Spellbound Read Free Page A

crevices, that he didn’t see the cottage until he was nearly upon it.
    It made him smile, though he didn’t realize it. It was so charming, so unexpected there beside the ancient stones. Inviting, welcoming, it seemed to bloom like the flowers that surrounded it, out of the cliffside as if planted by a loving hand.
    It was painted white with bright blue shutters. Smoke trailed up out of the stone chimney, and a sleek black cat napped beside a wooden rocker on the little covered porch.
    Someone made a home here, he thought, and tended it.
    The light was wrong, he told himself. But he knew he needed to capture this place, this feeling. He would ask whoever lived here if he could come back, do his work.
    As he stood in the rain, the cat uncurled lazily, then sat. It watched him out of startlingly blue eyes.
    Then she was there—standing in the lashing rain, the mists swirling around her. Though he’d hadn’t heard her approach, she was halfway between the tidy cottage and the tumbling stones of the old castle. One hand was lifted to her heart, and her breath was coming fast as if she’d been running.
    Her hair was wet, hanging in deep-red ropes over her shoulders, framing a face that might have been carved out of ivory by a master. Her mouth was soft and full and seemed to tremble as it curved into a smile of welcome. Her eyes were star blue and swimming with emotions as powerful as the storm.
    “I knew you would come.” The cloak she wore flew back as she raced to him. “I waited for you,” she said with the musical lilt of Ireland before her mouth crushed his.

C HAPTER 2
    There was a moment of blinding, searing joy. Another of dark, primal lust.
    Her taste, sharp, potent, soaked into his system as the rain soaked his skin. He was helpless to do anything but absorb it. Her arms were chained around his neck, her slim, curvy body pressed intimately to his, the heat from it seeping through his sodden shirt and into his bones.
    And her mouth was as wild and edgy as the sky thundering above them.
    It was all terrifyingly familiar.
    He brought his hands to her shoulders, torn for a staggering instant as to whether to pull her closer or push her away. In the end he eased back, held her at arm’s length.
    She was beautiful. She was aroused. And she was, he assured himself, a stranger. He angled his head, determined to handle the situation.
    “Well, it’s certainly a friendly country.”
    He saw the flicker in her eyes, the dimming of disappointment, a flash of frustration. But he couldn’t know just how deeply that disappointment, that frustration cut into her heart.
    He’s here, she told herself. He’s come. That’s what matters most now. “It is, yes.” She gave him a smile, let her fingers linger in his hair just another second, then dropped them to her sides. “Welcome to Ireland and the Castle of Secrets.”
    His gaze shifted toward the ruins. “Is that what it’s called?”
    “That’s the name it carries now.” She had to struggle tokeep her eyes from devouring him, every inch, every expression. Instead she offered a hand, as she would have to any wayward traveler. “You’ve had a long journey. Come, sit by my fire.” Her lips curved. “Have some whiskey in your tea.”
    “You don’t know me.” He made it a statement rather than a question. Had to.
    In answer, she looked up at the sky. “You’re wet,” she said, “and the wind’s cold today. It’s enough to have me offer a seat by the hearth.” She turned away from him, stepped up onto the porch where the cat stirred itself to wind through her legs. “You’ve come this far.” Her eyes met his again, held. “Will you come into my home, Calin Farrell, and warm yourself?”
    He scooped dripping hair out of his face, felt his bones tremble. “How do you know my name?”
    “The same way you knew to come here.” She picked up the cat, stroked its silky head. Both of them watched him with patient, unblinking blue eyes. “I baked scones