“Then what about Jarvis? Why’d the magic help him? He seemed like a real sleazeball if ever I’ve seen one.”
They entered the taxi and Connor gave the driver the address of their hotel. “Aye, he is that, but give the magic a chance, lass. It’s only had a week or so to work on him. And remember, it only rewards him when he does the right thing—when he helps people instead of trying to cheat them.”
“So he’ll turn into a good, honest mutual-fund manager someday?”
Connor nodded.
“Like you were?”
Ah, finally, the question he’d been waiting for. “So, lass, are you a wee bit miffed at me?” He couldn’t help but stroke the softness of her cheek as he smiled down into her beautiful dark eyes.
She gave him a half smile. “No, I’m not miffed at you. Not even a ‘wee’ bit. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’m sure you know I did a little research on your background.”
Connor nodded. And his sources told him she’d concentrated on his police and medical records. Nothing there would have led her to his experience on Wall Street.
P.J. shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t delve deep enough. So, were you as successful as he says?”
It was Connor’s turn to shrug. “Aye, that I was.”
“So why’d you quit? Burnout?”
She appeared genuinely interested. Not sarcastic or biting—just interested. “Not really. I just got tired of the city and of sharks like Jarvis. I wanted to go somewhere where making money wasn’t the be-all and end-all of existence.”
“So instead you moved to Vail, where skiing is the be-all and end-all of existence.”
He had to chuckle. “True, but ‘tis a harmless pastime and its practitioners rarely hurt anyone but themselves. Besides, I wanted to go back to Colorado, back to wide-open spaces and green hills, as far away from the concentration of cold, cruel iron as possible.”
“So that part of the legend’s true? You…faeries—” he grinned at the way she struggled with the word “—have an aversion to iron?”
“Yes, but ‘tisn’t as bad as it used to be. Times were, unadulterated iron would cause us to lose our powers altogether—sometimes our very lives. But now, with all the crossbreedin’ with mortals we’ve done, ‘tisn’t so bad. And then again, there’s powerful little pure iron in the world. ‘Tis mostly steel we have problems with.’
He raised his hand to stroke her cheek again, and P.J. blushed, lowering her eyes. “Oh? Uh, what kind of problems?”
He shot her an apprehensive glance. “You’ll not be puttin’ this in the article, will you? I’d hate to have one of my people brought low on account of my waggin’ tongue.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “No, I promise I won’t print that.”
He nodded. If she said she wouldn’t print it, she wouldn’t. “It doesn’t hurt us anymore, but too high a concentration of it causes our powers to weaken. And ‘tis mighty difficult to put a proper spell on something with a lot of iron in it. ‘Tisn’t worth the trouble.”
Their conversation ceased then, for they’d reached the hotel. He followed her into the lobby. “Well, now, lass, our flight to Paris doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so what do you say we tour the Big Apple? You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“No,” she replied hesitantly. “I haven’t. If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d love to do some sight-seeing.”
Connor leaned across her to push the elevator button, smiling down at the excited look in her eyes. The action brought him close to her, so close he could feel the heat from her body and smell her distinct fragrance, a tangy citruslike scent.
He stayed in that position, close to her, and watched her become flustered, avoiding his gaze. He smiled slowly. “No, lass. ‘Tisn’t any trouble. ‘Tisn’t any trouble at all.”
She glanced up with a questioning look that revealed she was as aware of him as he was of her. She licked her lips, and he leaned down closer to their moist invitation. Saints, he couldn’t resist her like this.
When she didn’t move away, he touched his lips to hers, gently so as not to scare her off. It was just as he remembered—incredibly sweet, yet charged with a potent sensuality that knocked his socks off.
She returned the kiss eagerly and he buried his hands in the silky fall of her long black hair, cradling her head in his hands. She responded with a wondrous, magical kiss that threatened to steal his very soul. It wasn’t until P.J. grasped his shirtfront tightly and made a soft noise in her throat that he came to his senses. He pulled back to see if he was going too fast for her, and the trust and naked yearning he saw in her eyes made his pulse leap.
She shuttered her gaze quickly, but not before he caught a faint flash of fear. “Oh, lass,” he breathed. He would never hurt her.
“Well, hello there, P.J.,” a jovial male voice intruded.
Connor scowled and looked around to see who had accosted them.
P.J. blushed, then pushed away from him, straightening her hair. “Neil, Neil Chalmers, isn’t it? What a strange coincidence—we didn’t expect to see you here.” She extended her hand to shake his, but he just shrugged apologetically as he stood there with his hands full, a briefcase in one hand and an overnight bag in the other.
The elevator opened then, and they all entered. Connor glowered at the interloper, but Neil ignored him. He just continued talking blithely away, as if he and P.J. were the best of friends. “It’s not so odd—I have film interests on both coasts. But how marvelous to see someone here I know. Do you have plans for dinner yet?”
“Yes,” Connor said shortly, not wanting to spend any more time with this rude lout. Couldn’t he see he was intruding?
P.J. gave Connor a censorious glance. “We were just going out sight-seeing, but we hadn’t made any plans for dinner yet.”
“Great! Then we can all go together. I know of a new restaurant—it’s the latest thing. The theater crowd goes there for dinner and I’ll introduce you to some of the celebrities. How about it?”
Connor sensed P.J.’s hesitation. Saints, why was she even considering spending any time in this man’s company?
“All right,” she said, and avoided Connor’s gaze.
Neil bounced on his toes, grinning. “Terrif! I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight, all right?” He waved goodbye with his briefcase as he got off on his floor.
Connor smiled as the door closed, hiding Neil’s smirking face. “Do you really want to be eatin’ dinner with that man?” Connor inquired incredulously.
P.J. avoided his gaze. “No, but he looked so lonely, so eager for company, I couldn’t turn him down. Besides, the invitation was for both of us, you know, and…I might be able to pick up a couple of tidbits to sell to a gossip magazine.”
It was a thin excuse. Connor stared at her searchingly as she opened her door and entered her room.
“It’ll only take me a few minutes to change,” she said. “I’ll be right out.”
Connor nodded and waited in the hallway. So, she was a wee bit reluctant to be alone with him, eh? She’d conceded the necessity so far, but she was probably remembering the last time they’d had dinner alone together and how she’d turned all soft and romantic in his arms. Connor smiled in remembrance. Aye, he’d been remembering it, too, and had hoped to repeat the experience.
The devil take Neil Chalmers and his dinner invitation! Connor would just have to do the best he could with the day he had left.
THEY PAINTED the Big Apple green—emerald green-from the top of the Empire State Building, down to the depths of the subway, and all over Times Square. Throughout it all, Connor was both charmed and amused by the excitement and wonder on P.J.’s face as she met each new experience head-on. It was a delight to be with her.
Through her eyes, New York took on a mystical charm, one he’d long since forgotten. They laughed together over silly things and P.J. turned playful, squirting him with mustard when they stopped for one of New York’s famous hot dogs, then cavorting in a fountai
n like a child when he tried to wash it off. De lighted by her whimsical, impish streak, Connor vowed to learn as much about her as he could. Though their relationship couldn’t go any further and he knew it was wrong, he just couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to her like a pixie to mischief.
As they headed back toward the hotel in a cab, tired but content, Connor put his arm around P.J. and snuggled her close. “So, did you see all you wanted to, lass?”
She smiled up at him. “Yes, thank you, it was wonderful. I just wish…”
She looked so wistful that he wanted to call down the moon and stars for her, anything to see that happy, contented look on her face again. He squeezed her hand. “What, lass? What d’you wish?” he asked gently.
“I wish…” She glanced down at his hand where it covered hers, his ring gleaming. Her gaze turned stony. “Oh, nothing.” She pulled out of his embrace and began to root through her handbag. “I know I have lipstick in here somewhere.”
Connor wasn’t fooled. P.J. wasn’t looking for lipstick—she was looking for an excuse to avoid him. Her emotions showed plainly on her face, and when she’d spotted his ring, it was obvious she’d remembered who and what he was. And just as plainly, she still thought he was one brick short of a load.
Irritation filled him. Suddenly it became imperative that she believe in him, that she trust him enough to know he wouldn’t lie to her. “You wish I really was magic, don’t you, lass?” he said quietly enough so the cabdriver couldn’t hear.
P.J. looked up, startled. A wry grin crossed her face. “Are you sure you’re not a mind reader?”
He caressed her cheek with his fingers. “No, lass. I read your face, not your mind.”
A look of comical dismay crossed her features, but she tried hard to control it.
“No, don’t. Don’t put on your reporter’s stone face for me. ‘Tis delightful seeing your emotions cross your face. It’s as one with your honesty, and I appreciate that.” He smiled down at her. “I have a wish, too, y’know. I wish you’d believe in me—trust me enough to know I’m not lying to you.”
Her expressive features settled into distress. “I wish I could, too, but you haven’t done anything to prove it. And I’m sorry, but I must have proof. I’ve searched too long and hard for real magic to merely take it on faith.”
“What about the shoes? Didn’t they convince you?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re marvelous and quite apt at describing their owners’ personalities, but that doesn’t mean they’re magic. I need concrete proof—something that can’t be explained by coincidence or trickery.”
Connor sighed. He hated using his power for parlor tricks, but if that’s what would convince her and keep her on the case, then so be it. He wasn’t squandering his magic, he assured himself, he was using it in a good cause—to get Stayle’s talisman back. “All right, lass, I guess I can afford to use a little magic. I’ll just cast a glamour over something to make it appear something it isn’t. Nothing big, mind you. I don’t want to use much of it. Would that convince you?”
P.J. looked doubtful. “Maybe.”
“All right, then, you name it. Tell me what seeming you’d like me to cast. Just don’t make it anything too strange—we wouldn’t want to alarm anyone.”
They came to a stop at a red light and P.J. pointed to the street corner. “There,” she said. “Make that phone booth disappear.”
That was easy enough. Connor concentrated, focusing his power. He felt the slight mental pressure that signaled the presence of his magic and released a tiny jolt of it through his ring. Not too much, just enough to do the job. His finger tingled as the ring released the power.
He crossed his eyes in an old faerie trick, so he could see the glamarye in action. Yes, it worked. He could still see the phone booth with his true sight, but to every mortal around it had disappeared. As he watched, an unwary pedestrian walked smack into it. Hastily he restored it to normal.
He turned to P.J. and grinned. “Well?”
P.J. glanced askance at him. “Well, what?”
“Well, I made it disappear like you asked, didn’t I?”
She gave him a pitying look. “No, Connor, it didn’t disappear.”
“Are you daft, woman? The blamed thing vanished, just as you asked. Didn’t you see the man walk into it?”
“Yes, I saw him walk into it, but what does that prove?”
“It proves he couldn’t see it, because ‘twas invisible!”
P.J. looked disappointed and more than a little angry. “It proves no such thing. That was pure coincidence.”
Frustrated beyond endurance, Connor constructed an illusion she couldn’t ignore. A grinning jester popped out of the back of the driver’s seat, bobbing like a deranged jack-in-the-box as it shoved its face into hers, crossed its eyes and blew a raspberry, then vanished.
P.J. didn’t even blink.
He gaped at her. “You really can’t see my glamarye, can you? Well, that explains it, then. You have true sight.” No wonder she was so good at debunking charlatans.
“True sight?” P.J. looked disbelieving and suspicious.
“Yes, all faerie folk have true sight—”
“But we’ve already established I’m not faerie.”
Yes—her allergy to gold precluded that. Saints, but he wished he could remember what it was about allergies that was so important. “Aye, but it also occurs in mortals. ‘Tis rare, only one in a hundred thousand mortals have it, and I guess you’re one of them. This complicates things.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say.”
“But I know a way to help you see the illusion, even—”
“No, please,” she interrupted in an exasperated tone. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”
Connor nodded reluctantly and clenched the armrest in frustration. Now the only thing that would convince her was real magic—not the mere illusion of glamarye—and that was just too expensive to waste on frivolous things.
They entered the hotel and Connor kept pace with P.J.’s brisk strides. In a low, frustrated voice, he said, “Can’t you just trust me?”
She turned on him. “How can I? I’m sure you believe what you’re saying, but if I can’t see it, how can I believe? How can I trust you?” She turned back and strode toward the check-in desk.
Connor felt like roaring in frustration. He followed and stood impatiently next to her as she waited for the desk clerk to notice her. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said, “Lass—”
“As with all my investigations, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt until you prove your claims one way or the other, but I won’t believe blindly.” She gave him a stern look. “I can’t—my reputation would be in shreds. What could I write? ‘He can’t prove it, but I know he’s a leprechaun’?”
Connor sighed. She was right. He’d just have to find another way to make her trust him and to make her see the magic she was so eager to find.
Raised voices penetrated his reverie. The desk clerk, wearing a long-suffering look on his face, was trying to soothe an incensed hotel customer. Apparently he wasn’t very successful. “Well!” the angry matron huffed. “I’ve stayed in the finest hotels all over the world and this has never happened to me before. I demand to speak to the manager, and the police!”
Connor glanced around. His hob cousin, the manager, was already on his way to take care of the situation. When the manager arrived, the desk clerk turned to them with a sigh of relief, saying, “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. How may I help you?”
“Our keys, please,” P.J. said, and gave the clerk their room numbers and identification. Connor could see her inquisitive mind working a mile a minute as she turned a sympathetic smile on the hapless man and said, “What was that all about?”
The clerk gave her a tight smile as he handed her the key and an envelope he’d pulled from her box. “Nothing for you to worry about, ma’am. The guest has a lot of jewels and she refuses to put them in the hotel
safe. She very unwisely left her ruby-anddiamond bracelet on the table in her room and went to get some ice. Apparently she left the door ajar, and when she came back the bracelet was gone.”
“Really?” P.J. asked. “Do you think I could help-”
Connor retrieved his key and grabbed her arm. “Never mind. I’m sure the manager has the situation well in hand. Now, shall we be making plans for dinner?”
P.J. frowned at him, but acceded. Opening the envelope, she read the note. “Neil’s made reservations for us. He’ll meet us downstairs at seven.”
Connor bowed to the inevitable. Though he wanted to be alone with this wonderful woman, to learn as much as he could about her, now was not the time, not when his attempts at proving himself had fallen so flat.
He dressed for dinner and went downstairs. For once he was the first to show up. A ping announced the arrival of the elevator, and the doors whisked open to reveal a vision he was sure would haunt his dreams.
P.J. stood there, looking absolutely stunning in a short, flame red dress that clung faithfully to every curve of her luscious figure. As she moved gracefully toward him, a slit over her right leg winked open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her thigh. He reluctantly dragged his gaze from the sight, only to have it snag on the sight of the creamy flesh of her high, firm breasts straining above the low neckline.
She stopped next to him and smiled, her glossy lips parting over even white teeth. Connor’s heart turned over and he felt a rush of longing surge through him. Saints, didn’t the witch realize what she was doing to him with her innocent smile and her dangerous dress?
He didn’t want to share this vision with any man. With any luck he’d be able to spirit her away before Neil showed up. Connor’s throat went dry and he took a step toward her.
Answering yearning flickered momentarily in her eyes, but was replaced by a flash of panic. She took a step back, then glanced past him and waved. Connor turned. Damn. It was too late.
Neil grinned back at them. He looked dapper in his evening clothes, the effect slightly spoiled by the white bandage wrapped around his right hand. He waved at them from the elevator, then hurried over.
A Little Something Extra Page 7