Enticing the Elf (Elf Magic #2)

Chapter One

Dáithí

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

The elevator doors open, the same way they do a million times every day, and I give myself a second to finish sending the email memo telling staff that the hallways are not to be used for putt-putt golf.

Not that I think office golf is a bad idea—I took part in the last tournament myself, and placed very respectably.

But Steffen got antsy at the sight of all the golf clubs and balls, calling them “thinly disguised cudgels and projectile weapons,” so I promised to send the email.

Steffen’s not always easy to deal with, but he’s one of my favorite people.

Hitting Send, I look up and do a double take.

Speak of the devil… though it’s not actually Steffen, it’s his twin brother who I didn’t even know existed until a few years ago.

I tried to find out what was up with that but very quickly hit a wall of silence that, in my experience, means something’s classified.

As the receptionist at the Dragon-Elf Alliance, and prior to that the Keeper of Time for the King of the Elves—same thing, different name—I’m great at recognizing the difference between “don’t want to say” and “can’t say because it’s classified. ”

I smile and say, “Ronan, right? Brandt said you were coming in. Take a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.

” I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I refuse to acknowledge his presence.

It’s the first time he’s been in the office all week, and I’ve been waiting for this chance to show him how pissed I am.

“Thank you.” Ronan’s voice is hoarse, but he clears his throat and smiles back at me. I blink, disconcerted. His face is identical to Steffen’s, and Steffen never smiles.

As Ronan turns away, Eoin glares suspiciously at his back, and indignation mixes with my simmering anger.

How dare he stand there with his arms crossed, all judgy of someone Brandt personally introduced to me?

Does he think he knows better than Brandt?

How dare he even breathe the same air as me after what he did?

I snap, “What’s your problem? Stop loitering in my space and go pretend you do some work around here.”

Eoin’s brow rises, but he doesn’t say anything. Or leave, damn him.

“Ugh!” I throw up my hands in exasperation, then grab the spray bottle of water I keep on the desk and give him a few good spritzes. It’s incredibly satisfying.

“Hey!” Eoin steps back fast, hands up in defense against the water. “Quit that!”

“Serves you right. Now get the mop and clean up that mess, then get to work,” I order.

He knows I’ll spray him again if he doesn’t, but this time with the other bottle.

The one with the bespelled water that will make him itch for the rest of the day.

I may not be as big and muscled as a lot of the people here, but I know how to maintain order in the office.

Eoin knows the regular bottle was the only warning he’ll get.

He gives me a flat look, but fetches the mop from the utility closet and swabs the wet spot on the floor. I keep one eye on him but pretend he doesn’t exist.

The security gate opens, and Steffen steps out. Ronan, who I’d forgotten was here, goes to meet him. Seeing them together is a little trippy—the clothes and hair are the only way to tell them apart, unless you count Steffen’s scowl.

Ronan smiles at me again, then follows Steffen through the security gate, and I focus all my attention on the screen in front of me. I am alone. There is nobody else here. Certainly not a six-foot-tall warrior hottie who smashed my heart to pieces.

Okay, not my heart. Nobody who’s heard the stories of Eoin’s past could think their heart would be safe with him. Eoin’s known for being a good time, not a long time, and I’d never get into anything with him expecting a commitment.

But definitely my pride was smashed. My ego. My weekly budget. Manscaping and new clothes for a hot date are expensive, and the price doesn’t change just because the date turns out to be not-so-hot.

From the corner of my eye, I see nobody put the mop away and come to stand beside my desk.

I pretend to be reading an email. Dammit, why won’t the phone ring?

The thing never fucking stops when there’s a bunch of people waiting, but right now, when I would desperately welcome all four lines lighting up, it’s silent.

“Dáithí…” He pitches his voice low, coaxing. Or he would if he existed. Which he does not. “Come on, Dáithí. You can’t just ignore me forever.”

If he really believes that, he’s got a very rude awakening coming his way.

Sure, I can’t ignore him professionally, but that doesn’t mean I have to chat with him.

I’ll put through calls and coordinate visitors and do all the other things I take care of for everyone in the office, but that’s it.

No more special coffee orders, no more flirty notes, no more favors.

He has a weakness for Double-Stuff Oreos, but I’m no longer ordering them for the break room. It’s back to the boring cookies.

“Dáithí, please. Just let me explain. How can I explain when you won’t even look at me?”

The nerve! I turn on him. “Explain? Explain?!” My voice rises. “There is no explaining!”

“I swear there is,” he pleads, looking at me with those big, chocolate-colored eyes that used to give me butterflies but don’t anymore. Nope. Nuh-uh. “Please? I’m so sorry, but I swear, there’s an explanation.”

I sniff. “Oh, really? You can explain, can you? Go on, then.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Explain why you flirted with me, made me think you were interested. Why you asked me out and promised me a good time. Why I turned up to the restaurant”—after many preparations—“and found you’d pre-ordered an expensive bottle of wine and hors d’oeuvres for us…

but you weren’t there. You never showed.

And you stuck me with the check!” That’s the part that burns the most. I was excited when I arrived and found he’d gone to such trouble.

I accepted a glass of wine and waited, sure he’d be there any minute…

any second now… surely he was about to walk in the door?

I even tried calling, convinced he must be on his way, stuck in traffic.

But he never showed, and eventually, humiliated and infuriated by the pitying looks from other diners and the servers, I got up to leave.

Only for the manager to cringe as she presented me with the bill.

Another expense my budget wasn’t prepared for.

At least she had the heart to let me take the bottle of wine and hors d’oeuvres with me.

She even slipped in a big slice of chocolate mousse cake for me to eat at home, in my underwear, alone, between swigs of rich red wine that cost more than I usually spend on a whole meal.

“They charged you?” In his defense—no, Dáithí, no defense!—he sounds outraged. “They made me leave a credit card on file! I thought… I am so sorry. I’ll pay you back. How much was it?” He’s already reaching for his wallet.

The figure I name is double what it actually cost, and he pauses, shooting me a suspicious look, but then hands over the cash anyway. I guess he feels guilty. I can live with that—I got my balls waxed, and he didn’t bother to turn up.

“I swear, I would have been there if I could,” he says earnestly, putting his wallet away.

“Got kidnapped, did you? Locked in someone’s basement?” I look him up and down. “Pity they didn’t keep you for a while longer. Maybe hit you with a pipe a few times.”

There’s a sharp inhalation, and we both spin to see a wide-eyed woman in a business suit standing on the other side of the reception desk. I didn’t even hear her come in.

“Good morning,” I greet with a professional smile. “Welcome to the DEA. How can I help you today?”

She looks from me to Eoin and back again. I think she’s a shifter, but she could be a succubus. Sometimes I can’t tell right away. “I… uh… I don’t want to interrupt.”

I wave off her concern. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He was just about to explain why he led me on, asked me out, and then stood me up at a fancy restaurant.”

Her eyes narrow. “Forget the pipe, someone needs to hit him with a car.”

Shifter, then. Probably a hellhound. They tend to overreact. Eoin clears his throat uncomfortably.

“I bought new clothes and everything,” I tell her, and because she’s clearly on my wavelength, she instantly understands what “everything” entails.

“Oh, honey,” she commiserates. “A man like that is not worth your time. No matter how pretty he looks, you can do so much better. I have some cousins with good jobs and all their hair—they’d bow down and worship me if I set them up with a guy like you.”

I bask in the compliment—and a little in Eoin’s growl. That’s right, buddy—I have options. I am a hot commodity.

“That’s so sweet of you. Stop by on your way out, and I’ll make sure you have my number,” I promise. “But for now, I don’t want to make you late.”

She smirks at Eoin—who glowers back—before saying, “I have an appointment with Maire in accounting.”

“Let me just— Oh, here she is.” I take my finger off the switchboard as Maire comes through the security gate.

“I thought you might be chatting to Dáithí,” she says. “He’s so easy to talk to, isn’t he?”

“A complete delight,” my new friend agrees, and I smile at them both. I am delightful.

They go off toward the meeting rooms, and I turn back to Eoin. “You were saying how you were chained up by a madman and beaten with a pipe.”

A tiny smile teases his lips. “Not quite. I got called to work.”

I wait, but that seems to be it. “You got called to work.”

“Yes.”

“And a dog ate your phone so you couldn’t call me?

And then it ate all the phones of everyone on your team, so you couldn’t borrow one?

” I understand that being in charge of the king’s personal security is complicated, and I know he often gets called in unexpectedly.

I’ve seen him and others on his team coming back into the office after leaving for the day, or I’ve gotten here in the morning and found them straggling in after an emergency kept them busy all night.

It’s part of why I keep the break room so well-stocked.

If he’d called to tell me he had to work and needed a rain check, it would have been fine.

Disappointing, sure, but I would have just changed clothes and ordered takeout.

After all, despite all the flirting and sweet words, it’s not like I expected this to turn into anything more than a few hot nights.

Leaving me sitting at the restaurant, though? Not okay.

“I couldn’t.” He grimaces. “It sounds like I’m making excuses, but I swear, Dáithí, I’m not.

There are times when we get a call and immediately have to go offline.

If I’d already been with you when the call came, I would have had to leave without explaining why.

It doesn’t happen a lot, but it does happen sometimes.

It was just shitty luck that Saturday was one of those times.

” He runs his hand through his silky dark hair.

He cut it super short not long after we moved here, but that didn’t last long.

Since then, it’s been a gorgeous, touchable chin-length.

“I couldn’t even tell you this much until today. ”

I eye his repentant, pleading expression. He seems genuine. And fuck knows, I want to relent and give him another chance, if he’s telling the truth.

“You know there are ways for me to check on this story? I have sources.”

He nods. “I know. And I fully expect you to. If you need time to think about it, I’m okay with that. But please, please believe there is no way I would ever have stood you up if I didn’t have to.” He leans forward. “I’ve been waiting months to taste you. I’m starving for you.”

Well, now. That’s more like it.

“Get to work. I need to think this over.”

“But you believe me?”

“I believe that I’m going to ask around and confirm your story.”

“Dáithí—”

I pick up the other water bottle, the red one. Usually I only need to use it on dragons, who forget this is a professional government office and think they can get around my warnings. Elves aren’t delusional like that, and Eoin backs away with his hands up.

“Okay, I’m going. Take all the time you need.”

I watch him walk away—because who could resist—and when he reaches the security gate, he glances back, catching me.

The bastard winks. “Take as much time as you need,” he repeats, “to think of me. All of me.”

Well played.

As he disappears into the office proper, I take a minute to send some sneaky messages, feeling people out about what happened on Saturday.

By noon, I’m convinced that he was telling the truth.

And then, late in the afternoon, a courier arrives. “Delivery for… uh… D-Da…”

I take pity on the poor human kid and glance at the clipboard he thrusts toward me. “Oh, that’s me. It’s Dáithí.”

“Dory?”

“No. But thanks for trying.” I’ve been assured there are people on Earth who do know how to pronounce my name, but if they live in this country, I’ve yet to find one.

The boy slinks away, and I regard the glittery gold gift bag he left behind. Red tissue paper is exploding from the top in a luxurious froth. There’s a little white envelope dangling from one handle, and I tug it free and pull out the card.

Dáithí—

Last week I heard you say you’d kiss a cockroach if it would bring you chocolate. Put these on my account. I look forward to feeding them to you one by one.

Eoin

A grin spreads across my face. Well, now. A man who listens to the important things.

Inside the bag, I find a box from the gourmet chocolatier two blocks away, the one I can’t afford. Definitely not for a dozen gorgeous truffles that are begging me to take a bite.

I pop one into my mouth and moan as the chocolate melts on my tongue, my tastebuds flooded with hints of cinnamon and rum.

Okay. A man who grovels like this might deserve a second chance.

Especially since it wasn’t really his fault he fucked up in the first place.

I grab my phone, take a photo of the chocolates with one missing, and send it to him.

Your account has been opened.