by Ella Brooke
"Oh, my name is Natalie, Natalie Rook. What's your name?"
"Patrick Adair," he said, and she wondered if it was a name she should recognize. But before she could figure out where she might have heard that name before, he was speaking again.
"I should have asked before, but are you all right? Truly all right? That could not have been an enjoyable experience for you."
"Well, I doubt that it would have been an enjoyable experience for anyone," she retorted. "Stop looking at me as if I’m fragile. Believe me, I’m not."
He chuckled, and she stiffened, ready to defend her actions, but there was an admiring tone to it.
"I believe you," he said. "Anyone selling fortunes in Dublin for spare change must be made of fairly stern stuff. I wouldn't want to do it."
"What do you do instead?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Do you really not know?"
"Wouldn't have asked if I did," she said rather pertly, and he laughed again.
For such a big man, he was quickness incarnate. One hand came out and ghosted gently over her cheek. The touch was gentle, but they could both feel the lingering electricity there; the sense that there was a connection there that would not allow itself to be ignored. She felt herself gasp, but he was already stepping back, leading her into the intersection that was now green in their favor.
"You know, I think I am going to keep that to myself," he said with a slight chuckle. "It'll let me see if you have any skill with those cards of yours."
"I think the cards know more than I do," she said with a shrug, catching up to him. "Sometimes, I've pulled things out that are so correct that they startle me."
"Ah, do you have a touch of the sight then?"
"Not me," she said right away. "And I'm not going to bullshit you either and say that I can see beyond the veil or something, because I most certainly do not."
"Honest of you," he observed. "I would have thought that you had a whole spiel about your gifts and talents."
"Oh, I'm gifted and talented," she said with a slight grin. "I'm a pretty quick study, I tend to land on my feet and I'm a terrifically hard worker when I trust the people I am working for. However, seeing ghosts and fairies and having an insight into the future... not so much."
She shrugged, slightly embarrassed to be caught declaring her own good traits, but she wasn't going to take anything back. "After all, if I could see the future, maybe I wouldn't be trying to read tarot cards in the street to get a place at the local hostel."
He looked at her in surprise.
"You're trying to find a place to sleep tonight?" he asked, and she winced.
"Look, I promise, that was not some kind of ploy for pity, all right? Not your problem. You already did me a good turn when you fended off those assholes. Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."
He looked at her more thoughtfully than she might have liked, but then they were at the pub that he had told her about.
It was by no means shabby, but it was not a club that she guessed a man like Patrick Adair would frequent. Just looking at him, she might have guessed at some low-light spot with delicate music being played from a dais, with small plates at high prices being served.
Instead, this was an old-fashioned pub, ornamented only with dark wood that had likely been there for decades if not centuries. It was located in the basement of some far larger building, and there were dark and cozy booths set along the walls.
The menu was brief and uncommunicative, and when Natalie glanced at Patrick, she saw that he had not bothered to open it at all.
"This is Molly's," he said easily. "If you're here and you can eat meat, you get the shepherd's pie."
"Well, I do like meat," she admitted, and ordered the same.
While she’d eaten shepherd's pie before, whatever Natalie tasted in the past paled in comparison to the dish that came out. The top of the pie was creamy mashed potatoes with a brown, savory and salty crust to it, and the meat and vegetables beneath were fragrant and beautifully roasted, all soaked in a dark gravy that nearly made her moan.
Across the table, Patrick was eating his own pie as she made short work of hers. The look in his eyes was amusement, but she didn't think it was particularly cruel or mean-spirited.
"That's about how I reacted the first time I came here," he said, and she looked up from the savory meal to blink at him slowly.
"Oh really?" she asked. "And now?"
"Well, now I know I can come here whenever I like, and that they like me well enough that I can get shepherd's pies delivered if I am working late. They're still delicious, but I don't necessarily worry that every one is going to be my last anymore."
They ate in companionable silence, and Natalie felt a part of her relax that had not relaxed in a very long time. God, how long had it been since she was in a decent restaurant, speaking normally and eating a meal that wasn't picked up from a convenience store? The answer was ‘too long,’ but there was a part of her that was oddly proud of that.
Joe would never have thought that she had lasted this long, and if she were honest, she would have been surprised at her own daring as well. A lot had changed over the last four months, she supposed.
Finally, the waitress cleared away the food, leaving them with tall glasses of water after they both declined anything stronger.
"Well?" asked Patrick with a smile, "Are you going to regale me with your prowess?"
In response, she pulled out the cards she kept in her purse, shuffling them thoroughly and then setting them down for Patrick to cut. She couldn't stop herself from noticing his long, strong fingers, how gracefully they fluttered through the cards. She could still remember that gentle, ghostlike touch on her cheek and the fire that trailed after it. She wondered what it meant; she would never have called herself very passionate, but that touch alone could have fooled her.
"All right, that's cut," he said, handing the cards back to her. Coming back to herself, she laid out the fortunetelling spread that she knew best. When she looked at the cards that had come up, she raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"What is it?" he asked in amusement. "Is this where you tell me that there's a lot of misfortune, doom and gloom ahead of me? Do I need to buy a special charm from you that is going to protect me from the dark winds of destiny?"
She glanced up at him long enough to give him a withering look.
"You should know that the cards don't work like that. The fact that the card for Death is laid out only means that there is a great change in front of you, a possibility for something new and exciting. No, it's just that there are so many face cards in the spread, and so many cards from the major arcana. Those cards are kind of a big deal — they talk about big things afoot, about important people, people who change the world that they live in, if not the world itself."
"Flatterer," he said, and she shrugged.
"I'm just telling you what the cards are telling me. Let's see, where to start..."
The fortune that she ended up telling Patrick was one that might have made her hesitate in other times. Most of the fortunes that she told were small things, about love and life, promotions and small betrayals. The one that Patrick commanded seemed like something out of a story. There were several coin cards, a suite designated to wealth, and the Emperor sat at the center of it all, the greatest card for male authority and power in the deck.
By the end of it, Natalie had woven a fortune for him that wouldn't have seemed out of place for a king or a prince. When she glanced at him to see his reaction, however, he seemed more amused than anything else, so she supposed she would take it.
Chapter Three
As Natalie gathered up her cards and stowed them away, she could feel Patrick's eyes on her, or rather on her hands.
"You are very good at that," he observed. "Did you ever deal cards for a casino?"
"Not me," she said with a slight grin. "I really don't have much of a poker face, even if I have the hands for it. Is that your way of ge
tting me to open up about what I did before you found me trying to tell fortunes for money?"
"I'll admit that the thought had crossed my mind," he said easily. "While it's interesting to imagine you selling fortunes since you were small until you turned, what, eighteen now? I prefer to think you had a luckier life."
"Eighteen?" she said with a laugh. "Seriously? I'm twenty-four."
He raised an eyebrow at her, and the look that he gave her this time was more considering, heavier and weighted with a kind of sensuality that made her heart beat a little faster.
"Twenty-four? You're doing quite well then. Is talking about your age the way you want to distract me from talking about what you did before this?"
"I don't know, can you come up with a better distraction?" she said, her eyes dancing.
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Patrick reached across the table to close her hand inside his larger one. The electricity that had leaped between them — which she thought that she had only imagined — came back to shock her, and suddenly she couldn't take her eyes off of his mouth.
Patrick had the blunt and handsome features she had seen on so many of the men in Dublin. She had heard his looks, black hair and bright blue eyes, called ‘black Irish’ before, but there was an almost distressing sensuality to his mouth that she knew would trouble her when she slept that night. Just looking at this man's gorgeous mouth made her swallow hard, and she knew that a red blush was creeping up from her collar.
"If you want to be distracted," he said in a voice that was nearly a growl, "I think that can be arranged. I could keep you quite distracted for quite some time if you wish."
Natalie was so entranced by the words coming out of his mouth and the way he spoke, like woodsmoke and velvet, that she nearly leaned in. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to touch him as he had touched her, to see what that strong jawline would feel like under her hand. She imagined him butting his head against her hand like some big cat. Would he purr if she stroked his hair?
Then she realized what she was doing and pulled back from him, sitting up very straight in her chair. This was utter madness. She didn't know him from Adam, even if he had saved her from a pair of chavs, and even if he had paid for one of the best meals she’d eaten in what felt like forever. Pulling away broke the spell, or at least, it gave her the strength to resist it a little. She had an idea that touching his hair was going to be one of those temptations that didn't go away until she gave into it, and even then it might linger.
"Honestly, I'm not trying to distract you from anything," she said. "I have... let's say a very boring story. Yes, that's probably the best word for it."
He raised his eyebrow, obviously not content to be fobbed off with that, and she shrugged.
"Honestly, it's nothing interesting. I came to Ireland to follow a man I thought I loved, turned out that he didn't love me back. A few mean-spirited things were said during our breakup, and instead of going back to my life in the States, I decided that I was going to see what Europe had to offer.
"I'll admit, it probably sounds ridiculous. I'm flying through Europe on a wing and a prayer, and about the only safety-net that I have is the fact that I am not going to spend my ticket money back to the United States. A lot of the hostels I have been to have been wonderful, however, and I think that I'm getting along well."
To her surprise, Patrick didn't simply nod in understanding and change the subject. She had found that by and large, nothing bored people like talking about her travels. Unlike the others, however, Patrick frowned and leaned in slightly.
"So, this is your plan? You are just going to hop from moment to moment until you can't any longer?"
She blinked at him, startled at the disapproving tone in his voice.
"How old are you anyway?" she said jokingly. "You're certainly not old enough to be talking like that already, are you?"
He offered a thin smile.
"I'm thirty-four, which makes me older than you and in a good place to give you advice. And right now, my advice is that you should stop doing what you're doing and make your way home."
Natalie usually liked to think of herself as a rather understanding human being, but Patrick's officious tone made her feel very stubborn indeed.
"Really. You really think that."
"I do," he said gravely. Seriously, did he really think that she was going to follow his orders? "After all, you were nearly kidnapped off the street today, and clearly you are out of money..."
"Ah, but I was rescued by a kind and dashing stranger, and then I sold a tarot reading in exchange for an amazing dinner," she said with a grin. "I think things are taking a turn for the better, don’t you?"
Instead of smiling at Natalie's joke, he scowled instead.
"You really can't think that will keep up, can you?" he asked disapprovingly. "Your luck, no matter how good it is, is not going to hold out forever. You are going to find yourself in a much worst situation than you were in today, and there might not be someone to bail you out."
"Then I will figure it out for myself," she said firmly. "That's part of what this is all about. This is something that I am doing for myself. I don't want to back down just because things are hard, and I don't want to run away just because I’m scared."
Patrick shook his head, but she thought that there may have been a glint of respect in his eyes that he would never own up to.
'This is pure craziness," he growled. "What will your parents think?"
"Dad's out of the picture and mom's dead," she said bluntly, and when he looked startled and regretful, she amended it. "Don't worry about it. Dad took off when I was born, and Mom died when I was about fifteen or so. It sucks, but I've definitely had time to deal."
"Then you are all alone in the world."
"Yes," she said, "but I'm not the only one who is. I don't let it bother me."
"It bothers me, sometimes," Patrick said bluntly. "I lost my parents in a car accident when I was twelve. The lack is still there."
There was something about his blunt declaration that made her shiver inside, that made her want to reach for him.
"I'm sorry," she said instead, and he gave her a rueful half-smile.
"And I am sorry for your misfortune as well, but the point stands. There is a life waiting for you in the United States, and what you have here is tarot cards and a lucky dinner."
Natalie grinned at Patrick, undaunted by his grim words.
"Look, I can see that you're big on the idea of responsibility and stability. I mean, the cards would have told me that even if nothing else had."
Patrick snorted.
"Or you might have spent a few minutes with me," he said, and she nodded.
"But honestly? The world's a rough place sometimes. Tarot cards and dinner? That's not bad at all. I could be doing a lot worse."
She looked him right in the eye, and she could feel a shiver go up her spine again at how blue his gaze was, how coldly clear and direct. It was something that might have frightened her in another situation, that might have made her nervous or afraid. However, there was something about this man that told her she would not be afraid of him, not now and not ever.
"You kept worse from happening to me," she said softly. "Thank you."
This time, Patrick was the first to look away. She knew that he couldn't deny it by saying that anyone would have done the same. That was patently untrue. However, she could tell that he didn't want to let the matter lie.
"You mentioned a hostel. Is that where you are going tonight?"
She cringed and shook her head.
"To be honest, I was chasing the last reading that would have given me enough cash to get into the hostel," she admitted. "I'm a little short for the hostel I had in mind, and they're pretty strict on only letting you in if you have enough cash."
He looked confused.
"Do you seriously not have enough money to stay at a damned hostel?"
Natalie found herself unable to repress a sli
ght laugh at his expense; he just looked so surprised, so shocked.
"Do you seriously not know anyone who doesn't have any money?" she returned, and Patrick looked at her chagrined.
"I'll admit, most of the people I know do not spend any time in hostels at all."
"They should, it's good for them. It gets you out of your rut, meeting new and interesting people."
"And occasionally getting mugged or kidnapped by them," he retorted. "There's always that. But getting back to the question I was actually asking... Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
Natalie shrugged with a nonchalance she did not necessarily feel.
"It's a fairly warm night. I can nap at the bus station for a bit in the wee hours. Other than that, I might just walk, see a bit of your city by night. There's something beautiful about a sleeping city. The lights are dimmed, the sky turns this wonderfully orange purple shade, and..."
"...And you might run into the same damned thugs who tried to make off with you earlier," Patrick said with disgust. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."
At that, Natalie laughed out loud, drawing glances from some of the other diners. When she had recovered, she looked at him, a slight smile on her face.
"And how do you think you are going to enforce even a small part of that? What makes you think that you have the right to decide where I can sleep and where I can't? Last I checked, you're not a parent or a guardian, and I am too old for that by far."
He ran a distracted hand over his hair. He had very nice fingers, Natalie thought absently.
"The way you are acting, I am not sure that you are too old to be turned over someone's knee and given one hell of a spanking," he retorted. "You can't think to simply walk around the city getting a bit of sleep here and there like some kind of vagrant—"
"You really think I'm new at this?" she cut him off, beginning to get a little steamed. "You really think that I'm some kind of child who can't take care of herself?"
