“She’s the Celtic goddess of death.” Aisling tapped the stylus against her screen. “All mortals have their destined time of death recorded in the Great Book, but the date can be changed if Morgan sees fit.”
He digested this in silence. “And someone obviously made her see fit where I was concerned.”
“Obviously.” She nodded. “Well, what do you know?” She honed in on her screen.
“What is it?” He got up from his chair and stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder to look at her PDA.
“The warrant originated in the green district.”
“Which means?”
“I think our plaintiff was a leprechaun.” She snapped the lid down on her PDA and placed it on the woven placemat in front of her.
Declan snorted back a laugh. “A leprechaun? What, did I piss off the Easter bunny or something?” He slapped the table top with the palm of his hand. “No, let me guess. Santa found out about my affair with Mrs. Claus and ordered a hit.”
She arched her delicate brows at him. “You’ve got a banshee sipping tea in your kitchen, but it’s the leprechaun death warrant that has you laughing?” Her slight brogue thickened almost imperceptibly.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” He sat back down in his chair. “I’ve never been a big believer in the supernatural.”
“Well, you can believe the earth is flat, but that doesn’t make it so.” She finished her tea and pushed her cup back decisively. “I guess the next step would be to figure out what you did to offend the leprechauns so they would take out a hit on you.”
Talk about a baffling question. “I wouldn’t even begin to know what sort of behavior offend them in the first place.”
She leaned back in her chair and gave him an appraising stare. “Did you steal their pot of gold?”
Declan narrowly escaped choking on his tea. “You can’t be serious.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Do I look like a kidder to you?”
She looked like a vanilla creamsicle he’d like to lick down to the stick, but that was beside the point. “I can assure you, I haven’t stumbled across any pots of gold lately, much less stolen them.”
“All right then. What about in your professional life? Have you been involved in any cases that could’ve angered them?”
He thought back over the last few months, mentally reviewing his caseload. “I’m in corporate law… contracts, real estate issues, things like that. It’s not like I brought a member of the Irish mafia before the court on racketeering charges.”
“Hmm.” She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “When you don’t know their ways, it would be easy to miss some little issue that may have set them off.”
“Them being the leprechauns?” Was he really having this conversation?
She nodded, her face thoughtful. “Would it be possible for me to take a gander at your case files?”
“My office is closed until nine in the morning, and I’m afraid someone of your…” He allowed himself to study her from head to toe again. “Unique appearance might attract too much attention from the night watchmen.”
She bit her bottom lip, the fangs she’d sported earlier having given way to small pearly teeth. “I could take a leave of absence for a day or so. No one is likely to notice I’m gone.”
He nodded, slightly dismayed by the feeling of pleasure he experienced at the idea of getting to spend a little more time with her. “You can stay here as long as you don’t do any more of that howling.”
“You’ve got my word.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt. “After we find out why the leprechauns wanted you dead, we’ll have to find out why you’re immune to my keening.”
He rose from his chair and stretched. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” They stood across from each other, awkwardly staring. Tension whirled through the room like a dervish.
“Where do I, uh…” She glanced into the living room. “Where do you want me to…”
“Sleep?” Did supernatural beings sleep? “In my bed, of course.”
Her magnificent violet eyes expanded wildly, and he realized his blunder. “I mean, you take the bed, I’ll take the futon in the living room.” Of course that’s what he meant. Nice Freudian slip, jackass.
She trailed behind him as he went to the linen closet between his bedroom and the bathroom. “You’re being awfully generous to let me take the bed.” She took the extra blanket he offered her. “I’d be just fine sleeping on the futon.”
“It’s no problem at all.” He grabbed a pillow and blanket for himself and shut the closet door, taking another good look at her outfit. “You’re not going to sleep in that, are you?”
“Well, I thought I might take the corset off.” She wrapped one of the black laces around her index finger and gave it an absent tug.
Damn. The mental image of her unlacing the corset and slipping it off had his cock harder than granite in a nanosecond.
“Let me get you one of my old T-shirts. It would be a lot more comfortable.” He practically ran into his bedroom, thankful for an excuse to give his raging erection the chance to calm down.
A few minutes later, he brought her an oversized Giants jersey he’d bought to wear to games he never had time to attend. “Here you go.”
She took it, looking weighed down with the extra blanket he’d gotten her from the linen closet. “Well, I guess this is goodnight.”
“I guess so.” He stepped aside and gestured to his bedroom door. “Sleep well.”
She stepped over the threshold, locking eyes with him as she closed the bedroom door. “Sweet dreams.”
The door shut with a click.
“Sweet dreams,” he muttered under his breath, tossing his spare pillow down on the futon. More like wet dreams. Even though she’d come to bring him death, the only thing dying was his self-control.
Chapter 3
“Are you sure I don’t look too odd in this getup?” Aisling did a full rotation in front of the full-length mirror hanging from Declan’s bathroom door.
“You look fine.” Declan poked his head out of his bedroom closet. “Anyway, this isn’t permanent. It’s just something to put on to get you to the mall and back.”
She grimaced at herself in the mirror. “I look like a teenage boy in these.” At least the baggy navy blue sweats still carried Declan’s scent. She’d spent the entire night in his bed inhaling it, letting it tempt her to thoughts she’d never had before. Thoughts of his body against hers, his hands on her breasts, his tongue…
Stop this. You can’t have him. He’s human! That tidbit of info didn’t stop her nipples from hardening at the mere thought of his touch.
“Aisling, you might look like many things.” Declan peered at her around the bathroom door. “But a teenage boy isn’t one of them.”
She felt herself blushing. Did he mean that as a compliment? “Here.” He tossed her a baseball cap. She caught it deftly in one hand and examined it. “You’ll need this.”
“Whatever for? To hide my hair?”
“It’ll protect your skin.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned his tall form against the doorframe.
“What makes you think it needs protection?” She bundled up her hair and stuffed it under the cap.
“It’s so fair.” His eyes darkened as he flicked his gaze over her face. “Delicate.” He reached out and skimmed her cheek with his fingertips.
She drew in a shuddery breath.
He trailed his fingers down to her jaw. “Soft.” He brushed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t want to get a burn.”
Something was burning all right, and it had nothing to do with the sun. A surge of pure heat shot from her lips straight down to simmer between her legs.
Her pulse set a new record.
“Mrs. Harris will be here soon.” He stroked her bottom lip, and a sound that was half moan, half sigh broke forth from her throat. She could feel the warmth of his body throu
gh the suit and tie he wore. She wanted to strip him down to the skin and touch him, soak in his heat, get drunk on his scent.
The intercom buzzed.
He dropped his hand to his side and turned away abruptly. She followed him with her eyes to the intercom. He exchanged a few words with someone through the speaker.
“Mrs. Harris is downstairs.” He gestured for her to join him in the living room. “She’s been my secretary for five years, and I’d trust her with my life.” He opened the front door for her. “You’ll be in good hands.”
She’d rather be in his hands, given the choice. “And she’ll be taking me to the shopping mall?”
He nodded. “Mrs. Harris will take care of everything.” He checked his watch. “I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours. Be dressed and ready to come to my office so we can start going over my files.”
“I can’t believe I’m going shopping for clothes at a modern American mall.” She shook her head. “Glory be.”
An unexpected laugh caught in his throat. “I haven’t heard anyone say that in a while.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “And what’s so funny about it?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He grabbed his briefcase from beside the door. “You just reminded me of someone.”
“Who’s that?” She took the arm he offered and let him walk her to the elevator.
“My great-grandma, Maeve. That was one of her favorite expressions.” He hit the button with the downward pointing arrow. “You sounded exactly like her just now.”
Yippee. She reminded him of his great-grandmother. Unless he had a burning desire to rub Ben Gay all over someone, her chances with him were probably nonexistent.
They rode the elevator to the ground floor in silence, and he escorted her to the steel and glass doors that led from his building to a small parking lot.
“There’s Mrs. Harris.” He pointed out a brown sedan with a cheery-faced older woman in the driver’s seat. “I told her you’re an old friend who flew in from out of town last night. She thinks the airline lost your luggage, so don’t do anything to make her suspicious, all right?”
Not that it mattered, since she could easily glamour the secretary and erase any incriminating memories, but she didn’t feel like delving into a full explanation of her powers at the moment. “Got it.”
He straightened his tie and gave her a friendly pat on the back. “See you back here around noon.”
“See you then.” She waved goodbye as he walked to his sleek silver sports coupe. How could she square the one-of-the-guys style pat on the back with the way he’d touched her in the bathroom earlier?
Did anything about human males make sense?
Aisling trudged toward Mrs. Harris’ sedan, her black slippers scuffing against the parking lot’s gravel surface. She had to find a way to make Declan see her as more than a supernatural distraction. She’d seen a flicker of heat in his eyes when he touched her, and she intended to do whatever it took to stoke that flame.
———
“Honey, I’m home!” Declan tossed his briefcase aside and returned his keys to his pocket, shutting his front door behind him. He’d always wanted to say that. Come to think of it, he’d never had the chance. Had there ever been anyone waiting for him when he walked through the door?
“I’m dressing,” Aisling’s voice called from behind the closed bedroom door. “Be out in just a minute.”
“No problem.” He loosened his tie and checked his watch. “I think we have just enough time to make it to Frank Pepe’s for lunch. They’re world famous for their…”
Aisling stepped out of the bedroom, and whatever he’d been about to say was lost the instant she appeared in his line of vision.
He sucked in a breath. What had she done to herself?
“I picked up a few new things at the mall.” She ran a hand self-consciously over the front of her black skirt. “I hope this will do.”
Declan braced himself against the wall, fearing his knees would buckle. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, and he didn’t even want to think about the surge of blood rushing south of his belt buckle.
“Is something wrong?” She took a step toward him, the scent of her perfume washing over him like a tide of lust. “You look a little flushed.”
“No.” The word emerged from his mouth as a bark. “Everything is fine. You look…” Like someone I’d enjoy fucking until my cock needs to be put in traction. “You look so… different.” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of pure primal desire threatening to overtake the more civilized parts of his brain.
“Good different or bad different?” Her brow furrowed anxiously, and she reached up to twirl the ends of her hair around her finger.
He took in the full impact of her changed appearance. “Good different.” He cleared his throat and unfastened the top button of his shirt. “Definitely good.”
“I wasn’t sure about all this, but Mrs. Harris assured me it was appropriate for a law office.” She looked at him expectantly, silently cueing him to give her some form of affirmation.
Too bad she couldn’t see his almost painful erection screaming her praises.
“Your outfit is fine. Really fine.” Her white hair had been pulled back into a sleek ponytail that hung to her waist in back, gleaming like spun sugar in the midday light. A deep pink shirt hugged her generous breasts, its color accentuating her alabaster skin. Her black skirt was tastefully short, suitable for business attire but still revealing enough curvy black stocking-clad leg to inspire thoughts of at least five different carnal positions.
A pair of black fuck-me pumps added just enough inches to her height to facilitate kissing. Which was what he wanted to do to her, right then and there.
And that was only the first item on his checklist.
“I got everything I’ll need to fit into the human race for a few days.” She went back to the bedroom and emerged with a purse. “Mrs. Harris took good care of me.” She unzipped the handbag and took out a pair of oversized Jackie O. sunglasses. “You should give her a raise.” She smiled, her dimples popping out to say hello.
“I’ll do that.” He shifted uncomfortably. Mrs. Harris wasn’t the only one getting a raise out of this situation.
Aisling tied a pink silk scarf over her head and slipped on the sunglasses. “Protection from harmful rays,” she explained, pawing through her bag. “Ready for lunch?”
He could think of a few things he’d enjoy doing with his mouth, but his appetite wasn’t tuned into the food frequency after coming home to a banshee goddess.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She grabbed his arm.
“What is it?” He needed to have a cold drink, a walk, something to return his temperature to normal.
She dug into her purse, which, in a few short hours, had amazingly become as cluttered as that of any human woman. “Here you go.” She held out a hand filled with crumpled slips of paper. “My receipts from this morning.”
He took them, feeling her smooth fingers against his. “Very efficient.” He glanced through them. Sephora, Express, Nine West. “I don’t know if clothing a banshee counts as a legitimate business expense, but maybe I can find a pooka accountant this year,” he joked.
“I’ll send you a business card for one when I get back home.” She busied herself with her purse, and he glanced through the rest of the receipts, nearly coming in his pants when he saw the last one.
Victoria’s Secret.
He swallowed hard, casting a furtive glance in Aisling’s direction. She was touching up her lipgloss with the help of a compact mirror, oblivious to the hormonal havoc she’d wreaked.
Thongs. His throat tightened. Demi bra. Garter belt. His gaze shot down to her legs. Holy shit. Did she have on a garter belt under that skirt?
“I’m starving.” She’d put everything back into her purse. “Where did you say we were going?”
He stuffed the Victoria’s Secret receipt into his pocket like a guil
t-ridden teenager hiding a girlie magazine under his mattress. “Uh, Frank Pepe’s. The best pizza you’ve ever had.”
“And the first,” she added, linking her arm through his.
He led her out the door and back toward the parking lot, retracing the steps they’d taken that morning. How could things have changed so much in a few short hours? He’d wanted her this morning, and touching her lips in the bathroom had him ready to haul her off to his bed. But now, his vocabulary didn’t have the words to express the intensity of his arousal.
“You’ve never had pizza before, huh?” He pushed the outside door open. “I always wanted to be someone’s first.”
She giggled and buried her face against the sleeve of his suit, her embarrassed reaction tugging at his emotions. Damn if she didn’t manage to touch something besides his testosterone level too.
Something like his heart.
Chapter 4
“I can’t believe you have so many files.” Aisling sat on the floor of Declan’s corner office on the third floor of the building occupied by the law firm of Goldman, Mahoney & West. Manila folders in various states of disarray surrounded her, covering the floor in a semicircle.
“I still can’t believe you never had pizza before.” He shook his head in mock disbelief, looking down at her from behind his desk. “Any luck?”
“None at all.” She leafed through a stack of legal documents. “Not a single clue about what might’ve brought about the wrath of the leprechauns.”
“In that case,” he rose to his feet and stretched, admiring her cleavage as seen from that angle, “I think we should take a break.”
She yawned, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. “I could stand to stretch my legs.”
Declan ambled over to the small kitchenette in the adjoining room and opened the mini fridge. “How about a soda?”
“Sounds good to me,” she called back. He grabbed two cans from the rack inside the refrigerator door and popped the tops. When he got back to his office, he found Aisling studying the framed photos resting on the edge of his desk.
“Is this your brother Ryan?” She gestured to a photo of his eternally grinning brother wearing a purple, green, and gold jester’s cap.
Romancing the Banshee Page 2