Three hundred year old Mitchell Faerigan has been chasing Clover Brady for two years, determined to make the gorgeous red head his mate. The man is skittish, but Mitchell is one determined fae. When Mitchell’s family threatens and then tries to kill Clover, all bets are off, and Mitchell claims what belongs to him. Now, he just has to convince Clover that loving him is worth the risk. And this fae is up to the challenge.
Clover Brady has a simple life running his simple antique shop and ogling the not-so-simple owner of Faerigan Cycles. Mitchell Faerigan is Clover’s dream man with his manly muscles, dark hair, and gorgeous blue eyes. He’d like nothing more than to throw himself into Mitchell’s arms and beg him to do naughty things to his body. Unfortunately, Clover is unwilling to risk his heart. He’s still recovering from the loss of his parents, and there is no way he could ever survive loving and possibly losing Mitchell. So he’ll keep his heart to himself, no matter how tempting the other man may be.
Mitchell wiped down the motorcycle, paying special attention to the chrome. This shop was his life’s blood now. He always wanted to make sure it was spotless, the bikes in particular. Men and women came from all around to buy a Mitchell Faeriegan original, and his job was to assure customers that it would be money well spent. Lots of money.
His brother Fingal sighed, and Mitchell could practically hear the man rolling his eyes. “Come on Mitch, if you rub any harder, the damn thing will need to be sent back to the chromers.”
Mitchell snorted. That was Fin, always in a hurry. He appreciated his brother helping him out, but Mitchell needed to actually hire someone. Then again, Fin’s glamour got him in good with the working men, at least those that had their eyes on the stock bikes and good credit scores.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he grumbled. A glance at his brother revealed that Fin’s attention was firmly pinned across the street, particularly on the Emerald Isles Antiques store. “Leave it be, Fin.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Fin turned to him, a mask of innocence in place. “And if I did, I’d tell you that I still think you’re wrong about that little human and that mother—”
“If mother has a problem with anything, she’ll get over it soon enough, but I think you’re looking for troubles where there aren’t any.” He grunted as he levered himself off the floor. He wasn’t old at three hundred, but spending hours bent over a motorcycle was a lot harder on his body than lounging around the fae court.
“Whatever, bro. I’m outta here. I’ll tell everyone you said ‘hi’.” With that, his brother poofed from the room.
Too bad Mitchell hadn’t remembered to remind him not to say anything to anyone about a certain someone who owned Emerald Isles. Then again, Fin had been keeping the secret for two years.
He tossed the rag he’d been using into the wash bin and went around the counter. To any outsider looking in, he was checking over the merchandise in the glass cases. To anyone who really knew Mitchell, like Fin, he was keeping an eye on the delectable man across the street.
After two years of watching and getting to know the shop owner of Emerald Isles Antiques, Mitchell had damn near had enough. No matter how hard he tried to corner the bugger, Clover Brady always managed to sneak away. Hell, one time he ran. Hard to get? Mitchell wondered if Clover wasn’t interested at all.
But then… Then he’d catch Clover staring at him through his own window with a dreamy look on his face. In Mitchell’s fantasies, Clover was thinking of him. Maybe the slim man across the street was pouring over his own fantasies and had gotten stuck in thoughts of the two of them having sex.
Mitchell shook his head. Nah. There was no way the beautiful man thought of him as anything but a friend, and even that label stretched things. No matter how hard he tried, Clover wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Lights flicking out over at Emerald Isles signaled that Clover was done for the day. Good. The man never seemed to take care of himself. Mitchell knew that Clover had been left alone when his parents died. The antique shop was all he had now, and he worked hard to hold onto it.
Now it was time for Mitchell to head home. With a smile, he clicked off the remainder of the lights in his own shop and went to check the deadbolt on the front door. On more than one occasion he’d been so caught up in admiring Clover’s ass that he’d actually forgotten to lock the front. Thank the Maker nothing had been stolen. How the hell would he have explained that to the insurance company and cops? Sorry sir, I was ogling the guy across the street…
Just as he approached the front door, Clover emerged from Emerald Isles, his bright red hair nearly glowing in the darkened night. What Mitchell wouldn’t give to run his fingers through those unruly curls. Of course, he wouldn’t stop there…
Mitchell looked his fill while Clover was none the wiser. He let his gaze linger over the seductive line of the man’s neck, allowed his attention to stray to his shoulders, and further down his slim back. The crowning glory of his perusal was Clover’s ass. Small, high, and tight, Mitchell drooled over it every time he was able to sneak a peek.
Clover would fit perfectly against him, his lean form snuggling against Mitchell’s while they lay tangled amongst the sheets. They’d make love—never fuck—all night, and then he’d curl alongside Mitchell as they drifted off to sleep.
His cock hardened within the confines of his worn jeans, thickening and lengthening beneath the soft cotton. Yeah, Clover got to him something fierce. Reaching down, he palmed his hardness, squeezing and enjoying the small shiver that slithered up his spine. He stroked himself through the material, letting himself take a small measure of pleasure from the action before forcing his hand away. He wasn’t gonna stand in his shop window and rub one out to Clover like some pervert.
“But you are a pervert.” The mocking, feminine voice had his cock deflating in an instant.
Mitchell leaned his head against the cool glass and let the frigid temperature seep through his blood. They were nearly on top of winter, the nights growing colder, and he could really use the chill to get his body under control.
“Hello, Mother.” He was going to ignore her “pervert” comment and the fact that the woman still thought it was okay to pluck thoughts from her children’s minds.
“Well, if you would learn how to shield from me properly, you wouldn’t have to worry about me digging around.” His mom sniffed.