Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1) (7 page)

I choked slightly as Byron raised up his glass in greeting. Don’t blush, Integrity.  I raised my fake champagne to him and offered a distant smile. Then I caught the bartender’s attention and engaged him in a conversation about the weather. I didn’t look into the mirror again.

It didn’t take the three Sidhe girls long to make their first advance. The prettiest one waltzed up and, although I didn’t see what she did, her voice was loud enough to make it clear that her approach was welcome. In less time than it took the bartender to pour me another drink, her two friends joined in, pulling over chairs and simpering. I remained aloof. If he liked the chase, then that’s what he’d get.

I let a tiny Mona Lisa smile play around my lips. I was mysterious and interesting. And bloody uncomfortable sitting in this dress. There was a spot on my back where my bra strap was rubbing against the zip. It was very itchy and very annoying but interesting, mysterious women don’t do contortions in public to give themselves a damn good scratch. I twitched my shoulders but it wasn’t going away. That was okay though. I could saunter my way to the bathroom – drawing attention to myself along the way – and take care of it there.

Nodding my intention to the bartender, I slung my bag over my shoulder, then carefully descended from the stool. The door to the restroom was in the far corner. Perfect: I’d have no choice but to walk past Byron’s table. I flipped my hair over my shoulder again and strutted off.

The Cockney guy who’d approached me before glowered in my direction. This time I gave him a sweet smile, filled with sultry promise. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. Then I tilted up my chin and walked past Byron, the Sidhe girls and his entourage, telling myself that this would be a really bad time to trip and fall flat on my arse.

When I eventually made it to the safety of the bathroom, I immediately found the itchy spot and moaned in satisfaction as I scratched it.

There was a muted flash of light and Bob’s booming voice floating up from my bag. ‘Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing,’ he said.

I cursed and unzipped the bag. ‘How did you get out?’ I complained. ‘I thought you had to wait until I rubbed the blade.’

Bob thrust his hips forward. ‘Uh Integrity, you can rub my blade any time.’

Oh for Pete’s sake. I started to zip the bag closed again but he made a good show of protesting. ‘Oh come on! That’s not fair! Until you take all three wishes, I can appear whenever I want to, okay?’

That certainly didn’t sound right. ‘I thought I was your owner.’

‘You are! But if you’re going to keep ignoring what a wonderful opportunity you have with these wishes, then I’m going to keep appearing to remind you of what you’ve got.’

‘Until I give you back to the guy who owned you originally,’ I said shortly.

A crafty expression crossed Bob’s face. He held up his miniscule index finger and gave me a shit-eating grin. ‘He never cleaned the dagger. I never appeared to him.’

‘So?’ I asked sourly.

‘You don’t know much about genies, do you, Uh Integrity? I’m yours until you take the wishes. You can give me away, hide me in a drawer, drop me in the ocean if you like. I’ll still come back to you.’ He gave me jazz hands. Actual jazz hands. ‘It’s magic!’

I stared down at him. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘It is! Try it. Go on. Try it.’ He craned his neck upwards, glee in his eyes. ‘We’re in the ladies room? Please try it, Uh Integrity! Leave me here! I love being in the ladies room!’

‘You’re disgusting.’

He beamed at me. ‘Thanks.’

‘What happened to your begging me on hands and knees to keep you around?’

He gave an indolent shrug. ‘Twenty-four hour cooling-off period.’

‘What?’

‘You get twenty-four hours after picking me up to change your mind. That passed, oooh, about thirty minutes ago.’

I gritted my teeth. I should have dumped him the second I realised what he was.

‘In my experience,’ Bob continued, ‘this generally goes better when the owner thinks they’re in control and making all the decisions. I like you though. I can tell you’re a bit different.’ He winked as if he were paying me a wonderful compliment. Or softening the blow. ‘Now tell me, who are you trying to impress? I can help. I’m good at true love wishes. Sometimes. Okay, almost never. But I can still help. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘Never you mind,’ I told him as the door opened and one of the Sidhe girls strolled in. She gave me a funny look; she probably thought I was holding a conversation with myself. There certainly wasn’t a trace of fear in her expression so she didn’t recognise me. It was a relief to know that my face wasn’t plastered on Wanted posters all over the Clanlands.

I snapped the bag shut and firmly zipped it. There was a muffled squawk of irritation from Bob, which I covered with a cough. I gave her an airy smile.

‘I was drinking a glass of champagne,’ I told her, ‘when I heard someone say hello. Then I realised it had to be the drink talking.’

Her mouth fell open slightly as my feeble joke sailed right over her head. She looked me up and down and edged away. ‘Are you from Macquarrie Clan?’

‘No. Why do you ask?’

She shook her head. ‘No reason.’ She backed quickly into one of the stalls and firmly closed the door. I shrugged and walked back out. There will always be haters.

This time, when I walked back past their table, I fixed on the handsome dimpled Sidhe who was sitting next to Byron. He caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back slowly. His eyes danced. Yahtzee. I continued to saunter past and, just for a moment, there was a brief lull in the conversation. Well, well, well. It appeared I was already getting somewhere.

I jumped awkwardly back onto my bar stool and smiled at the bartender. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What do you know about the Macquarrie Clan?’

He opened his mouth but was forestalled by a smooth voice from behind. ‘Other than the fact that insanity runs in their family?’

I glanced round, my gaze falling on none other than Byron himself. ‘Insanity, huh?’ I murmured. ‘That makes sense.’

The corners of his chiselled lips lifted . ‘I’m Byron,’ he said.

I gave a tiny smile back. ‘I know.’

His emerald green eyes laughed at me. ‘Then you’re at an unfair advantage. Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?’

My tongue darted out and wet my lips. His eyes followed the movement and I felt a frisson of unexpected lust in my belly. That was quite enough of that, I told myself firmly. I sniffed. ‘I’m here incognito,’ I told him quietly. ‘I could tell you…’

‘But then you’d have to kill me?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m a pacifist. But, yeah, at the very least I’d have to tie you up in a room somewhere while I made my escape.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ he murmured. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Don’t bother, mate,’ grunted the Cockney, appearing at my other side in a bid to get the bartender’s attention. ‘She’s not interested.’

Perfect timing. I waved a hand in the air. ‘He’s right,’ I said cheerfully. ‘You should go back to your friends. I’m just enjoying a quiet drink.’

Byron folded his arms so that his biceps bulged. I wondered how many times he’d practised
that
move in the mirror. ‘Right now,’ he drawled, ‘it’s far more interesting here.’ He gestured to the stool next to me. ‘May I sit down?’

I did my best to look nonchalant. ‘It’s a free country.’

He sat down. My dress was already riding high again but, to Byron’s credit, his eyes didn’t once drift downwards. I caught a whiff of spicy aftershave that almost did me in. Then I remembered what he was really like and what I was here for.

‘I’m surprised that you’re not aware of the Macquarrie Clan’s reputation,’ he commented. ‘It’s well advertised across the Sidhe world.’

That throwaway observation meant that he didn’t recognise me from our encounter in the Bull’s palace all those years before. It had lasted only a few seconds so that wasn’t completely surprising but it meant that, despite my white hair and eye colour, he hadn’t connected me to my father. He’d pegged me as one of the lower-class Sidhe, probably from a minor Clan. My chances of success had just quadrupled.

‘I don’t get out much,’ I told him. Then I crossed my legs. It was deliberately calculated body language to give off the vibe that I wasn’t interested. ‘Hard to get’ would win the day.

Byron beckoned the bartender, who’d finished serving the annoying Cockney. He gave a deferential bob of his head and poured him a neat whisky without asking what he’d like. I guessed that this wasn’t Byron’s first evening here. And he probably took a different girl home with him every night. As long as I was that girl tonight, nothing else mattered.

‘One for the lady too,’ he purred. ‘But make it the really good stuff.’

Shite. ‘I’m good with what I have.’

‘I’m sure it’s nice. I happen to know, however, that there are wonderful vintage bottles in the cellar. They only bring them out on special occasions.’

The last thing I wanted was for the bartender to pop a cork right in front of us. ‘Well,’ I said lightly, ‘this occasion isn’t that special.’

Byron’s eyebrows shot up. ‘In that dress? I’d say it was very special.’

Watch it, I thought. You’re verging on sleazy now. ‘I’m not wearing this because I’m looking for attention,’ I said, coolly. ‘I’m wearing it because I like it.’

His eyes glittered. ‘You like hot pink?’ he asked, emphasizing the word ‘hot’ so it was laden with innuendo.

‘I do,’ I replied, irritation flashing down my spine.

Byron appeared amused. ‘Then make that bottle pink champagne, Timothy,’ he instructed the bartender, who nodded again and walked off, no doubt to the famed cellar. So much for my bribe then. I had to admit, though, that it was interesting Byron had taken the time to learn the man’s name. I hadn’t.

If I protested any more, I’d end up going too far. Beaten for now – at least in the alcoholic stakes – I caved. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

His eyes held mine. ‘You can thank me later.’

I shivered. ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘I’ll thank you now.’

Byron threw back his head and laughed. ‘Very well. Thank me by telling me your name.’

I turned back towards him, deliberately relaxing my posture as if I were warming to him. Which I most definitely wasn’t. He was a wanker who’d once treated me as if I were a piece of dirt. He’d called me pathetic. Well, I wasn’t so pathetic now. I was going to wrap him round my little finger, take from him exactly what I wanted, and then never, ever see him again. ‘What would you like it to be?’

He reached out and placed his hand on my bare arm. His touch seared my skin and, involuntarily, I jerked away. That wasn’t in the script. ‘Tell me,’ he repeated.

I hadn’t had a name when he knew of me before and the best lies are those that are wrapped around the truth. Deciding it wouldn’t do any harm, I told the truth. ‘Integrity.’

‘Interesting name.’ He leaned forward. ‘So, Integrity, do you live up to it? Are you honest and morally upright?’

‘If I wasn’t, would I admit it?’ I asked. Both of us were amping up the flirtation. It was faster than I’d have liked but I had to follow his lead. I had to make sure I didn’t screw this up.

He laughed again. ‘I guess not.’ He reached out again, this time taking my hands. I managed not to flinch. His thumb stroked the centre of my palm in a manner that was too familiar for someone I’d just met. Damn, but he was good. ‘You have very soft skin,’ he told me.

‘Actually, I have eczema all over my chest,’ I said with a straight face.

For the first time he appeared taken aback. ‘Really? That’s awful.’

‘Yes.’ I cast my eyes down and tried to look sad. ‘I have a cracking pair of tits.’

For a horrifying heartbeat I thought I’d completely misjudged the moment. Then Byron’s eyes crinkled and he laughed again. Without taking his eyes off my face, he purred, ‘I can’t disagree with that.’

I winked saucily just as Timothy returned with the bottle. Without so much as a flicker of apology for breaking our earlier deal, he presented the label to me. I swallowed. That was seriously expensive stuff. I gave a tiny nod – what else could I do – and he pulled out the cork in an expert motion. Without spilling a drop, he filled my glass.

I murmured my thanks and sipped. Although champagne wasn’t my usual tipple, this was damned good. ‘Aren’t you having any?’ I asked.

‘I’m more of a Scotch man myself.’ His eyes danced. ‘Even if whisky does make me frisky.’

I sucked in a breath. I opened my mouth to match his comment with one of my own when one of the other giggly Sidhe girls elbowed her way between us. ‘Your highness!’ she cooed. ‘Why don’t you come back and join us?’

I caught a flash of annoyance in Byron’s emerald green eyes. Then he turned to her and smiled. ‘There’s no need to be so formal,’ he said to her. ‘Call me Byron.’

Her mouth parted and she licked her lips. She moved away from me so I was presented with her back and started to regale him with an anecdote about her girlfriends and another local bar. It wasn’t particularly interesting; besides I was prepared for competition. She was too young and too eager. I knew he’d get rid of her before long. And I could play this game too.