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Taken by the Imp
She tapped lightly. “In-room dining, Mr. Graham.”
The door opened a crack and one sky-blue eyeball stared at her. “Could you leave it out here, please?”
“No, sir.” She straightened her shoulders. “I will not allow the quality of my food to decline because you leave it out here too long.”
The door flew open.
“What did you say?”
She stared into the face of the most beautiful man she’d ever met. Like a marble statue in the Louvre, all symmetrical proportions, cheek bones to die for, a gorgeous beard and a head of golden hair that screamed for her fingers to dive into and pull his lush ruby lips to her mouth.
He’s staring at me. He heard my thoughts, my foolish, lustful feelings.
Mortified, her face blazing, she said, “Can I bring the food into your room and serve it properly, please. It’s temperature controlled.”
He smiled, bowed, and swept his hand inside. “Yes, please do come in. Can you stay and keep me company while I eat? Do you have time?”
What the heck?
“Um, sure, the dinner rush is over, and the cleaning crew is on the job, so I’m pretty open.” Why was he acting as if he hadn’t heard all her inappropriate thoughts? Was this a trick?
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” He pointed to the small kitchen. “I guess we can sit in here. Mind the cat dishes. Brutus is hiding under the bed.”
“Okay,” she pushed the cart in with her fingertip, allowing it to continue to float. What the heck. He knew what kind of place this was, didn’t he?
“Whoa. Neat trick. I wish I could do that.” He pulled up a chair. “Smells wonderful.”
Setting the table, she pointed to a wine glass. “White or red?”
“White, please.” Openly staring at her now, his gaze roamed over her face, hair, and arms, stopping at her tattoos. “Those are beautiful armbands. Are they flames?”
She nodded and continued uncovering dishes. “I’m an imp and a chef. My element is fire—specifically smokeless fire.”
“Nice.” Unlike other men, his gaze never lingered on her ample breasts. “Your hair—is it changing colors as we talk? Or is it my eyes?” He laughed. “I’m sorry I’m so curious. I mostly chat with people by computer. Lots of practice with my witty repartee—online.”
“Oh, yes, I can see that.” She shook her head and chuckled as she placed salt and pepper on the table. This guy.
“My brother tells me I have zero boundaries and even fewer people skills. It’s all so new to me. And I want to know everything.”
Charlotte Redbird, Ghost Coach
Leprechauns—Lucky in Love?
One of the fun parts about writing paranormal, supernatural, or magical stories is the research. When I wrote Charlotte Redbird, Ghost Coach, I thought I had a pretty good handle on leprechauns. After all, Ancestry.com told me I’m Irish (mostly), so that little guy on the cereal box was practically a relative. Isn’t that all I needed to know?
Um. No. I needed to know if they were as lucky in love as they are with their gold, so I had to do a little digging. Here are some fun facts about my red-headed relatives from the Emerald Isle.
• In the supernatural world, they fall into the fairy family and they live underground.
• Music and dancing—the Irish jig, of course—are their passions.
• They are usually pictured as tiny wizened old men with red beards—but some say that’s an old stereotype.
• If you can catch one, they can grant three wishes, but remember, they are tricksters!
• Iron bars can contain them. If you nab one, have an iron cage handy, otherwise they can teleport away from you!
• While we think of their job as guarding protecting pots of gold, their real vocation is shoemaking.
• They are excellent cobblers. However, they never make a pair of shoes. They only make one!
• Mustard is a great condiment for hot dogs—but the yellow sauce will also burn the skin of a leprechaun.
• It’s a good thing they have great regenerative powers to recover from mustard burns. They heal quickly and can heal others.
Are they lucky in love? I couldn’t find an answer to that question, so I made something up. You’ll have to read Charlotte Redbird, Ghost Coach, to find out. Happy reading!
|Sharon Buchbinder, Author|