Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [64]
“That’s good to know. The Montgomerie sisters descend from the Cait Sidhe—so I am told by Raven—a race of witchwomen from the Picts. Looking into her eyes, I can believe it. They light a fire under a man’s skin, set flames to licking at his brain. I was concerned you were not strong enough to withstand their witchy magic.”
“No spells, no magic,” he stated flatly. “I’m in love with her, and if all these Machiavellian plans don’t ruin my chances, I want to marry her.”
“You’re daft, man!” Trev’s disbelief was clear, his tone derisive. “You don’t even know her. What? How long? Four days? You been pulling at some jug of Kentucky moonshine, Bubba?”
“No moonshine. It doesn’t change anything.”
“She must be one hot lay—”
“Again, be thankful you’re on that side of the Atlantic, Trev, or I’d mop the floor with your pretty face. Of course, it won’t be so pretty after I finish rearranging it, but then you’ll appear handsome—all scarred like a warrior true.”
“Bloody hell. You haven’t gone to bed with her yet, have you—”
“Goodbye, you SOB.” Jago punched the end-call button, breaking the connection. When the phone started ringing in his hand again, he stabbed the ringer-off button, and then looked at the cat. “Just be happy you don’t have a twin brother. They’re the bane of life.”
As he started back to Asha’s cabin, he glanced up the hill toward the drive-in. He noticed that on the far end of the last row, you could see down onto the bungalows from there. The black truck—at least he thought it was the same one that had gone up the road a few minutes ago—was parked there, motor off. Jago stared at the vehicle for several minutes, then went back to his cabin to slip on shoes and a sweater. He tucked Asha’s gun into his belt, intent on going up the hillside, checking out who owned the truck, and what he was doing in the drive-in at this hour.
When he came out, the truck was gone, no sign of where it had vanished.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jago’s head hit the pillow, a sigh and a smile on his lips. He had driven demons away from the door—with the aid of his trusty sidekick . . . What’s His Name—vanquished an irritating brother with his rapier repartee, and now both the conquering heroes were ready for a well-earned nap.
Rain now lashed at the window, but it was a soothing sound, nothing like the noise that had come before. Sleepy, Jago rolled over and pulled Asha back against him, the action natural, as if he’d done it a thousand times. The heat in his body instantly escalated; his poor aching groin complained. Still, he did his best to ignore that hard cramp of lust, reminding himself, after the last ten months of feeling little more than apathy, it was oddly enjoyable to experience this voracious need.
Asha rolled in his arms until she was facing him. The minx was awake. Uh oh, visions of gasoline and lit matches came to mind. She wiggled her toes, performed a small, drowsy stretch and then rubbed her ankle against his. She asked groggily, “Where did you and your shadow sneak off to?”
“We went chasing monsters away from the door.”
“Ah, knights in shining armor are so sexy.” She gave a low, throaty chuckle that nearly made him come undone.
“This is nice.” He hooked his leg over hers and used it to nudge her closer. “Rainy, lazy morn. Just us cuddling.”
The cat waddled up his thigh and rumbled a deep purr, causing them both to chuckle. He butted against the back of Jago’s arm. If he were human, he’d be saying, What about me?
“Just . . . nice?” She ran the tip of her index finger over the edge of his upper lip, then his lower. Her glowing eyes studied his face, hungrily taking in every detail of his reactions to her.
“Okay . . . very nice.”
Stroking her thumb over his eyebrow, she said, “You know, the cat will need a rabies shot and all the childhood kitty disease shots and boosters so you won’t have to worry about him getting sick.”
The feline’s head jerked up at the mention of shots and he glared at Asha.
Jago laughed. “I don’t think he’s keen on the idea of someone poking him with a needle. Can’t say I blame