Forcing his study lower to her narrow waist, to the gentle curve of her hips and slender legs did nothing to ease his want of her. Although she was fairly short, her legs looked surprisingly long, thighs elongated and slim, calves perfectly toned, ankles delicate, feet small and feminine.
Fionn squeezed his eyes shut.
He could have done without knowing that Rose had gorgeous legs beneath her jeans.
Turning away, he gathered her belongings into her backpack. The thing was stuffed full. After a thorough search of the room, he’d discovered Rose had hidden An Breitheamh. There was nothing for it, then.
He needed to convince her to give up the location of the dagger, and there was only one safe place in the world where he could keep her.
“Kidnap her,” Fionn muttered in exasperation.
For let’s not pretend otherwise, you ruthless bastard.
He was kidnapping his mate.
With quick efficiency, mind determined to detach from the silky softness of her skin, Fionn dressed an unconscious Rose in jeans and a sweater. A little warm for where they were but not for a plane ride … or Ireland.
She moaned as he buttoned up her jeans, and arousal rushed through him like a tsunami. Groaning, Fionn rested his head against the mattress by her hip and took a minute.
You are an ancient warrior. You’ve survived worse things than a bad case of blue balls.
With a grunt, he pushed himself off the bed and finished putting socks and sneakers on the object of his affection, and frustration.
Her things gathered, Fionn threw her rucksack over one shoulder and carefully laid Rose over the other. Casting an illusion spell so the humans would see only a man carrying luggage, Fionn left the room and cursed under his breath as Rose’s limp hands gently swatted against his lower back with every stride.
This physical awareness of her was ridiculous.
Bloody mating bond.
With a huff, he shifted her more comfortably on his shoulder and set out of the resort.
Fionn had a private plane waiting on the island. He might be wealthy but private planes were an expense he liked to avoid. However, this one was worth it if it meant returning him expediently to the coast of Galway with Rose in his possession. The spell he cast over Rose would last until he awakened her, but Fionn didn’t want her knocked out for long.
In fact, even though he knew she would be furious with him when she awoke, excitement and anticipation stirred in his gut.
Fionn was looking forward to the clash.
Sick, masochistic bastard that I am, he grumbled inwardly.
It was the wind she heard first.
Rose heard it whistling with force, a muted sound somewhere beyond her.
Her eyes fluttered open, her sleepy mind expecting to see sunlight pouring in through the French doors of her Lanzarote hotel room.
The sight of the roaring fire in a stone hearth within stone walls caused her to fly upward in panic. A velvet blanket imprisoned her legs, and Rose’s heart rate escalated as she took in the luxuriously draped, four-poster bed she was in.
“Good, you’re awake.”
The familiar voice in the unfamiliar room relieved her, even when it shouldn’t. Pushing off the blanket and the duvet under it, Rose lowered her legs to a stone-flagged floor and felt the cold rush up her legs. The room itself was warm because of the lively, crackling fire, the smell of burning wood not at all unwelcome.
The cold floor was.
A pair of women’s velvet slippers popped out of thin air at her feet, and she knew it was Fionn’s doing without even turning toward him. She slipped her feet inside and ignored the fact she was dressed in pajama shorts and camisole.
It was better to.
Otherwise an ancient warrior fae might just die. By her hand.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked around the bed, taking in the medium-sized room. It was sparsely furnished with two tall windows with deep, deep recesses on either side of the wall opposite the bed. Dull light poured in, and she forced herself to look at the chair beneath the farthest window.
Fionn lounged in it, dressed immaculately as always in a dark cashmere sweater and fine woolen suit pants. His dress shoes shone beneath the lights from the candelabras fixed around the walls. They were wrought iron and designed to look like old-fashioned candleholders.
“Where the hell am I?” She took in the arched doorway with a wooden door. A huge tapestry hung on the wall, covering the stonework, and a large oak wardrobe was tucked into its corner.
“My home, in County Galway. The west coast, to be exact.”
“Ireland?” Rose threw him an exasperated look and hurried toward one of the windows. The glass was thick, inserted into panes delineated by leadwork. Rose pushed the hefty old windows open easily and felt the strong gales blow into the room off the sea in the distance.
“Holy shit.” She leaned over, glancing downward to see they were up very high.
In what appeared to be a turret.
Rose shut the window, pulse racing as she settled back on her feet. For a moment, she could only stare unseeingly at the recess.
Then she asked, “Are we in a castle?”
“Yes. Welcome to An Caomhnóir, Rose.”
“Did you kidnap me, Fionn?” She turned to face him. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“A little spell.” He said it so casually, like it was no big deal. Standing, he gave her a knowing look. “Would you have coming willingly?”
Was he serious? Searching the room, she caught sight of a wooden chair near the fireplace. That would do.
“Rose, don’t—”
She gestured with her hands, making the chair soar through the room.
Fionn cursed, swiped his hands across the air in front of him, and sent the chair careening against the wall where it smashed into three pieces. He glared at the chair carnage and then her. “That chair was over two hundred years old.”
“I couldn’t care less if you whittled that chair with your bare fucking hands. How dare you kidnap me!”
He was a blur across the room, hauling her into his arms and then throwing her onto the bed. Rose huffed in aggravation as he towered over her. She pushed up off her back and promised him retribution with her eyes.
“Can we continue this discussion without yelling at each other?”
Disbelief coursed through her. “Oh, you want to be civilized? Now that you’ve knocked me out and carted me all the way from a Spanish island to the middle-of-nowhere Ireland!”
“Galway is hardly nowhere. But speaking of location and your obvious displeasure at being here, An Caomhnóir is, as I’ve said previously, spelled to be invisible from the outside world. No one can find you here. You’re safe. You’re as safe as I can make you until you do the right thing and return An Breitheamh to me.”
The right thing? The right thing! Seething, Rose gritted out, “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s not in this country.”
“Use your magic.” Fionn fisted his hands on the bed on either side of her hips, leaning toward her. Rose’s body unfairly wanted to move into him, so she had to force it to lean back. “Just conjure it here and we won’t have to fight anymore.”
Her answer was to flick her hand, rip a candelabra off the wall, and throw it at his head. Fionn winced as it connected, his hand rubbing the spot where it hit before clattering to the floor by the bed. The vibe in the room grew considerably darker as he turned from the broken light fixture to her. “Very mature, mo chroí.”
His tone was anything but loving.
“Don’t—”
“Call you that.” He pushed his face into hers, forcing her back against the headboard. “I’ll call you what I like, Rose Kelly, because you’re my mate. And as my mate, I expect you to return an item that means a great deal to me.”
“Can you find a way to undo this mating bond between us?”
Fionn couldn’t hide his astonishment. “What?”
“Can you find a way to undo this shit between us?”
His expression darkened. “There’s no undoing this.”