Free Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1) by Helen Harper Page A

should check it out some time. I could take you.’
    ‘No thanks. Whatever the Lowlands hold is of no interest to me.’
    ‘Are you scared of a little Fomori demon?’
    I gave him an irritated glance. ‘Have you ever seen a Fomori demon?’
    He pouted. ‘No.’
    ‘Exactly. No one has seen a Fomori demon and no one wants to. The Fissure isn’t some cautionary tale to keep children in line, Charlie. The Fomori annexed half of Scotland.’
    ‘That was almost three hundred years ago. Who cares?’
    I rolled my eyes. I was done with this conversation. ‘You can keep your poison. I’m on my way out.’
    ‘Why go out when you can party with me here?’
    I smiled and pointed at his chin. ‘I think you’re drooling,’ I told him. Then I sauntered off, appreciating the fact that I could feel him staring after me. For good measure, I threw in a little extra hip swing. There was an audible sigh from behind. Charlie was a sleazebag for sure but I felt better knowing that my outfit was such a success.
    Thankfully, the taxi was already waiting; I didn’t like the idea of hanging around on the street looking like this. I arranged myself on the seat, running through the moves I’d need to make to attract Byron’s attention. When I’d covered various different scenarios and was confident of the possible outcomes, I finally started to relax. Maybe this could even be fun. Maybe.
    The moment the taxi pulled up outside the Astor Hotel I slipped into character, nodding imperiously at the doorman who helped me out of the car. There was a nervous moment when I realised just how high my dress was riding up on my thighs but I pulled it down in one fluid movement and strolled inside. From the looks I received from both the staff and guests milling around at the front, my plan was already working.
    Taking tiny mincing steps, I made it to the bar without falling over. Then I crooked a finger to grab the bartender’s attention and ordered a glass of champagne. Normally, of course, I drank beer but right now I was selling an image.
    It took less than three minutes for the first guy to approach me. ‘Hello there.’ His voice had a definite Cockney twang. That was surprising in itself. Most English people avoided coming to Scotland if they could possibly help it. That was due mostly to superstition about breaks in the Veil but it was also a difficult journey to make. He would have had to cross the Channel to France and then gone overland across Europe and up to Scandinavia. Flying anywhere near the Lowlands was a big no-no. Whatever was going on there caused jiggery-pokery to electrical systems. It just wasn’t worth it.
    His lip curled up in a good impersonation of Elvis. ‘I couldn’t help but notice you from my table. That’s some dress. You have good taste.’
    I flicked him a look. A human coming onto a Sidhe? That was pretty daring, even for a guy as overtly good looking as this one. ‘I do have good taste,’ I told him. ‘And that’s why I’m not interested.’
    He affected an expression of mock hurt. ‘Why so hasty?’ His gaze drifted down my body. Irritatingly, my dress had begun to wiggle back up my thighs again. It was like the damn thing had a mind of its own. ‘Nice legs. When do they open?’
    Oh, he so did not want to go there. I fixed him with my coldest look and brushed my index finger against his lips. ‘Nice mouth. When does it shut?’
    A spark flared in his eyes. ‘Wonderful! I like my women feisty.’
    When was the last time a man was called feisty? I resisted the urge to put him down further; I was here for a reason and, while I needed him to back off, I didn’t want to appear too haughty. I couldn’t see any Sidhe in the bar but that didn’t mean there weren’t already others here who were in some way related to Byron. ‘Thank you,’ I murmured, softening my smile. ‘But I’m really not looking for anything other than some peace to enjoy my drink.’ I tapped the side of my glass for emphasis