Читать книгу Passionate Magic - Dawn Addonizio - Страница 6

Violet couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. He’d followed her off the boat asking if they could get together later. When she declined, he asked for her address and phone number, claiming it was for insurance purposes. All the while, those two little blondes had been lurking behind, waiting for him.

Well, they could have him!

She felt a pang of regret, remembering his gentle touch and the way her entire body had tingled to life at the prospect of kissing him. But no. It didn’t matter how sexy his accent was, or how amazing his eyes were, or how much she wanted to run her fingers through that soft honey-brown hair and feel what it was like to have his thick arms band around her as their lips joined.

He was obviously some kind of playboy, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to become one of his toys.

She opened the white picketed gate and made her way up the cobblestone path that led to her parents’ glass-paned front door. Bougainvilleas bloomed in a riot of fuchsia, purple and orange, towering over the trellised fence to either side, intermingled with red and yellow trumpet vines. She really should get someone in here to cut them back, she thought, as she fitted the key in the lock. Maybe she’d ask that nice neighbor who had offered to help her box up her parents’ things if she knew of a good yard service.

Violet sighed as the door opened and a blast of cool air washed over her. She moved into the living room and dropped her backpack on the hardwood floor, sagging onto one of the couches. It was upholstered in a thick weave fabric that had been dyed royal blue. The other couch was dark red, and a forest green recliner completed the set, a tribute to her mother’s eclectic taste. Mom had loved to mix and match colors and styles, and somehow she had always seemed to make it work.

Which reminded Violet, she’d intended to finish packing up her mom’s hat collection today. She allowed herself to rest for a few minutes more, then she rose and trudged toward her parents’ bedroom, her feet dragging as she made her way to the walk-in closet. There were already a couple of boxes waiting on the floor, and she began carefully transferring the hats from the shelves down into them.

Her mom had owned hats in every color and style imaginable. Some had feathers or veils. Others were decorated with buckles, flowers, bands or pins. She found two almost identical berets made out of shiny red vinyl. Violet smiled and shook her head, wondering how a person could possibly find the occasions to wear them all. But her mom had probably worn every single one without worrying whether or not they matched the occasion. Both Vicky and George Hendrickson had been the types of people to live for the moment and experience all the joy that life had to offer.

The magnitude of their loss slammed into Violet, combining with the vestiges of her earlier fright in the water, leaving her too overwhelmed to fight her grief. She sank to the floor of the closet, between the boxes of hats. Her fingers clutched at one of her dad’s favorite Hawaiian shirts, pulling it off its hanger as she went.

She cried until the shirt was wet with her tears and her nose was too stuffy to smell the lingering scent of his aftershave.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“I’m sorry I didn’t see the lindita go under, hermano.”

Doyle looked up from hosing off Ocean Magic’s deck. He’d been staring at the bench where Violet was sitting earlier, lost in thoughts of her. “It wasn’t your fault, man.”

Manny eyed him doubtfully. “I was supposed to be watching the group, no? And you been cranky as a wet gato ever since. If you no mad at me, then what’s eating you, hermano?”

Doyle exhaled heavily as he debated how much to tell Manny. The Costa Rican was a stand-up guy and a good friend. They’d been partners for ten years now, and Doyle trusted him almost as much as he trusted his best friend, Pat. But he’d never entrusted any human with the knowledge that he was sidhe, descended from a noble line of immortal warriors that made their homes in the faerie realm.

He settled, as always, for giving his friend a partial truth.

“I like her, man,” he said simply. “I liked her from the moment I saw her. I wanted to ask her out, but those two blondes kept after me and I think she got the wrong idea.”

Manny’s face broke into a huge grin that pushed his cheeks up into rounded pouches. “You had me worried there for a minute, hermano. I was wondering how come you did no want to sample what those two were offering.”

Doyle smirked as he bent to pick up a discarded soda can left behind by one of the passengers. “I’ve got my mind set on sampling something a bit more exotic than those two, and I’m afraid Miss Violet Hendrickson is the only thing that will do.”

“I know what you mean, hermano. I have been dating this new chica for several weeks now, and no other can turn my eye from her. I think I am in love.”

Manny crossed his hands over his chest and raised his face heavenward.

“I hope she feel the same. Her name is Melody. Beautiful, no? I will bring her to meet you some time soon.”

Doyle smiled. “I’d love to meet the woman who’s finally stolen your heart, brother.”

They finished cleaning the boat in companionable silence and agreed to meet back at the docks in a couple of days for their next round of tours.

Doyle walked the few blocks to the secluded, residential street where his old-Florida-style house was situated on a two acre lot. It was a white rectangle of a building, with a low, flat roof and green-trimmed windows with jalousie shutters.

Coconut palms dotted the property and a veritable forest of waxy-leaved sea-grapes fenced it in. Grass grew sparsely at best in the sandy soil, but it was less for him to mow and it gave the place a distinctly tropical feel. As soon as he opened the slat-paned front door, his Irish wolfhound, Bruno, nearly knocked him over in a frenzied, slobbery rush to get outside.

“Sorry buddy. Couldn’t make it back for your afternoon walk. Tourists kept me busy all day. I met a bonnie one, though.” He rubbed the pony-sized dog’s soft ears and Bruno looked at him reproachfully before trotting out into the yard.

Doyle grinned and went inside, knowing the dog would return to the door when he was ready to come in. He dropped his keys next to a pile of mail on the shelf in the entryway, kicked his shoes off, and made his way barefoot across the cool tile toward his bedroom to take a shower. Manny had helped him lay the flooring a month ago, and it was still shiny and new, adding to his home’s growing contrast of modern updates and vintage fixtures.

He was scrubbing the salt out of his hair, his eyes screwed tight against the soapy water, when a faint high-pitched whistle sounded in his ears. “What the devil?” he mumbled.

Laughter tinkled over him. His eyes shot open and he cursed as shampoo ran into them.

“Yer a fine specimen of man, ye are, Doyle Thresher,” Violet’s faerie guardian mimicked in an exaggerated Irish accent, casting an appreciative eye over Doyle’s naked form.

“I don’t sound anything like that.” Doyle scowled and continued rinsing his hair, not bothering to give the sprite the satisfaction of trying to shield the parts of him she’d obviously already seen. “And you wouldn’t know what to do with me, ye bloomin’ faerie, so get yourself out of here before I mistake you for the soap and wash my specimens with you.”

The faerie chuckled. “You can call me Eleanor, sweetie.”

“Nice to be on a first name basis after all we’ve shared,” Doyle replied in a sarcastic burr. “Get out then, Eleanor. Why don’t you go wait in the living room like a normal guest?”

“Alright, don’t get huffy. I just wanted to let you know that there’s a monstrous creature currently attempting to break down your front door. It looks a bit flimsy and I’m not sure how much longer it will hold up against the beast. I’ve got some dust that simulates extra-strength catnip, but I’m not sure what it will do to this brute. I could put it to sleep for a while if you want…”

Doyle tucked a towel around his waist and sprinted from the bathroom before she could finish her offer. Eleanor trailed after him and found him sitting on the edge of a worn brown leather recliner, bending down to rub the creature’s belly as it rolled on the floor. Its tongue lolled from its mouth like pulled taffy, its huge paws flailing in the air at the tips of ridiculously long, lanky legs.

“You’re a good puppy, yes you are Bruno,” Doyle growled in a doltish, sing-song voice.

Eleanor’s eyebrows climbed up her silvery forehead. “You call that thing a puppy?” she asked in horrified amusement.

Doyle raised his eyes and just missed being whacked in the face by a stray paw. “Well, he probably won’t grow any more. But you’ll always be my puppy, won’t you, boy?” he asked the dog fondly as he rose and straightened his towel.

“Now just wait here while I throw on some clothes. And no peeking this time, ye pint-sized pervert,” he warned as he closed his bedroom door with slightly more force than necessary.

Faeries, Doyle thought with disgust as he yanked on a pair of cargo shorts and the first t-shirt he pulled from his drawer. They were always sticking their noses in other people’s business, especially if they thought they could gain the slightest favor for their charges. And they could usually talk the teeth out of a saw when they had a mind to. If Violet wasn’t this one’s charge, he’d flick the little blighter right out the window. The audacity of her spying on him in the shower…

He ran his fingers through his damp hair and fixed a polite smile to his face as he returned to the living room. He stumbled to a halt at the sight of what appeared to be Bruno’s attempt to ingest the annoying little menace.

“Bruno, NO!” he shouted, hurrying forward to grip the dog’s massive jaws in his hands before he could clamp them around Eleanor’s tiny frame. Despite the satisfaction it would give him, he couldn’t allow his dog to eat Violet’s faerie guardian.

Eleanor whizzed out of Bruno’s mouth, giving Doyle a bemused look. “Relax, big boy. The pup had a bit of a toothache and I thought I’d save you a trip to the vet. Bruno would never try to eat me. Would you, pumpkin?” she asked the enormous dog.

The faerie landed on the dog’s sloping snout and began scratching him between the eyes. He stared at her with a blissful expression, one of his rear legs kicking reflexively against the tile floor.

Speechless, Doyle released Bruno’s jaws. “Traitor,” he mumbled, stalking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he called, forcing a pleasant tone. A thimble full of cyanide perhaps, he added to himself. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator door, pasted with photos of Bruno and landscape scenes shot from the Ocean Magic.

Eleanor darted over the long breakfast bar to hover above his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have any decent champagne?” she asked in a hopeful voice.

He looked at her askance. “Let me just check the wine cellar,” he answered dryly.

Eleanor sighed. “I figured. But it never hurts to aim high. What are you having, then?”

“Beer.” He punctuated the word with the thump of the bottle on the ancient olive-green countertop. “It’s beer, o.j., whiskey or water. Take your pick,” he added, grabbing a frosty mug from the freezer.

Eleanor sniffed. “I’ll just have a nip of yours, then.” She pulled a tiny earthenware mug from somewhere within her color shifting dress and held it beneath the foamy, amber stream as he poured.

Doyle led the way back into the living room and dropped onto his leather recliner, murmuring in contentment as he took a long, cold swallow of carbonated heaven. He waited for Eleanor to seat herself on the edge of the gently scuffed wooden coffee table in front of him.

“So, now that I can talk to you without your charge thinking I’m a complete jackass,” Doyle gave the faerie an accusing look, “why is it that you think a merrow would be trying to drown Violet?”

“I have no idea,” Eleanor said glumly. “Like I said before, I didn’t sense she was in danger until it was too late to help her avoid it. But I did get there in time to see one of them pulling her down. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

Doyle frowned and shook his head. “From the little I know of merrows, they tend to stay as far from humans as possible. And they’re not known to be violent. You said something happened to Violet a couple of months ago as well?”

“Not to Violet, to her parents.” The faerie grimaced. “They were killed at sea. The human authorities said a freak wave must have sunk their boat and they drowned before they could be rescued. She’s here to pack up their house.”

“Poor lass,” Doyle murmured softly. What courage it must have taken for her to go in the water today. And to nearly suffer the same fate as her parents, then have to return to their house and all the memories awaiting her there.

“But what makes you think her parents’ deaths had anything to do with what happened today? It sounds like it was just a tragic accident.”

Eleanor shrugged. “It’s a feeling I have.”

Doyle stared at her. “A feeling? Anything more solid than that?”

“Just that it’s my job to sense anything that might be a danger to Violet,” she retorted, her wings giving off a mutinous buzz, “and my feelings are rarely mistaken.”

“Alright. I meant no offense.” Doyle held his hands up. “It’s just a bit hard to believe that we have a rogue merrow on our hands, out there murdering humans for no apparent reason.”

“Three humans from the same family? There must be a reason, Doyle,” Eleanor insisted. “And I don’t want her going back in the water until I know she’s safe.”

“So warn her away from it.” He shrugged as if that resolved the matter.

Eleanor huffed in annoyance. “It’s not that simple. Violet loves the ocean. I can’t warn her away from it forever!”

“So how do you intend to keep her safe?” Doyle demanded.

“I’m glad you asked,” the faerie replied, pursing her tiny lips as if trying to hide a smile. “Since I can only do so much to keep her out of the water, and there’s even less I can do to keep her safe once she’s in it, what Violet needs is someone to protect her. Someone who’s an even match for a determined merrow. Someone like an immortal warrior, for instance.”

Doyle gaped at her. “You mean me. You want me to protect your charge for you.”

“I know you like her,” Eleanor pronounced with a look of sly satisfaction.

“Be that as it may,” Doyle sputtered, “I fear her opinion of me leaves much to be desired. Thanks in large part to you, I might add.”

Eleanor waved her hand dismissively. “A misunderstanding that’s easy enough to fix. I have every confidence that, once you turn on that Irish charm of yours, she’ll warm right up. You’re a fine looking man. And believe me when I tell you that Violet noticed, whether she wanted to or not.”

Doyle rubbed his thumb across his stubbly chin as he considered her words. Had Violet really found him attractive, despite the piss poor way he’d handled the situation with her today? “Fine,” he agreed after a moment. “I’d be more than happy to improve upon Violet’s first impression of me.”

He narrowed his eyes and pointed at the faerie. “But don’t think I don’t know when I’m being maneuvered by flattery.”

Eleanor gave him an innocent smile.

“How shall I meet up with her? Where is she now?” he asked, attempting to sound more casual than he felt. In truth, he was as eager as a schoolboy to see her again.

Eleanor’s wings drooped and she stared down into her mug. “She’s sitting alone in her parents’ closet, surrounded by their things, crying.”

Doyle shot to his feet, startling a yelp from Bruno. “What are you doing here with me, then?” he demanded. “Go…do whatever it is you do. Comfort her!”

When the faerie raised her face to look at him again, there were tears sparkling in her eyes. “She’s grieving, Doyle. There’s only so much I can do. I can share her sorrow, but I can’t take it from her. It’s something she needs to feel.”

Doyle lowered himself back into his chair, cursing helplessly. “What she needs is to get out of that house. Can’t you persuade her to go out for a bite to eat somewhere? Then I can meet her and try to take her mind off it for a bit.”

Eleanor wiped at her eyes and nodded, tucking her mug back into her dress and rising from the coffee table. “I think I can manage that. I’ll nudge her toward that crab shack, next to the docks. The rest will be up to you.”

Doyle’s lips quirked up in a mirthless smile. “I’ll do my best to win the lady over. Just keep in mind that I’ll probably be more successful this time if it doesn’t appear that I’m conversing with my imaginary friend.”

“Agreed. Oh and one more thing,” Eleanor added, crossing her arms and rising to look him directly in the eye. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your immortal life.”

She blinked out of sight wearing a threatening glower. It was far more formidable than it should have been, considering her diminutive stature.

Doyle stared after her with the confused expression of someone who’d just been put in his place by a cotton ball.