Chapter 2
Griffin closed his eyes and blocked out Clare’s chatter by focusing on the steady hum of jet engines. He knew the type—silly women who wanted to draw attention to themselves by wearing outrageous costumes and playing with magic.
She fancied herself an author ofromance and wanted to make a movie. Imagine that. Excuse him for being just a little jaded with all of the same-old storylines being parroted and retreaded in today’s “creative” world.
People’s lives were dull and boring, and everyone looked for a stimulant to get them up in the morning. Chasing wealth, fame, and beauty did it for most people, but the ultimate thrill came from taking thebiggest risks.
He smiled to himself as he concentrated on the weight of the treasured Heart of Brigid resting on his chest. It was one of the rarest uncut natural diamonds in the world: shaped like a human heart with a blood-red tint.
It was one of Ireland’s legendary relics, said to be the actual crystalized heart of a pre-Christian goddess, Brigid, of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a mythicalrace who fought the evil sea elves for control of the Emerald Isle. They were eventually subdued by newer invaders who forced them to retreat into the green hills and forests, living underneath fairy mounds, known as the Otherworld.
It was cursed, of course.
All objects of great antiquity and legend were cursed, if only to cow the meek and frighten mortal men. It had certainly playedwith the imagination of the obnoxious winged woman sitting next to him.
Not that she was unattractive. That was definitely not her problem. She was intrusive, feminine in a strange way, and her wings made his nose itch.
Wings aside, she had a clean fragrance of linen and sweet apple blossoms with a touch of the sea, and her entire presence evoked memories of the wild Irish countrysidecaught between wind and waves.
She was pretty, in that peculiarly Irish way. With sea-green eyes and dark-copper auburn hair, full of flames neither red nor brown. As to why she’d want to mar her head with a crown of black thorns made of spray-painted twigs was beyond comprehension—unless she loved torture, or more likely, showcased her prickly personality.
On a brighter side, herskin was milky, with a scattering of freckles over her upturned nose and heart-shaped face. Cute.
He stopped at cataloging the no-doubt shapely body underneath her baggage of armor, leather, belts of berries and nuts, and the wilted vegetables she wore like handkerchiefs on her hips. Those long legs of hers were unfortunately encased in the most hideous lime-green lace-up boots made ofworn suede. How long would it take to slip the ties from every one of the many eyelets?
Stripping her naked would be a full day’s work, akin to trimming hedges and deadheading rose bushes—not to mention plucking feathers off her back.
It could be worth it, assuming he was interested in such a fanciful creature. He was too old for her juvenile prattle about fairies, witches, and vampires.
What did someone so young know about love stories, much less be so arrogant as to write them?
Griffin was on his way home with the most powerful piece of magic in all Ireland. And the funny thing was…
No one knew it, and the one person he showed didn’t think it was a big deal. True, a diamond in the rough looked like a glassy, melted, misshapen crystal, and she had no reasonto believe it was anything more than a glass bauble, especially given its unusual purplish-red color.
Neither had airport security thought anything when he put it through the X-ray. It wasn’t metal, and it wasn’t a plastic explosive.
He suppressed a chuckle, and he resisted the urge to pat the Heart of Brigid, nestled securely between his pectoral muscles.
He’d succeeded ingetting it back from his half-crazed father, and it was going home to Ireland where it belonged.
More importantly, this piece of Brigid would break the endless cycles of intense love and tortuous separation he endured away from his beloved fairy queen.
Clare remained in her seat with the seatbelt securely fastened as the jumbo jet bucked and heaved like a sea monster mating with a humpback whale. Her hands trembled as she opened the airsickness bag and rested it on her lap.
How could Griffin Gallagher sleep through impending disaster?
She snarled at the smug smile curling his lips and rolledher eyes at how he sprawled his large body into the area between the seats, as if he, by right, should crowd her into a corner.
Still, he’d given her a story idea, and if he were half as wealthy as he said he was, he could be talked into funding a movie deal for her novels—if she wrote about him and his Heart of Brigid. As hard as it would be, she had to write him as a tortured hero, maybea misunderstood villain.
She studied him. His nose had been broken, and he had a jagged scar on his forehead. His hands were not soft and well-manicured like she’d expect for a wealthy and idle man, and he had several scabs and healing wounds on his knuckles.
She could imagine him an adventurer or a guy into extreme sports. A risk taker, fueled by adrenaline, and a loner who didn’tsuffer fools.
He thought her beneath him and showed it with every expression on his perfectly rugged face. What gave him the right to be so superior? As for that fake bauble he called the heart of his true love?
Pure poppycock.
