Haunting Warrior by Erin Quinn

she might simply realize she had the wrong guy, Rory touched her face, letting his fingers cup the curve of her jaw, the softness of her cheek. Her lashes fluttered for a moment and her lips parted, then she was leaning in, coming up on her toes, resting her hands against the solid wall of his chest. Her mouth was just inches away, and he closed the distance, but not his eyes. He watched her features blur as his mouth settled over hers.
    Her lips were soft, sweet like cream, and he shivered at the feel of them against his own. Every muscle in his body clenched with the hot need rising inside him. Slowly he dragged his mouth over hers, reveling in the friction, the small breath she gave and he took. He used his tongue to tease her lips open and let him in. In all his life, nothing had ever felt as stunning as the hot velvet of her mouth, the dark seduction of her kiss. He realized that he was losing something of himself in that intimate touch, something he might miss, something he might never want to find again.
    She swayed against him, lost her balance, and he used the movement to pull her tighter, pressing her body to his, feeling her soft breasts flatten against the muscles of his chest, wishing he was as naked as she. Her hands circled his neck, fingers digging into his hair.
    Christ, it was like falling into a blazing inferno. He felt the heat all around him, coming from within, from without, singeing his fingers, his heart, his soul. She made a sound that licked the flame through his blood. Then she eased back, trailing her touch over the hard muscles of his chest, her fingers lingering on the spiral scar for just a moment before dragging down the flat dip of his belly. He caught his breath, waiting for her to go lower, praying she’d go lower. But instead she dipped into his pocket and pulled free the pendant his grandmother had given him. She dangled it between them, her body angled away from his, forcing him to focus on what she held until at last he reached for the glittering object. She pressed it into his hand, curling his fingers around it.
    And then she whispered the words he knew he’d been waiting to hear. The words he’d fled from in his dreams. The words that had lured him here, to this place with her. Now.
    With her lips against his once more, she said, “ Hurry , Ruairi . Hurry .”

Chapter Ten
    R ORY had the sensation of floating. He was neither here, nor there. He was trapped between the two.
    The cavern was gone; the woman, too. He was outside again, in fresh air beneath a rising sun. All around him was open land, green and lush as only Eire could be. But there was no trace of the sea, no scent of the ocean lapping damp shores. He might still be in Ireland, but there was no place on the Isle of Fennore where he wouldn’t smell the salt and spray of the rolling waves. And the landscape was too wild and too hostile for it to be the island he knew.
    He was moving with a steady, rolling gait. Horseback? It fit, and yet a part of his brain rejected the idea as quickly as it came. The sensation was there, but incomplete in a way he couldn’t explain. He looked to his left, and the twin he’d dreamed of so many times before emerged from a blurred silhouette into crisp clarity. As if it had taken Rory’s attention to bring him into focus. Rory filed that away in his too-weird-to-contemplate compartment and studied his body double.
    The other Rory rode a mighty black horse with ribbons braided into its mane and tail, coat gleaming and adorned with bright silk scarves. It was dressed up for something and excited. It tossed its head and lifted its hooves high in an agitated prance.
    His twin looked confident in the saddle. His fur cloak was flung back from his shoulders and draped over the horse’s hindquarters. The dead paws still attached to the skin flapped in the breeze and made a parody of petting. As he had in the dreams, Rory’s twin wore a long blue shirt embroidered at the hem and seams with