Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  Liam studied Sebastian's smug smile with the active dislike only family could feel. When they'd been boys, Liam had competed ruthlessly against his older cousin, determined to be as fast, as clever, as smart. Under that competitive streak had been a secret layer of hero worship.

  Even now, as a grown man, he wanted Sebastian's respect.

  "When she's ready, she'll have the choice. And she'll make it."

  "When you're ready," Sebastian corrected. "Is it arrogance, Liam, or fear?"

  "It's sense," Liam shot back and fought not to let his teeth go on edge. "She's barely had time to absorb what I've told her already, much less to fully understand. Her own heritage is buried so deep there's hardly a glimmer of it in her mind. She's just begun to discover herself as a woman, how can I ask her to accept her gifts?"

  Or me. But he didn't say that, infuriated himself that he would even think it.

  He's in love with her, Sebastian realized as Liam turned to scowl down at the beach. In love and too hardheaded to admit it. For a second time a smile trembled on his lips with laughter just beneath. So the mighty fall, he mused, fighting all the way.

  "It may be, Liam, you don't give the woman enough credit." He glanced back to where Rowan sat with his wife at the table. "She's lovely."

  "She sees herself as plain, as simple. As ordinary. She's none of those things." Liam didn't look around. He could see her in his mind's eye clearly enough if he chose. "But she is tender. I may end up asking her for a great deal more than she's prepared to give."

  Lovesick, Sebastian thought, though not without sympathy. He'd been similarly afflicted when he'd met Mel. And had very likely made similar stupid mistakes because of it.

  "Living with you's more than any woman could be prepared for." He grinned when Liam turned his head and shot him a look with those hard gold eyes.

  "I pity her at the thought of seeing that ugly, scowling face of yours day after day."

  Liam's smile was sharp as a blade. "And how does your wife tolerate yours, cousin?"

  "She's crazy about me."

  "She strikes me as a smart woman."

  "Her mind's like a dagger," Sebastian said, with a grinning glance at his wife.

  "So how much time did it take you to weave the spell into her mind for that?"

  This time Sebastian did laugh, and in a quick move grabbed Liam in a snug headlock. "A much shorter time than it'll take you to make your pretty lady believe you're a prize to look at."

  "Kiss my-" He could only curse, struggle against laughter as Sebastian kissed him full on the mouth. "I'll have to kill you for that," he began, then lifted a brow as little Aiden dashed over to throw his arms around his father's legs. "Later," Liam decided and plucked the child up himself.

  It was late when Liam left Rowan sleeping in the house Ana kept by the sea. He was restless, unsettled, and baffled by the ache around his heart that refused to ease.

  He thought of running along the water, or flying over it. Racing until he was settled again.

  And he thought of Rowan, sweetly sleeping in the quiet house.

  He walked through the shadows and scents of Ana's garden, searching for peace of mind. He stepped through the hedge of faerie roses, crossed the lawn and stepped up on the deck on the house where Ana lived with her family. He'd known she was there. "You should be asleep."

  Ana simply held out a hand. "I thought you'd want to talk."

  But taking her hand, he sat beside her and contented himself with silence. He knew of no one more comfortable to sit with, to be with than Anastasia.

  Overhead the moon winked in and out of clouds, the stars glimmered. The house where Rowan slept was dark and full of dreams.

  "I didn't know how much I missed you, all of you, until I saw you again."

  Ana gave his hand a supportive squeeze. "You needed to be alone for a while."

  "Aye. It wasn't because you didn't matter that I blocked you all out for a time." He touched her hair. "It was because you did."

  "I know that, Liam." She brushed her fingers over his cheek, felt his conflict in her own heart. "Your mind's so troubled." Her quiet gray eyes looked into his, her lips curved gently. "Must you always think so hard?"

  "It's the only way I know." Still he felt the strain ease as he sat with her, sliding away knot by knot. That was Ana's gift. "You've a lovely family, Ana, and have made a lovely home here. Your mate is your match. Your children your joy. I can see how happy you are."

  "Just as I can see how unhappy you are. Isn't a family and a home what you want, Liam? What would make you happy?"

  He studied their linked ringers, knowing he could and would say things to her he wouldn't to another. "I might not be good at it."

  Ah, she realized, of course. Liam's standards for himself were always higher than anyone else's could be. "What makes you think that?"

  "I'm used to thinking for and of myself. Used to doing as I please. And I like it." He lifted his gaze to hers, smiled. "I'm a selfish man, and fate's asking me to take the responsibility my father's borne so well, to take a woman who'll understand only pieces of what that means."

  "You're not giving either of you credit for who you are." There was impatience in her voice now, all the more effective as it was so rare. "You've been stubborn, and you've been proud, but you've never been selfish, Liam. What you are is too bloody serious about too many things. And so you too often miss the joy of them." She sighed, shook her head. "And Rowan can and will understand a great deal more than you seem to think."

  "I like going my own way."

  "And your own way led you straight to her, didn't it?" This time Ana laughed. He looked so irritated that logic had turned back and nipped him. "Do you know one of the things I've always admired most about you? Your instinct to question and pick apart everything. It's a fascinating and annoying trait. And you do it because you care so much. You'd rather not, but you care."

  "What would you do, Ana, if you were standing where I am?"

  "Oh, that's easy for me." Her smoky eyes were soft, her smile gentle. "I'd listen to my heart. I always do. You'll do the same when you're ready."

  "Not everyone's heart speaks as clearly as yours." Restless again, he drummed his fingers against the bench. "I've shown her who I am, but I haven't told her what that might mean to her. I've made her my lover, but I haven't given her love. I've shown her my family without telling her about her own. So yes, it troubles me."

  "You can change it. It's in your hands."

  He nodded, stared into the night. "I'm taking her back in the morning, when she wakes. And I'll show her what's sleeping inside her. As for the rest, I don't know yet."

  "Don't only show her the obligations, Liam, the duties. Show her the joys, too." She rose, keeping her hand in his. "The baby's stirring. He'll be hungry. I'll make your goodbyes in the morning if you like."

  "I'd appreciate it." He got to his feet, gathered her close. "Blessed be, cousin."

  "Don't stay away so long." She kissed his cheeks before she drew away, and at the door paused, looked back. He stood in a shower of moonlight. Alone. "Love waits," she murmured.

  It waited, Liam thought when he slipped into bed beside Rowan. Here, in dreams. Would it wait in the morning when he awakened her to all she was?

  Like the princess in the fairy tale, he thought, stirred to life by a kiss. The fact that he was, in his way, a prince made him smile humorlessly into the dark.

  Fate, he supposed, enjoyed its ironies.

  Those thoughts, and others, kept him awake and waiting for dawn. At first light he slipped a hand over hers, linked fingers and took them back to Rowan's own bed.

  She murmured, shifted, then settled again. Rising, he dressed, studying her as she slept. Then he went quietly downstairs to make very strong coffee.

  He thought both of them would need it.

  With his mind tuned to hers, he knew the moment she stirred. He stepped outside, carrying his coffee. She would come to him, questioning.

  Ups
tairs, Rowan blinked in puzzlement. Had she dreamed it all? It didn't seem possible when she could remember everything so clearly. The aching blue sky of Monterey, the bright music of children's laughter. The warmth of welcome.

  It had to be real.

  Then she let out a weak chuckle, resting her brow on her updrawn knees. Nothing had to be real, not anymore.

  She rose, and prepared to experience yet another magical day.

  CHAPTER 11

  When she saw him standing on the porch, it struck her all over again. The wild thrill, the rush of love, the wonder. That this stunning, extraordinary man should want her left her speechless with delight.

  Moving on pure emotion, she rushed through the door to throw her arms around him, press her cheek against that strong back.

  It staggered him, those sweet, fresh feelings that poured out of her so freely, the quick rise of his own that tangled with them. He wanted to whirl around, to sweep her up and away to someplace where there was no one and nothing to think of but her.

  Instead he laid his free hand over hers lightly.

  "You brought us back before I had a chance to say goodbye to your family."

  "You'll see them again- if you like."

  "I would. I'd love to see Morgana's shop. It sounds wonderful. And Sebastian and Mel's horses. I loved meeting all of your cousins." She rubbed her cheek over his shirt. "You're so lucky to have such a big family. I have some cousins on my father's side, but they live back east. I haven't seen them since I was a child."

  His eyes narrowed. Could there have been a more perfect opening for what he meant to tell her? "Go inside and get your coffee, Rowan. I need to talk to you."

  Her mood teetered as she loosened her grip, stepped back. She'd been so sure he'd turn and hold her. Instead he hadn't even looked at her, and his tone was cool.

  What had she done wrong? she asked herself as she went inside to stare blindly at the line of cheerfully colored mugs. Had she said something? Not said something? Had she-

  She squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted with herself. Why did she do that? she demanded. Why did she always, always assume she'd done something? Or lacked something?

  Well, she wasn't going to do that anymore. Not with Liam. Not with anyone. A little grim, she got a mug and poured hot, black coffee to the rim.

  When she turned, he was inside watching her. Ignoring the sudden dread in her stomach, she struggled to keep her voice impassive. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

  "Sit down."

  "I'm fine standing." She pushed at her tumbled hair, sipped coffee hot enough to scorch her tongue.

  "If you're angry with me, tell me. I don't like having to guess."

  "I'm not angry with you. Why should I be?"

  "I have no idea." To keep herself busy, she took out a loaf of bread to make toast she imagined would stick in her throat. "Why else would you be scowling at me?"

  "I'm not scowling."

  She glanced back at his face, sniffed in derision. "You certainly are, and I don't care for it."

  His eyebrow shot up. Her mood had certainly shifted from soft and cuddly to cold and snappy quickly. "Well, I beg your pardon then." In an irritable move, he yanked out a chair, straddled it. Get on with it, he ordered himself. "I took you to meet my family, and it's family I want to speak of. I'd prefer it if you'd sit the bloody hell down instead of prowling about the room."

  Her shoulders wanted to hitch up in defense at the angry tone and she forced them to stay straight. "I'm making breakfast, if you don't mind."

  He muttered something, then flung out his hands. A plate of lightly browned toast appeared on the counter. "There. Though how you can call that breakfast is beyond me. Now sit down with it."

  "I'm perfectly capable of making my own." But she carried the plate to the table before deliberately going to the refrigerator and taking her own sweet time choosing jam.

  "Rowan, you're trying my patience. I'm only asking you to sit down and talk to me."

  "Asking is exactly what you didn't do, but now that you have, I will." Surprised at just how smug she felt over that small victory, she came back to the table and sat down. "Do you want some toast?"

  "No, I don't." And hearing the snap in his voice, sighed. "Thank you."

  She smiled at him with such sudden, such open sweetness, his heart stumbled. "I hardly ever win arguments," she told him as she spread jam on the toast. "Especially when I don't know what the argument's about."

  "Well, you won that one, didn't you?" Her eyes danced as she bit into the toast. "I like winning."

  He had to laugh. "So do I." He laid a hand on her wrist as she lifted her mug. "You didn't add your cream and all that sugar. You know you don't like your coffee black."

  "Only because I make lousy coffee. Yours is good. You said you wanted to talk about your family."

  "About family." He moved his hand so he was no longer touching her. "You understand what runs through mine."

  "Yes." He was watching her so closely, his eyes so focused on hers she had to fight the urge to squirm. "Your gift. The Donovan Legacy." She smiled. "That's what you named your company."

  "Aye, that's right. Because I'm proud of where I come from. Power has obligations, responsibilities. It's not a toy, but it's not something to fear."

  "I'm not afraid of you, Liam, if that's what worries you."

  "Maybe, in part."

  "I'm not, I couldn't be." She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she loved him, but he pushed back from the table and began to prowl about the room just as he'd asked her not to.

  "You're seeing it as a storybook. Magic and romance and happy-ever-after. But it's just life, Rowan, with all its messes and mistakes. Its needs and demands. Life," he repeated, turning back to her, "that has to be lived."

  "You're only half right," she told him. "I can't help but see it as magical, as romantic, but I understand the rest. How could I not understand after meeting your cousins, seeing their families? That's what I met yesterday, a family. Not a picture in a book."

  "And you were- comfortable with them?"

  "Very much." Her heart began to trip in her throat. It mattered to him, she could see it. Mattered that she accepted his family, and him. Because- was it possible it was because he loved her, too? That he wanted her to be part of his life? Joy spurted through her in one long liquid gush. "Rowan." He came back to sit, so that she hid her trembling hands under the table. "My cousins are many. Here, in Ireland. In Wales, Cornwall. Some are Donovans, some Malones, some Rileys. And some are O'Mearas."

  Her heart had bounded into her head to spin dreamily. "Yes, you said your mother was an O'Meara. We might even be distant relatives. Wouldn't that be nice? Then in some convoluted way I might be connected to Morgana and the rest." He bit back a sigh, then reaching for her hands, he took them firmly in his and leaned closer. "Rowan, I didn't say we might be cousins, but that we are cousins. Distant, it's true, but we share blood. A legacy." Puzzled by the sudden intensity she frowned at him. "I suppose we might be. Tenth cousins or something, however many times removed. I'm not entirely clear how that works. It's interesting, but-"

  This time her heart seemed to stop. "What do you mean?" she said slowly. "We share a legacy?"

  "Your great-grandmother, Rowan O'Meara was a witch. As I am. As you are."

  "That's absurd." She started to jerk her hands free, but he held them fast. "That's absurd, Liam. I didn't even know her, and you certainly didn't."

  "I know of her." He spoke calmly now. "Of Rowan O'Meara from Clare, who fell in love and married, and left her homeland, and abjured her gifts. She did this because the man she loved asked it of her. She did this freely, as was her right. And when she birthed her children, she said nothing of their heritage until they were grown."

  "You're thinking of someone else," was all she could say.

  "So they thought her eccentric, and perhaps a bit fey, but they didn't believe. When they birthed children of their own, they only said Rowan O'Meara wa
s odd. Kind and loving, but odd. And when the daughter of her daughter birthed a daughter, that child was raised not knowing what ran in her blood."

  "A person would have to know. How could you not know?" This time he released her hands so she could pull back, spring to her feet. "You'd feel it. You'd sense it."

  "And haven't you?" He got to his feet as well, wishing he'd found a way to tell her without frightening her. "Haven't you felt it, from time to time? Felt that stirring, that burn in the blood, wondered at it?"

  "No." That was a lie, she thought and backed away. "I don't know. But you're wrong, Liam. I'm just ordinary."

  "You saw pictures in the flames, dreamed your dreams as a child. Felt the tingle of power under your skin, in your mind."

  "Imagination," she insisted. "Children have wonderful ones." But she felt a tingle now, and part of it was fear.

  "You said you weren't afraid of me." He said it softly, as he might to a deer startled in the woods. "Why would you be afraid of yourself?"

  "I'm not afraid. I just know it's not true."

  "Then you'd be willing to test it, to see which of us is right?"

  "Test what? How?"

  "The first skill learned and the last to leave is the making of fire. What's inside you already knows how it's done. I'll just remind you." He stepped to her, taking her hand before she could evade. "And you have my word that I won't do it myself, just as I want your word that you won't block what comes."

  It seemed even her soul was trembling now. "I don't have to block anything because there isn't anything."

  "Then come with me."

  "Where?" she demanded as he pulled her outside. But she already knew.

  "The dance," he said simply. "You won't have control just yet, and it's protected."

  "Liam, this is ridiculous. I'm just a normal woman, and in order to make a fire I need kindling and a match."

  He paused just long enough to glare at her. "You think I'm lying to you?"

  "I think you're mistaken." She had to scramble to keep up with his ground-eating strides. "There probably was a Rowan O'Meara who was a witch. There probably was, Liam, but she wasn't my great-grandmother. My great-grandmother was a sweet, slightly dotty old woman who painted beautifully and told fairy stories."