Free Love's Eternal Embrace by Karen Michelle Nutt Page A

but his gaze softened. He
gave her a nod. “As the story goes, a man by the name of Thomas was
the one to wrestle it away. He was quick-witted and managed to
outsmart a leprechaun.”
    “I thought leprechauns were known to keep
pots of gold.” She knew her Irish lore. She kept a large volume of
the legends on the bookshelf in her office.
    “And so they do, among other treasures. Now,
Thomas, being a smart man of twenty, knew the box be of more
valuable than gold. It was a magic box with the ability to find
one’s soul mate, but only if one was worthy.
    Aubrey glanced at the box again. It was no
more than six inches by twelve. “I hope the soul mate doesn’t
appear in the box.”
    Mr. O’Grady’s warm chuckle vibrated from his
chest. “You’re a real corker, Miss Jules. The box doesn’t conjure
up a soul mate. It’s sort of a mailbox to the wee folk who grant
the wishes. You write what it is you be wanting in a soul mate.
Then you place the note in the box and close the lid. You must
chant the words and if you open the lid and your slip of paper is
gone; your wish will be granted.”
    “Just like that, like in that moment, in a
week, or what?”
    “The wee folk have no concept of time. It
could be a day or a few weeks, but you’ll be knowing when the magic
is there.”
    “Mmm-hmm.” She wasn’t convinced. It was all
too convenient that the wee folk could decide whenever they pleased
to grant the wish. “What are the carvings down the side?”
    “That’s the ancient writing. Ogham, a prayer
of sorts.”
    “May I photograph you holding the box?” Her
hand slipped into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out her
digital camera.
    “To be sure.” He held the box up for her,
blinking as the flash went off.
    “So, was Thomas granted his wish?” she asked,
curiosity getting the best of her.
    “Oh aye, he wished for a woman with charm and
beauty. He was married fifty years, if not a day more.”
    “You seem to know a lot about this Thomas.”
She studied the carvings closely.
    “I should. He was me own great-granddad.”
    Her gaze met his with interest. “Oh. So this
is a family heirloom.”
    “Aye, I suppose it is at that. Do you want to
give it a gander? You can be the first for this season.” He somehow
conjured up a pen and paper to hand to her.
    “Me? I wouldn’t even know what to wish for in
a so-called soul mate.”
    “Come now, Miss Jules. You must have an
inkling of what the perfect man of your dreams would be like.”
    Aubrey thought the legend of the magic box
held a certain charm, but she didn’t believe in destined soul
mates, only well-chosen partners who shared in your fundamental
beliefs. “I don’t—”
    “Do you remember your first kiss?”
    “What?”
    “Do you remember your first true kiss that
set your toes a-curling within your shoes?”
    She was about to say she never lost herself
that completely, but then a memory surfaced with vivid
recollection. Ian’s kiss had done that and more . Her lips
pursed together. This was the second time this week she thought of
him.
    The kiss, yes she remembered all too well.
Ian and she were in Dublin, in the park across the street from
Marion Square, where Oscar Wilde’s statue stood on display in a
lackadaisical pose with his impish grin, greeting the people who
walked by. Ian’s gaze met hers, sending a rush of desire coiling
through her. Then his gaze shifted to her lips. Her palms were
sweaty and her heart beat against her ribcage threatening to
escape, but she didn’t move. He leaned down, covering her mouth
with a sweet, slow drugging kiss she never wanted to end. She loved
him.
    They stayed at a hotel that night, wanting
privacy the hostels didn’t provide. He was her first and later, he
confessed she was his. He seduced her with long slow kisses that
clouded her mind and left her breathless. She remembered how he
trembled when she worked her way from his neck to his abdomen then
down to the waistband of his jeans. Her time