Donna Grant: Midnight's Temptation

She was much nearer than he first realized.

Where was she? And why in all that was holy did she continue to run from him?

Phelan walked to his Ducati motorbike and threw a leg over the seat. He sat down and put his helmet on before starting the engine.

The residue of Aisley’s magic made his cock throb with need, but it had been the quick—and sharp—spike of fear he felt in her magic that left him cold.

She might be afraid of him, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to destroy whatever it was that terrified her.

Phelan revved the engine before he pulled out onto the street. He drove slowly to the first intersection, but as soon as Aisley’s magic began to weaken, he quickly turned around.

Slowly, street by street, he got closer and closer to her. He’d only dared this once before. It had been five weeks ago when he’d tracked her to a nightclub.

It was the sheer strength of her magic that led him to her. He had kept to the shadows in the club, which had been easy to do. It hadn’t been until he reached the second level that he’d looked down on the dance floor and seen her.

She stood amidst a group of people dancing to some song blaring through the speakers. Men tried to get her attention by dancing close to her, but Aisley didn’t notice them. It was the music that pulled her, called to her.

Phelan saw it in the way she moved, in how each note of the music infused her. Her magic seemed to grow and expand until it swallowed him.

He had been rooted to the spot watching the erotic sight of her body twisting, her hips rotating in her skimpy shirt and too-tight jeans, and her black hair pulled away from her face into a braid.

It was then Phelan comprehended how much the music meant to her. The louder it was, the better. When she danced the worry lines on her forehead disappeared, and a smile began to show.

Phelan stopped at a red light and put his foot down to keep the motorbike upright. He recalled that night at the club several times a day.

It hadn’t just been the sight of Aisley that was imbedded in his memory. It was the realization that he had nothing in his life he cared about as much as Aisley loved her music.

Was his life so dull?

Three months ago he wouldn’t have thought so. He had his bike, his favorite pair of boots, and the open road. He had as many women as he wanted with no one to tie him down.

And on occasion, he found himself helping out those from MacLeod Castle fight evil.

It was a good life.

Why then did it suddenly seem … less?

Did this unexpected misery have anything to do with Charon finding the love of his life? Phelan wasn’t sure. Charon had always protected his village, but now he had Laura as well, and Phelan saw the difference.

It had been easy to ignore all the Warriors who had found love with the Druids at MacLeod Castle because he was rarely there, but he couldn’t disregard it with Charon.

Phelan gunned his bike when the light turned green. This early in the morning with the rain, there were few people about. He swerved his bike around two twentysomething men as they stumbled drunk out of a pub.

“Idiots,” he muttered, but looked back to make sure they made it across the street.

He thought of Charon and Laura once again. Charon had nearly lost Laura to Wallace and his crusade to rule the world. Phelan always thought Charon’s life was one of the best.

Charon had done what no other Warrior did after escaping Deirdre—he returned to the village he’d grown up in. It had been decades after he was taken and no one knew Charon, but it was his home.

Charon had set about buying up land and property and protecting those who called Ferness home from any evil.

Many times Phelan had found whatever road he’d been traveling leading him back to Ferness. Not because he thought of it as home, but because he was welcome.

The MacLeods welcomed him at the castle as well, yet it wasn’t the same. There was Isla who was responsible for tricking him as a young lad and taking him away from his family, to be chained deep in Deirdre’s mountain.

No matter what, Phelan couldn’t forgive what Isla had done, not even when he learned she had done it to save her own family. Isla thought she was the reason he didn’t go to the castle. The truth was, he didn’t know how to fit in.

Those who stayed at the castle considered themselves one big family. He didn’t remember his mother’s or father’s face, much less what it meant to be in a family. He had no idea how to act.

So he stayed away.

Phelan pulled his thoughts away from the other Warriors and the Druids as Aisley’s magic grew stronger. He slowed the Ducati and pulled over when he found an open parking spot on the side of the road.

He glanced at the buildings around him, trying to determine which one she was in. Four were businesses, one a pub, two restaurants, and one abandoned.

With a flick of his foot, he put the kickstand down and shut off his bike. That’s when he heard the music. Even over the din of the rain, with his enhanced senses—thanks to the god inside him—he could hear the telltale dance music.

There must be a nightclub nearby. He fought the urge to find it and go inside to see Aisley, but then he remembered her horrified expression when she’d seen him the last time.

It had been like a knife in his chest, her look saying he had intruded on something private and personal.

So Phelan stayed seated on his bike as the rain fell around him, blurring the visor of his helmet. He could picture Aisley dancing, her arms above her head, her eyes closed as she swayed.

It was enough. For now.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on as he was. If he could just get her in his bed, he’d purge this unending yearning, this hunger to have her in his arms once and for all.

Then he could get back to the life he had.

He stood and swung his leg over the bike before he blended into the shadows. Phelan might want Aisley in his bed, but he was going to have to approach her carefully.

There would be wooing. First, he would have to earn her trust. Just as he had with the wounded kitten three years ago. It had taken Phelan three days, but eventually he had the kitten curled in his lap. After that, the kitten allowed him to clean the injured paw.

So all he had to do was think of Aisley as that kitten.

Phelan gave a snort. Aisley had claws like a kitten. He’d seen that when a man grabbed her butt while she was dancing. But Phelan knew it was going to take a great effort on his part to have her purring in his arms.

She would purr. And scream in pleasure.

He settled under an awning out of the rain so he had only to turn his head to see both the right and left sides of the street. With his helmet in the crook of his arm, he settled back to wait.

A handful of minutes passed before the sound of a car door opening caught his attention. Phelan turned his head to the right and spotted a small car on the opposite side of the street three blocks up.

A figure got out of the car and ran to the covered sidewalk. Phelan would know Aisley anywhere, even without his enhanced eyesight.

Those few seconds in the rain plastered her black hair to her head. She pushed aside the strands sticking to her oval face, her eyes darting about as she walked into a café.

Phelan stayed on the opposite side of the street as he kept watch through the café window. She stopped at the counter and took a seat on a stool while she placed her order.

He started walking, needing to be closer to her. Just before he reached the café, he stopped and faded into the shadows again. He had the advantage over Aisley since she had no idea he was there. Phelan could sense her magic, but Druids didn’t have the same abilities as Warriors.