by Lucy King
So here he was. In New York. In February.
Freezing his gnads off.
But at least now he could see the sign up ahead proclaiming Sullivan’s to not only be open and established since 1950 but a mere half a block away. Raf sped up, reaching for the brass handle on the heavy wooden door in under a minute, his fingers almost adhering to the cold metal as he yanked it open.
He paid little heed to the thick welcome mat at his feet or the dark wood paneling that lent the interior an old world charm, he just shut his eyes as warmth enveloped him like a long lost lover. His fingers and ears tingled as blood returned to his extremities. He had a feeling it would take longer for his balls to drop back down from inside him but it was a start.
He opened his eyes to find himself being thoroughly scrutinized. Three elderly guys sitting at the end of the long wooden bar, looked surprised to see him. Not that he could blame them – who would come out into this weather without good reason?
They continued to stare much to Raf’s amusement. Clearly they weren’t used to strange faces around here. A check in the pro column. A bar that attracted loyal regulars would be a good test market for him.
“G’day, gentlemen,” he murmured cheerfully. “Bloody cold out there today.”
“It’s not so bad,” the nearest one said. “Spring’s on its way.”
Jesus. If this was spring on its way, Raf was pleased he’d missed full-on winter.
“Fire over there,” another one said indicating the crackling flames with a nod of his head.
Sounded pretty bloody good to Raf. “Thanks,” he said, nodding and headed in the direction of the fireplace.
The long wooden bar ran down one side of the pub. Stools with what appeared to be red leather seats were placed down the length of it about a foot apart. There must have been twenty at least. No one was behind the bar so Raf made a beeline for the massive fireplace past about a dozen dark panelled booths sporting the same red leather seats.
The orange flames danced behind the grate as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them close reveling in the heat licking up his arms and bathing his front. Reveling in the fact he was beginning to feel more like a human and less like a popsicle.
A large portrait of JFK hung over the mantle and he absently noted the tiled surround boasted shamrocks. He swiveled his head to the right noting an area with about a dozen small tables and chairs, their dark wood melding in with the overall cozy appeal. In the far left corner was a step up to what appeared to be a small stage. An upright piano that looked like it had seen better days fitted snugly against the wall. To the far right was an open door through which he could just glimpse a corridor and a staircase. The sign above the door indicated the location of the restrooms.
Satisfied with what he saw, Raf returned his attention to the fire. Sully’s was cozy. Just the kind of pub he had in mind.
Mercy had been right.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Can I get you something?”
Raf turned at the sweet, husky inquiry to find a woman with wild brown curls smiling at him all open and easy. She was wearing jeans that clung in all the right places and a black t-shirt with a Sullivan’s logo and The Best Beer In Brooklyn stamped right across her breasts. She looked like a tropical mirage in the middle of the arctic and all the places that had felt cold only seconds ago flooded with warmth.
Blood flowed again. Everywhere. His balls suddenly dropped right back into place.
Raf checked his watch. Mercy wasn’t due for another half hour but it was after midday…His gaze drifted to her t-shirt as he walked towards her. “Looks like I’d better have a beer.”
“Oh,” she said and he could have sworn her cheeks turned a shade pinker. Her curls flopped forward a little to hide her face as she reached for a glass. “What’s your poison?”
Feeling more than a little warm now, Raf shrugged out of his coat, then his jacket and unwound his scarf as he pulled up a bar stool.
The view up closer was very fine indeed.
“What lager would you recommend?” he asked as he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and leaned into the polished smoothness of the bar in all its dark, grainy glory.
Her gaze strayed to his bared arms and seemed to linger for a moment before she dragged it back to his face. She smiled at him again. “Guinness.”
Raf laughed. Pretty barmaid with quick wit and flirty tone – another check in the pro column. Get her on side and she could be his best asset as far as pushing his beer went.
“You don’t like lager?”
“We have ten beers on tap here. Two of them are lagers. You do the math.”
Normally them would be fighting words for Raf but the devil danced in her eyes and he knew better than to rise to the bait. He liked her voice though. The slight husky quality of it softened her accent to a nice warm hum.
“Well, I guess given that I’m in an Irish pub I have no choice but to try the Guinness.”
She nodded. “Good choice. When in an Irish pub in New York do what the Irish do I always say. Got a preference?”
Raf shook his head. “Whatever’s the most popular.” It paid to know the competition after all.
Raf watched her as she busied herself with his drink. Her technique at pouring Guinness was perfect – angling the glass, not letting the tap touch it in any way as she filled it three quarters then setting it down to rest for a bit.
His gaze roved over her face as she waited patiently for the beer to settle. She had a cute nose, dark blue eyes and chipmunk cheeks. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and he liked that he could see the real her.
She had an interesting face. It wasn’t classically beautiful but it had a certain something about it that was instantly fascinating. There was no pretention about it, just nicely assembled, including her mouth which seemed just right – not too big or too small, sitting perfectly right in the middle there. It looked like it laughed a lot.
Probably kissed a lot too.
And then there was her hair.
He’d bet money she hated it – he’d never met a woman with curly hair that didn’t hate it passionately. But it was the most glorious mahogany tumble, curls kicking around her face and brushing over her shoulders. He had the insane urge to reach out and pull on one and see how far it would unwind.
An even crazier urge to find out how good they’d look spread on his pillow. His blood stirred at the thought and his body warmed another degree.
When the beer had settled to her satisfaction she topped it up and handed it over. Raf pulled out a note but she waved the money aside. “Converting lager drinkers is my sport.”
Raf laughed as he pocketed the bill. “Never.” He took a moment to admire the perfect head of foam before taking a sip of the cold, creamy beer, flicking his tongue out to catch the froth he knew would be decorating his upper lip.
His belly tightened as her gaze briefly followed the action before she quickly looked away and fiddled with some glasses.
“It’s good,” he said, placing it down on the bar. “Smooth. There’s almost a chocolatey consistency to it.”
It reminded him of her hair – rich and complex.
“You’ve got a good nose.”
Raf smiled at the husky compliment deciding to omit telling her his beer background. Or that she had a lovely nose too.
And an even lovelier mouth.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around these parts?”
“You’ve got a good ear,” he said, with a grin. “I’m from Australia. Sydney.”
She looked at his arms again then back at him. “Let me guess. You spend all your time at the beach. Bondi, that’s in Sydney, right?”
He laughed. “Coogee, actually. But close enough.”
“And are you here on business or pleasure?”
“Business.” He put his drink down as the idea of indulging in a little something else took root. “But I could be persuaded.”
Flirting ca
me easy to Raf. Flirting with this woman especially. So it was surprising to see her startled owlish blink as her hands stilled on the glasses.
Interesting…
“Coney Island’s fun,” she said after a beat or two, her unadorned fingers fiddling with the glasses again.
Raf couldn’t work out if it was a polite I’m-working-don’t-bother-me blowoff or a serious not-interested one.
Nor why it bothered him so much.
“Thanks.” He took another sip of his Guinness. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
She glanced in the direction of the door as if she was hoping for the relief of a customer but it remained stubbornly shut. When she dragged her gaze back to him she was clearly torn between wanting to flee and good manners that dictated she stay and talk with her customer.
He found it surprisingly endearing.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
Then she blushed and looked like she wanted to take it back in case he got the wrong idea. He chuckled at her consternation. It was a reasonable question to ask. Just because he’d flirted with her a little didn’t mean he couldn’t tell the difference between genuine interest in his sleeping arrangements and small talk.
“In Manhattan. At the Marriott Marquis.”
“On Times Square?” She kicked up an eyebrow, clearly surprised, her awkwardness vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. “And just how did you stumble across our establishment? We’re a little off the beaten path.”
“Apart from being convenient shelter from the freezing cold you mean?”
“Oh,” she said, her expression deadpan. “Is it cold out?”
Raf laughed. “Just a tad. Actually a friend recommended Sully’s, I’m meeting her here.” He checked his watch. “She shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Find out what happens next in Seducing the Baron
If you enjoyed Taming the Beast, you’ll love the other Fairy Tales of New York stories!
The Fairy Tales of New York Series
Book 1: Pursued by the Rogue by Kelly Hunter
Book 2: Tempting the Knight by Heidi Rice
Book 3: Taming the Beast by Lucy King
Book 4: Seduced by the Baron by Amy Andrews
About the Author
Lucy King has been writing contemporary romance since 2009 and honestly can’t think of a better job to have. Creating swoon-worthy heroes, sassy heroines and heart-melting happy ever afters definitely beats the fund management and corporate fraud investigation she worked in before.
Originally from London, Lucy lives in south-west Spain with her family where she spends much of the time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords and trying to convince herself that the beach really is the best place to work.
For more from Lucy:
Visit her website at LucyKingBooks.com
Join her mailing list
Follow her on Twitter@lucy_king
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