Magical Midlife Madness： A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel(9)

“Twenty-three,” he answered.

“Twenty-three, what?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Twenty-three, missus.”

She nodded once. “And is this woman older than you?” She gestured to me as she said it.

“Yes. Missus!” His face flushed, and I felt mine do the same. “No offense,” he said to me.

“And you are old enough to drink, I presume?” she pressed.

“Y-yes, missus.” From his tone, it was obvious he knew where this was leading.

My face burned hotter and I reached for my purse. Poor Paul needed a safety line. He clearly didn’t have Mr. Tom’s ability to deal with the likes of Niamh. Few people probably did.

“No, no, Paul is right on the cusp of this one.” Niamh leaned a little farther over the bar. “I can see it.”

“It’s just that Austin Steele says that if the person looks under thirty-five, I’m supposed to card. And well…she does, so—”

“It’s okay, Paul.”

A deep timbre pulled my focus from the buck-toothed kid. A broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair cut close on the sides and longer on top strolled toward us on the business side of the bar. His nondescript, long-sleeved beige shirt did nothing to make him blend in—this was the kind of man who stood out, and the knowing smirk on his handsome face told me he knew it.

“I got it,” the man said.

I wanted to stare, because there was a lot of this man to admire, from his confident strut to his raw intensity to his flat stomach and powerful thighs, but I didn’t want to get caught staring. He looked about my age, so it wouldn’t be creepy or anything (at least not any more so than the usual creepiness of staring at a stranger with one’s mouth open), but he probably had a ballooned ego given how hard he clearly worked on his physique, and I didn’t want to pump more air into it. I certainly didn’t want him to think I was interested—he was out of my league. Hell, he was out of my universe. Guys like him dated models who groomed themselves and wore cute clothes and didn’t forget to brush their hair before leaving the house. I didn’t have the energy for all that. If I had a bra on, I was betting aces.

I jerked my gaze left in an effort to feign indifference.

Only, now I was looking at the wall.

I pulled it down to the bar in front of me.

Only, the kid had never handed over the wine list, so I was staring at nothing again.

“Yes, sir.” Paul said, clearly relieved.

“Niamh, good evening,” the man said, stopping in front of us and bracing his hands against the edge of the bar. His muscles flared, straining his lightweight shirt.

My battle to avoid staring wasn’t going well, although I was hopefully doing it on the sly.

“Austin Steele, how’s things? Are ye well?” Niamh said in a pleasant-enough ramble, her frosty demeanor from a moment ago melting.

“And this is?” Austin asked.

I quickly tore my gaze down to the bar again, only belatedly thinking to whip out my hand and examine my nails. At least it gave me something to look at.

“This is the new caretaker of Ivy House,” Niamh said. “Just moved in today.”

Silence met her words for a long moment.

I chanced a glance up to assess the situation.

Cobalt blue eyes beat into me like a tribal drum, his unwavering gaze piercing. The last time I’d looked, his body had been in a jaunty sort of playboy lean, but it was now braced and taut, as though he were ready for action. Thick slabs of muscle flared along his middle. The raw intensity from a moment before seemed incredibly charming compared to his current situation. He looked predatory, almost, and incredibly imposing.

Tingles washed over my scalp and crawled up my spine. This man was dangerous, and not just because of his size. Something lethal and vicious sparkled in his gaze, hidden under his rough and tumble, handsome exterior. An unpredictability that set me on edge.

“How did you get the post?” Austin finally asked.

“She got a divorce, her kid went off to school, and this was better than living with her nudist fat father.”

The scary man in front of me suddenly took a backseat to my annoyance with Diana. I turned to Niamh, my face heating up again. “Diana is such a loudmouth!”

A crooked smile worked up her face. “Diana gave the whole scoop to Peggy, who couldn’t wait to pass it on. She couldn’t stop laughing when she was telling me.”

“So she’s not a—”

“Jane?” Niamh interrupted Austin. “Oh, she’s a Jane, no question—”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I mean, sure, I’ll definitely sample the wine, but that’s because I like wine. When in Rome, as they say. That doesn’t make me a tourist. I came for a job. I’m supposed to maintain that enormous house.”

“No idea about this town at all,” Niamh went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “She needed to get out of her parents’ house, and Diana suggested this.”

I opened my mouth in defense, then closed it. What did I care what they thought? They could talk all they wanted—it really didn’t affect my situation.

“About that wine list?” I said.

“She did have a pleasant experience when she was here last, though. Ten, weren’t you, Jessie?” Niamh nudged me.

“Yeah, the house is cool. But the wine list…”

Austin turned and the muscles across his back flared with the movement. Scary or not, he was nice to look at.

He slid a laminated cocktail and wine list in front of me. “Paul, Magners with ice,” he barked. Back to talking to Niamh: “Has she explored the house?”

“She just got here this afternoon,” Niamh said. “She doesn’t know anything about the place.”

“And Earl?” Austin asked.

“He just skulks around with his dopey face, he does,” Niamh answered. “What a nuisance. No wonder the family he worked for chucked him.”

“He’s fine,” I said, feeling like I had to defend the guy. He’d made me dinner, after all, and brought it to me and everything. It had been incredibly kind of him, even if he was one of the strangest people I’d ever met. “Though what’s the deal with that cape? I’ve never seen someone wear a cape over an old tux. People don’t mysteriously go missing around him, do they?”

“It’s never mysterious,” Niamh answered. “They leave so they don’t have to listen to him.”

Some things you just couldn’t argue with.

“How’s this Pinot Noir?” I pointed at a name I didn’t recognize. “Is it like a Chianti at all?”

Austin’s gaze was still sharp, but for a wonder it softened. His frame followed, the muscles melting back into his shirt. With a sigh he straightened up. “No. It’s more like a Merlot. That’s your thing? Subtler wines?”

“For reds, yes. I was in Italy for a week and it changed my life. Why punch me in the face with your wine when you can caress me, know what I mean?”

His pupils dilated slightly, and for the briefest of moments, a look of pure, primal hunger raced across his face. It was gone so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it. My belly fluttered, only this time it wasn’t in fear.

I frowned at him, my response to the unexpected sensation.

He frowned back, probably wondering what my problem was.

Social-awkwardness, hard at work.

I dipped my eyes back to the wine list.

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly, and turned away.

“Paul, is there a reason you came in tonight?” Niamh called as Austin landed a glass in front of me.

“He just broke up with his girlfriend, give him a break,” Austin said to Niamh, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I’d give him a break if he was on the beer, fallin’ around the place, legless,” she replied. “But when he’s workin’, he needs to function.”

Austin turned with a wine bottle in hand. “You scare him.”

The red wine curled around the base of my glass and kept rising.

“Wait, wait.” I held out my hands to stop the pour, used to getting a sample taste to see if I would like it. “No, why…”

I sighed as the liquid closed in on the top of the slim glass. There was no room to swirl. I wasn’t a connoisseur, but everyone knew you had to swirl red wine so as to look mildly important. Matt had made a big thing out of it.

“Here you go.” Austin winked at me.

Paul finally handed over Niamh’s drink as I tasted the wine. It was bitter, and the vinegary punch at the end made me scrunch up my nose.

“Ugh.” I shivered, my mouth now tasting like garbage.

“That good, huh?” Niamh grinned at me.

“No, thank you.” I pushed the glass across the top of the bar. “How about a Coors?”

Austin homed in on the wine. He lifted it to his lips, the top lip a bit thinner but no less shapely than the full bottom lip, and sampled. His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with it?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You have, like, twenty tasting rooms up and down that main drag. Have you not been in them?”

He looked at me for a silent beat, as though he had a defense at the ready but couldn’t use it. “No,” he finally said.

I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s nothing. Just not my thing. I’ll go for a beer, please.”