A muffled argument echoed from inside the townhouse—not clear enough to follow, but definitely loud enough to hear.
We waited outside of the gilded front door.
Just like everything else Lochlainn owned, the place was over-the-top luxury, completely ostentatious. Beautiful gray stone blended in with the rest of the city, but it was the details that set it apart—intricate knotted swirls and shamrock carvings decorated the window trims as ivy cascaded down from the roof like icing glazing a cake. Sunlight reflected off the arched door, nearly blinding.
“Well, he sounds like a ray of sunshine today,” I muttered.
Finley grunted, raising a fist to pound on the door again.
“Loch, it’s Finley,” he called. “Open up! Someone’s here to see ya.”
Heavy feet thundered. A few metallic tinkering sounds—then the door unlocked with an abrasivesnap.
It flewopen.
“What is it, ya fucking wank?—”
Lochlainn stilled, his words cutting short as his eyes landed on me.
“Carwynn.” His tone immediately changed, disgruntled features smoothing into a grin. “Never would have expected ya to be back at my doorstep so soon. Come in.”
He ran a hand through his ginger beard, stepping aside. He extended an arm in welcome.
The foyer was just as I recalled—breathtaking. A golden spiraling staircase curved up one side of the room. The floors were a creamy marble, delicately outlined in gilded trim. Dark shades of forest green and navy painted the walls where large oil paintings were dispersed throughout.
I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of those paintings led to mini vaults hiding away trinkets. Perhaps some of his collections.
Lochlainn put a palm to the door. A soft, radiant yellow light flooded into it, locking it with an audibleclink.
Of course he had to lock it magically. Because apparently, a deadbolt wouldn’t be enough. Or maybe he was just showing off his Lockbinding.
The home was basically a bank vault—extra security around every corner, protecting his most precious treasures. Very cave troll-esque.
A completely uninvited image popped into my head. One where late at night, Lochlainn would sneak into his deluxe basement and giddily roll around in a mound of gold coins—naked. Like a sexy leprechaun needing a power-up, getting off on his skin touching the cold, smooth, glittering surfaces.
A bellowing laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. I really didn’t know if I was my own worst enemy or best friend at times.
Finley and Lochlainn turned around, raising matching eyebrows.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”
But damn,I internally mused,that image really would be something.I bit my lip to tame the brewing giggle fit.
“How about some whiskey?” Lochlainn said over his shoulder, leading us into his large oak study. He perched himself on the edge of the desk, pouring amber liquid into a delicate crystal glass.
No suit jacket today, just a shirt lazily tucked in with multiple buttons undone. How veryun-Lochlainn . . .
Movement caught the corner of my vision. I quickly spun.
Pogue. He leaned against a large granite fireplace, whiskey in hand, looking frosty as hell.
Yep. We undoubtedly interrupted some squabble. Great.
“No, I’m all right, thanks,” Finley replied, taking a seat on a red tufted leather sofa. He shot Pogue a small nod. “You all right?”
Pogue responded with a subtle dip of the head. Cold and restrained.
“What about you, love?” Lochlainn reached out a second glass toward me, light caught the swirling amber.
