refused to accept help with any situation. To say cats were independent…
Well, they had been worshiped as gods. Was it any wonder as a species cats had
an overinflated sense of superiority? Not like they didn’t deserve the worship,
but still it had a tendency to lead to a few problems here and there.
When she got her hands on her godmother and those sisters of
hers… Not too many ideas came to mind when confronting such powerful women.
Until then she’d keep her eyes on wily, sweet-talking, handsome
human/shifter/male.
He smelled like many things, but not a single one of them
was feline. Flo would never send Calder halfway across the world to find her
mate and not tell her the mate wasn’t a cat shifter.
A flash of Flo’s face crossed her mind, bringing everything
in Calder to a halt. “Oh shit, Sherlock.” Of course Dora would do exactly that.
Her godmother would do anything and say anything she wanted.
“I should stay for the opportunity to be insulted and
ignored some more. Oh joy, what fun I shall have tonight.” He smirked, those
sensual lips curving in a downward tilt. “Forgive me if I don’t fall over
myself accepting your invitation.”
“So you’ll not accept our sorries and walk away angry even
though we’ve given ya our sincerest?” Liam spoke up as he pushed his scrawny
frame away from the deep cushioned chair. “My girl here offered ya the words,
the sentiment were honest. Better men than you have accepted far less.”
“The guilt card normally work for ya, old man?”
The twinkle was back in Liam’s eyes as he stared at the
younger man, his smile curved in victory. “Can’t make a body feel guilt iff’n
there’s nothing there to start with. Must have a mighty heavy conscience on ya,
boy.”
“The name is Roark, not boy. I’ll accept both the apology
and the pint providing you let me buy the next round.” Roark’s big masculine
palm stretched out to clasp her friend’s. Before she could so much as blink
both men bellied up to the bar, sharing slaps on the back and stories of the
good old days.
Her Nana had been right all those years ago. Men really were
crazy!
Driving an American crazy hadn’t been in his plans this
evening, but a smidge of extra luck never hurt anyone. Roark grinned at his
pun, quickly bringing the ale-filled mug up to hide his reaction. Not that any
person in the pub would get the joke, but still, no reason to take chances.
The strange energy filling the pub rocked through him and he
needed a few more minutes to deal with the effect on his body and magic. Too
damn bad he sensed the root of his otherworldly troubles lay directly at the
feet of one plump, curvy, maddening woman.
Not here , he silently pleaded to whatever gods chose
to listen, not now, and certainly not a mouthy American female .
“What brings you to our tiny corner of heaven, Roark?” the
older man asked as he settled his scrawny frame onto the high dark wood
barstool. His thick glass of Guinness was empty and his wrinkled fingers
impatiently tapped the old oak bar.
“Some of this and that, but you’ve the right of it. A
prettier town I’ve yet to see.” He sipped from his own mug, enjoying the thick,
rich taste of the brew and concentrating on anything but the blood rushing from
his head to his cock.
Liam’s caterpillar-thick eyebrows rose. “Seems ya got a
touch of Irish in your blood, lad.”
“Maybe a drop or two,” was all he admitted to the older man
while keeping his eye out for the sexy Southerner. Right after she’d paid for
the beers, the mouthy stranger had excused herself.
Something about her twitched his ears in all the right ways.
Did it mean she’d lead him to the ultimate treasure? That was the goal the
three sisters had given him before shoving Roark none too gently out their
door.
What leprechaun in his right mind would refuse such a quest?
Not to mention such a bored leprechaun? The task the sisters set out for him
gave him something else to do
Well, they had been worshiped as gods. Was it any wonder as a species cats had
an overinflated sense of superiority? Not like they didn’t deserve the worship,
but still it had a tendency to lead to a few problems here and there.
When she got her hands on her godmother and those sisters of
hers… Not too many ideas came to mind when confronting such powerful women.
Until then she’d keep her eyes on wily, sweet-talking, handsome
human/shifter/male.
He smelled like many things, but not a single one of them
was feline. Flo would never send Calder halfway across the world to find her
mate and not tell her the mate wasn’t a cat shifter.
A flash of Flo’s face crossed her mind, bringing everything
in Calder to a halt. “Oh shit, Sherlock.” Of course Dora would do exactly that.
Her godmother would do anything and say anything she wanted.
“I should stay for the opportunity to be insulted and
ignored some more. Oh joy, what fun I shall have tonight.” He smirked, those
sensual lips curving in a downward tilt. “Forgive me if I don’t fall over
myself accepting your invitation.”
“So you’ll not accept our sorries and walk away angry even
though we’ve given ya our sincerest?” Liam spoke up as he pushed his scrawny
frame away from the deep cushioned chair. “My girl here offered ya the words,
the sentiment were honest. Better men than you have accepted far less.”
“The guilt card normally work for ya, old man?”
The twinkle was back in Liam’s eyes as he stared at the
younger man, his smile curved in victory. “Can’t make a body feel guilt iff’n
there’s nothing there to start with. Must have a mighty heavy conscience on ya,
boy.”
“The name is Roark, not boy. I’ll accept both the apology
and the pint providing you let me buy the next round.” Roark’s big masculine
palm stretched out to clasp her friend’s. Before she could so much as blink
both men bellied up to the bar, sharing slaps on the back and stories of the
good old days.
Her Nana had been right all those years ago. Men really were
crazy!
Driving an American crazy hadn’t been in his plans this
evening, but a smidge of extra luck never hurt anyone. Roark grinned at his
pun, quickly bringing the ale-filled mug up to hide his reaction. Not that any
person in the pub would get the joke, but still, no reason to take chances.
The strange energy filling the pub rocked through him and he
needed a few more minutes to deal with the effect on his body and magic. Too
damn bad he sensed the root of his otherworldly troubles lay directly at the
feet of one plump, curvy, maddening woman.
Not here , he silently pleaded to whatever gods chose
to listen, not now, and certainly not a mouthy American female .
“What brings you to our tiny corner of heaven, Roark?” the
older man asked as he settled his scrawny frame onto the high dark wood
barstool. His thick glass of Guinness was empty and his wrinkled fingers
impatiently tapped the old oak bar.
“Some of this and that, but you’ve the right of it. A
prettier town I’ve yet to see.” He sipped from his own mug, enjoying the thick,
rich taste of the brew and concentrating on anything but the blood rushing from
his head to his cock.
Liam’s caterpillar-thick eyebrows rose. “Seems ya got a
touch of Irish in your blood, lad.”
“Maybe a drop or two,” was all he admitted to the older man
while keeping his eye out for the sexy Southerner. Right after she’d paid for
the beers, the mouthy stranger had excused herself.
Something about her twitched his ears in all the right ways.
Did it mean she’d lead him to the ultimate treasure? That was the goal the
three sisters had given him before shoving Roark none too gently out their
door.
What leprechaun in his right mind would refuse such a quest?
Not to mention such a bored leprechaun? The task the sisters set out for him
gave him something else to do