his throat, Mac reached for the tie and yanked it free. Sloane stood unflinching as the thick, soft fabric pooled to the floor.

“Not an ounce of shyness in ye,” he teased, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Are you kidding? I spent half my life waiting for you to see me. Now that you do, I’ve decided to enjoy every minute of it.”

“I always saw ye,” he murmured, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, heading with unmistakable purpose to the bedroom. “Ye fair blinded me at times.”

She spread her hand over his chest, enjoying the play of muscles there as he moved. “I wondered, but when you rejected me at Cashtal yn Ard”—his arms tightened but Sloane continued, needing to say it, to admit it to both herself and him—“I really thought I’d been a fool, Mac. That you’d never wanted me at all,” she finished in a whisper.

He snorted, though his arms tightened. “I’d wanted ye for quite a while before tha’ day at the stones.”

Her fingers halted in their perusal of his chest. “Is that so?”

“Aye.”

Her eyes narrowed at the clipped answer. Sloane straightened, her gaze bright in the gloom. “And still you pushed me away.”

Mac sighed. “I told ye before, ye were so young, too young fer the likes of me. Even now . . .” He shook his head, something dark in his eyes as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom. “How old are ye?” His voice was low, a veritable rumble.

“Twenty-seven.”

“So young yet.” He tossed her on the bed. Sloane giggled as she watched him drop his pants without preamble, his erection blatant. “But I’m past worrying about corrupting ye.”

“I’ll say. How old are you then?” Sloane asked idly, her eyes fixed on his cock as he stepped closer and handed her the condom.

“No’ twenty-seven.”

She lifted her gaze to see him laughing down at her. “Oh, just tell me. How bad can it be? I’m nearly thirty after all.”

“Ancient indeed.” Despite the still-somber gaze that rested on her, Mac’s lips twitched, though he hissed out a breath as she rolled the condom down his shaft. She pulled him down into the bed, suddenly impatient, needing to feel him again.

“I’ll show you ancient, old man.” She threw a leg over his hips to straddle him.

“Old man, is it now?” he said lazily, his eyes wandering over her naked upper half.

“Not too old for some things, it would seem.”

She grasped his cock with both hands, still marveling at the shape and weight of him. He thickened and grew until she sucked in a breath, her eyes bemused as her fingers traced his shaft over the thin barrier between them. “Thank god they make these in your size.”

“Stop admiring the damme thing and use it, before ye drive me insane.” His words were light, but the need behind them was deep and rough.

“Bossy much?” With a laugh, she fitted him against her, watching his eyes dilate and his breath catch. This power she had over him was heady, almost frightening. But she craved it. Finally he was letting her see how she affected him and it was addicting. She craved the prospect of pushing him as high as he’d pushed her last night. If anyone was going to pass out this time, she vowed it would be him.

Sinking down slowly, letting him stretch her inch by inch, Sloane lifted her hair, letting him see all of her as her head fell back. Her nipples tightened and her body shook as his cock sank deep. God, he was ruining her for other men.

Then again, maybe he already had.

Mac touched places inside her she hadn’t even known existed. Literally and otherwise. She opened her eyes as the weight of his hands settled on her hips.

“No,” she whispered. “Hands off. Just watch. Feel. Promise me, Mac.”

He hesitated, then rumbled his assent, removing his hands and wrapping them around the headboard.

She purred with satisfaction, then began to circle her hips. Slow at first, long sinuous strokes, tightening her inner muscles to squeeze him hard. Mac groaned, wood creaking under his white-knuckled grip. The muscles in his massive arms bunched and rolled, his breath hitching as he watched her. Another storm was moving in. Sloane could feel the air cooling against her back, the distant rumble of thunder coming through the windows, but she no longer cared about the weather.

As the room darkened around them, she moved faster, slamming down harder. Soon Mac was cursing, his words becoming broken and harsh, increasing her wantonness. Sweat beaded over her breasts, dripped from her nipples to his heaving chest as she fucked him long and hard.

He twisted under her, demanding she release him from his promise, cursing when she refused him. He began to thrust his hips, pushing himself deeper, trying to break her, to force need to overcome her determination. Dropping her hands to his shoulders, Sloane laughed softly and rode him until Mac did what he had sworn no one could ever make him do.

His sharp cry rang out as Mac came so hard, Sloane watched his eyes roll back and felt that powerful body go rigid beneath her as her own vision started to dim and pulse.

Then the world around them flickered and vanished.

Sloane gasped. All the shades of blue and green ever imagined swirled around her. Dark images moved through the colors, images that seemed alive. Something rough bumped against her spine, scoring her skin and throwing her sideways. She could no longer feel Mac beneath her, or inside her. When she took a breath to gasp, to clear her head of this madness, there was no air. Instead, liquid filled her lungs, icy and cool.

Abruptly, Sloane realized she was drowning, the sound of Mac’s shout fading away. The weight of all that blue was crushing her. Pushing her down, down . . .