Part 10

Vince wanted her. He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, feeling aggravated. No, anxious maybe? He grabbed his pan pipes and climbed to the catwalk of the lighthouse and played what he now thought of as her song. It was beginning to comfort him, having played it so often. He chose to ignore the fact that every time he played it she showed up. After about three, four minutes he slowly stopped playing and rubbed his eyes. He thought for a second he saw her coming up over the hill. He looked hard one more time. It was her. He turned and hurried down.

Aileen heard him playing. I started to think he was using the song to call her. I smiled.

He saw her smile as he met her at the gate. He tried not to look as excited as he felt by standing ram rod straight. He was still a bit put out with her interference.

I looked up at him, especially as he was about a foot taller than me. Damn he smelled good. 

“Before we go any further,” I started, his mesmerizing blue eyes muddling my speech abilities, “um, what is your name?”

“Vincent. Vincent McGregor,” He replied quietly, his brogue softer at this point. “What tis your name?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aileen Mitchell,” I said practically sighing.

“Are you sure it isn’t Troublemaker?”

Not missing a step, I replied, “That would be my middle name.”

He smiled. 

I think that was the first time. Brilliant is was.

“Vince, may I see inside your studio?” As a man of no words, he grabbed my hand and led me inside. “Oh, I am so glad I get to see inside,” I whispered. And just like on TV, it was full of boards with knobs and leavers. And one wall was lined with instruments. 

“It is warmer here than in the house.”

“I pay to have the temperature controlled in here because of the equipment and the instruments.”

“What about the house?”

“The Castle? No. I just live in the front part of the house since I am alone and just heat it with the fireplace. Saves money.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t help myself and picked up a violin or fiddle and a bow. One slow swipe across the strings and it sounded like a cat with it’s tail stuck in a door. I busted up laughing. “Oh my goodness! That would sound great at Halloween.”

Vince took the fiddle and bow from my hands, and said, “Don’t. Touch.”

“You sure you don’t want to teach me to play?” I asked playfully hoping a smile might re appear.

“I don’t think so,” he said absently, as he lovingly put them back in it’s revered place amongst the rest of his instruments. Then he looked at me and said, “But since you are here I want to play a recording I made. Tell me what you think.” He sounded a bit hesitant like maybe he was afraid of what I’d say.

“Of course. I would love to hear it,” I said, sitting down on the edge a chair along the wall. It started with the flute and I recognized the melody right off. I turned to face Vince, who was looking at me, knowing the moment I realized it was the melody he played to call me to him. I closed my eyes a moment then got up and started swaying. I danced to the music. Once it was over I stopped in front of him.

He put his hands on my hips holding me still. His eyes. I could not look away. Before I knew it his hands were under my sweater touching my skin. Slow, tiny gentle caresses stopping short of my bra. It made me shiver. He had backed up to a stool and sat on the edge pulling me between his legs.

My hands had found their way to his chest, moving up slowly, to settle around his neck, re discovering the softness of his thick dark hair. His strong hands were cupping my cheeks pulling me in for a kiss. The Kiss. It was soft and gentle with tiny little pecks. Then becoming a little stronger. Things in the nether region started to feel swollen.

I found my self leaning against him finding it hard to stand. My arms around him now holding on, his arms back under my sweater, roaming up and down my back.

“Oh, Darlin’,” He whispered as he leaned back to look into my face. 

Our eyes locked for a moment. I was drowning in the deep blue that was his eyes. I went back for more of his soft warm lips.

Vince was fast losing control. Pretty soon his kilt wouldn’t hide anything. She was like a drug, he wanted more and more. He tasted her cheek, then her neck. His tongue and lips tasting. She smelled of vanilla and it was driving him crazy.

Vince broke contact and set her away from him far enough he could stand and led her out of the studio. He let go of her hand long enough to lock up the studio like Fort Knox. Then he took hold of her hand again, and the two of them headed to the castle.

Just before opening the door, Vince put his hands on her shoulders, looked down on her visage and asked, “Och, Lassie, are yee sure?”

“I’m sure,” I whispered back. I loved the sound of his voice. His brogue.

He closed his eyes and shuddered, trying for some self control. He turned and opened the door, then stood aside to let her walk in first.