Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(23)

‘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.’