Luke's Gold

by JoMarie DeGioia

  * * *

  Brianna braced herself for the MacDonald’s power as her body flushed with

  response. Oh, she knew he didn’t possess true magic; her senses would have picked up on it that first day. She wouldn’t think about the kiss that had woven a different kind of spell. He was bloody handsome with that grin on his face, his green eyes twinkling. One rake of that green gaze over her showed his interest. She wouldn’t tell herself that he cared for her. No. He’d use his power to steal away the gold, to snatch from Violet the only chance she had at recovery.

  “The handsome devil has you in his sights, Bree,” Lori said. The laughing tone in

  Lori’s voice turned soft. “Thank God.”

  Brianna glanced at her but found her friend smiling and talking with a customer farther down the counter. She slid her gaze once more to the Braunach, grudgingly admiring the easy way he moved as he approached her and sat down at the counter. She took note of his dress, the soft flannel shirt that spanned his shoulders open to reveal a thick woven shirt of white beneath. At his neck she saw a glimpse of leather or rawhide, a thin strip that drew her eyes to his strong throat. Then up to his finely-chiseled features, his lovely mouth. Oh his eyes… A deep green, sparkling with untold mirth and pleasure.

  Mmm.

  Brianna blinked and gave herself a shake. What the devil ailed her?

  “’Mornin’, lass,” he said.

  The voice, smooth as honey, poured over her. Once more, she straightened.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  He folded his arms and leaned on the counter. “Coffee, lass.” He grinned and her heart tripped a beat. “If you will.”

  Brianna’s mouth fell open but no words came forth. He arched one reddish

  eyebrow.

  “Hmm?” Her fingers itched to trace that brow, to touch his tanned skin. To dip her fingertip into the tiny cleft in that strong chin. “Oh!” She shook herself again. “C-coffee.”

  He gave a slow nod. Taking a breath, she turned from him and lifted the full pot of just-brewed coffee. She placed a thick china cup before him and managed to fill it without spilling a drop. She watched as he lifted it to his mouth, blowing slightly to cool it before taking a sip. His tongue slid out to lick his lips and she thought back to that kiss in the alleyway behind the coffee shop. That mouth, that tongue, had spun its own magic

  around her. He set the cup back down and regarded her for a long moment, his eyes telling her he too recalled that kiss. Sighing, she relaxed and studied the green fire burning in those eyes.

  “Mmm.” He licked his lips again. “Just what I needed.”

  Brianna’s skin grew hotter. He ran those beautiful eyes over her and her stomach tightened, her breasts tingled. Aware of only him, she gazed openly at his fit body before settling on his face once more.

  He smiled then, slow and deliberate, and that brought her back to herself. She gave a jerk and spilled coffee over her hand. “Ouch! Bloody hell!”

  In a flash he took the pot from her and held her injured hand in his. At his touch she forgot the sting, forgot everything but his rough fingertips stroking over the back of her hand.

  “It’s just a little pink, lass,” he soothed. Before she could stop him he lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a gentle kiss on her injured flesh. “No need to fret.”

  She nodded, caught by his lure once more. “Th-thank you.”

  The MacDonald tugged her close and the sounds of the shop faded from her

  notice as he pinned her with his gaze. “I have need to speak with you… Bree.”

  Brianna nodded, her breathing shallow. “Y-yes.”

  “You have what I want.”

  Heat once more infused her and she gasped. She licked her lips and nodded, her throat thick.

  “Take me to it, lass,” he said.

  She started to nod her agreement. Suddenly Violet’s image floated before her, weak and wan and with eyes so full of trust she shuddered in response. The moment’s thought gave her strength to pull away. “No!”

  “Come, lass.” His eyes still on her, he quirked a crooked grin at her. “Give over to me.”

  In that instant she recognized the morning’s events for what it was: MacDonald charm. Close with the Braunach, his hand touching hers, was too intimate, too calculated.

  Anger filled her in a rush.

  She jerked her hand from his and took two steps back from the counter. And she had almost fallen into his snare! “Go to the devil, MacDonald!”

  At last he lost that smugness. Scowling, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You will yield, lass.”

  She opened her mouth to blister his ears when she realized their situation. Talk in the coffee shop had stilled and more than one pair of eyes was fastened on their confrontation. After a moment, the other patrons soon went back to their meals and conversations. Glaring at him, she placed her hands on her hips. “You won’t have it, you Irish devil.”

  A soft chuckle came from him and her body twitched despite her mind’s

  intentions. She wouldn’t think about his throaty whisper in the alley, his firm lips, his strong arms holding her so tenderly. She wouldn’t think of anything but Violet!

  “Leave me,” she whispered.

  That green fire sparkled in his eyes and she was nearly lost again. “Now, lass,” he teased. “Is that any way to treat a paying customer?”

  Another step away from the counter brought her a touch of relief from his pull.

  “Don’t think to use that bloody MacDonald charm on me.”

  He lost his grin at that and clenched his hands in fists, no doubt to keep from grabbing her to him. “If you would but listen—”

  Brianna whirled away from him and hid in the kitchen. One of the kitchen

  workers, more boy than man, eyed her with mild concern and she waved away his interest. He went back to assembling and wrapping sandwiches and she closed her eyes.

  Her strength returned slowly, her mind losing the fuzziness he’d put there. Oh, she wouldn’t go into the alleyway. That was certain. She wouldn’t dare risk his following her and using a far more potent charm than the one she’d just deflected. His lips, his hands… Her hands shook and she fisted them. Maybe her power wasn’t as strong as she’d thought.

  * * *

  Luke watched the swinging door until it stilled, knowing the Pixie hid just inside the kitchen. He grunted with frustration. He’d almost had it all, her surrender and the gold. She wasn’t immune to his charm, he allowed as he sipped his coffee. She was strong, through. Any other lass would’ve given him his answers. And their body, if he’d so desired.

  He could still see her there, flushed and beautiful. Her breath coming fast through parted pink lips, her full breasts pressing against the thin shirt she wore. He grunted again, shifting in an effort to gain a bit of room in his jeans. Physical pleasures had no place in his quest. By the saints, she was a sight. Hot and ripe and fashioned to specifications he hadn’t even known he’d wanted.

  The waitress, Lori, came over to him. She frowned at him as if she knew full well what he’d tried to do with the Pixie. With a flick of his head, he nodded toward the small puddle on the counter.

  “The lass spilled a bit of coffee.”

  She clicked her tongue and wiped up the spill with a towel. “Bree’s upset.” She clenched the towel and glared at him. “Tell me that was an accident.”

  Luke feigned innocence as he had before with her, but he didn’t dare employ his

  skills. Not now. “The coffee?”

  Lori snorted. “Look, handsome. I don’t know what your deal is, but I know guys like you. You zero in on a girl and use her to get what you want.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, though she obviously believed he wanted something of a more carnal nature from the Pixie. “Aye.”

  Concern filled the girl’s eyes and he once more knew the Pixie had woven her own magic on this mortal. “Bree has a lot on her plate.”

  He glanced at
the stack of dishes behind the counter and shrugged again. Odd expression, that. “All right,” he offered.

  Lori blew out a sigh and leaned closer. “I’m watching you, handsome. Bree’s not as strong as I am.”

  The girl couldn’t have been more wrong, in his considered opinion. The Pixie was the strongest woman he had yet to encounter in this time or his. He stood and left the coffee shop, his mind formulating the next step in wearing down the lovely lass. Much as he disliked the notion, he would have to think like Daniel O’Shey. He would have to skulk in the shadows and track her to her den. A memory niggled, something he had glimpsed in the alley that morning. Something dank and cool, slithering among the shadows.

  Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and focused on the coming afternoon.

  And the distasteful task ahead.

  * * *

  “Go home, Bree,” Lori said.

  Brianna knew she should listen to Lori. She couldn’t fiddle with the dishes and cups any longer. The shop wasn’t open for dinner except on Fridays, which added to its allure as her temporary occupation. And the lunchtime crowd, even the latecomers, were

  long gone. Tea time was nonexistent here, and she really had nothing to keep her any longer.

  Oh, she didn’t delay going home to Violet. The bloody MacDonald was at the root of her unease. That odd sensation he’d left behind was stronger than ever this evening. Time and again she had looked up from her work, fully expecting the vexing man to be there in all his charm and glory. Hiding like a coward, she’d delayed the walk home. No one had ever accosted her; the safety of the neighborhood combined with a protection spell assured that.

  “All right.” Brianna removed her apron and hung it on one of the hooks right beside the kitchen door. “No doubt Mrs. Henning needs a bit of relief.”

  “Is your sister any better?” Lori asked.

  Brianna opened her mouth to respond, surprised at herself. She never spoke of Violet to anyone, except to arrange her days off. And Mr. Shepard never questioned her requests, a marvel as she didn’t use a shadow of glimmer in this place.

  “The doctor…” She breathed in sharply. “The doctor says she might need

  surgery.”

  “Oh, no!”

  Brianna waved her hand in the air, wishing she could ease her own worries so easily. “It’s not definite. The doctor… he’s worried she’s still too frail.”

  Lori stepped closer and placed a hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “You’ll get her through it, Bree. You’re strong.”

  Brianna looked at Lori in surprise, wishing she could be reassured by the words.

  Her eyes stung and she nodded. “Thank you.” She took her cardigan sweater down from another hook and shrugged into it. “Good night, then.”

  Lori smiled. “Good night.”

  Brianna nodded and left the coffee shop, praying she were as strong as those around her seemed to believe.

  Chapter 10

  Luke’s senses sharpened as the door of the coffee shop opened. From his vantage point a few storefronts down the street, he had watched for what seemed the whole afternoon. The bench was hard beneath him and the tension of the afternoon left him primed for the girl’s appearance. The night was chilly, though his thick undershirt and flannel was all he needed.

  The Pixie exited the shop, a thin pink sweater the only protection he could see. He quickly amended that assumption when he saw an ill-kempt man turn in her direction. He stood to follow the pair, but before the interloper could get within ten feet of her he jerked abruptly and walked away. Luke smiled and shook his head, his heart ceasing its pounding as quickly as it had begun. Of course the girl would employ a protection spell.

  No matter. If her spell drew a circle around her as she made her way on the street, he would simply wait until she was safely in her den before approaching her.

  Moving soundlessly in his fine sneakers, he trailed her a short distance before she entered a neighborhood of small but finely-crafted houses. Quite different from both the city and his own dull flat, the neighborhood appealed to him. The tall trees brought the MacDonald dell to his mind; the bright streetlamps shining through the spring leaves cast dappled shadows on the street. Little wonder the Pixie had chosen this location for her lair.

  She stilled before a snug gray house set back from the street. As if sensing something amiss, she turned in his direction. Luke was too fast for her though, and the stout old tree beside him provided fitting cover. He heard her light footfalls once more and peeked around to see her cross the front porch and enter the little house.

  He waited, surprised when a round old woman soon bustled out the front door and climbed into a car the shape of a beetle bug. With a sound akin to bubbles popping, the

  woman drove up the street and away from the Pixie’s den. He wouldn’t waste a thought on the old woman’s identity. Now the Pixie was at his particular brand of mercy. Her and her sister both.

  Luke crept nearer to the house, his stomach churning as he kept to the shadows.

  He had learned from Uncle Seamus that a man must deal with all matters plainly, and this stealth didn’t sit well with him. This was different, however. And surely his uncle would understand a bit of subterfuge used for the greater good. The Pixie had their gold, and she must be made to relinquish it; from his dealings with her up until now, she wouldn’t give it up easily.

  He raised up from his haunches to look through the lace-dressed window. The girl moved with grace about the house, and as he watched she emerged from what must be the kitchen with a tray holding food and drink. She set the tray on a low table before a threadbare couch, and straightened. Her hands at the small of her back, she stretched out the tension surely caused by her day rather than the light load she’d brought from the kitchen. She covered her mouth as she yawned, and exited the room down a narrow hallway.

  A doubt niggled at him as he awaited her return: why did she toil in the coffee shop if she had the MacDonald gold? The house was far from luxurious. The furnishings were worn and the decorations simple. What had driven her to take what was theirs?

  He set that thought aside and rose, intent on getting the answer to that question.

  She bore a different burden when she came to the couch once more. A tiny child, he was amazed to see. With tender care, the Pixie placed the wee one on the couch and covered her with a colorful woven blanket before switching on the television. Luke studied the child, who to his eyes had all the looks of a Pixie. Shining golden hair, thinner than the older girl’s, and large eyes of the same remarkable blue set in a little heart-shaped face.

  No doubt this was the sister the waitress, Lori, had spoken of that day in the coffee shop.

  The little Pixie was so small. So wan and pale. The one he sought, Bree, fussed about the child, giving her an elixir of some type and placing her hand on her forehead. A frown marred the perfection of her face, and Luke’s heart clenched in his chest. The child was ill, and quite important to the Pixie caring for her so tenderly. He felt for her: hadn’t his uncle’s illness drive him across time and space?

  “There, love,” he heard the Pixie say to the little one.

  The child smiled, a small expression that lit the room. “Thank you, Brianna.”

  Luke pulled back. Brianna? Ah, the name suited the lovely Pixie. He pulled his gaze from the two on the couch. He saw no sign of the gold, but the amber at his neck throbbed with a beat his pulse echoed. It was here. In this house. In her hands. Her magic was strong, and his encounters with her thus far confirmed that fact. She could easily hide the gold from anyone’s notice, and he had none save his cunning and charm to win it from her. And after his attempt this afternoon, he had less faith in his own abilities than he liked.

  She had kept herself from him, her body and her mind. She’d shown moments of weakness, and though the idea was distasteful he would exploit whatever advantage he had. His uncle hadn’t raised a fool. He would find a way to best her, and on his own terms.

&nb
sp; Luke stood, backing away from the window. He wouldn’t confront the girl, not at present. The wee one needed her, and he wouldn’t interfere tonight. He walked away from the house, knowing he would have little trouble finding it at a more opportune time.

  The amber eased its disquiet as he headed downtown, and his mind turned toward what he learned this evening.

  The Pixie—Brianna, he thought again—and her sister had come here from

  Cornwall. Why, though? What circumstance drove her to take his family’s gold, his uncle’s only hope? They seemed comfortable with this time’s trappings. He’d seen her work the money machine at the coffee shop enough to guess that they weren’t from his time. His mind in a muddle, he went into his apartment and resigned himself to a less than restful night’s sleep.

  * * *

  Brianna made her way to the coffee shop the next morning, fatigue dragging her down. Violet had been particularly pained last night, and had called for her often. This morning Brianna had dressed and readied for work despite her fatigue, and when Mrs.

  Henning came she left the child to the woman’s care. Lord, she was tired. And she would work the dinner shift this evening to earn the money lost on days she stayed home with Violet.

  “Brianna.”

  Brianna stiffened at the sound of the MacDonald’s voice. When had he learned her name? She set that vexing thought aside and stared at him for a moment.

  He stood beside the coffee shop, and how she’d approached him without noticing was beyond her. The crystal key in her pocket gave a twitch, and she belatedly acknowledged it had been doing so for nearly a block.