Seal the Deal (1Night Stand Series) Read online

  “No thanks.” She shook her head and paused, trying to remember his name. “Henry.” She knew most of the local kids. If she hadn’t delivered them, she saw them at the doctor’s office for their immunizations. As a midwife, she sometimes doubled as a nurse for Port St. Mary. Heck, she’d even done time on the clinic’s reception desk. She loved the variety and small village’s “know everyone” feeling. Very different from her old position in a large hospital in Aberdeen, Scotland. There, she’d delivered babies. No before, during, or after care.

  “Hi, Henry. Yes, I’m fine. Your Mummy and Daddy around?”

  “Silly, of course. I wouldn’t be here by myself. They’re over there.” The six-year-old waved to the couple who stood with a crowd beyond stacked tables and chairs.

  A sudden blast of icy wind raced through Anne’s knit outfit. She shivered and hunched to protect herself against the elements. Brrr. “Why is everyone out here? What are they all staring at?”

  “The seals, look.” Henry pointed beyond the immaculate lawns of the golf course, toward the sea. “There are thousands of them!”

  Seals—not in the thousands, more like sixty or so—scattered the shorelines and surrounding rocks. All barking, clapping, facing toward the.... Lighthouse?

  A storm and rough seas had crashed the building into the ocean some four years earlier, so town folk and research at the local library had told her. Her maternal grandfather—at least if her suspicions as to the identity of her biological mother were correct—Colyn Radcliff, used to be a watcher, so she’d studied its history and had quizzed the librarian. Anything to get to know the family she’d never met, to grasp at some semblance of belonging.

  “How odd it should appear now,” Anne mumbled.

  “What?”

  Nobody else can see it? She shrugged, assuming only she noticed its reappearance because of her family’s connection to it. Or maybe she had latent psychic abilities and had picked up on a residual haunting. After all, four years ago today the tower had tumbled into the ocean.

  “Oh…hey, I hear Channel Three News is heading out here for a story.” The boy’s father strolled over and patted his son’s shoulder. “I only hope they’ll come over to the chip shop and bring me some business after.” Likely, his shop on the Victorian promenade was the only “fast food” on the Isle.

  “Tae see seals?” Anne quizzed.

  “It’s February. There shouldn’t be so many this time of the year. I guess they think there’s a seal story worthy of their viewers.”

  “Maybe something to do with the eclipse?” Mrs. Gaverty’s shrill voice echoed through the bustle. The baker who provided most of the B&Bs along the shore with pastries would hope for some of the news crews’ business as well. She’d be the first to hear any news and would hasten to spread it. No one could match her high-pitched air of snobbery and condescension. Although she brought up a good point.

  Were seals collecting en masse, and the once-dead lighthouse shining its beacon out to sea, because of last night’s moon? Port St. Mary was a hotbed of supernatural curiosities. She’d never fully understand the Isle’s magical myths. Some put the oddities down to the ley line running the length of the island. Others didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. But a small majority believed in the myths passed down from their predecessors.

  “It’s the one-hundredth anniversary of the first children banished to live out their days as seals. Perhaps they want to do a story on them?” Mrs. Gaverty pulled out her phone and dialed. “The Isle Daily will know more, my son Gavin—”

  “Is editor in chief.” The surrounding crowd chorused, mimicking her hoity-toity tone.

  “We know. The whole freckin’ Isle knows, you remind us often enough,” one of them barked.

  “Aren’t selkies a bedtime story, though? Like fairies?” The boy glanced up, arching his brow, his tone sarcastic. “Only nursery school kids believe in fairytales.”

  “No, dear, don’t listen to those stuffy teachers filling your head with facts and figures. There’s more to Port St. Mary than the likes of you will ever understand, and that ‘story’ is as real as the lighthouse used to be.”

  Anne tried to hold the spite desperate to fall from her tongue, to stop a rolling of her eyes and a tsk. How dare Mrs. Gaverty slam Henry’s belief’s down so easily while taking a clear snap at Miss Johnson, a darn good and well liked teacher. Also, the only other non-born ’n bred Port St. Mary gal she had met since moving here.

  What are they saying behind my back?

  She jumped to teacher’s defense. “Dinnae think there’s anything wrong with Henry’s teacher sharing facts. We dinnae all believe in fairies prancing around gardens and mermaids diving for pearls.”

  “And what would you know, outsider? Pft, Scotland may be a land for sensibility, but if you stick around here for more than a year, you’ll soon learn the mystical ways aren’t to be scoffed at.”

  Erm, hello! She’d been in Port St. Mary for two years already. If the town gossip didn’t think she’d been there long, what little impact she’d made.

  Mrs. Gaverty held the phone against her ear. “Gavin, what’s the scoop? Why are they filming on the Isle? Is it the seals?” She paused for a few moments and nodded her head a couple of times. “Huh-huh, I see. Okay, then, see you for dinner.” She hung up. “Some movie star is doing a family tree documentary; that’s all he knows.”

  Anne shrugged then made her way into the hotel lobby. She admired the neutral tones accenting gold-framed oil paintings and a shiny herringbone wood floor. Everyone spoke of the excellent service. And food. The place had quite the reputation as the best restaurant around, a five star eatery even the most famous celebrity chef would have trouble finding fault with. Their Christmas carvery drew even the guests from the B&Bs; all the trimmings, plus the perfect Christmas pud, mince pies, or sherry trifle to finish. Maybe one day she’d have someone special to share such a meal with. Coming here for a holiday meal could become their annual tradition.

  And it was perfectly positioned to seal-watch.

  The cute creatures kept tourism alive on the little island. Local folks spoke of them constantly, and stocked their stores with seal knick-knacks. The one-screen cinema showed Andre and Slappy every Sunday afternoon. Anne had never thought twice about the creatures before moving here, but now joined in the local passion, as captivated by the tales as a native.

  From her office in Sudgen House, the doctor’s surgery, she had a fantastic view of the Irish Sea. Each day, during her morning coffee break, she saw an older couple chatting to the same gray-spotted seal. Kissing the darn thing as if it were their child, taking in turns talking to the mammal and using flamboyant hand gestures as if telling stories.

  She often strolled past them, eavesdropping and blaming her fascination with the seals for her watchful gaze. Would she ever find someone to hold her hand, share knowing looks, offer assistance over the rocks? Loneliness haunted her. More so now she lived in Port St. Mary and away from her few school friends. But she dreamed of becoming a part of the place. Accepted.

  A sigh escaped her.

  “Get you a warm drink in a flask to take out so you can watch the seals a while longer?” The landlady, Bethany, smoothed her gray hair back into its fancy do and straightened her silver-tweed skirt. Her pregnant daughter and hotel co-owner had visited Anne at the surgery just the other day. A real family business. She’d bumped into them at the fish and chip shop a few evenings back and teased the new baby would be making beds before speaking his or her first word. Three generations of women running a hotel, the makings for a winning TV drama.

  “Hi, Bethany, how’s your daughter doing? She still moaning ’bout morning sickness?”

  “Rowena’s well, thank you, except for wishing her first trimester was over. Now, how about the flask?”

  “Weather is cac, blasting a Baltic gale out there.” Anne rubbed her shoulders then shivered “I’d rather stay in the warmth than be blown tae frosty smithereens.”<
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  “A hot toddy at the bar, then?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Of course.” The dear old lady inhaled deeply. “You smell divine. What scent are you wearing?”

  “Lilac Breeze, the perfume I’ve worn since my thirteenth birthday.” A beautiful woman with hair as bright as fire and skin as pale as milk had gifted her a bottle, asked her not to tell anyone about it. She now believed that woman to have been Sereanna Radcliff, her real mother.

  Port St. Mary legend claimed she’d lured married men into having affairs with her so she could steal their money. Of course, these tales were those told by bitter women and their men. Sereanna couldn’t defend her name, as the tale placed the “whore” in the lighthouse as it crumbled into the ocean.

  “Smells pretty. Suits you.” She nudged Anne’s chin. “Whoever your date is, he’s a lucky fella.”

  “How did you know I was meeting someone?”

  “You booked the honeymoon suite and I have you down as dining for two.” Bethany winked then scurried to the window and sat, her gaze stuck to the goings on in the sea. Her walkie-talkie bleeped and she held it close to her ear, frowning in concentration. “The production crew has arrived. All this is exciting, isn’t it? Television cameras right here, in my hotel.” The hotelier leapt from her seat and fussed with the table decorations, moving vases an inch, swiping imaginary dust from the cloths, pushing in chairs.

  “Aye, very.” Anne nodded, tugged the shawl from her shoulders, and fished her key from a pocket before climbing the stairs to her room on the third floor. She had her own exciting events to attend to. A date. A blind date with someone named Finn Kneale.

  Anne slotted the key-card and slung the door open. She kicked her shoes across the high-ceiling room trimmed with triple-tiered crown-molding and a crystal chandelier, and pushed the door shut. A daisy patterned bedspread and pale pink damask wallpaper offered a homey vibe. She dropped her wrap then focused on the most interesting accessory. A dude. Curled up on the shag rug, wearing nothing but a pair of breeks?

  Her date had arrived while she’d caught a breath of fresh air and a big helping of courage. She definitely did not expect to find him in fetal position, rocking, muttering away.

  “Are you okay? What can I do? Want me tae call someone for you? Family, maybe…or a doctor?” She backed toward the exit then turned and reached for the handle, her conscience telling her “I told you so.” What moment of insanity led her to decide a one-night stand with a stranger was a good way to help fate along?

  More to the point, is he insane?

  “I got tired waiting for you, so I took a nap,” he rasped. Anne glanced back at him, unable to resist his rough, damaged, come-to-bed voice. He sat and stretched out his oh-so-sculpted and fine-tuned body.

  “I... I....” I was gone all of half an hour you impatient, sexy bastard. She grabbed the doorknob but paused, filthy imaginings taking over. Gruff whispers of dirty requests, large hands peeling away layers of clothing. Breeks hitting the floor before he hamshanked his dick, his gaze unyielding as he came. Ready to pounce on fate’s scraps much? “Even Madame Eve cannae help me.”

  “Ah, the agency sent you?”

  She nodded.

  “You must be my mate? Scottish Anne?”

  Mate? Anne snorted. “Madame Eve dinnae mention my heritage would be a problem for you.”

  He smirked then stood, his back flexing, his bottom so round, pert. “I’m pleased to meet you, Scottish Anne.” When he pivoted to face her, Anne’s sight fell to his package straining the material of his pants, and the vision of him pleasuring himself pierced her yet again. On its own volition, her sex swelled.

  She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the pleasurable throb.

  “Finn Kneale.” He held his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Huh? Oh. Aye, nice tae meet you, too.”

  He prowled toward her, his shoulders wide, his face everything she craved in a man. A strong line ran along his jaw, accentuated by his intense stare. He inched around her, slammed the door shut, and spun to pin her against the wainscoting. His breath tickled her cheek, and his chest knocked against hers.

  What would he do next? Rip her clothes off and throw her on the bed?

  Anne gritted her teeth and sucked oxygen deep into her lungs. She’d push him away if he dared do such a thing. Wouldn’t she? So he was attractive, whatever. The weird factor trumped his hotness any day. Didn’t it? Besides, she might think like a tramp, but she wouldn’t act like one.

  Wrapped in his arms, his warm, hard body pressed against her, she battled with the urge to dare to kiss him.

  “We’ve got twelve hours to get to know each other, Scottish Anne. Let us not waste time.” He crushed his mouth on hers. She parted her lips, inviting him to explore her with his velvet smooth tongue. Heat washed over her, and an outcry of delight burst out in an unbidden sigh. She wanted to pull back, to catch a breath. The sensible thing to do. But the yearning, too strong to fight, simmered in her stomach for a moment then exploded to her center. He tugged her closer, pressing her breasts against his hard chest. Her heart thumped, the sound pounding in her ears, and her nipples tingled. If she didn’t retreat soon, she’d be under his spell and addicted to his passion and his touch and his….

  “I want you, Scottish Anne. Want you now,” he rasped.

  Chapter Three

  His stomach muscles pulled taut and lust pulsed through his groin, slamming the need home. So long he’d waited. His breeks grew tight, bringing attention to what he wanted—needed with growing desperation. He had to have her.

  Now.

  Finn yanked her in, closing all distance between them, and swept his tongue over hers. His swollen shaft pressed against her. The hair on his nape prickled. He wasn’t sure what excited him more, the prospect of making love to her, of having skin to skin contact, or her ability to end his curse.

  He thrust forward, groaning.

  “Slow down.” She panted and shoved, palms flat against his chest, but he stood firm and she stumbled back a few steps, landing on the bed with her legs apart. She peered up at him from behind her tousled curls, her low gaze focused on his lips. Moonlight bounced from her locks, shimmering deep-red low-lights and reflecting a warm tint over her perfect complexion.

  If this was how he’d spent the rest of his years, he couldn’t wait to get started, to see her naked. To feast upon her beauty as she walked down the aisle.

  The temptress had said slow down, but her almond-shaped eyes and her pout begged him to keep trying. No retreat, this is it. Giving up is not an option.

  A newfound confidence rushed through him, and a grin broke free. Boundaries usually standing between him and pleasure were nowhere in sight, his desire to invoke their connection too strong to deny, to let his awkwardness get in the way. He dared to drop over her, caging her in and pushing her into the mattress. Hazel eyes held him captive. He couldn’t steal away if he wanted to. He reached out and swept mahogany hair from her face, entwining his fingers deep into her locks. “Anne Ward, you are so beautiful.”

  “Moving too fast,” she gasped.

  Rejection? Again? His heart sank, and he rolled to his side. Shoulders slumped, and his nose wiggled. Why does it keep moving in such a way? Rubbing the pads of his thumbs over his features, he attempted to still the unbidden facial expression threatening to give away his secret.

  She arched an eyebrow, tilted her head, and flecks of green spread through her irises. “Have we met before? I don’t think so, but something about you seems so familiar.”

  “No, I’m sure I’d remember meeting you.”

  Did she know him? Impossible. From what he’d read in the letter Madame Eve had provided, he knew she was Scottish and had been on the Isle for two years. They’d definitely never crossed paths before. Yet....

  Her full mouth quivered, and she repositioned herself on the bed. Her skirt hitched above her knee with the movement and offered a flash of her milky thighs. Sh
e scanned the length of him, her gaze resting on his crotch. She shook her head, her eyes alight with glee.

  “How am I supposed to resist the sight of you on a bed all inviting and alluring?”

  “I fell,” she purred, flashing a bewitching smile.

  “Really?”

  “Aye, I did.” Wiggling from under him, she sat then retrieved her shawl from the floor and secured it tight around her shoulders. “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too...so quit with the stalling and come back here to satisfy our hunger.”

  “No, no. We should go eat first, get tae know each other. I took the liberty of booking us a table with an ocean view.”

  Great, I get to stare at the Irish Sea some more. “The menu by the television lists room service. I say we go for it, then we can get to know each other without interruption.”

  “Which is why I’d prefer tae eat downstairs.”

  “You like interruption?”

  “More than I like being alone in a bedroom with a forward stranger in heat.”

  He couldn’t deny his lust. Before the night ended, he’d have her. Her fire made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  “Stranger? Anne, we’re not strangers, we are soul mates destined to enjoy each other until the end of our days.” He kissed her, soft caresses of her lips on his.

  She dipped her head, breaking their connection, and glanced at her feet. “I cannae deny there is a connection between us, but attraction isn’t all there is tae falling in love. I’m not an easy shag. What was I thinking, arranging a one-night stand? This is so not like me.” She took to pacing the room, shaking her head and mumbling.

  He couldn’t stand to see her so agitated. Grabbing her, he tilted her head and brought her gaze to his. “I’m glad you did. If it’ll ease your discomfort, we shall dine where you wish and discuss meaningless things. You’ll soon realize, fate wants us together. This isn’t for one night, this…us…it’s forever.” Her plump, rounded lips tempted him toward another kiss, but he didn’t want to push his luck so he bit his tongue. “Whether or not you know yet, you and me, we’ll be married before the year is out.”