"Well then." Lightly, she trained a fingertip down his cheek. "I never said we couldn't give them a bit of a nudge, now and then. The lass is troubled, and Liam-oh, he's a difficult man, is Liam. Like his Da."
"Takes after his mother more." Still smiling, Finn leaned down to kiss his wife. "When the girl comes into her own, the boy will have his hands full. He'll be humbled before he finds the truth of pride. She'll be hurt before she finds the full of her strength."
"Then, if it's meant, they'll find each other. You like her." Arianna linked her hands at the back of Finn's neck. "She appealed to your vanity, sighing over you, calling you handsome."
His silver brows rose again, his grin flashed bright. "I am handsome-and so you've said yourself. We'll leave them to themselves a bit." He slid his arms around her waist. "Let's be home, a ghra. I'm already missing Ireland."
With a swirl of white smoke, a shiver of white light, they were home.
By the time Rowan got home, heated up a can of soup and devoured a section on basic plumbing repairs, it was sunset. For the first time since her arrival she didn't stop and stare and wonder at the glorious fire of the dying day. As the light dimmed, she merely leaned closer to the page.
With her elbows propped on the kitchen table, and her tea going cold, she almost wished a pipe would spring a leak so she could test out her new knowledge.
She felt smug and prepared, and decided to tackle the section on electrical work next. But first she'd make the phone call she'd been putting off. She considered fortifying herself with a glass of wine first, but decided that would be weak.
She took off her reading glasses, set them aside. Slipped a bookmark into the pages, closed the book. And stared at the phone.
It was terrible to dread calling people you loved.
She put it off just a little longer by neatly stacking the books she'd bought. There were more than a dozen, and she was still amused at herself for picking up several on myths and legends.
They'd be entertaining, she thought, and wasted a little more time selecting the one she wanted for bedtime reading.
Then there was wood to be brought in for the evening fire, the soup bowl to wash and carefully dry. Her nightly scan of the woods for the wolf she hadn't seen all day.
When she couldn't find anything else to engage her time, she picked up the phone and dialed.
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the back steps, the backwash of light from the kitchen spilling over her. And she was weeping.
She'd nearly buckled under the benign pressure, nearly crumbled beneath the puzzled, injured tone of her mother's voice. Yes, yes, of course, she'd come home. She'd go back to teaching, get her doctorate, marry Alan, start a family. She'd live in a pretty house in a safe neighborhood. She'd be anything they wanted her to be as long as it made them happy.
Not saying all of those things, not doing them was so hard. And so necessary.
Her tears were hot and from the heart. She wished she understood why she was always, always pulled in a different direction, why she needed so desperately to see what was blurred at the edges of her mind.
Something was there, waiting for her. Something she was or needed to be. It was all she was sure of.
When the wolf nudged his head under her hand, she simply wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his throat.
"Oh, I hate hurting anyone. I can't bear it, and I can't stop it. What's wrong with me?"
Her tears dampened his neck. And touched his heart. To comfort he nuzzled her cheek, let her cling. Then he slipped a quiet thought into her mind.
Betray yourself, and you betray all they've given you. Love opens doors. It doesn't close them. When you go through it and find yourself, they'll still be there.
She let out a shuddering breath, rubbed her face against his fur. "I can't go back, even though part of me wants to. If I did, I know something inside me would just- stop." She leaned back, holding his head in her hands. "If I went back, I'd never find anything like you again. Even if it were there, I wouldn't really see it. I'd never follow a white doe or talk to an eagle."
Sighing, she stroked his head, his powerful shoulders. "I'd never let some gorgeous Irishman with a bad attitude kiss me, or do something as fun and foolish as eat cookies for breakfast."
Comforted, she rested her head against his. "I need to do those things, to be the kind of person who does them. That's what they can't understand, you know?
And it hurts and frightens them because they love me."
She sighed again, leaned back, stroking his head absently as she studied the woods with their deep shadows, their whispering secrets. "So I have to make this all work, so they stop being hurt and stop being frightened. Part of me is scared that I will make it work-and part of me is scared I won't." Her lips curved ruefully. "I'm such a coward."
His eyes narrowed, glinted, a low growl sounded in his throat making her blink. Their faces were close, and she could see those strong, deadly white teeth. Swallowing hard, she stroked his head with fingers that trembled.
"There now. Easy. Are you hungry? I have cookies." Heart hammering, she got slowly to her feet as he continued to growl. She kept her eyes on him, walking backward as he came up the steps toward her. As she reached the door, one part of her mind screamed for her to slam it, lock it. He was a wild thing, feral, not to be trusted. But with her eyes locked on his, all she could think was how he had pressed his muzzle against her, how he had been there when she wept.
She left the door open.
Though her hand shook, she picked up a cookie, held it out. "It's probably bad for you, but so many good things are." She muffled a yelp when he nipped it, with surprising delicacy, from her fingertips. She'd have sworn his eyes laughed at her. "Well okay, now we know sugar's as good as music for soothing savage beasts. One more, but that's it."
When he rose onto his hind legs with surprising speed and grace, set those magnificent front paws on her shoulders, she could only manage a choked gasp. Her eyes, wide and round and shocked, met his glinting ones. Then he licked her, from collarbone to ear, one long, warm stroke, and made her laugh.
"What a pair we are," she murmured and pressed her lips to the ruff of his neck. "What a pair."
He lowered, just as gracefully, snatching the cookie from her fingers on the way.
"Clever, very clever." Eyeing him, she closed the lid on the cookies and set them on top of the refrigerator. "What I need is a hot bath and a book," she decided. "And that glass of wine I didn't let myself have before. I'm not going to think about what someone else wants," she continued as she turned to open the refrigerator. "I'm not going to think about sexy neighbors with outrageously wonderful mouths. I'm going to think about how lovely it is to have all this time, all this space."
She finished pouring the wine and lifted her glass in toast as he watched her. "And to have you. Why don't you come upstairs and keep me company while I have that bath?"
The wolf ran his tongue around his teeth, let out a low sound that resembled a laugh and thought, why don't I?
She fascinated him. It wasn't a terribly comfortable sensation, but he couldn't shake it. It didn't matter how often he reminded himself she was an ordinary woman, and one with entirely too much baggage to become involved with.
He just couldn't stay away.
He'd been certain he'd tuned her out when she'd slammed her door behind her. Even though he'd been delighted with that flare of temper, the way it had flashed in her eyes, firmed that lovely soft mouth, he'd wanted to put her out of his mind for a few days.
Smarter, safer that way.
But he'd heard her weeping. Sitting in his little office, toying with a spin-off game for Myor, he'd heard those sounds of heartbreak, and despite the block he'd imposed, had felt her guilt and grief ripping at his heart.
He hadn't been able to ignore it. So he'd gone to her, offered a little comfort. Then she'd infuriated him, absolutely infuriated him by calling herself a coward. By believing it.
And what had the coward done, he thought, when a rogue wolf had snarled at her? Offered him a cookie.
A cookie, for Finn's sake.
She was utterly charming.
Then he had entertained, and tortured himself, by sitting and watching her lazily undress. Sweet God the woman had a way of sliding out of her clothes that made a man's head spin. Then, in a red robe she hadn't bothered to belt, she'd filled the old-fashioned tub with frothy bubbles that smelled of jasmine.
She'd lighted candles. Such a- female thing to do. She ran the water too hot, and had turned music on seductively low. As she shrugged out of the robe, she daydreamed. He resisted sliding into her mind to see what put that faraway look in her eyes, that faint smile on her lips.
Her body delighted him. It was so slender, so smooth, with a pearly sheen to the skin and slim, subtle curves. Delicate bones, tiny feet, and breasts tipped fragile blush-pink.
He wanted to taste there, to run his tongue from white to pink to white.
When she'd leaned over to turn off the taps, it had taken an enormous act of will to prevent himself from nipping at that firm, naked bottom.
It both irritated and charmed him that she seemed to have no vanity, no self-awareness. She piled her hair on top of her head in a gloriously messy mass, and didn't so much as glance at herself in the mirror.
Instead she talked to him, chattering nonsense, then hissed out a breath as she stepped into the tub. Steam billowed as she gingerly lowered herself, until the bubbles played prettily over her breasts.
Until he longed to reform and slip into the tub with her as a man.
She only laughed when he walked forward to sniff at her. Only ran a hand over his head absently while she picked up a book with the other.
Home Maintenance for the Confused and Inept.
It made him chuckle, the sound coming out as a soft woof. She gave his ears a quick scratch, then reached for her wine.
"It says here," she began, "that I should always have a few basic tools on hand. I think I saw all of these in the utility room, but I'd better make a list and compare. The next time the power goes out, or I blow a fuse-or is it a breaker?-I'm handling it myself. I won't be rescued by anyone, especially Liam Donovan."
She gasped then chuckled when the wolf dipped his tongue into her glass and drank. "Hey, hey! This is a very fine sauvignon blanc, and not for you, pal." She lifted the glass out of reach. "It explains how to do simple rewiring," she continued. "Not that I'm planning on doing any, but it doesn't look terribly complicated. I'm very good at following directions."
A frown marred her brow. "Entirely too good." She sipped wine, slid lower in the tub. "That's the core of the problem. I'm used to following directions, so everyone's startled that I've taken a detour."
She set the book aside, idly lifted a leg out of the water, skimmed a fingertip up her calf.
His mind moaned.
"No one's more surprised than I am that I like detours. Adventures," she added and grinned over at him. "This is really my first adventure." She eased up again, bubbles clinging to her breasts. She scooped up a handful and idly rubbed them up and down her arm.
She only laughed when he ran his tongue slowly from her elbow to her shoulder. "All in all, it's been a hell of an adventure so far."
She lingered in the tub for a half hour, innocently delighting him. The scent of her as she toweled off made him yearn. He found her no less alluring when she slipped into the flannel pajamas.
When she crouched to build up the bedroom fire, he nipped and nuzzled, making her giggle. The next thing she knew she was wrestling playfully with a wolf on the hearth rug. His breath tickled her throat. She rubbed his belly and made him rumble with pleasure. His tongue was warm and wet on her cheek. Breathlessly happy she knelt to throw her arms around his neck, to hug fiercely.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad I found you." She pressed her cheek hard against his, locked her fingers in that silky fur. "Or did you find me?" she murmured. "It doesn't matter. It's so good to have a friend who doesn't expect anything but friendship."
She curled up with him to watch the fire, smiling at the pictures she found in the flames. "I've always liked doing this. When I was a little girl I was sure I saw things in the fire. Magic things," she murmured, and settled her head on his neck. "Beautiful things. Castles and clouds and cliffs." Her voice slurred as her eyes grew heavy. "Handsome princes and enchanted hills. I used to think I could go there, through the smoke and into the magic." She sighed, drifted. "Now there are only shapes and light."
And slept.
When she slept, he let himself be Liam, stroking her hair while he watched the fire she'd built. There was a way through the smoke and into the magic, he thought. What would she think if he showed her? If he took her there?
"But you'd have to come back to the other, Rowan. There's no way for me to keep you. I don't want to keep you," he corrected, firmly. "But God, I want to have you."
In sleep she sighed, shifted. Her arm came around him. He closed his eyes. "You'd best hurry," he told her. "Hurry and find out what you want and where you intend to go. Sooner or later I'll send for you."
He rose, lifting her gently to carry her to bed. "If you come to me," he whispered as he lowered her to the bed, spread the cover over her. "If you come to me, Rowan Murray, I'll show you magic." Lightly he touched his lips to hers. "Dream what you will tonight, and dream alone."
He kissed her again, for himself this time. He left her as a man. And prowled the night mists as a wolf.
She spent the next week in the grip of tremendous energy, compelled to fill every minute of every day with something new. She explored the woods, haunted the cliffs and pleased herself by sketching whatever appealed to the eye.
As the weather gradually warmed, the bulbs she'd spotted began to bud. The night still carried a chill, but spring was ready to reign. Delighted, she left the windows open to welcome it in.
For that week she saw no one but the wolf. It was rare for him not to spend at least an hour with her. Walking with her on her hikes through the woods, waiting patiently while she examined the beginnings of a wildflower, a circle of toadstools or stopped to sketch the trees.
Her weekly call home made her heart ache, but she told herself she felt strong. Dutifully she wrote a long letter to Alan, but said nothing about coming back.
Each morning she woke content. Each night she slipped into bed satisfied. Her only frustration was that she'd yet to discover what she needed to do. Unless, she sometimes thought, what she needed was simply to live alone with her books, her drawings and the wolf.
She hoped there was more.
Liam did not wake every morning content. Nor did he go to bed every night satisfied. He blamed her for it, though he knew it was unfair.
Still if she'd been less innocent, he would have taken what she'd once offered him. The physical need would have been met. And he assured himself this emotional pull would fade.
He refused to accept whatever fate had in store for him, for them, until he was completely in control of his own mind and body.
He stood facing the sea on a clear afternoon when the wind was warm and the air full of rioting spring. He'd come out to clear his head. His work wouldn't quite gel. And though he claimed continually that it was no more than a diversion, an amusement, he took a great deal of pride in the stories he created.
Absently he fingered the small crystal of fluorite he'd slipped into his pocket. It should have calmed him, helped to steady his mind. Instead his mind was as restless as the sea he studied.
He could feel the impatience in the air, mostly his own. But he knew the sense of waiting was from others. Whatever destination he was meant to reach, the steps to it were his own. Those who waited asked when he would take them.
"When I'm damned ready," he muttered. "My life remains mine. There's always a choice. Even with responsibility, even with fate, there is a choice. Liam, son of Finn, will make his own."
> He wasn't surprised to see the white gull soar overhead. Her wing caught the sunlight, tipped gracefully as she flew down. And her eyes glinted, gold as his own, when she perched on a rock. "Blessed be, Mother."
With only a bit more flourish than necessary, Arianna swirled from bird to woman. She smiled, opened her arms. "Blessed me, my love."
He went to her, enfolded her, pressed his face into her hair. "I've missed you. Oh, you smell of home."
"Where you, too, are missed." She eased back, but framed his face in her hands. "You look tired. You aren't sleeping well."
Now his smile was rueful. "No, not well. Do you expect me to?"
"No." And she laughed, kissed both his cheeks before turning to look out to sea. "This place you've chosen to spend some time is beautiful. You've always chosen well, Liam, and you will always have a choice." She slanted a look up at him. "The woman is lovely, and pure of heart."
"Did you send her to me?"
"The one day? Yes, or I showed her the way." Arianna shrugged and walked back to sit on the rock. "But did I send her here, no. There are powers beyond mine and yours that set events in order. You know that." She crossed her legs and the long white dress she wore whispered. "You find her attractive."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"She's not the usual type you're drawn to, at least to dally with."
He set his teeth. "A grown man doesn't care to have his mother discuss his sex life."
"Oh." She waved a hand dismissively and set her rings flashing. "Sex, when tempered with respect and affection, is healthy. I want my only child to be healthy, don't I? You won't dally with her because you worry it will involve more than sex, more than affection."
"And what then?" Anger simmered in his voice. "Do I take her, engage her heart only to hurt her? 'An it harm none.' Does that only apply to magic?"
"No." She spoke gently, held out a hand to him. "It should apply to life. Why assume you'll harm her, Liam?"
"I'm bound to."
"No more than any man hurts any woman when their hearts bump together. You would take the same risks with her." She angled her head as she studied his face. "Do you think your father and I have loved over thirty years without a scratch or bruise?"
Books by Nora Roberts Page 296