Also by Rachelle Ayala
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Her Christmas Chance
A Veteran's Christmas
A Father for Christmas
A Pet for Christmas
A Wedding for Christmas
Bad Boys for Hire
Bad Boys for Hire: Ryker
Bad Boys for Hire: Ken
Bad Boys for Hire: Nick
Bad Boys for Hire: Liam
Chance for Love
Broken Build
Hidden Under Her Heart
Knowing Vera
Have A Hart Romance
Christmas Lovebirds
Valentine Hound Dog
Spring Fling Kitty
Blue Chow Christmas
Valentine Wedding Hound
Summer Love Puppy
Dog Days of Love
Valentine Puppies and Kisses
Jingle Belles
Christmas Flirt
Santa's Pet
Love Charmed Romance
Black Tied: Sapphire
Men of Spring Baseball
Playing Without Rules
Playing Catch
Playing for the Save
Playing Fastball
My Country Heart
Going Haywire
Going Toe to Mistletoe
Going Hearts Over Heels
Going Gets Hot
Sanchez Sisters
Taming Romeo
Claiming Carlos
The Fae Legacy
Lucky Like Love (Coming Soon)
The Quarterback's Heart
Intercepted By Love: Part One
Intercepted by Love: Part Two
Intercepted by Love: Part Three
Intercepted by Love: Part Four
Intercepted by Love: Part Five
Intercepted by Love: Part Six
Standalone
Chance for Love: Dangerous Desires
Romance In A Month: How To Write A Romance
Playing the Rookie
Christmas Stray
Love Stories: Writing a Romance Novella
Michal's Window
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Roaring Hot!
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Blush of Love
Watch for more at Rachelle Ayala’s site.
Lucky Like Love
The Fae Legacy #1
Rachelle Ayala
http://rachelleayala.net
Contents
Description
Welcome
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Excerpt - Bad Boys for Hire: Liam
Many Thanks
Reading List with Heat Levels
Meet Rachelle
Copyright © 2019 by Rachelle Ayala
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.
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Contact Rachelle at:
http://smarturl.it/ContactRachelle/
Description
Clare Hart thinks she’s a fairy.
Not really, but she writes romances between fairies and humans, and she’ll do anything to turn her stories into real-life movies.
On her way to Ireland, she meets a mysterious man who claims he’s over a thousand years old.
Clare doesn’t believe him, but he’s wealthy and sexy and a wee bit daft.
He promises to give her the money if she can use the Heart of Brigid to bring back his lost love, a powerful fairy princess.
Clare uses her imagination to mesmerize the billionaire into believing she is the fairy princess, but her trick isn’t so funny when she finds herself imprisoned underground in a dungeon bedchamber fit for a queen—a dead one.
Praise for Rachelle Ayala
A fun story with some quirky characters, crackpots, and delusional minds. It is fun trying to figure out what is real and what is fantasy. It's like figuring out a puzzle, and once the pieces are together, it all makes sense. – Gina Johnson
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Magical story set in beautiful Ireland. – Marlys Frisby
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Rachelle Ayala shows us that the most beautiful and precious things in life are nothing that we can hide away and keep to ourselves. – Amber McCallister
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What appealed to me most about Lucky Like Love is the heart that shines through. Uniquely entertaining, irresistibly charming, with a hint of mystery. Ayala never loses her ability to charm her way into hearts. – Isha Coleman
Welcome
I invite you to explore my world of over fifty romances, from dangerous suspense to sweet family drama, featuring hot, steamy flirts, brainy, strong heroines, and hunky men with big, gigantic hearts and melty, warm hugs.
For book descriptions, go to the Reading List with Heat Levels section or check out my Reader’s Guide at:
http://rachelleayala.net/books/
Don’t forget to download my Free Books from your favorite bookstore:
Christmas Lovebirds (sweet)
A Father for Christmas (sweet)
Going Haywire: Sapphire Falls (steamy)
Bad Boys for Hire - Ryker (steamy)
Playing Without Rules (steamy)
Broken Build (romantic suspense)
Intercepted by Love: Part 1 (steamy)
For updates and two more free books, sign up for my newsletter at:
http://smarturl.it/RachAyala
To chat and read new works in progress, join my Reader’s Club at:
http://www.facebook.com/groups/ClubRachelleAyala/
Thanks for coming into my story world and letting me take you on an unforgettable excursion. Turn the page to begin.
Bon voyage!
Chapter 1
“Excuse me while I tuck my wings,” Clare Hart said as she slid into her window seat on the red-eye flight back to Ireland.
The man sitting next to her grunted and retracted the recliner footrest of his first-class seat while staying seated.
Would it be too much to ask the rude fellow to step out into the aisle and let her pass?
I
nstead of tucking in her feather-duster-sized wings, she let them spring back and brush across his darkly delicious face—the exact type she was susceptible to.
Ker-choo. The man sneezed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to sit with those wings sticking out the entire flight to Dublin.”
Clare plopped down on the edge of her seat and pushed her carry-on underneath the seat in front of her. “I bought a first-class ticket, so I can sit however I want.”
She tamped down a twinge that he didn’t seem amused with her antics, unlike the Americans who loved her fairy costumes and thought she worked at an amusement park.
She’d put them on in the waiting area to entertain a cranky child and earned the applause of the cheerful tour group who’d gone back to the coach section.
Maybe she should have insisted her cousin not upgrade her to first class. After all, there was nothing first class about her other than failure.
She was a writer of romances between magical creatures like fairies, or Fae, and humans, and she’d been spending time in the United States raising money to produce a movie from her stories.
For months, everything was going well. Several American investors had eagerly signed checks to produce a movie from her first novel, Fairies Seduced My Boyfriend, and contributions rolled in to her crowdfunding accounts. But no, she’d entrusted all the fundraising to a darkly handsome, charming Irishman who’d absconded with her pot of gold. The parties and appearances dried up, and her donors threatened to sue. Her dreams, as well as her characters, were killed in a single shot, and now, she was going home with nothing but her wardrobe, wings, and wands.
She untied the leather straps securing her ostrich feather wings to her bosom and shrugged off one side first, and then the other, making sure to fully swipe the bedraggled feathers across Mr. Chiseled Manliness’s five o’clock shadow.
Ker-choo.
The not-so-charming Irishman frowned but avoided eye contact with her, preferring to thumb through the in-flight magazine. His presence filled their side of the airplane, and Clare couldn’t gasp enough oxygen to calm down. Why did all the most unsuitable men have to be so fecking gorgeous?
After stowing her wings in a plastic bag, she laid the pile of feathers against the side of the bulwark and put her coat over it.
It was going to be a long, red-eye flight with plenty of time to rewrite her failures into success. She was going back to Ireland for a fresh start. Her fans lived there, and she could put on fundraisers, get-togethers, and book signings at the many pubs. She could also get acquainted with the local arts council and see if she could interest them in funding her project.
The flight attendants walked the aisles and asked everyone to put their electronics in airplane mode. Clare dashed off a text message to her cousin, Jenna Davison, who’d given her a place to stay in exchange for helping out with a litter of basset hound puppies.
Am going to miss you, Larry, Harley, Honey, and all the sweet puppies. Thanks for everything and wish me the luck of the Irish.
Jenna texted back. You ARE the luck of the Irish. Keep that chin up and head held high. Promise to send us tickets to your premiere night. Can’t wait.
Clare couldn’t help but smile at how optimistic Jenna had become. After all, she’d taught her self-hypnosis and positive thinking. Writing affirmations and the attitude of gratitude. Jenna went from almost-divorce to being happily married with a baby on the way.
Sometimes, it was so exhausting to keep her positive spirit up. Sometimes, all the fake cheer seemed pointless. Sometimes, Clare wanted to wallow like everyone else. She was on a long, boring flight. She might as well let it all out and be sad and depressed.
No one cared; no one knew her. And no one would remember her.
She sent one last text. I promise. Make me a new gown for premiere night, and we have a deal. Airplane mode now.
The man next to her stuffed earbuds into his ears and put the magazine away. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.
He was obviously going to ignore her, and that was okay. Since she was invisible to him, she took the opportunity to check him out.
He looked to be a hero type, although older than the twenty-something guys she wrote about. He still had a full head of hair, enough scruff to be sexy but not messy, a prominent nose and strong jaw, and faint smile wrinkles radiating from his eyes. Dark eyelashes curled a little too lush for a man, which was a perfect description for a character in her next book.
Once in the air, Clare took out a notebook and jotted down her observations. She hooked a glance at her seatmate, but he was as still as the dead, without even a twitch to his eyelids.
Safe enough.
She sketched his face, noting the details. A knife scar, a tiny mole on the curve of his lip, and the way his beard shadow rode over his cheeks. She was erasing a stray mark when he opened an eye and lifted one bushy eyebrow.
“Why are you drawing a picture of me?”
Clare crumpled up the paper and shoved it under her thigh. “I wasn’t drawing you. I was doodling.”
“You were doodling me.” His gaze lasered in on her face, did the penetrating stare alpha males did, then wandered quite forcefully down to her lips before taking an intimate tour of her chest.
Clare wished she’d covered herself with a blanket, but she was already hot underneath her leather-laced tunic and the semi-rigid plastic armor which made her breasts appear to be cones.
“What are you looking at?” Her voice came out too quivery, and she crossed her arms, which only had the effect of jutting her pointy cones out farther.
“I know better than to comment on those,” he said. “But why are you wearing wilted vegetables around your waist? And a belt of nuts? Are you sure you’re going to pass agriculture inspection? Hope you’re not going to start another potato famine.”
“Are you done with the interrogation?” Clare grabbed her coat from the floor and pulled it over her wilted cabbage and romaine lettuce girdle. The leaves, which had died a natural death, had been blessings bestowed on her by a group of lettuce worshipers.
“I’m curious, that’s all.” The insolent man refused to remove his eyes from raking her body. He pointed to a bundle of hazelnut charms. “Is that your in-flight snack?”
“Actually, they’re fertility charms and bigger than the ones between your legs.” She twirled her eyes, hoping to loosen his gaze from the area right below her breastplate.
“I knew it. You’re one of those nature freaks.”
“How do you know I’m not a witch?” She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Imagine that, a redhead witch who burns easily. Let me guess, you carry your own stake and ties.” He scoffed and stuck his tongue back at her.
“I’ll never let you tie me up, stake or no stake.” Her face sweltered at the unbidden image of his pointy, wet tongue and the direction south her thoughts had flown.
His eyes sparkled with glee at her discomfort. “Don’t need a stake when I’ve got an iron bed.”
“Feck off, gobshite.”
“Ha, ha, got your red up,” he chortled to press his advantage. “Tell me, little witch, are you going to put a hex on me?”
“You’re not worth it, but I’ll write you into one of my books. As the knave.”
“The knave? That’s not a word I’ve heard lately. So, you’re a writer. Guess you’ll kill me off, too.”
“In the most horrid, grueling, and shameful way.” She narrowed her eyes and snarled.
“Wonderful,” he said, shaking his head as if her baring of teeth was unworthy of reaction. “Too bad it won’t work.”
“What do you mean it won’t work? I’ll put a spell on you, stick some pins into your heart, and tie you up over a slow, roasting fire. Or I’ll bury you from the neck down in the desert right over a fire ant nest. Or you’ll
be captured by evil fairies who keep you alive and eat slivers of your flesh.”
He winked as if everything was a joke. “My, my, what a fertile imagination, and nothing I haven’t tried before.”
“What do you mean tried before?” Clare didn’t want to appear too curious, but this was one of those rubbernecking moments with a naked man standing on the rooftop of his truck, pounding his chest.
“You can kill me six ways to Sunday, but I always wake up the next morning. I don’t die. In fact, you humans might call me undead.”
“You’re a vampire?” She recoiled and hit her head against the window shade.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the man said. “That would be way too simple. If I were a vampire, I would have to play by vampire rules. I’d have to suck your blood. I can’t eat garlic and go out in the sun. I’d hate mirrors, and I’d sleep in a casket. You’d try and kill me with a silver bullet or drive a stake in my heart. Just warning you, all have been tried, and I still woke up.”
“You’re kidding me.” Clare wasn’t going to suspend disbelief in real life, especially on an airplane high above the continent. “You figure I’m a writer, so you tell me tall tales.”