"Under the moon, through shadow and light, these blooms I chose by touch, by sight. Spells to weave to ease and free. As I will, so mote it be."
She plucked betony and heliotrope, dug mandrake root and selected tansy and balsam. Blood roses for strength, and sage for wisdom. The basket grew heavy and fragrant.
"Tonight to reap, tomorrow to sow. To take only that which I've caused to grow. Remembering always what is begun. To serve, to aid, an it harm none."
As the charm was cast, she lowered her face to the blooms, drawing in the ripe melody of the fragrance.
"I wondered if you were real."
Her head came up quickly, and she saw him, hardly more than a shadow by the hedge. Then he stepped through, into her garden, and became a man.
The heart that had leapt to her throat gradually settled again. "You startled me."
"I'm sorry." It must be the moonlight, he thought, that made her look so- enchanting. "I was working late, and I looked out and saw you. It seemed late to be picking flowers."
"There's a lot of moonlight." She smiled. He had seen nothing it wasn't safe for him to see. "I would think you'd know that anything picked under the full moon is charmed."
He returned the smile. "Got any rampion?"
The reference to Rapunzel made her laugh. "As a matter of fact, I do. No magic garden is complete without it. I'll pot some for you, if you like."
"I rarely say no to magic." The breeze fluttered her hair. Giving in to the moment, he reached out, took a handful. He watched the smile in her eyes fade. What replaced it had his blood singing.
"You should go in. Jessie's alone."
"She's asleep." He moved closer, as if the hair he'd twined around his finger were a rope and she were drawing him to her. He was within the circle now, within the magic she'd cast. "The windows are open, so I'd hear her if she called for me."
"It's late." Ana gripped the basket so tightly that the wicker dug into her skin. "I need to-"
Gently he took the basket and set it on the ground. "So do
I." His other hand moved into her hair, combing it back from her face. "Very much."
As he lowered his mouth toward hers, she shivered and tried one last time to take control. "Boone, starting something like this could complicate things for all of us."
"Maybe I'm tired of things being simple." But he turned his head, just a fraction, so that his lips cruised up her cheek, over her temple. "I'm surprised you don't know that when a man finds a woman picking flowers in the moonlight he has no choice but to kiss her."
She felt her bones melting. Her body was pliant when she slipped into his arms. "And she has no choice but to want him to."
Her head fell back, and she offered. He thought he would take gently. The night seemed to call for it, with its perfumed breezes and the dreamy music of sea against rock. The woman in his arms was wand-slender, and the thin silk of her robe was cool over the warmth of satin skin.
But as he felt himself sink into that soft, lush mouth, as her fragrance whispered seductively around him, he dragged her hard against him and plundered.
Instantly desperate, instantly greedy. No rational thought could fight its way through the maze of sensations she brought to him. A sharp arrow of hunger pierced him, bringing on a groan that was only part pleasure.
Pain. He felt the aches of a thousand pricks of pain. Yet he couldn't pull himself away from her, couldn't stop his mouth from seeking more of hers. He was afraid, afraid that if he released her she would disappear like smoke-and he would never, never feel this way again.
She couldn't soothe him. Part of her wanted to stroke him and ease him and promise him that it would be all right, for both of them. But she couldn't. He devastated her. Whether it was her own grinding needs, the echo of his need seeping into her, or a mix of both, the result was a complete loss of will.
She had known, yes, she had known that this first meeting would be wild and strong. She'd craved it even as she'd feared it. Now she was beyond fear. Like him, she found the mixture of pain and pleasure irresistible.
Her trembling hands skimmed over his face, into his hair and locked there. Her body, shuddering from the onslaught, pressed urgently to his. When she murmured his name, she was breathless.
But he heard her, heard her through the blood pounding in his head, heard that soft, shaky sound. She was trembling-or he was. The uncertainty about who was more dazed had him slowly, carefully drawing away.
He held her still, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze on her face. In the moonlight, she could see herself there, trapped in that sea of blue. Trapped in him.
"Boone-"
"Not yet." He needed a moment to steady himself. By God, he'd nearly swallowed her whole. "Not just yet." Holding himself back, he touched his lips to hers, lightly, in a long, quiet kiss that wrecked whatever was left of her defenses. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't." She pressed her lips together and tried to bring her voice over a whisper. "You didn't hurt me. You staggered me."
"I thought I was ready for this." He ran his hands down her arms before he released her. "I don't know if anyone could be.'' Because he wasn't sure what would happen if he touched her again, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Maybe it's the moonlight, maybe it's just you. I have to be straight with you, Anastasia, I don't know quite how to handle this."
"Well." She wrapped her arms tight and cupped her elbows. "That makes two of us."
"If it wasn't for Jessie, you wouldn't go into that house alone tonight. And I don't take intimacy lightly."
Steadier now, she nodded. "If it wasn't for Jessie, I might ask you to stay with me tonight." She took a long breath. She knew it was important to be honest, at least in this. "You would be my first."
"Your-" His hands went limp. Now he felt both a lick of fear and an incredible excitement at the thought of her innocence. "Oh, God."
Her chin came up. "I'm not ashamed of it."
"No, I didn't mean-" Speechless, he dragged a hand through his hair. Innocent. A golden-haired virgin in a thin blue robe with flowers at her feet. And a man was supposed to resist, and walk away alone. "I don't suppose you have any idea what that does to a man."
"Not precisely, since I'm not a man." She bent down for her basket. "But I do know what realizing that you may soon be giving yourself for the first time does to a woman. So it seems to me we should both give this some clear thinking." She smiled, or tried to. "And it's very difficult to think clearly after midnight, when the moon's full and the flowers are ripe. I'll say good night, Boone."
"Ana." He touched her arm, but didn't hold on. "Nothing will happen until you're ready."
She shook her head. "Yes, it will. But nothing will happen unless it's meant."
With her robe billowing around her, she raced toward the house.
CHAPTER 5
Sleep had been a long time coming. Boone hadn't tossed and turned so much as lain, staring up at the ceiling. He'd watched the moonlight fade into that final deep darkness before dawn.
Now, with the sun streaming in bright ribbons over the bed, he was facedown, spread out, and fast asleep. In the dream floating through his brain, he scooped Ana into his arms and carried her up a long curved staircase of white marble. At the top, suspended above puffy, cotton clouds, was an enormous bed pooled in waterfalls of white satin. Hundreds of long, slender candles burned in a drifting light. He could smell them-the soft tang of vanilla, the mystique of jasmine. And her-that quietly sexy scent that went everywhere with her.
She smiled. Hair like sunlight. Eyes like smoke. When he laid her on the bed, they sank deep, as if into the clouds themselves. There was harpsong, romantic as tears, and a whisper that was nothing more than the clouds themselves breathing.
As her arms lifted, wound around him, they were floating, like ghosts in some fantasy, bound together by needs and knowledge and the unbearable sweetness of that first long, lingering kiss. Her mouth moved under his, yielding as she murmured-
Boone came awake with a crash as his daughter landed with a thump on his back. His unintelligible grunt had her giggling and scooting down to smack a kiss on his stubbled cheek.
"Daddy, wake up! I fixed you breakfast!"
"Breakfast." He grumbled into the pillow, struggling to clear the sleep from his throat and the dream from his system. "What time is it?"
"The little hand's on the ten, and the big hand's on the three. I made cinnamon toast and poured orange juice in the little glasses."
He grunted again, rolling over to peer through gritty eyes at Jessie. She looked bright as a sunbeam in her pink cotton blouse and shorts. She'd done the buttons up wrong, but she'd brushed the tangles from her hair. "How long have you been up?"
"Hours and hours and hours. I let Daisy outside and gave her breakfast. And I got dressed all by myself and brushed my teeth and watched cartoons. Then I got hungry, so I fixed breakfast."
"You've been busy."
"Uh-huh. And I was real quiet, too, so you didn't have to wake up early on your sleep-in day."
"You were real quiet," Boone agreed, and reached up to fix her buttons. "I guess you deserve a prize."
Her eyes lit. "What? What do I get?"
"How about a pink belly?" He rolled with her on the bed, wrestling while she squealed and wriggled. He let her win, pretending exhaustion and defeat when she bounced on his back. "Too tough for me."
"That's 'cause I eat my vegetables. You don't."
"I eat some."
"Uh-uh, hardly any."
"When you get to be thirty-three, you won't have to eat your brussels sprouts, either."
"But I like them."
He grinned into the pillow. "That's only because I'm such a good cook. My mother was lousy."
"She doesn't ever cook now." Jessie printed her name with a fingertip on her father's bare back. "Her and Grandpa Sawyer always go out to eat."
"That's because Grandpa Sawyer's no fool." She was having trouble with the letter S, Boone noted. They'd have to work on it.
"You said we could call Grandma and Grandpa Sawyer and Nana and Pop today. Can we?"
"Sure, in a couple of hours." He turned over again, studying her. "Do you miss them, baby?"
"Yeah." With her tongue between her teeth, she began to print Sawyer on his chest. "It seems funny that they're not here. Will they come to visit us?"
"Sure they will." The guilt that was part and parcel of parenthood worked at him. "Do you wish we'd stayed in Indiana?"
"No way!" Her eyes went huge. "We didn't have the beach there, and the seals and stuff, or the big carousel in town, or Ana living next door. This is the best place in the world."
"I like it here, too." He sat up and kissed her brow. "Now beat it, so I can get dressed."
"You'll come right downstairs for breakfast?" she asked as she slid from the bed.
"Absolutely. I'm so hungry I could eat a whole loaf of cinnamon toast."
Delighted, she rushed for the door. "I'm going to make more, right now."
Knowing she would take him at his word and go through an entire loaf of bread, Boone hurried through his shower, opted not to shave, and pulled on cutoffs and a T-shirt that would probably have done better in the rag pile.
He tried not to dwell on the dream. After all, it was simple enough to interpret. He wanted Ana-no big revelation there. And all that white-white on white-was obviously a symbol of her innocence.
It scared the hell out of him.
He found Jessie in the kitchen, busily slathering butter on another piece of toast. There was a plate heaped with them, more than a few of them burnt. The smell of cinnamon was everywhere.
Boone put on the coffee before he snagged a piece. It was cold, hard, and lumped with sugary cinnamon. Obviously, Jessie had inherited her grandmother's culinary talents.
"It's great," he told her, and swallowed gamely. "My favorite Sunday breakfast."
"Do you think Daisy can have some?"
Boone looked at the pile of toast again, glanced down at the pup, whose tongue was lolling out. With any luck he might be able to pawn off half his Sunday breakfast on the dog. "I think she could." Crouching, Boone held out a second piece of toast close enough for Daisy to sniff. "Sit," he ordered, in the firm, no-nonsense voice the training books had suggested.
Daisy continued to loll her tongue and wag her tail.
"Daisy, sit." He gave her rump a nudge. Daisy went down, then bounded back on all fours to jump at him. "Forget it." He held the toast out of reach and repeated the command. After five frustrating minutes-during which he tried not to remember how simple it had been for Ana-he managed to hold the dog's hindquarters down. Daisy gobbled up the bread, pleased with herself.
"She did it, Daddy."
"Sort of." He rose to pour himself some coffee. "We'll take her outside in a little while and have a real lesson."
"Okay." Jessie munched happily on her toast. "Maybe Ana's company will be gone, and she can help."
"Company?" Boone asked as he reached for a mug.
"I saw her outside with a man. She gave him a big hug and a kiss and everything."
"She-" The mug clattered onto the counter.
"Butterfingers," Jessie said, smiling.
"Yeah." Boone kept his back turned as he righted the mug and poured the coffee. "What, ah, sort of a man?" He thought his voice was casual enough-to fool a six-year-old, anyway.
"A really tall man with black hair. They were laughing and holding hands. Maybe it's her boyfriend."
"Boyfriend," Boone repeated between his teeth.
"What's the matter, Daddy?"
"Nothing. Coffee's hot." He sipped it black. Holding hands, he thought. Kissing. He'd get a look at this guy himself. "Why don't we go out on the deck, Jess? See if we can get Daisy to sit again."
"Okay." Singing the new song she'd learned in school, Jessie gathered up toast. "I like to eat outside. It's nice."
"Yeah, it's nice." Boone didn't sit when they were on the deck, but stood at the rail, the mug in his hand. He didn't see anyone in the next yard, and that was worse. Now he could imagine what Ana and her tall, dark-haired boyfriend might be doing inside.
Alone.
He ate three more pieces of toast, washing them down with black coffee while he fantasized about just what he'd say to Miss Anastasia Donovan the next time he saw her.
If she thought she could kiss him to the point of explosion one night, then dally with some strange guy the next morning, she was very much mistaken.
He'd straighten her out, all right. The minute he got ahold of her he'd-
His thoughts broke off when she came out the kitchen door, calling over her shoulder to someone.
"Ana!" Jessie leapt up on the bench, waving and shouting. "Ana, hi!"
While Boone watched through narrowed eyes, Ana looked in their direction. It seemed to him that her hand hesitated on its way up to return the wave, and her smile was strained.
Sure, he thought as he gulped down more coffee. I'd be nervous, too, if I had some strange man in the house.
"Can I go tell her what Daisy did? Can I, Daddy?"
"Yeah." His smile was grim as he set his empty mug on the rail. "Why don't you do that?"
Snatching up some more toast, she darted down the steps, calling for Daisy to follow and for Ana to wait.
Boone waited himself until he saw the man stroll outside to join Ana. He was tall, all right, Boone noted with some resentment. Several inches over six feet. He drew his own shoulders back. His hair was true black, and long enough to curl over his collar and blow-romantically, Boone imagined a woman would think-in the breeze.
He looked tanned, fit and elegant. And the breath hissed out between Boone's teeth when the stranger slipped an arm around Ana's shoulders as if it belonged there.
We'll see about this, Boone decided, and started down the deck stairs with his hands jammed in his pockets. We'll just see about this.
By the time he reach
ed the hedge of roses, Jessie was already chattering a mile a minute about Daisy, and Ana was laughing, her arms tucked intimately around the stranger's waist.
"I'd sit, too, if someone was going to feed me cinnamon toast," the man said, and winked at Ana.
"You'd sit if anyone was going to feed you anything." Ana gave him a little squeeze before she noticed Boone at the hedge. "Oh." It was useless to curse the faint blush she felt heating her cheeks. "Good morning."
"How's it going?" Boone gave her a slow nod. Then his gaze moved suspiciously to the man beside her. "We didn't mean to interrupt while you have- company."
"No, that's all right, I-" She broke off, both confused and disconcerted by the tension humming in the air. "Sebastian, this is Jessie's father, Boone Sawyer. Boone, my cousin, Sebastian Donovan."
"Cousin?" Boone repeated, and Sebastian didn't bother to control the grin that spread over his face.
"Fortunately you made the introductions quickly, Ana," he said. "I like my nose precisely the way it is." He held out a hand. "Nice to meet you. Ana was telling us she had new neighbors."
"He's the one with horses, Daddy."
"I remember." Boone found Sebastian's grip firm and strong. He might have appreciated it if he hadn't seen the gleam of amusement in the man's eyes. "You're recently married?"
"Indeed I am. My-" He turned when the screen door slammed. "Ah, here she is now. Light of my life."
A tall, slim woman with short, tousled hair strode over in dusty boots. "Cut it out, Donovan."
"My blushing bride." It was obvious they were laughing at each other. He took his wife's hand and kissed it. "Ana's neighbors, Boone and Jessie Sawyer. My own true love, Mary Ellen."
"Mel," she corrected quickly. "Donovan's the only one with the nerve to call me Mary Ellen. Great-looking house," she added, with a nod toward the neighboring building.
"I believe Mr. Sawyer writes fairy tales, children's books, much in the manner of Aunt Bryna."
"Oh, yeah? That's cool." Mel smiled down at Jessie. "I bet you like that."
"He writes the best stories in the world. And this is Daisy. We taught her to sit. Can I come see your horses?"
"Sure." Mel crouched down to ruffle the pup's fur. While Mel engaged Jessie in conversation about horses and dogs, Sebastian looked back at Boone.
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