Seduced by the Baron (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 4) (3 page)

“You’ve got a good ear,” he said, with a grin. “I’m from Australia. Sydney.”

She looked at his arms again then back at him. “Let me guess. You spend all your time at the beach. Bondi, that’s in Sydney, right?”

He laughed. “Coogee, actually. But close enough.”

“And are you here on business or pleasure?”

“Business.” He put his drink down as the idea of indulging in a little something else took root. “But I could be persuaded.”

Flirting came easy to Raf. Flirting with this woman especially. So it was surprising to see her startled owlish blink as her hands stilled on the glasses.

Interesting…

“Coney Island’s fun,” she said after a beat or two, her unadorned fingers fiddling with the glasses again.

Raf couldn’t work out if it was a polite I’m-working-don’t-bother-me blowoff or a serious not-interested one.

Nor why it bothered him so much.

“Thanks.” He took another sip of his Guinness. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

She glanced in the direction of the door as if she was hoping for the relief of a customer but it remained stubbornly shut. When she dragged her gaze back to him she was clearly torn between wanting to flee and good manners that dictated she stay and talk with her customer.

He found it surprisingly endearing.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

Then she blushed and looked like she wanted to take it back in case he got the wrong idea. He chuckled at her consternation. It was a reasonable question to ask. Just because he’d flirted with her a little didn’t mean he couldn’t tell the difference between genuine interest in his sleeping arrangements and small talk.

“In Manhattan. At the Marriott Marquis.”

“On Times Square?” She kicked up an eyebrow, clearly surprised, her awkwardness vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. “And just how did you stumble across
our
establishment? We’re a little off the beaten path.”

“Apart from being convenient shelter from the freezing cold you mean?”

“Oh,” she said, her expression deadpan. “Is it cold out?”

Raf laughed. “Just a tad. Actually a friend recommended Sully’s, I’m meeting her here.” He checked his watch. “She shouldn’t be too much longer.”

*

A little light
of hope, of potential, inside Faith stuttered and died in that instant. Of course there would be a woman. A
friend
. The guy was a tall, blonde, gorgeous Australian. With crazy-good stubble a shade or two darker than his sandy hair, shoulders wide enough to hold up the world and beautifully tanned and muscled forearms, he probably had a harem of women servicing his flirtatious ways.

Her eyes locked on his hands, the network of bulging blue veins was fascinating, like something from an art textbook. A sudden urge to sketch his hands and forearms accosted her. The golden skin, the blonde hairs, the prominent vasculature….

Greek statue meets flesh and blood man.

So very male. So very hot.

“Ah,” the guy with the arms said, dragging her gaze back to his face. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking towards the door. At his
friend.
“Here she is.” He waved a hand at her. “Mercy. Over here!”

Mercy?
Faith frowned, turning her head towards the curvy Argentinian she knew so well, striding their way, shedding her coat, her hips swinging in her tight jeans and knee high boots. Her hair swung like a glossy curtain and even after all these years Faith still envied Mercy her gorgeous, long, locks.

She was in New York studying for her MBA but if she failed that she could always get a job as a model for shampoo commercials.

“Mercy?” she said.

“Surprise,” she said, grinned at Faith, only the slightest hint of an accent slanting her speech. She stepped up onto the low brass railing at her feet that ran down the length of the bar and leaned as far forward as she could, one leg kicking out behind her for balance.

Faith leaned across too, accepting the double-cheeked kiss on auto-pilot. Then Mercy turned to the hunky Australian.

“Rafael,” she said as she went up on tippy toe and bestowed the same favor on both of his cheeks.

Rafael
. His name was Rafael.

But how on earth did Mercy know this guy? And why was she meeting him? Of course, had Mercy not been deliriously in love with Seb, Faith would totally get why. The tall, tanned Australian and the sexy Argentinian made for a gorgeous pairing – like two tropical birds.

But Mercy was, indeed, very much in love.

In fact, within the last year Faith had not only reconnected with her old school friends but
all
of them had paired off and were in stable relationships.

Except her.

Mercy had Seb, Dawn had Finn and Zel had Ty.

It was hard to believe it had happened in such a short space of time. Even harder to believe that Dawn and Zel had hooked up with two of her
brothers
. And Mercy had snagged
Zel’
s brother.

Her mother had always told Faith that one day she’d meet a man and she’d know. She’d just know.
That’s how it was with your father.
But many years later Faith had given up on the whole
one-day-my-prince-will-come
romantic bullshit.

And this last year in particular?

She was beginning to feel like she was
always
going to be the bridesmaid.

“I see you two have already met,” Mercy said.

“Not officially, no,” he said and held out his hand to her. “I’m Rafael Quartermaine.”

His broad accent with flattened vowels rolled over her as did the warmth from his hand. She glanced down at it, fascinated anew by the veins. She wanted to trace her finger along them, memorize each one for later when she
would
be getting out her sketch pad but she forced herself to drop it instead.

“With a ph like the painter?”

“With an f. But most people just call me Raf.”

“Faith,” she said. “Faith Sullivan.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes lighting up. They were a clear aquamarine that reminded her of the ocean. They suited his blonde coloring. “You’re the owner’s daughter?”

“That’s right,” Mercy jumped in. “Although Faith pretty much runs the whole place single-handedly, don’t you?”

Faith knew Mercy meant it as a compliment but, as always, she felt the need to protect her ailing father’s positon as boss and head of the household. Even though she’d
also
been running the household since his first heart attack just before she’d been due to start her fine arts degree at Columbia.

James Patrick Sullivan, or JP to his friends, was a proud man and Sully’s had been pretty much his everything since her mother had died.
His
father had established it not long after immigrating from Dublin in the fifties and Pop clung to it with a nostalgia for the old country that had only become more ardent.

Her father was determined to leave a lasting legacy. “It’s a family affair,” she said vaguely.

“She’s being too modest,” Mercy said, dismissively. “The whole pub would fall apart without her. She loves this place like crazy.”

Faith smiled at Mercy. Her friend was right – she did love this place. Deeply. She had, after all, lived in this big old pub in this working class neighborhood in the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn for her entire life. Some of her best memories were encapsulated within these four walls. And her mother was also here in every nook and cranny.

She loved Sully’s. So why, suddenly, wasn’t it enough?

Faith glanced at Rafael. He was watching her intently, a little line tugging two sandy-colored eyebrows together. She wondered if he could see her disquiet? See the growing despair she felt that she was going to be stuck here forever, a spinster barmaid, her fine arts degree a distant ambition.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Drink?” she asked Mercy.

Mercy glanced at Raf’s beer. “You’re drinking Guinness?” She tutted playfully. “Isn’t that sacrilege to a lager man?”

“Good beer is good beer,” he said with a grin. “And when in an Irish pub…”

“Absolutely,” Mercy agreed. “I’ll have the usual.”

Faith grabbed a half pint glass and pulled Mercy’s favorite brand of Guinness. If they stayed for a second, Faith knew Mercy would switch to orange juice thanks to her strict self-imposed, one-drink policy she’d developed after growing up in and around the wine industry.

Not to mention the Great Altar Wine Debacle.

Faith eavesdropped on their conversation while she waited for the beer to settle. They obviously knew each other reasonably well. Faith wondered just
how
well and was surprised to find it bothered her. She placed the beer in front of Mercy and once again waved the payment away.

“On the house.”

Mercy tried to protest. “You can get the first round tomorrow night,” Faith insisted.

On the second Thursday of every month all four women got together at Sully’s for a girl’s night. Faith had worried that it would stop now her friends were in relationships but the tradition was going strong.

“Salud,” Mercy said raising her glass to Rafael.

“Salud,” he responded, tapping the rim of his glass to hers.

Faith was excruciatingly aware of him as he drank. Aware that his sandy-blonde hair was a little longer on the top than the sides. Aware of a tiny little scar beneath his chin that cut a smooth swath through the rough of his stubble. Aware of the way his gaze kept straying to her t-shirt and how he’d tried to flirt with her and the way he’d looked at her before as if he could see past her
I’m-fine
exterior to the
not-fine
beneath.

Aware that he was from outside her world and just how damn enticing that made him.

Lordy.
This was bad.

A man from outside the neighborhood paid her a little attention and she was already thinking of…what? Running away with him? Preposterous. She couldn’t leave. Not when her father, the pub, relied on her so much.

“Is JP around?” Mercy asked as she licked Guinness from her mouth like she was born to it – not bad for a wine girl.

Faith tensed. “He’s upstairs. He was feeling a little… tired earlier.”

Her father’s worsening heart condition caused its usual flurry of panic inside her. The doctor had increased his medication last week but Faith worried about him constantly. He was seventy-four and looking every one of those years. She’d already lost one parent. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing another.

“You think he might be up to meeting Raf?”

Faith frowned. “Meet Raf?”

“He has a proposal he thinks your dad might be interested in.”

“A proposal?” She looked from one to the other. Mercy looked excited, her dark eyes shining but Faith had a very bad feeling. Pop had a real soft spot for Mercy but she tried to keep the stress of decision making off her father’s shoulders as much possible these days.

“I own a string of successful micro-breweries in Australia and New Zealand. Small scale, boutique beers that kind of thing but I have a product I want to go global with. It’s called Baron lager and I want to start by launching in the US market which is why I’d like to talk to your father about the possibility of putting it on tap here for a trial period.”

Faith blinked.
What the fuck?
“You want to launch an
Australian lager
here in
Brooklyn
, in an
Irish
pub?”

“Yes.” He smiled and if she hadn’t been feeling so utterly confused and, frankly, horrified, Faith may well have been swept off her feet. “Of course I’d be here to keep a close eye on how it’s going during the trial. I wouldn’t expect you guys to do all the heavy lifting. Do you think he’ll be amenable to meeting with me?”

Rafael, here? Keeping a close eye on things? Looking like that and smiling like that and wanting to put an
Australian
beer into Sullivan’s?

Messing with
tradition?

It would kill her father for sure.

And God only knew what would become of her with him in such close proximity. No,” she said. “No, he would not.”

‡

T
here was silence
for a moment or two during which Raf looked at her again with that little line between his brows like he was trying to figure her out.