Irish Sex Fairy
Kelly Jamieson
The Irish Sex Fairy believes sex will cure all problems…
So says Great-aunt Maeve, owner of the Irish Sex Fairy, a sex shop in Kilkenny, California. When stressed-out Keara visits Maeve after a hostage situation where she was held at gunpoint, she’s ready to try anything to get over the flashbacks and nightmares and intense guilt over her role in the incident.
Enter sexy Shane Dunstan, Kilkenny’s deputy police chief and old flame of Keara’s. With black hair and blue eyes and a body a girl could easily lose herself in for a lifetime, he’s perfect for putting Maeve’s remedy to the test. He’s more than happy to help. A lot.
But while all the sizzling sex does seem to make Keara feel better, it creates a whole new set of problems. Keara needs to overcome her fears and get back to her career, but that means leaving Shane and Maeve. And when the past comes back to haunt her in a terrifying encounter, she’s about to find out just how effective Maeve’s cure-all is.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Irish Sex Fairy
ISBN 9781419924170
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Irish Sex Fairy Copyright © 2009 Kelly Jamieson
Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication October 2009
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.
Irish Sex Fairy
Kelly Jamieson
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Abercrombie and Fitch: Abercrombie & Fitch Company Corporation
Bersa: Bersa, S.A. Corporation
BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Corporation
Donna Karan: Gabrielle Studio, Inc.
FedEx: Federal Express Corporation
Game Boy: Nintendo of America Inc.
Glock: Glock, Inc.
Google: Google Inc.
Guinness: Arthur Guinness Son & Company Limited
Henckels: ZWILLING J.A. Henckels
Home Depot: Homer TLC, Inc.
Jameson’s: Irish Distillers Limited
Jeep Liberty: DaimlerChrysler Corporation
Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.
John Deere: Deere & Company
NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, Inc.
Sex and the City: Home Box Office, Inc.
Shalimar: Guerlein, Inc.
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Stuart Weitzman: Stuart Weitzman IP, LLC
USPS: United States Postal Service
Viagra: Pfizer Inc.
Chapter One
Los Angeles, California
Keara slid her shaking arms around bent knees and hugged them, the marble floor of the bank lobby cold and hard beneath her bottom.
Nervous energy shimmered around her, her employees also crouched on the floor. Soft sniffles from Carla filled the heavy silence.
“Shut up!” The words echoed in the lobby, stone floors and columns reflecting the sound waves. The man in the balaclava glared at Carla. Carla gasped. The tension thickened.
“Please,” Keara said. “Let them go. I’ll stay.” They’d been like this for almost an hour.
“No!”
At that moment an explosion rocked the building, shattering the dense quiet. Screams and crying erupted around Keara, and she grabbed Jessica beside her.
“What the hell!” The robber froze, then lunged for Keara and dragged her to her feet. His fingers dug painfully into her arm.
“Police! Nobody move!” A voice thundered over the chaos from the direction where the explosion had occurred. They’d blasted a hole in the wall between the bank and the office building next door.
Two men dressed in black bulletproof vests, ball caps and carrying what looked like machine guns appeared, weapons pointed in the direction of the people huddled on the floor of the bank.
Oh dear God. Machine guns. Keara’s gaze flickered to the others, back to the police officers, just as terrifying to her as the man who now wrapped an arm around her throat and pointed his own gun at her head with his other hand.
She was going to die. If the police tried to shoot the robber they could kill her too. If they didn’t, the robber would.
Three guns. All pointed at her.
Her whole body shook as the robber started walking backward, dragging her with him. His arm tightened on her esophagus. Her eyes bulged and she gasped for air.
“Put your gun down!” an officer shouted.
“Like hell,” the robber muttered. He dragged Keara into a hallway and then the vault area.
She fought him. She wasn’t going to die without trying. She clawed his arm, twisted and jerked against him. She felt the damp of his clothing, smelled his sweat. Her throat ached. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the balaclava covering his face, squeezed it tightly, and as they struggled he hauled her into the vault.
He shoved the door shut behind them then released her with a push that sent her to her knees. Her fingers still clutched the soft knit hat and it came with her as she fell. Her knees burned and she stayed on all fours, panting, frozen, waiting for the shot that would end her life from behind her.
She heard the click of the door lock.
She turned around and rose up on her knees to face the robber, every muscle tight and quivering. Oh Jesus.
Gary.
She knew him.
He’d worked as a security guard at this branch for what…twenty years? Until six weeks ago. When she’d fired him.
“Gary,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her fingers. “What are you doing?”
“I told you what I’m doing. I want half a million dollars. And
