Sticks and Stone

  Sticks and Stone

  Jennifer Dunne

  Part of the Luck of the Irish series.

  Three men and a leprechaun? When Dermot, Greg and Zev meet at the wedding of a past lover, the little green guy offers each man a golden opportunity to possess his greatest desire. Unfortunately, figuring out what that greatest desire amounts to isn’t as easy as it sounds.

  Wealthy, powerful and recently voted the year’s most eligible bachelor, Dermot Stone has it all. But he wants more. He wants magic. Irish witch Eileen Daniells has her hands full with a busy writing and teaching career. The last thing she needs is an arrogant American stirring up trouble among the faerie creatures in her woods. When a tree spirit appears and seduces him, Dermot thinks he’s getting the wish the leprechaun promised—only to discover it may cost him his life. Eileen uses her powers to save him, but Dermot must confess to his secret sexual longings before her rescue can be complete. Could she be the answer to his heart’s deepest desire?

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Sticks and Stone

  ISBN 9781419924828

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Sticks and Stone Copyright © 2003 Jennifer Dunne

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication 2003

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  STICKS AND STONE

  Jennifer Dunne

  Prologue

  Ireland, present day

  “This isn’t how I envisioned present-day Ireland,” said the nerd at the table.

  Dermot Stone wished he would quit talking. Every moment Dermot had to spend responding was one less moment available for the task of getting shit-faced drunk.

  “So what were you envisioning?” asked the other guy, Greg something. A lawyer.

  The nerd shrugged and took another drink of Guinness. “I don’t know. More people wearing green, I guess. A few more redheaded wee Irish lasses. Where are the pet leprechauns?”

  Dermot really needed to switch tables. He was far from sober himself, but at least alcohol didn’t turn him into a babbling idiot. He sighed and looked around the wedding reception. A huge number of people, probably hundreds, having themselves a grand old time and here he was sitting at a table with a lawyer and an intoxicated nerd. Wonderful.

  Greg the Lawyer took a sip from his beer, grimacing a bit. The guy clearly wasn’t a drinker. “So, Zev, are you here for the bride or groom?” he asked the nerd.

  “The bride. Tami’s an ex-girlfriend.”

  That caught Dermot’s attention. “Really?”

  “Yeah. We were together for about a month when she was living in the states.”

  “She was my nanny,” said Dermot. “I lost my virginity to her.”

  “Your nanny?” asked Greg. “How old are you?”

  “Never mind,” said Dermot, immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “It’s a long story.”

  “Yeah, but you’re, what, early thirties? She’s gotta be about your age, maybe even younger.” Greg started to count on his fingers.

  “It’s not important.” It was definitely time to steer the conversation away from himself. “What about you? Are you here for the bride or groom?”

  “Groom. But I did sleep with the bride.”

  “All three of us slept with Tami?” asked Zev. “That’s a pretty big coincidence.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to show disrespect for the bride on her wedding day,” said Greg, “but it’s not all that big of a coincidence, if you know what I mean.”

  The men all nodded.

  “I want to hear more about the nanny thing,” said Zev. “I bet she sure as hell didn’t have to fight to get you in bed by nine.”

  Greg laughed. “Yeah, I have to say, I really got ripped off in the babysitter allocation. If I was good, all I got was a Popsicle.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t so good.”

  “We were talking about leprechauns earlier,” said Dermot, desperately trying to change the subject. “Have you ever tried to catch one?”

  “No, not recently,” said Zev.

  “I know how. Want to try?”

  “Now?” asked Greg.

  “Sure. It’s not like this reception doesn’t suck.”

  “I know I could use an extra pot o’ gold,” said Zev.

  “We all could. Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  “Heeeeeeeeere leprechaun!” shouted Zev, as they trudged through the woods. “Here, leper, leper, leper!”

  “Please shut up,” Dermot requested.

  “I think I see one,” said Greg. “Hand me the lantern! Oh, no, wait, it was just a couple of ogres and a troll.”

  “Catching a leprechaun is serious business,” said Dermot. “If we do see one, don’t grab it. He’ll just vanish. And he’ll do everything he can to trick you, so don’t let yourself be fooled. Let me do the talking.”

  “Are we lost?” asked Zev. “I think we’re lost.”

  “We’ve been walking for two minutes. You can still see the lights from the party.”

  “Oh. I’ve never been a big forest kind of guy. Give me a good meadow any day.”

  Dermot ignored the nerd and continued walking. Even though the leprechaun hunt had been an elaborate method of changing the subject, he had to admit that he was now genuinely excited to be out here. He would never admit it to these idiots, but he truly did believe in leprechauns and other such magic, and if only he could find…

  “Does anybody know any good Irish songs?” asked Zev.

  “‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,’“ Greg suggested.

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “Me either.”

  Zev began to sing “Twist and Shout”. Badly.

  Dermot rolled his eyes. They were in Ireland, for God’s sake. You were supposed to be able to hold your goddamn liquor.

  They marched through the woods for a few more minutes, Zev singing the entire time. Dermot was just about to bash him over the head with the lantern, bury him in a shallow grave, and turn him into another Irish myth when he heard a rustling from the trees.

  “Shhhh!” he said.

  Zev and Greg fell silent.

  The three men stood there, listening.

  Nothing.

  “False alarm,” Dermot said. Zev resumed his singing…and the rustling started again. Dermot waved his hand for silence. As soon as Zev shut up, the rustling stopped.

  Greg walked over to the source of the rustling and peeked through the leaves and branches. “I can’t see if there’s anything in there or not.”

  “Sing some more,” Dermot told Zev
.

  Zev resumed his abysmal rendition of “Twist and Shout”. Moments later, something burst out of the shrubs and danced in the path in front of them.

  A little green man, only three feet tall. Dressed entirely in green, with a red beard, a pipe, and a hat. He danced around in time with Zev’s singing.

  “Keep singing!” Dermot ordered.

  The leprechaun, if this truly was a leprechaun, continued dancing around.

  Dermot crept forward, waving for Greg to stay where he was. The lawyer nodded and watched the leprechaun in amazement.

  If the legends were true, and at this point there was no damn reason to believe that they weren’t, he could capture the leprechaun by holding his gaze. He kept moving closer and closer, watching the little green man happily dance around, trying to catch his eye.

  The leprechaun made eye contact.

  Dermot didn’t look away.

  The leprechaun stopped dancing and stared at him.

  “I’ve got him!” said Dermot, forcing himself to hold the leprechaun’s stare. “Everybody stay cool!” He took a few more steps forward and crouched down, putting himself nearly nose-to-nose with the creature. “Are you a leprechaun?” he asked.

  The little green man laughed at him. “Well, of course I’m a leprechaun! What did ye think I was, a unicorn?”

  “Then I demand that you take us to your gold.”

  The leprechaun looked pained. “Me gold? Now, what would a fancy lad such as ye be needin’ with me gold?”

  Dermot realized that the other two men were moving closer, but didn’t dare break eye contact to tell them to scram. “You must take us to your gold.”

  The leprechaun nodded, sadly. “Aye, lad, I must. Unless ye wish to strike a bargain.”

  “No bargains.”

  “Well, aren’t ye an impatient one? Perhaps ye should listen to the offer before ye get all huffy about me gold. There are few things finer than gold, save but for a nice pair o’ shoes…and, perhaps, wishes?”

  “Wishes?” asked Zev.

  “Aye, wishes. I can grant ye three wishes. One for each. I can see into your hearts and grant your greatest desire, I can. Now, isn’t that much better than a silly pot o’ gold, lad?”

  Dermot thought about that. He had all the money he wanted, but his greatest desire…

  The leprechaun smiled. “I see a reasonable lad before me. Let me free, and I will grant ye each one wish. Ye will get what your heart most desires.”

  “Go for the wish!” said Zev.

  Dermot nodded. “Fine. I release you.” He broke eye contact with the leprechaun, hoping he hadn’t made a huge mistake.

  But the leprechaun didn’t run away. Instead he looked at each of the men in turn. “Aye, I have seen what it is ye most desire, and so it shall be granted.”

  “When?” asked Dermot.

  The leprechaun chuckled. “Have patience, lad. Leprechaun magic is a tricky business. It will work differently for all of ye. But it will work, that I promise.”

  Greg held a hand to his forehead, as if suddenly dizzy, and then fell to the ground. Within seconds, Zev had fallen as well.

  “What did you do to them?” Dermot demanded.

  “Don’t worry, ‘tis nothing to be concerned with. Their greatest desire lies elsewhere.” The leprechaun pointed into the woods, in the same direction they’d been walking. “Yours lies this way.”

  The leprechaun winked, laughed merrily, and then dove back into the leaves. Dermot stood there, listening as the laughter faded.

  He suddenly realized that Zev was gone. Vanished completely. Where had his greatest desire taken him?

  It didn’t matter. Dermot’s desire lay straight ahead.

  Leaving the lawyer snoring on the path, he headed deeper into the woods.

  Chapter One

  Dermot Stone picked his way carefully through the darkened forest, cursing his stupidity. Wandering through unknown woods with only a single Coleman lantern for illumination, in search of his heart’s greatest desire, was a calculated risk. He knew what he desired more than anything—to see members of the faerie realm. Incontrovertible proof that there was more to life than the relentless pursuit of money and power that formed the bedrock of his father’s life. Proof that Dermot was right to believe in more, in the magic of unseen possibilities.

  Already tonight he’d seen, and captured, a leprechaun, although that could have been an elaborately staged prank. The drunken nerd who’d accompanied him had disappeared suspiciously, possibly to set up the second stage of the joke. And it had been the nerd’s singing that summoned the leprechaun.

  Still, it would show more wit than his beer-soaked brain had seemed capable of to mastermind a prank of this magnitude. Dermot couldn’t see what he would gain from such a stunt, anyway. No, he was mostly convinced that he’d bargained with a real leprechaun. And the little man had promised that Dermot’s greatest desire lay this way.

  He checked his watch. He’d been walking for twenty minutes. Another twenty should bring him to the edge of the forest. If he didn’t find his heart’s desire before then, he’d use the GPS feature on his cell phone and call his driver to come pick him up.

  His trek through the woods might be foolish, but he had a plan, and a contingency plan. His stupidity lay in what he’d done before he and the two other wedding guests had caught the leprechaun. That’s when Dermot had revealed that Tamara Fuller had been both his last nanny and his first lay.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The tabloids would have a field day with that news. Dermot could only hope the men didn’t know who he was, or wouldn’t remember his confession in enough detail to repeat.

  At least he hadn’t been foolish enough to tell them the details of his relationship. His parents had pulled him out of prep school for the summer and hired a nanny for a grand trip of Europe that was supposed to unite them as a family, or some such foolishness. He’d protested that he was nearly in college and far too old for a nanny, especially one who was barely older than he was, but his parents had insisted that he not be allowed on his own in countries where he was over the legal age of consent. His mother had visions of gold-digging foreign women lurking in wait for American heirs they could slap with paternity suits. Given the number of out of court settlements his father had arranged for himself, her fears seemed fully justified.

  Dermot had suspected at the time that the young woman, tall and lean with a dancer’s graceful strength and model’s stunning looks, had been hired because his father wanted to sleep with her. She matched Dermot for height, but he was awkward and uncomfortable with his newly added inches, and seemed to become even more clumsy and tangle-footed whenever he was around her. He had been appropriately awful to her in the way only a self-involved teenager could be. The poor girl had been at her wit’s end when she finally decided the only way to keep him in line would be a good, old-fashioned spanking. She’d pulled off his pants and shorts, shocking him into immobility, and laid him across her lap, her miniskirt riding up so that he was stretched across her bare thighs. What followed had been like no spanking he’d ever known.

  Thinking of Tamara, his ass cheeks heated. He still remembered how her small, soft hands felt slapping his ass, over and over again, while his hardening cock rocked against her bare thighs with every blow. Then his cock had slipped between her legs. She clamped her thighs around him, and he thought he’d died, the pleasure was so intense. Every slap of her palm against his ass forced his cock down, stroking against her thighs. When she lifted her hand, he pulled back, stroking the other way, so that she could do it again.

  He’d been terrified that he’d embarrass himself by coming in her lap, the fear keeping him rock hard longer than he’d known was possible. Her slaps grew harder and faster as her breathing turned ragged. Then she gave a strangled gasp, and her thighs relaxed.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” she’d said. “Now pull up your pants and go.” He’d run to the bathroom and jerked off, harder than he’d ever come before
, his vision fogging and his body shaking with the force of his release.

  After that, he’d found a reason to be “punished” every night that his parents were out. Since they went out almost every night, his ass was incredibly tender by the end of the trip. A few soft swats would be sufficient to have him gasping across Tamara’s legs, fighting not to come.

  The last night of their trip, his ass had throbbed even before she’d pulled down his pants. The light scrape of cotton and elastic over the burning skin had made him instantly hard. Tamara had licked her lips, gazing at his straining cock, and wrapped her fingers lightly around it.

  Dermot whimpered.

  “You’re a bad, bad boy,” she whispered, her fingers tightening until they gripped his cock with a delicious pain that made it even harder. “Would you like to be a bad, bad man?”

  “Please,” he begged.

  She pushed him to the floor. He landed on his ass, the pain making his vision swim and forcing a bead of come from the tip of his cock.

  “Lie still, and don’t come,” she’d ordered. Then she’d knelt on the floor, straddling his hips. His rigid cock disappeared beneath the mysteries of her miniskirt. She shifted position, and the head of his cock touched hot, wet flesh. Then his cock was pushing past her slick skin, sinking deep inside her. She rose up and down on him, faster and harder, until his tender ass was banging against the floorboards with every stroke. He gasped, fighting for control, struggling not to come, when everything was heat and wet and pain.

  “Now, Dermot. Come now,” she ordered.

  “I…I can’t.”

  She rode him harder, her breath coming in harsh gasps. He grunted and strained beneath her, but the weeks of spankings had trained him to endure her painful pleasures without coming. He couldn’t convince his cock that this time, it was okay to come.

  “I’ll just have to make you come,” she panted. Leaning forward, she slid her hands beneath his shirt. It was the first time she’d touched him anywhere except his ass or his cock, and he trembled even harder as her nails scratched over his stomach, blazing a trail up to his nipples. She flicked the twin erections with her sharp nails, then rolled the hard pebbles between her fingers. He groaned in agony, waves of heat pouring straight to his groin. He bucked beneath her, slamming his ass against the floor, rocking his cock against the tight walls of her vagina.