He’d underestimated her. A fatal mistake to make with a writer who could torture, mock, and kill off characters in the most degrading ways.
She imagined Griffin Gallagher as a druid, forever trapped in an endless circle of forgetfulness and stupidity, but it got boring, so she reformed him into a duke with a castle, perched on a wild promontory overlooking a harsh and foreboding sea.
Clare gripped the armrests for what seemed like forever before the turbulence subsided and the captain turned off the seatbelt light. The cabinsprang to life as flight attendants rolled their carts up and down the aisles, offering cocktails, tea, and coffee.
“I’m sure this one wants a whiskey, neat,” Clare answered for her seatmate after ordering club soda for herself. She nudged him for good measure. “I figured a real Irishman wouldn’t miss a good shot of whiskey.”
Griffin’s eyes blinked open, and he trained a megawattsmile on the flight attendant. “Make that a double, and put one on my card for her.”
That was surprising, or was it because he didn’t think she could afford it?
“Sure your stomach can handle it?” Clare asked after the attendant moved on.
“I’ve got an iron stomach. You look a little queasy. Should I have ordered you ginger ale?”
Clare shoved the airsickness bag intothe seatback pocket. “I’m good, and thanks for the drink. Now that you’re awake, tell me about yourself. How many lives have you come back to, and when exactly were you born?”
“Nosy little thing, aren’t you? If you’re so interested, look me up on the internet.” He dismissed her with a snort, picked up an in-flight magazine, and readjusted his earbuds to make it clear he was not speakingto her for the duration of the flight.
Clare slipped her phone out of her purse and connected it to the in-flight Wi-Fi system. Within minutes, she was up to date on the mysterious Griffin Gallagher.
Which was a big nothing. He was the grandson of a wealthy Irish duke, partied his way through college, and dabbled in several failed businesses. He was a typical wastrel, with nothingto show for, even though he was rumored to be in his mid-thirties.
Few pictures were leaked onto the internet, but other than being an heir to a country estate, he was neither notorious nor remarkable.
Even more telling. There was nothing about the Heart of Brigid.
The flight attendant returned with the mini bottles of whiskey. Griffin put away his magazine and drained oneof his bottles in one gulp. He smacked his lips and smiled at her. “Your turn.”
Clare couldn’t help imagining how those lips with the whiskey tang would feel against hers, so she also poured the whiskey down her throat to banish the thought.
Ugh. It burned straight through to her gut.
“Found you, party guy,” she said, waving her mobile phone at Griffin. “Tell me more aboutthis trinket you have. You made up the Heart of Brigid, didn’t you? Are you a pick-up artist or what?”
“Do I look like I’m trying to pick you up?”
“You bought me a drink.”
“I can tell you’re looking for true love and you want some of my magic.” He took the so-called heart out and dangled it in front of her. “You claim to be a romance author. Why can’t you make up somethinglike this?”
“At least I keep my magic straight.” Clare tried not to be mesmerized by the light glinting off the semi-transparent crystal. “If you’re so forgetful, how would you know your true love if she smacked you in the face with this rock?”
“It’s the cursed Heart of Brigid,” he intoned in a low, undertaker voice.
“What’s the curse? That you’re unlucky in love?”
“Too trite,” he said. “I’ll leave it to your devious mind to figure it out. Suffice it to say, I’m about to get very lucky tonight.”
“Gross! Too much information,” Clare said, covering her ears.
He regarded her like she was an inconsequential gnat. “Your limited worldview is incapable of comprehending what great love I share with the owner of this heart.”
“Brigid, I know,”Clare said. “She’s either the saint or the goddess—a Fae Princess and the triple goddess of healing, poetry, and metal-working or the beloved saint we all grew up praying to. There’s nothing in the legend or lore about her heart.”
“The best things are kept secret,” Griffin said. “I’ve spent multiple lifetimes loving her, and every time, she’s eluded me. With this heart, I can find her andkeep her bonded to me forever.”
“Sounds like she wants to be free of you.” Clare stifled a giggle. “Warning. I wouldn’t mess with a goddess if I were you.”
