Saturday, June 20, 2009

Last Call Europe: Irish Creme by Leila Brown

Last Call Europe: Irish Crème
by Leila Brown

Cover art by Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-235-7
Genre(s): Paranormal, BDSM
Theme(s): Ménage, Magic and Mayhem
Series: Last Call Europe
Length: Novella

Ciarran, an Irish traditional witch, has had her luck stolen by a vindictive leprechaun. Without her luck, everyday life has become a trial. And her spells are more like mis-spells. There's only one thing to do. Go to the Last Call Bar and order up the right drink.
Irish Crème: Only the extremely lucky need apply. A double!
Decllan and Niall came to Last Call to relax on the one night a year they get together. Neither of them expected they'd end up spending the night with an out-of-luck witch who needs their help. Luckily they're up for the job.

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There were a ton of little, and surprisingly not so little, green men in the bar. Well, not truly green but dressed in an abundance of green. This was crazy. Honestly, Ciarran needed to do something to regain her luck, but going into a bar just outside London on St. Patrick's Day didn't seem like such a bright idea.
"I know that look, Ciarran." Her sister, Aslinn, grabbed her arm and dragged her through the door. "Come on, I see a couple seats at the bar."
She took a steadying breath and followed her sister inside. She stepped up over the slight step just inside the bar but somehow the left heel of her shoe got caught on something. She tripped and fell into her sister, who crashed into the waitress in front of them. They fell forward in a tangled heap of flailing arms and legs.
Stupid, stupid shoes. She knew she should have worn flats. But no, Aslinn wouldn't let her out of the house without putting on something with killer high heels. Normally, she could've danced in circles with these bad boys, but with her luck stolen she was glad she hadn't broken her neck.
"Need a hand?" A deep brogue sounded near her ear.
She looked up into the sexiest whiskey-brown eyes she'd ever seen. His fingers wrapped around hers and pulled her up into a standing position. Warmth spread from his fingers into her hand and sent a lightning bolt straight to her cunt.
Hell. She wasn't here to hook up with the first man she saw. She needed help, and not the kind of help this six-foot hottie could give her.
"Thank you," Ciarran mumbled, then pulled away from him and followed her sister to the bar. Aslinn passed up the bar closest to the door, the one with the most people lounging in front of it. Instead, she weaved her way to the bar at the back that sat a step up from the floor. Ciarran grabbed a seat, focusing on the garish green decorations all around the place.
"I can't believe you just did that," Aslinn practically snarled at her, not breaking the smile she had plastered to her face. Her sister was a master at hiding her emotions.
"It wasn't on purpose," Ciarran whispered back. They both knew Ciarran had no control over it. Right now, everything that could go wrong in her life was going wrong. From the mice infestation of her apartment building, to the cement truck crash that walled up the front of her aromatherapy shop, to her misfiring magick and beyond. She was living in a perpetual state of embarrassment. She looked out over the room where most of the men openly stared at her and her sister. "Besides, you made me wear these shoes."
"What will you ladies have?" The bartender smiled and wiped the bar in front of them, setting down two coasters with "Last Call" imprinted on them.
"Can we see a drink list?" Aslinn batted her eyelashes at him. He pulled out a laminated list and handed it to her. She handed it to Ciarran without even looking at it. "What do you recommend?"
Flirting with him was all fine and dandy for Aslinn, but Ciarran needed something special. Something she was most likely only going to find here and only on St. Patrick's Day. She skimmed the menu until her eyes hit on what she needed.
Irish Crème, only the extremely lucky need apply.
That was perfect. Since she had no luck the best thing to do was get some from someone with luck to spare. She looked up and shook her head at Aslinn and the bartender. They touched hands when he handed her sister a drink and their gazes locked like lusty teenagers.
"Excuse me?" Ciarran cleared her throat. "Can I get an Irish Crème?" When the bartender moved to grab some bottles, she added, "Make it a double."
Aslinn choked on her drink, sputtering for a few seconds and coughing until her senses cleared. She slammed her hand down on the bar, and turned toward Ciarran. "Shit, Ciarran. Do you know what you've done?"
"I ordered a drink, a strong drink. And hopefully a really lucky leprechaun," she replied matter-of-factly. The bartender set her drink and a key down in front of her. She picked up the drink and swallowed a throat-burning mouthful.
"Actually, you just ordered up two lucky leprechauns... at the same time." Aslinn stared around the bar. "Have you ever been double teamed?"
Ciarran's heart dropped into her stomach, and heat spread through her cheeks in a mad rush. Her luck was as bad as ever. Any other place, a double would have been an innocent thing. "Maybe nobody heard."
Ciarran turned away from her sister and looked around. There were at least two dozen men forming a semi-circle around them. Ah hell!

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