Rakshasa Pirate Boyfriend Atticus (special preview)

“But what does he look like?” Jason asks again.

“He’s a big blue lion!” I snap. “Who fucking cares?” I storm into the workshop, sitting down before the furnace, hoping that the blistering heat will take my mind off of it. I didn’t want to admit I was nervous. I didn’t want to believe that Atticus whatever the hell his name was, would come looking for me at my own home.

Well, he found me.

The next day, I came down the stairs as my father was greeting someone at the front door. My father was going on and on about prices for something.

“My daughter is the one who makes those,” I heard my dad say.

I’m putting on my apron and getting my gloves.

“Oh good, I’ve always said, a woman’s touch seems to be the thing that makes everything better than it is.” The dark grumbly voice shocks me to my core. I drop what I’m holding, my hammer and tools clanging to the floor loudly.

“Lorelei, dear, is that you?” My dad calls. “Come in here, I have you an order.”

I close my eyes and exhale loudly. I then stiffen my shoulders and walk into the front room where dad is talking with Atticus.

“What is it?” I ask, ignoring Atticus as much as you can ignore a giant blue thumb.

Atticus stands up and bows to me. “Lovely to meet you,” he says. “I’m looking for someone to make me a gate for my new house.”

I turn and look at him, frowning. “What does a seafarer need with a gate?”

Atticus smirks. “I won’t always be at sea,” he says. “I do plan on staying on land sometimes, especially now that I own this little haven.”

My insides clinch and grow cold. 

“I was just telling your father here, Aberdeen was quite apt to selling. He’s moving and I’ll be taking over his home as my own,” Atticus smirks. “His wooden gate is cute, but-” he shrugs and taps the tips of his fingers together. “I have always been partial to wrought iron.”

I give my father the stink eye then glance up to Atticus again. “And just what do you want?” I ask. “What sort of gate? The style? The size?” I tap my foot. “Did you think these things out or are you just charging through without a whim?”

Atticus takes a piece of paper from his pocket. “Everything is there.” He hands it to me. “I don’t go charging, Ms. Blacksmith,” he snarls. “I plan and I plan intricately to the very fine wrought details.”

I look over his sketch and then glance back up at him. “I didn’t realize pirates were so organized.”