Lionheart

Meg lives alone in a neighborhood with a very special secret. Since the death of her parents, she’s been sort of adopted by the old ladies in the area and brought into their circle. A very magical circle.

Rich and his brothers have been sent to Meg’s neighborhood to check out rumors of an enemy strike. They are recently retired from the military, but still working as freelancers on very particular missions because of their unique abilities.

When the brothers move in across the street from Meg, Rich can’t help but notice her. She’s breaking his heart with her sad eyes and lonely existence. He wants to keep her company – in every sense of the phrase – but his mission should come first. Rich is torn between the woman who could be the love of his life and the mission which might end the threat of the Destroyer once and for all.

They will face danger together, making magical discoveries along the way, but will it be enough to defeat the evil chasing them and bring them both through to a future spent together?

Lionheart by Bianca D'Arc
(c)2024 Bianca D'Arc. All Rights Reserved.

CHAPTER ONE

“The girl across the street just got home,” Billy reported from his position at the window. He was twitching the curtains like some old grandma again. Nosy bastard. “She’s crying again.”

Rich cursed under his breath. The woman was killing him. He could hear her sniffles when she opened her car door. Shifter hearing was sometimes a curse.
Then, he heard the squeaky trunk opening, and he couldn’t help himself. He had to go to the window to see what she was doing.

“She’s got a load of groceries,” Billy said unnecessarily.

“Damn. I don’t want her on the street when Bowza comes back. She’s had run-ins with him before,” Rich mused. “I’ll go help her get that shit into the house.”

Colt looked at him sharply, but Rich didn’t bother acknowledging his brother’s concern. He’d already grabbed his leather jacket and was on his way out the door.

He thought he did a good job of appearing to notice her and changing direction to go help her with her groceries once he was outside. He didn’t want to frighten her. Rich was trying his hardest to act like a good neighbor who was just here to help. Non-threatening.

She still jumped when he walked up to her as she was staring at the pile of bags in her trunk. Shit. She looked so defeated.

“Hi, neighbor,” he said quietly, trying not to alarm her any further. “We just moved in across the street, and I noticed you might need some help.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain soon. Can I help you get that stuff inside before the heavens open up?” When she just looked at him, he went on. “My name is Richard, by the way. Rich Kinkaid. Me and my brothers are house-sitting Jim and Amy’s house across the way, while they’re in Europe. We used to work with Jim and know him really well.”

“Jim was in the Navy,” she said, somewhat disjointedly. Rich had to wonder if she was on something, though he didn’t scent any bad chemicals around her. Just a strong whiff of…despair. Well, grief could mess with a person’s mind, he knew from personal experience. “Special Forces.”

He was surprised she knew that. Navy, sure. But most Special Operators didn’t advertise the fact, even if they were semi-retired. If this woman knew, there must be something special about her.

“Yes, ma’am. My brothers and I were on Jim’s Team for several years. We only just retired and have been trying to figure out what to do next.” Now, why had he told her that? It made them sound like college kids on a gap year.

A raindrop landed on her nose, and she looked up at the darkening sky.

“Well, if you’re a friend of Jim’s… I sure could use some help, but I don’t want to put you out.”

“Not at all,” he insisted, moving to her side to lift a few of the bags out of the trunk. “Just open the door and tell me where you want these, and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as everything’s inside the house.”

“Okay,” she said softly, taking two bags herself as she led the way to the front door. She had to put one of the bags down to unlock the door and open it.

“Just leave that, ma’am. I’ll get it on my way back,” he told her when she would have tried to juggle to pick up the bag again.

The rain started to come down a bit more than a drop at a time. It wasn’t a total downpour yet, but it was definitely a shower.

Rich decided to drop the bags in the foyer and get the rest before the shower turned into a deluge. Her trunk was wide open, and everything would get drenched if he didn’t act fast. He dashed back out and got the rest in one trip, closing the trunk before the heavy rain started.

He got back into the house and found her watching him.

“You move really fast,” she observed innocently enough. He shrugged.

“Lots of training,” he said somewhat vaguely.

If she knew he was a just-retired Navy SEAL, then maybe she’d attribute some of his special skills to that rather than to the real reason he and his brothers had been so good at their former jobs. She nodded.

“Where do you want this stuff?” he asked, still holding an armload of bags.

“Oh. In the kitchen, please. Right back there.” She pointed, and he realized her house was a mirror image of the one he’d just moved into across the street.

“Just like Jim and Amy’s house,” he agreed, sending her a smile. “Is the island all right?”

“That’s perfect. Thanks,” she replied. “I like to sort and label everything before I put it away. Except for the perishables, of course.”

He looked around the kitchen and realized it was clean, but a little…sloppy. There were dishes in the sink, for example, when the dishwasher was right there, next to the sink. And there were boxes of things on the floor, stowed next to the cabinets. All had dates written in marker on them. Then, he noticed a pair of glasses on the counter. And another pair near the back door.

“You write the expiration dates on the boxes?” he asked, curious. Curiosity was one facet of his personality that he just could not suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

“I used to do it for my parents, but now that they’re gone, I still do it. I find it easier than having to find and put on my reading glasses every time I want to check a date on something. Makes life simpler. And it makes it easier for me to stock up on non-perishables, so I don’t have to go shopping as often.” She put the bag she’d been carrying on the kitchen island and turned to get the rest.

“Allow me,” he said, moving past her.

“Thanks. Would you like some coffee? I mean… If you have time.”

“Sure. I’d like that. Thanks.”

“I’ll just make it, then.” She went over to a single-serve brewing machine and started setting it up. “I have decaf and regular. What do you prefer?”

“Regular sounds good. And nothing in it. Thanks.” He picked up the rest of the bags from the hall and brought them back to the kitchen where she was fussing with the fancy coffee maker.

As he set them down, his coffee started to come out of the machine into a blue mug. She motioned toward the kitchen table, set in a nook by the bow window in the back, and he went over and sat. She served his mug of coffee then went back to the machine to brew one for herself.

He watched her move. She was graceful and pretty in an unassuming way that made his inner cat stand up and take notice. Something about her was…alluring. Though not in a vampy way. She was pretty and somewhat staid, but somehow, he found that enticing. He wasn’t sure why.

She brewed her own coffee, then brought it over to the table. She didn’t sit, though.

“I’m just going to let that cool down a bit while I put the perishables into the fridge,” she explained. “If I drink it right away, I’ll burn my tongue.” She grinned just a bit and turned away, thankfully before she saw what the thought of her tongue did to him.

Damn. That hadn’t been a provocative statement, yet his libido hadn’t gotten the message. It was revving up as if she’d just invited him to a private game of strip poker or something. Down, boy. What was it about this woman?

He watched her move about the kitchen as he sipped his excellent coffee. She moved like a dancer or some other kind of athlete. Her body was soft in all the important places and sort of voluptuous in others. He liked the look of her. A lot. She wasn’t some fragile stick figure that he’d have to be careful not to break. This was a woman who was made for long, lazy rides and hot, intense climaxes.

Damn. His mind was wandering to the sex place again. Had been, if he was being honest with himself, ever since he’d first caught sight of her across the street. She’d been gardening and had a little smudge of dirt on her face that he’d itched to wipe off. Maybe with his tongue.

And there he went, thinking about tongues again. Get a grip, man!

She finished with the groceries and came back to the table. She sat opposite him and picked up her coffee, blowing on it a little to cool it down more. He would not—definitely not—think about blowing in any sense of the word. Not now. Not ever again. Right?

The tightening in his crotch told him he was a fool to think he could control his wayward mind. The soft O of her lips was driving him to distraction. Then, thankfully, she took a sip of her coffee and smiled.

“Perfect,” she pronounced.

Yes. Yes, she was.