Chapter Two
Patrick Adair was not noticing much about the crowd as he walked along quickly. His head was full of numbers, of appointments and other important minutiae for the running of his life and his business; two things that he usually thought of as one.
When he glimpsed to the two idiots on the street corner tussling back and forth, he had only scowled, making an automatic circle around them. Then as he had ventured closer, he could see that it wasn't another punk that they were beating up.
Instead, he caught a flash of black hair, the gleam of black eyes. It was a woman they were manhandling, and even as he moved forward to break the fight up, he heard a sad mewling sound go up around a hand clapped to a mouth.
Patrick would not have called himself a sentimental man, but for some reason, that sound went straight through him, striking at his heart and making what had started out as an irritation rise up to a towering rage.
He grabbed the first punk that he could reach, and with a strength born of long hours at the gym and a great deal of time spent working on his early properties, he tore him off of the girl.
Patrick could see her large black eyes open wide at his intrusion, but he didn't have time to remark on anything else before he reached for the other one. This one he swung straight to the curb, and he gave him an extra kick for good measure.
The two seemed eager to rabbit down the street. For a moment, Patrick thought about giving chase, but instead he turned to the girl he had freed from them.
"They're getting away," she hissed in an unmistakably American accent, and when she looked as if she might run after them all on her own, he grabbed her by the shoulder and held her still.
"Not for long," he said. "I have their descriptions, and I'll make sure that the police get it. I think we can make sure those two think very hard before they do anything like that again. Are you all right?"
For a moment, it looked as if the girl was going to shake him off and go chasing after her tormentors.
While he held her back, Patrick took the opportunity to scan her up and down. She looked uninjured, fortunately, but judging from the rather tattered black dress she wore, she had seen some better times. She was curvy in a way that grabbed the eye, and her thick black hair struggled to escape her hair tie, leaving long strands to frame her smooth face. Perhaps most remarkable were her eyes, a liquid limpid black. Right now, those eyes were sharp with fury, but some part of Patrick couldn't help but imagine what they might look like if they were hot with passion instead.
She sighed, a soft and gusty sound.
"Not like I can do much about them even if I did catch up with them, I guess," she said ruefully. "Thanks. I mean it. Most people weren't going to step in, and you did a lot more than step."
Patrick couldn't help chuckling a little at her odd turn of phrase.
"I like to think that I can be useful here and there. And what about you? Are you hurt? Did they strike you about the head?
"No, I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. "It's just that, damn it, I was going to close a sale before those two assholes stepped in."
Patrick looked around, but he couldn't see anything that she might have been selling.
"A sale?" he asked, beginning to suspect that her business might not be altogether savory. She looked almost achingly young, and for a moment, he had a pang of misguided panic. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to get away from her or to take her to the nearest police station for help of some kind.
She blinked those large dark eyes at him, and then she looked horrified.
"Oh... Oh God! No, no, I'm not selling myself... or at least, not the way you mean. Here, look."
Patrick was prepared to flinch back when she reached into her bag, but then he frowned when he saw the tattered pack of tarot cards in her hands.
"You were reading fortunes?"
"I was," she said, shaking her head. "I had a woman on the line and I think she was going to bite, but then those two jerks showed up. Just my luck, I guess."
Patrick took another look at the girl in front of him. How young was she really?
"So... are you hungry?" he asked hesitantly.
Patrick was a wealthy man, and he had had more plays for his heart strings than he could begin to count. However, there was something so forthright about this girl that he could not imagine that this was a ploy for his sympathy. When he made his offer, she looked at him warily.
"Um, really, I just read fortunes," she said cautiously, and Patrick could have slapped his forehead.
"I could treat you to a meal, and you could read my fortune. How about that?" he asked.
For a moment, Patrick wondered if she was actually going to turn him down. Socialites all over Europe would have shoved each other into traffic to get a dinner invitation with him, and this young girl on the street — who seemed to have little more than a deck of tarot cards to her name — was looking at him as if she was wondering if she had anything better to do.
"Just dinner in exchange for a tarot reading?" she asked suspiciously. "Nothing weird or gross?"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Not at all, I promise you. Just a place that does an excellent shepherd's pie and some very good cider. How does that sound? Fair enough for a reading?"
There was a moment when it looked like the girl was going turn him down, and then he was looking straight into her eyes and her into his. Patrick was a man of logic, but he would never be able to understand the spark that flew between them at that moment. It was bright, hot and immediate, and for a second it took Patrick's breath away.
The girl seemed equally affected, her black eyes wide, and then she nodded slowly.
"All right. What the hell. Lead the way then."
***
Natalie wondered what the hell she was doing. The man in the cashmere coat led the way with a kind of assurance that made her think of captains of industry and court officials, but that didn't mean that she had to follow him.
She wondered if she was still in shock after her near miss. She knew that those two punks had unsavory plans for her, and the fact that someone had stepped in and decided to help her rather than look away was incredible.
"What's your name?"
She looked up in surprise. They had stopped at a crosswalk, and as they waited the man turned towards her, one dark eyebrow raised. He was almost shockingly good looking, she realized. His hair was as dark as soot, and his eyes were a bright blue. He stood at least six feet tall with a broadness to his shoulders that she suspected came from more than just repetitions at the gym. There was something about this man that said that he was used to hard work, and nearly against her will, she found herself warming to him a little.
"Oh, my name is Natalie, Natalie Rook. What's your name?"
"Patrick Adair," he said, and she wondered if it was a name she should recognize. But before she could figure out where she might have heard that name before, he was speaking again.
"I should have asked before, but are you all right? Truly all right? That could not have been an enjoyable experience for you."
"Well, I doubt that it would have been an enjoyable experience for anyone," she retorted. "Stop looking at me as if I’m fragile. Believe me, I’m not."
He chuckled, and she stiffened, ready to defend her actions, but there was an admiring tone to it.
"I believe you," he said. "Anyone selling fortunes in Dublin for spare change must be made of fairly stern stuff. I wouldn't want to do it."
"What do you do instead?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Do you really not know?"
"Wouldn't have asked if I did," she said rather pertly, and he laughed again.
For such a big man, he was quickness incarnate. One hand came out and ghosted gently over her cheek. The touch was gentle, but they could both feel the lingering electricity there; the sense that there was a connection there that would not allow itself to be ignored. She felt herself gasp, but he was already stepping back, leading her into the intersection that was now green in their favor.
"You know, I think I am going to keep that to myself," he said with a slight chuckle. "It'll let me see if you have any skill with those cards of yours."
"I think the cards know more than I do," she said with a shrug, catching up to him. "Sometimes, I've pulled things out that are so correct that they startle me."
"Ah, do you have a touch of the sight then?"
"Not me," she said right away. "And I'm not going to bullshit you either and say that I can see beyond the veil or something, because I most certainly do not."
"Honest of you," he observed. "I would have thought that you had a whole spiel about your gifts and talents."
"Oh, I'm gifted and talented," she said with a slight grin. "I'm a pretty quick study, I tend to land on my feet and I'm a terrifically hard worker when I trust the people I am working for. However, seeing ghosts and fairies and having an insight into the future... not so much."
She shrugged, slightly embarrassed to be caught declaring her own good traits, but she wasn't going to take anything back. "After all, if I could see the future, maybe I wouldn't be trying to read tarot cards in the street to get a place at the local hostel."
He looked at her in surprise.
"You're trying to find a place to sleep tonight?" he asked, and she winced.
"Look, I promise, that was not some kind of ploy for pity, all right? Not your problem. You already did me a good turn when you fended off those assholes. Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."
He looked at her more thoughtfully than she might have liked, but then they were at the pub that he had told her about.
It was by no means shabby, but it was not a club that she guessed a man like Patrick Adair would frequent. Just looking at him, she might have guessed at some low-light spot with delicate music being played from a dais, with small plates at high prices being served.
Instead, this was an old-fashioned pub, ornamented only with dark wood that had likely been there for decades if not centuries. It was located in the basement of some far larger building, and there were dark and cozy booths set along the walls.
The menu was brief and uncommunicative, and when Natalie glanced at Patrick, she saw that he had not bothered to open it at all.
"This is Molly's," he said easily. "If you're here and you can eat meat, you get the shepherd's pie."
"Well, I do like meat," she admitted, and ordered the same.
While she’d eaten shepherd's pie before, whatever Natalie tasted in the past paled in comparison to the dish that came out. The top of the pie was creamy mashed potatoes with a brown, savory and salty crust to it, and the meat and vegetables beneath were fragrant and beautifully roasted, all soaked in a dark gravy that nearly made her moan.
Across the table, Patrick was eating his own pie as she made short work of hers. The look in his eyes was amusement, but she didn't think it was particularly cruel or mean-spirited.
"That's about how I reacted the first time I came here," he said, and she looked up from the savory meal to blink at him slowly.
"Oh really?" she asked. "And now?"
"Well, now I know I can come here whenever I like, and that they like me well enough that I can get shepherd's pies delivered if I am working late. They're still delicious, but I don't necessarily worry that every one is going to be my last anymore."
They ate in companionable silence, and Natalie felt a part of her relax that had not relaxed in a very long time. God, how long had it been since she was in a decent restaurant, speaking normally and eating a meal that wasn't picked up from a convenience store? The answer was ‘too long,’ but there was a part of her that was oddly proud of that.
Joe would never have thought that she had lasted this long, and if she were honest, she would have been surprised at her own daring as well. A lot had changed over the last four months, she supposed.
Finally, the waitress cleared away the food, leaving them with tall glasses of water after they both declined anything stronger.
"Well?" asked Patrick with a smile, "Are you going to regale me with your prowess?"
In response, she pulled out the cards she kept in her purse, shuffling them thoroughly and then setting them down for Patrick to cut. She couldn't stop herself from noticing his long, strong fingers, how gracefully they fluttered through the cards. She could still remember that gentle, ghostlike touch on her cheek and the fire that trailed after it. She wondered what it meant; she would never have called herself very passionate, but that touch alone could have fooled her.
"All right, that's cut," he said, handing the cards back to her. Coming back to herself, she laid out the fortunetelling spread that she knew best. When she looked at the cards that had come up, she raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"What is it?" he asked in amusement. "Is this where you tell me that there's a lot of misfortune, doom and gloom ahead of me? Do I need to buy a special charm from you that is going to protect me from the dark winds of destiny?"
She glanced up at him long enough to give him a withering look.
"You should know that the cards don't work like that. The fact that the card for Death is laid out only means that there is a great change in front of you, a possibility for something new and exciting. No, it's just that there are so many face cards in the spread, and so many cards from the major arcana. Those cards are kind of a big deal — they talk about big things afoot, about important people, people who change the world that they live in, if not the world itself."
"Flatterer," he said, and she shrugged.
"I'm just telling you what the cards are telling me. Let's see, where to start..."
The fortune that she ended up telling Patrick was one that might have made her hesitate in other times. Most of the fortunes that she told were small things, about love and life, promotions and small betrayals. The one that Patrick commanded seemed like something out of a story. There were several coin cards, a suite designated to wealth, and the Emperor sat at the center of it all, the greatest card for male authority and power in the deck.
By the end of it, Natalie had woven a fortune for him that wouldn't have seemed out of place for a king or a prince. When she glanced at him to see his reaction, however, he seemed more amused than anything else, so she supposed she would take it.