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Authors: Allie Standifer

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BOOK: GettingLuckyinGalway
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“You’re pretty cocky for a man alone with a lion shifter,”
she replied instead of answering his sexual taunt. He’d find out soon enough
all cats liked to play with their prey.

“Darlin’, I’m not blind nor have the rest of my senses shut
down, so to say I’m aware of every inch of you,” he sniffed the air much like a
predator, “is delicious and very very tempting. It’s not vanity to acknowledge
the truth.”

Enough was enough. Calder planted her feet on the hardwood
floor and yanked her hand from his secure hold. Hands fisted on her hips, she
demanded to know the truth. “What the hell are you?”

His tanned hand covered his heart while a wounded expression
crossed his face. “Oh sweetheart, you wound me, really you do.” He batted those
insanely long black lashes at her while assuming an innocent expression. “I’m
simply a male admiring a beautiful woman, inviting her to share my humble
cottage over a simple dinner.”

“Does anyone ever buy your bullshit?”

“Frequently,” he admitted with a cocky grin, causing those
freakishly bright green eyes to glow in the low light. “So now that we both
know where we stand, let’s eat then you can tell me how incredible you think I
am.”

“You’ve been on experimental medication, haven’t you?”
Something outside nature had to cause this overdose of ego. Most males she
knew, shifter or others, were proud, but tried to at least pretend to be
subtle. Not so with Roark. If someone didn’t know how amazing he was the man
would be more than happy to tell them, she thought with an inner smirk.

“Now why would you ask that? I’m high on life, darlin’.
Something I think you could learn a wee bit about.” The ego monster pulled her
hand from her hip, twined their fingers together and continued their journey
down the hall.

“Now if you can keep your hands off me long enough to eat
dinner, I promise you won’t regret it. Nob is an amazing chef even if he is a
bit on the pigheaded side.” The smells reaching her sensitive nose had her
brain agreeing.

The kitchen he led her into was the size of her cottage if
not bigger, filled with flowers and delicious smells that had her stomach
rumbling in appreciation. “Considering your ego is larger than most shifters I
know, you have to be paying the poor man a fortune to put up with you.”

“Nob’s a house brownie. There’s no paying them, but then
again you have to give them free rein in all your houses. They do what they
want, how they want to and have total control of who stays or goes in their
home. Pretty much like being married, but without the sex.”

“Is everything fodder for jokes to you?” Hanging around this
guy was like babysitting a six-year-old hyped on sugar.

“Darlin’, when you live as long as I have you learn to
either take the world with a healthy dose of laughter or start on the meds to
try and keep your sanity. I prefer to live life Prozac-free. Besides, human
meds don’t work so well on my kind.”

“What is your kind? You seem to know a whole lot about
shifters yet you’re remarkably quiet on what you are.” She watched, back to the
wall, while he pulled out everything for their dinner. A large glass dish of
lasagna, full bowl of salad and from the oven, a steaming loaf of soda bread
complete with butter and garlic, and again her stomach made its presence known
by letting out a loud and demanding grumble.

Far from feeling embarrassed, Calder shot her eyebrow up and
cocked her hands on her hips. “So instead of answering my questions you’re
going to what, ply me with food and hope to score?” Her inner hussy purred in
agreement at the idea of getting this handsome but cagey man anywhere near a
bed, preferably naked.

“Don’t forget the wine. A proper seduction always involves
good wine and possibly mood music.” He held out a chair and gently pushed it in
when she reluctantly sat.

“I think I’ll pass on the illustrious Barry White. Feed me,
no problem, but I draw the line at cheesy seduction moves from the seventies.
So now that we’ve tossed sex out of the evening’s entertainment why don’t you
try explaining your rather unusual existence?” The man might be a child stuck
in a demi-god’s body, but he certainly knew how to play word games with the
best of them.

So many things shocked her this evening, only the latest
being the house brownie apparently in charge of the care and feeding of Roark.
Everything Calder ever heard about brownies said they were vain, difficult and
worth every headache to have. They cooked like Parisian-trained chefs, cleaned
better than Martha Stewart on crack and kicked ass in home security. No one,
but no one messed with the home of a brownie. Anything else she knew was
strictly rumors and myths since house brownies were never seen in the shifter
community. Shifters were too low class and barbaric for their delicate
sensibilities.

“You’ll miss out on so many things if you don’t embrace the
cheesy in life. I, for one, tend to look for it. Makes my life interesting and
entertaining. And what is life without entertainment, I ask you?” He took a
seat next to her, so close their legs rubbed with each movement.

“Roark, I’m a lion shifter. By nature my breed is all about
the selfish, me-me-me mindset. However, you beat any vain lion or tiger I’ve
ever met in the ego department.” A large slab of noodles, meat and sauce landed
on her plate and she almost whimpered with pleasure. At least the male was
smart enough to know female shifters were no dainty flowers and could eat as
much as any male thanks to their special metabolism.

“Eat, then you can flay me alive with your vicious feline
tongue. Remember brownies get very angry when their meals go unappreciated.” He
winked and dug into his own meal with flawless table manners that just made her
want to smack him.

Because, hello, she still didn’t know who or what he was,
and the way the evening was going something told her she might have to work
harder than normal to dig out this man’s secrets.

“You’re here on holiday, yes?”

She lifted her gaze from the divine food and merely grunted
in response. Did he really expect her to stop shoveling such amazing,
mouthwatering food in her mouth just to talk to him? Silly man!

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m here on a little holiday as
well. Some friends recommended Limerick for its historic scenery and local
flavor. I have a sneaky suspicion you might be the local flavor. Though why I
had to fly across an ocean when I could have driven South to find you I have no
idea. Of course I hadn’t been in the US that long so maybe Fate’s having her
way after all.” He took a sip of wine, those unnatural green eyes staring right
at her, no hint of the usual humor lurking there. “Then again I think Nob needed
the break too. Plus, there’s something magical about the air in Ireland. Leads
a man toward more mystical thinking.”

Whatever, she mentally mumbled, not in the mood to deal with
Roark’s hoo-doo talk. Calder dropped her gaze and focused solely on the
ambrosia on the plate. Could she sweet-talk, bribe or sexually convince the
brownie to make the move to Baton Rouge? Surely with the lure of Southern
cooking she could tempt the little god of the kitchen.

Swallowing a mouthful of clear, cold, perfect water Calder
looked curiously at her host. “What will it take to woo Nob away from you?”

One black brow arched in patent disbelief. “You want my
Nob?”

Calder swallowed back a snicker of laughter. “I don’t want
your
knob. I want a chance to take your house brownie home with me. Let me see if I
can bribe him with a new house, Southern cooking, hell, I’ll toss in sex if it
works.”

Roark’s handsome face flushed red as he stared at her, his
mouth moving but no words coming out for several seconds. “You’re serious?”

“Um, yes, I haven’t eaten this well since Bougard’s was shut
down by the health department. Though why shut down a perfectly good place to
eat because of a few raccoons and opossums I have no idea. The animals were
there first. Damn, I miss his crawfish gumbo.”

“You are the strangest woman I’ve ever met.” A way too happy
smile curved his sensual lips. “But if you’re willing to put out for a chance
at Nob, I’ll be happy to help you. Just be gentle with me, I’m fragile.”

“Ughh,” was all she could say. Then the smell of the food
lured her back into Italian heaven. “If you could do it… sleeping with you
might actually be worth the sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? I’ll have you know women all over the world
would sell their children and pets for the gift of gracing my boudoir.”

“Seriously, can you be more vain?”

He gave a dismissive sniff. “I could be, but Nob taught me
too much of a good thing tends to sour others on my perfection.”

“I think your perfection is souring my stomach, which is a
damn shame since this is the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten. I should slash you
to ribbons for ruining a culinary masterpiece. How that sweet, gifted brownie
puts up with your vain, useless self I’ll never know.”

Temper flashed in grass-green eyes. “He puts up with me, as
you so callously put it, because he’s been with my family for generations. Nob
helped raise me and he would never desert me for a backwoods Southerner with no
manners.”

Her grandfather’s favorite saying popped in her head. Of
course at the time Grand Papa had been in front of the alpha explaining his
actions.
“He needed killin’.”

Would Grand Papa’s killin’ defense work as well for her as
it had for him? Somehow, considering how far outside the Southern states they
were, Calder doubted it. Instead she took a deep breath and tried the counting
thing her human anger management counselor swore worked for everyone else.

Reaching one hundred, Calder opened her eyes to find the
tricky, mint-smelling bastard standing in front of her. How did he move so
quickly for a non-shifter?

“Fine, Nob will stay in your unappreciated household. I
don’t know why we’re arguing about this anyway. There are so many other things
we could be fighting about.” How had her night turned into this bad farce? She
should be thrilled to meet her mate, making calls to her family and pride with
the good news. However, something besides his non-specified species kept any
hint of happiness from leaking through.

“Nob is—”

“Nob is here and delighted Master Roark has finally admitted
what a priceless jewel Nob is. Now, you may brush Nob’s glorious mane of hair.
Fifty strokes each side then you may proceed to massage Nob’s perfect scalp.”
The short brownie scurried across the room, wide silver-backed brush in hand
while a taunting smile stretched his unusually large mouth.

“Since when do I groom you, Nob?” Arms crossed across an
impressive chest, Roark perfected the lord of the manor look. Complete with
mild disdain and snotty, above-the-peasants glare.

The petite man didn’t back down as he thumped the heavy
brush against his tiny leathery palm. “You will do this or Nob will arrange all
your music selections in alphabetical and published order. Then I will have a
party and invite my family to gather in your office.”

Roark let out a low, very canine-sounding growl before yanking
the brush out of the smaller man’s grip. “Turn around, you little conniving
manipulator.”

“Be gentle, Roark, son of Selen. I have not hosted a
cleaning party in at least fifty years and my relatives are anxious to see you
again,” Nob threatened with a victorious smile.

Then reality and truth slammed Calder over the head harder
than any two-by-four ever could. “Roark, son of Selen? House of…”

Two sets of male eyes turned to her, one with confusion and
one with wary contempt. The older male spoke first. “Oh yes, Roark is from the
oldest and most noble of Fae houses. The House of Luna.”

Jumping to her feet even as dread pooled in her stomach
Calder licked her suddenly dry lips. “You’re Fae?”

“Not really, I mean kind of—”

“Of course you are, Master Roark. Wasn’t I there when you
were born in the Queen’s castle with Her Majesty’s royal physician attending
your mother? There is no greater house in Fae, nor any older or more powerful.”
The diminutive Fae, because that’s what all brownies were, even if Calder
forgot the fact for a moment or ten, sounded so proud.

“Oh shit,” she whispered, wondering what else the tricky
fate bitches had in store for her. “Of all the crappy shit to get stuck with, I
get a freakin’ fairy for a mate.” The words she meant to grumble or swallow
came out a manic shout, causing both men to take several steps back until her
words registered.

Nob jumped up and down, his OshKoshes sliding down his thin
hips. “You’re mates? Oh how delightful!” He turned to the glowering green-eyed
man. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re mated? Oh by the grace of the Queen and
moon.” The small elf pressed a tan hand to his forehead, the perfect picture of
distress. “I let you serve my new lady leftover slop. The shame, the
humiliation. I’ll never be allowed in the Mr. Clean competition again. My
family will mock me then shun me for eternity. Woe is me and curse you and your
father’s fast swimmers. This is your fault, Roark! Celibacy take you, you
snottering git.”

Clearly when in the grip of Fae hysterics, the brownie
forgot his speech pattern and embarrassing fawning adjectives, not to mention
Nob stopped referring to himself in third person, which Calder found rather
refreshing.

“Hey, how in the name of dew fairies is this my fault? She,”
Roark pointed one long perfectly manicured finger in her direction, “she came
here without an invitation and sat spying on my home for hours. Blame her.”

To drive his point home, Roark crossed the small distance
separating them and shoved her in the brownie’s direction. “Take her, Nob! Take
her, leave the most innocent and good-looking one alone. Remember, brownie-boy,
I’ve yet to bless the gene pool with my priceless DNA. And perfection will
never be duplicated once I’m gone.”

BOOK: GettingLuckyinGalway
11.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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