Face the Fire - Nora Roberts

[Dalyia]

“So do you,” she said when his mouth covered hers again.

Steam, fragrant with herbs and flowers, rose as they washed each other. Teased each other. Slippery hands over slippery skin aroused in slow beats that savored each moment, each touch and taste. Long, lazy strokes coaxed the pulses to quicken and low, lingering moans to mix with the sound of drumming water.

Her mouth was wet and warm, and with restless nips and nibbles grew eager under his. She deepened the kiss as her body rubbed and rocked against his. Invitation, demand, delight. And every breath he took was full of her scent.

As the air turned sultry, he turned her so that he could trace kisses over her back, so that he could mold and cup her breasts. His thumbs scraped her nipples, tortured the hard points while her back arched in pleasure.

When his hands skimmed lower, she reached back, hooking her arms around his neck and holding on to him when he sent her flying.

“Now.” She turned to him. “Fill me now.”

He slid into her, achingly slow. And she felt herself open, and give. She gripped his shoulders while the water sluiced over them, tuned her body to his.

Long, silky strokes so that pleasure was a low, sustained beat. Everything she was focused on the need to prolong, to hold this moment like a jewel. Shining and rich. Her blood pulsed, seemed to sing under her skin until the beauty of it wept inside her.

She crested, an endless, warm wave, and her mouth pressed to his as she rode it. They ended up on the bed again, flat on their backs.

“We never seem to make it here for the first round,” Sam managed.

“Be that as it may, round two will have to be postponed on account of working for a living.”

“Yeah. I’ve got an eleven o’clock meeting.”

She stirred enough to twist for a look at the clock. “You’ve got some time yet. Why don’t you stay, get a little sleep?”

“Huh.”

She rose, raked her fingers through her damp hair. “I’ll set the alarm for ten.”

He grunted again, and didn’t move a muscle.

Nor had he moved when, thirty minutes later, she was groomed and dressed for the day. Obligingly, she
set the alarm clock, tugged the sheet over him.

Then just stood looking at him.

“How did it happen you’ve ended up sleeping in my bed again?” she wondered aloud. “Does it make me weak, stupid, or just human?”

With no answer, she left him sleeping.

Nell pounced the minute she walked in the door.

“You’re all right? I was worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t look any the worse for wear,” Lulu commented after a careful study. All the tension balled in her stomach loosened and smoothed out.

“I told Lu,” Nell explained and struggled with the hitch in her conscience. She wasn’t being as forthcoming with Mia as she was about her. “I . . . thought I should.”

“Of course. Is the coffee up? I’m desperate for a decent cup. And to economize time and effort, we’ll go upstairs and have some while I save the two of you the trouble of poking at me about what happened.”

“You were so pale.” Nell went up the steps first. “Ripley and I were about to pull you back when you came on your own. But you were as white as a sheet.”

Guarding her province, Nell hurried behind the counter to pour the coffee. “You were gone for nearly an hour.”

“An hour?” Mia was surprised. “I didn’t realize. It didn’t seem like . . . His power’s crafty,” she said quietly. “He blocked my sense of time. I wasn’t prepared to stay so long, which explains why I was so weak when I came back.”

She took the coffee Nell offered, sipped, considered. “It won’t do to forget that a second time. You look a little peaked, Lu. Aren’t you well?”

“Up late watching a Charles Bronson marathon,” Lulu lied glibly, and behind the counter Nell flushed with guilt. “That Logan boy took good care of you?”

“Yes, Lulu. That Logan boy took good care of me. You sound like you’re catching a cold.”

The surefire way to distract her girl, Lulu knew, was to poke at her. “I didn’t see his fancy car in front of the cottage this morning.”

“Because it’s still parked in my driveway. He sat up all night with me, then fixed me a nearly inedible breakfast this morning, after which I seduced him in the shower. As a result I’m feeling very rested, very serene, and just a little hungry. Nell, how about one of those apple muffins?”

“He sold his condo in New York City,” Lulu stated, and had the satisfaction of seeing Mia blink.

“Really?”

“I keep my ear to the ground. Signed the papers on it just yesterday. Got a bunch of stuff going into storage. Doesn’t sound like he’s planning on going back there anytime soon.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She couldn’t think about that, Mia told herself. Not just now. “And as fascinating as that is, we’ve more immediate concerns than where Sam stores his living room furniture.”

“Smart money says he sells it.”

“Hmm. In any case,” Mia continued, “we have to decide what to do, if anything, about Evan Remington. I don’t think the authorities would sanction a coven of witches attempting a casting out on an inmate.”

She nibbled her muffin as she considered. “And to be honest, I don’t think it would work, not the way it did with Harding last winter. Harding was a pawn, unaware and largely unwilling. Remington isn’t unwilling, and my sense is that he knows. He not only accepts, but revels in what comes into him. He welcomes it.”

“I could get in to see him.” Nell waited for Mia to look back at her. “He would agree to that. I might be able to reach him.”

“You couldn’t.” Mia reached out to squeeze Nell’s hand. “You’re part of his catalyst. More important, Zack would have my head, and rightly so, if I encouraged you to try. Another face-to-face encounter between you and Remington is too dangerous under any circumstances, but it might be harmful for the baby.”

“I wouldn’t try to . . .” Nell’s eyes went wide. “How did you know about the baby? I took a home pregnancy test at dawn.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m going to the doctor this afternoon to back it up. I haven’t even told Zack. I want to be sure first.”

“Be sure. I felt it when I took your hand.” Joy swam into Mia’s heart, over her face. “New life. Oh, Nell.”

“I knew, the night . . . when I conceived, I knew. I felt a light inside.” Tears spilled over. “I was afraid to believe it, to get my hopes up. We’re having a baby!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, spun in a circle. “We’re having a baby! I have to tell Zack.”

“Go, tell him now. Right now. We can handle things here until you get back, can’t we, Lu? Lu?” Mia turned, saw Lulu digging a tissue out of her pocket.

“Got allergies,” Lulu announced in a strangled voice. “Go on.” She waved a hand at Nell. “Go tell your man he’s going to be a daddy.”

“A daddy!” Nell danced around the counter, threw her arms around Lulu’s neck, then around Mia’s.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see his face. Oh, oh, and Ripley’s! I won’t be long. I’ll be back.” She raced for the stairs, then spun around with her face glowing. “I’m having a baby.”

“You’d think no one ever managed to get knocked up before.” After a last sniff, Lulu stuffed the tissue

back in her pocket. “Guess I’ll have to knit some booties. A blanket.” She shrugged. “Somebody has to step in and play grandma.”

Mia slid her arm around Lulu’s waist, rested her cheek on the older woman’s hair. “Let’s sit down a minute and have a good cry.”

“Yeah.” Lulu dragged the tissue back out. “Good idea.”

Nothing, Mia was determined, was going to smear this window of joy. Not a three-hundred-year curse, not the inconvenience and confusion brought on by the early stages of expansion. And most certainly not her own prickles of envy.

Whatever had to be done, Nell would have these thrilling days of happiness and discovery. Because of the hammering and the blocked view from what had been the café windows, the lunch crowd had dwindled down to the adventurous ones and the diehards. To Mia’s way of thinking, the timing couldn’t have been better. The smaller crowds allowed Nell a few more hours off a week and the luxury of being distracted.

By the solstice, the bulk of the job would be done. And if the café wasn’t yet picture perfect, her customers would be able to dine alfresco on her new little terrace. From the sidewalk outside the bookstore, Mia measured the progress. The cantilevered overhang would, when all was said and done, blend well with the rest of her building. She intended to hang baskets of flowers from either end. She’d already ordered the curving ironwork for the banister and had selected the slate for the terrace floor.

She could visualize it completed, decked with café tables, pots of summer flowers. And paying customers.

“Coming right along.” Zack stopped beside her.

“Better than I could have hoped. We’ll try it out during solstice week and be a hundred percent by the July Fourth holiday.” She let out a deep, satisfied breath. “How are you, Sheriff Daddy?”

“Couldn’t be better. It’s been the best year of my life.”

“You’ll be a good father.”

“I’m going to work hard to be.”

“You will,” she agreed. “But the core of it will just be there. Do you remember when we were kids and I used to come to your house?”

“Sure, if you weren’t there with Rip, she was up at your place.”

“I always loved coming there, watching your family. Sometimes I’d pretend they were mine.” She leaned into him when he stroked her hair. “Just wondering what it would be like to have that kind of focus, I suppose, from my parents. That interest and amusement and pride. All those things that were so much a part of your house.”

“I guess they were.”

“Oh, Zack, sometimes I’d see your mother look over at you, or Ripley, and just grin. I could hear her thinking, just look at those kids. Aren’t they great? And they’re mine. Your parents didn’t just tend you, didn’t just love you. They enjoyed you.”

“We were lucky. We enjoyed them right back.”

“I know. Lulu gave me that, so much of that. So did my grandmother when she was alive. So I understood what it was. And because I did, my parents’ innate disinterest in me was such a puzzle. In some ways it still is.”

“Well.” Because he thought she needed it, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “There were times growing up when I’d think you were lucky because you could get away with more than I could. You just had Lu running herd on you, and I had two people.”

“She did the work of two people,” Mia said dryly. “Two sneaky people. She would always let me run right to the end of the tether, then, when I thought I’d get away with it, she’d yank me right back.”

“She’s still running herd on you.”

“Don’t I know it. Anyway, to circle back to where we were before this ramble turned around to be about me, I wanted to say you’re going to be a terrific father. You come by it naturally.”

“There’s nothing I won’t do to protect Nell and the baby. I need to ask you straight out if anything the three of you plan to do can hurt the baby.”

“No.” She framed his face with her hands. “No, I promise you. And I’ll give you my word, my vow, that I’ll protect her child, your child, as I would my own.”

“Okay, then. Now I’m going to ask you one more thing. You trust me.”

“Zack, I already do.”

“No.” He curled his fingers around her wrists, surprising her with the sudden intensity. “You trust me to do my job, and that job is to protect the people on my island. You trust me to care about you, to stand for you the same way I would my sister. You trust me to help you when it comes time to finish this. You trust me enough for that.”

“For all of that,” she told him. “And more. I love you.”

Sam stepped onto the curb in time to hear her say it. And hearing it, he felt a twinge in his gut. Not in jealousy—he knew better—but in envy that another man could draw such absolute trust and warmth from her. That another man could hear that quiet and heartfelt declaration, even as a friend. It took all his willpower to work up a sneer. “Greedy son of a bitch.” Sam punched Zack lightly on the shoulder. “Haven’t you already got a woman?”

“Seems I do.” Still, Zack leaned down, kissed Mia on the mouth. “In fact, I think I’ll go on up and see what she’s up to. Nice kissing you, Ms. Devlin.”

“Nice kissing you, Sheriff Todd.”

“Looks like I have to do better than nice.” To work off some of the frustration, Sam spun her around, caught her up, and gave her a long, sizzling kiss that had a trio of women across the street breaking out in applause.

“Well.” Mia caught her breath and tried to uncurl her toes. “I suppose that was a few levels above nice. But then, you always were competitive.”

“Take an hour off with me and I’ll show you some competition.”

“That’s such an interesting offer. But—” She put a hand on his chest and eased back. “We’re just a little pressed with the remodeling. I’ve already used up my break kissing the sheriff.”

“Why don’t you serve me lunch? I thought I’d scope out your menu.”

“Your patronage is appreciated. The violet-and-herb salad is getting raves today.” She walked to the door and opened it.

“I’m not eating flowers.”

“I’m sure Nell has something suitably manly to offer you. Like a raw, meaty bone.”

“Phone’s for you,” Lulu called out as Mia started up the stairs.

“I’ll take it in my office.” She glanced back at Sam. “You know the way to the café.”

He did indeed. He settled on the Cajun chicken sandwich and an iced coffee. And watched the workmen.

It had been to his benefit as much as Mia’s for him to spring the crew for a few weeks. His season was underway, and the guest rooms already rehabbed were fully occupied. After the Fourth, he intended to put the workers on half days so as not to disturb his guests during the early-morning or early-evening hours.

[Dalyia]

That would take them into September. And by September, he thought, he’d know what to do with the rest of his life.

She wasn’t letting him get any closer. She welcomed him into her bed—but wouldn’t sleep in his. She would talk about work, about the island, about magic. But she’d made it clear that an entire decade of their lives was off-limits.

Once or twice he’d tried to bring up his time in New York, but she’d simply closed down, or walked away.

Though they were both aware that everyone on the island knew they were lovers, she wouldn’t go out with him. She hadn’t had dinner with him in public since that first business meeting. His suggestions that they take an evening on the mainland and have dinner or go to the theater had been brushed away.

The underlying message came through clear enough. She was telling him she would sleep with him, enjoy him, but they weren’t a couple.

Brooding over his sandwich, he wondered how many men would celebrate finding themselves in his position. He had an extraordinarily beautiful woman who was willing to share sex with him and expected—indeed permitted—little else. No strings, no expectations, no promises. And he wanted more. That, he admitted, had been the root of the problem from the beginning. He’d wanted more, but he’d been too young, too stupid, too stubborn to see that the more was all Mia. When she sat down across from him, he found his heart was in his throat and ready to spill out. “Mia—”

“I got Caroline Trump.” She snatched his iced coffee, drank deep. “I just got off the phone with her publicist. I have her for the second Saturday in July. You should’ve heard how cool and professional I was on the phone. She’d never have guessed I was turning cartwheels.”

“In that dress?”

“Ha ha. Sam.” She reached over to take his hands. “I know your influence is largely responsible for this. I’m grateful. I want you to know how much I appreciate you putting in a good word for the store.”

“That part was easy. Now don’t screw up.”

“I won’t. I already designed the ad, in anticipation. I have to talk to Nell about food.” She started to spring up, then hesitated. “So, do you have any plans for the solstice?”

He met her gaze, kept his voice as casual as hers. Though they both knew she was offering to take another step. One that was, for her, a big one.

“No, no formal plans.”

“You do now.”

Twelve

M ia closed and locked the door behind the last straggle of customers. Then leaned back against it and looked at Lulu. “Long day.”

“I thought that last group was going to make camp in here.” Lulu shut down the cash register for the night, then zipped the cash bag. “You want to take this moola home, or should I make a night deposit?”

“How much moola?”

Because they both enjoyed it, Lulu unzipped the bag, pulled out the stack of bills, and flipped her thumb over the ends. “Lots of cash customers today.”

“God bless them every one. I’ll do the deposit. Credit card receipts?”

“Right here.”

Rolling her shoulders, Mia crossed over, scanned the stack. “Business is good.”

“Solstice week, sucks them right in. I had two teenagers in here today, summer girls. Wanted to know if they could see the witch and get some love potion.”

Amused, Mia leaned on the counter. “And what did you tell them?”

“I told them sure, and how well the beauty potion worked for me. That sent them scurrying.”

“Well, they have to learn not to look for life cures in a pretty bottle of potion.”

“You put out some fancy jars full of colored water during solstice week, and customers would trip over themselves to buy them. Mia’s Magic Mix, for love, beauty, and prosperity.”

“Terrifying thought.” Mia angled her head. “In all these years, Lu, you’ve never once asked me for a spell or a charm. For luck, love, fast money. Why is that?”

“I get on well enough on my own.” Lulu hauled her enormous purse from behind the counter. “Besides, don’t think I don’t know you look out for me anyway. Better start looking out for yourself.”

“What an odd thing to say. I always look out for myself.”

“Sure, you’ve got your house, and you live well. Live the way you see fit to live. You’ve got your looks, and you’re healthy. Got more shoes than a Vegas chorus line.”

“Shoes separate us from the lower mammals.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just like having men look at your legs.”

Mia trailed a hand through her hair. “Well, naturally.”

“Anyway.” Lulu focused in. She knew her girl, and she knew when that girl was trying to distract her.

“You run things pretty much as you want to. Got good friends. And you’ve made this place into something you can be proud of.”

“We made it,” Mia corrected.

“Well, I didn’t sit on my hands, but this is your place.” Lulu gave a decisive nod that took in the entire store. “And it shines.”

“Lu.” Touched, Mia brushed Lulu’s arm as she came around the counter. “It means a lot to me that you’d think that, say that.”

“It’s fact. And there’s another fact, one that worries me some nights. You’re not happy.”

“Of course I am.”

“No, you’re not. And worse, you don’t think you’re ever going to be. Not deep-down-in-the-gut happy. You want to give me a spell, you fix that. That’s all I have to say. Now I’m going to go put my feet up and watch my video of Die Hard. I like seeing Bruce Willis kick ass.”

With no comeback, Mia simply stood there while Lulu strode through the store and out the back. Unsettled now, she took the cash and receipts and wandered through the store. It did shine, she thought. She had put a great deal of energy and imagination to use here. Financial resources and intellect, long, hard hours and eclectic taste.

And nearly seven years of her life.

It made her happy, she insisted as she walked up the stairs. It challenged and fulfilled her. That was enough. She’d made it be enough. Maybe she had once assumed she would have a different kind of life. A life that included a man who loved her and the children they made together. But that had been a young girl’s fantasy, and she had put away such dreams. Just because she didn’t have those things didn’t mean they were missing, she thought as she went into her office to fill out the deposit slips. It only meant she’d taken another path, ended up at a different destination.

In-the-gut happy, she mused, and sighed. How many people were, when it came right down to it?

Wasn’t it just as important to be satisfied, fulfilled, successful? And wasn’t it essential to any level of happiness to feel in control of your life?

She heard, as clearly as fingernails scraping against glass, the dark pressing against her windows. She looked outside. The sky was still glowing with the light of a summer evening. But the dark was there, just at the edges, trying to find a crack, a chink in her will.

“You won’t use me to destroy.” She said it clearly, so her voice carried through the empty store.

“Whatever else I do in my life, I won’t be used. You are not welcome here.”

And there at her desk, with the day’s receipts and paperwork neatly stacked, she spread her arms, palms up, and called the light. It shimmered in her hands like gilded pools, then flowed out in golden rivers. As it spilled from her, the dark slithered back.

Pleased, she gathered what she needed to make the deposits.

Before she left the store, she detoured to her new terrace. The doorwalls had been installed that day, and she unlocked the glass, slid it open. Stepped out into the evening. The ironwork railing was exactly as she’d wanted. Fussy and female. She laid her hands on it, gave it a quick, testing shake, and was satisfied at its unyielding strength. Beauty, she thought, never had to be weak.

From her vantage point she could see the curve of beach, the roll of the sea. And the first sword of white from her lighthouse as dusk faded toward night. The dark that crept in now was benign, full of hope. Below her, High Street was still busy. Tourists were out for strolls, wandering into the ice cream parlor for a treat. The air was so clear she could hear bits of conversation and the shouts and squeals of young people on the beach.

As the first stars glimmered to life, she felt her throat go tight with a longing that she refused to recognize, and couldn’t resolve.

“If you had a trellis, I’d climb up.”

She looked down and there he was. Dark and handsome, and just a little dangerous. Was it any wonder the girl she’d been had fallen so pathetically in love with Sam Logan?

“Climbing up into business establishments after hours is discouraged on the island.”

“I’ve got pull with the local authorities, so I’d risk it. But why don’t you come down? Come out and play, Mia. It’s a hell of a night.”

There had been a time when she would have run to him. Because she remembered just how easy it had been for her to forget everything and anything but him, she simply leaned out over the railing. “I have an errand to do and another long day tomorrow. I’m going by the bank, then home.”

“How can anyone so beautiful be so stuffy? Hey”—he grabbed the arm of one of three men walking by, then pointed up—“isn’t she spectacular? I’m trying to hit on her, but she’s not cooperating.”

“Why don’t you give the guy a break?” one of the men called to her, only to be elbowed aside by one of his companions.

“The hell with him. Give me a break.” He laid a hand dramatically on his heart. “I think I’m in love. Hey, Red.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“Let’s us get married and move to Trinidad.”

“Where’s the ring?” she demanded. “I don’t move to Trinidad unless I have a big fat diamond on my finger.”

“Hey.” The man jabbed one of his friends. “Lend me ten thousand dollars so I can buy a big fat diamond and move to Trinidad with Red.”

“If I had ten K, I’d move to Trinidad with her.”

“Now see what you’ve done.” Sam chuckled. “Destroying friendships, inciting riots. You’d better come down here and go with me before my new pals and I have to beat the crap out of each other.”

Amused, she laughed, stepped back, and shut the doors.

He waited for her. When he’d seen her standing on the terrace, he’d been staggered. She’d looked so enchanting, and so sad. Heartbreaking. He’d have done anything in his power to lift that quiet sorrow. And anything, nearly anything, to reach past that thin shield she kept between them. He wanted to see what was in her mind. In her heart.

Maybe the key, at least for one precious evening, was to keep things simple. He stood on the sidewalk when she came out and locked the front door behind her. She wore a slim dress that flowed around her ankles and was scattered with tiny yellow rosebuds. Her shoes were a series of slender crisscrossing straps and a high wedged platform. He found the thin chain of gold around her left ankle ridiculously sexy.

She turned, hitched the strap of her bag onto her shoulder, then scanned the sidewalk. “Where did your friends go?”

“I bribed them with free drinks at the Coven.” He jerked his head toward the hotel.

“Ah. Replaced by a cold beer.”

“Want to go to Trinidad?”

“No.”

He took her hand. “Want an ice cream cone?”

She shook her head. “I have to go to the bank, make a night deposit. Which, I’ll point out, isn’t being stuffy but responsible.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll walk with you.”

“What are you doing in the village?” she asked as they started toward the bank. “Working late?”

“Not particularly. I went home about an hour ago. I was restless.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Came back.” And, he thought, had timed it exactly as he’d planned. Just as she’d be closing. He glanced over, studied a small group of people on the opposite side of the street. They were decked in flowing robes and weighed down with silver chains and crystal pendants.

“Amateurs,” he commented.

“They’re harmless.”

“We could call up a storm, turn the street into a meadow. Give them a real thrill.”

“Stop it.” She drew out her key for the deposit slot.

“See—stuffy.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s painful to see such a bright hope turn into a rule book.”

“Really.” Efficiently, she made her deposit, tucked her copy of the transaction into her cash bag. “I don’t recall you ever so much as looking at a rule book.”

“When they look like you, I study them in depth.”

His moods, she thought, were many and varied. Tonight’s seemed to be foolish. She could do with some foolishness.

And as the group of would-be witches approached a window box filled with struggling dahlias, she gave a graceful turn of her hand. The flowers sprang up like jewels, full and bright.

“And the crowd goes wild.” Sam acknowledged the reaction across the street, the shouts, the gasps.

“Nice touch.”

“Stuffy, my butt. I’ll take that ice cream now.”

He bought her a frothy swirl of orange and cream and talked her into enjoying it during a walk on the beach. The moon was nearly full. It would be fat and round by the weekend, and the solstice. And a full moon on the solstice meant bounty, and promise. And the rites of fertility that lead to harvest.

“Last year I went to Ireland for the solstice,” he told her. “There’s a small stone dance there, in County Cork. It’s more intimate than Stonehenge. The sky stays light until nearly ten, and when it begins to fade, toward the end of the longest day, the stones sing.”

She said nothing, but paused to look out to sea. Over it, she thought, thousands of miles away, was another island. And the stone circle where he had been a year ago.

She had been here, where she always was. A solitary witch. A solitary celebration.

[Dalyia]

“You’ve never gone,” he said. “Never gone over to Ireland.”

“No.”

“There’s magic there, Mia. Deep in the soil, bright in the air.”

She continued to walk. “There’s magic everywhere.”

“I found a cove, on the rocky western coast. And a cave, nearly hidden by the tumble of the rocks. And I knew it was where he’d gone when he left her here.”

He waited until Mia stopped again, turned to him. “Three thousand miles across the Atlantic. He’d been pulled back by his own blood. I knew how it felt, to be pulled that way.”

“Is that why you go to Ireland? You’re drawn by your blood?”

“It’s why I go there, and why I came back here. When you’ve done what you need to do, I’d like to take you. To show you.”

She licked delicately at her ice cream. “I don’t need to be taken anywhere.”

“I’d like to go with you.”

“You learn fast, don’t you?” Mia said. “I may go one day.” She shrugged and wandered closer to the surf. “We’ll see if I want company. I will say, though, you were right about one thing. It’s a hell of a night.”

She threw back her head, drank in the stars and sea air.

“Take off your dress.”

She kept her head back. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s go swimming.”

She nipped into the cone. “I realize it may seem fussy to a sophisticated urbanite like yourself, but there are laws against nude swimming on the public beach in our little world.”

“Laws—that would be the same as rules, right?” He scanned the beach. They weren’t alone, but there was hardly a crowd. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

“Circumspect,” she corrected.

“Okay, we’ll preserve your dignity.” He spread his hands and conjured a bubble around them. “We see out, but nobody sees in. It’s just you and me in here.”

Stepping to her, he reached around, slowly lowered the zipper in the back of her dress. He could see her thinking, considering, as she finished off the cone. “A moonlight swim’s a nice way to cap off the evening. Haven’t forgotten how to swim, have you?”

“Hardly.” She slipped out of her shoes, then let the dress slither down. She wore nothing but amber beads and a glitter of rings. Turning, she strolled into the surf, then dived into the dark sea. She swam strong, cutting cleanly through the breakers and reveling in the sensation of streaking through the water as unencumbered as a mermaid. Until her spirit began to hum—with pure joy—she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed this.

Freedom, fun, and foolishness.

She circled a buoy, listening to its hollow clang, then rolled over to float lazily on her back under a bejeweled sky. The water lapped gently over her breasts as he swam to her.

“You ever beat Ripley in a swim race?”

“No. Much to my regret.” Mia trailed her fingers through the water. “Putting her in water’s like putting a bullet in the air.”

“I used to watch the two of you in the inlet over at the Todds’. I’d be hanging out with Zack and pretending not to notice you.”

“Really? I never noticed you.”

It didn’t surprise her to find her head underwater. She’d expected it. And because she had, she turned like an eel in the water and jerked him under by the ankles.

She surfaced, slicked back her hair. “You always were a sucker for that move.”

“It got your hands on me, so who’s the sucker?” He treaded water in circles around her, his hair black and glossy as a seal. “I remember the first time I maneuvered you into wrestling with me wet. You had on this blue number, cut so high up on the hips that I speculated your legs went clean up to your ears. That sexy pentagram birthmark like gold on your thigh, driving me nuts. You were fifteen.”

“I remember the suit. I don’t recall being maneuvered.”

“You were cooling off with Rip in the water. Zack was fooling around with his boat at the dock. He’d just gotten that boat. Fast little fourteen-footer.”

She remembered that well enough. Remembered perfectly how her heart had slammed into her ribs when Sam, long and tanned a summer gold, had sauntered out onto the dock wearing nothing but cutoffs and a teenage smirk.

“There were a number of times I swam with Ripley in the inlet while Zack tinkered with his boat. And you came along.”

“You did it on purpose?”

“Of course. Then Ripley and I discussed it in some detail.”

“That better be a lie.” He reached across the water, grabbed a handful of her hair.

“We were both fascinated and amused. And if it soothes your ego, I’ll finish this walk down memory lane by telling you I had hot, disturbing, and imaginative dreams for a week afterward.”

He tugged at her hair until their bodies bumped. Then he skimmed his hand over the wet white slope of her breast. “So did I.” He trailed a fingertip down her torso, back up again. “Mia?”

“Mmm.”

“I bet I can still make you giggle.”

Before she could evade, he nipped her by the waist and turned her facedown in the water. Taken by surprise, she flailed for a moment, then rolled when his fingers moved unerringly up her ribs.

“Stop it.” Her hair was in her face, saltwater in her eyes.

“Giggle,” he insisted, tickling ruthlessly. “And squirm and wriggle.”

“You idiot.” She couldn’t see or catch her breath. Despite her struggles the helpless and foolish laughter escaped. It rolled out of her and over the waves as she slapped at him and tried to wiggle free. She managed to get a grip on his hair and yank, while trying to shove her own out of her face. But he only rolled them over and over into the waves until she was dizzy, disoriented, and brutally aroused.

“Damn octopus.” His hands were everywhere.

“You’ve got a hell of a squirm. And it still works. Only this time”—he gripped her hips—“why just dream?” And plunged into her.

He went home with her, and they ate bowls of cold pasta like ravenous children. With hunger unabated, they fell into bed and fed off each other.

Tangled with him, she slipped into sleep, and into dreams of floating in a dark sea as peacefully as the moon sailed the night sky. She drifted on her own pleasure, the water cool, the air sweet. In the distance, the shadows and shapes of her island rose out of the sea. It slept, with only the beam from the cliff light guarding it from the dark.

The music of the waves lulled her until she, too, slept.

And the stars erupted into bolts of lightning, stabbing down at the shadows and shapes of her island. Around her the sea began to thrash and heave, pulling her helplessly away from home. She fought, striking out with hard, desperate strokes toward the fog that had begun to build a dirty wall

at the shore. Waves swamped her, spun her into that breathless black, slapped her back, dragged her under.

Roaring filled the night, and the screams that followed it ripped at her heart. With what strength she had left, she reached for the fire inside her. But she was too late to beat the dark. She watched the island fall into the sea. Even as she wept, it pulled her down with it. She woke curled away from Sam, drawn into a tight ball and clinging to the edge of the bed. Trembling, she rose, walked to the window to soothe herself with the view of her garden, of the steady beam of the island light.

Would it come to that? Would she do everything that could be done, and have it still not be enough?

Through the night she heard the long, triumphant howl of a wolf. Knowing that it wanted her to cower, she stepped out onto her little balcony.

“I am fire.” She said it softly. “And what’s in me will, one day, purge you.”

“Mia.”

She turned and saw Sam sitting up in bed. “Yes, I’m here.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She came back in, but left the doors open to the night. “Just restless.”

“Come back to bed.” He held out a hand. “Let me help you sleep.”

“All right.” She slid in beside him, turned her body to his. Invitation. But he only drew her close, stroked her hair. “Close your eyes. Let your mind go. Let it go for one night.”

“I’m not—”

“Let it go,” he repeated, and stroking her hair, he charmed her into a deep and dreamless sleep. Thirteen

“ T his,” Mia said as the sun broke the sky in the east with an arrow of fire, “is for us. The Midsummer sabbat, the celebration of the earth’s coming bounty, the warmth of the air, and the full power of the sun. We are the Three.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ripley yawned hugely. “And if we can get on with this, I might be able to get home and catch another hour’s sleep.”

“Your reverence is, as always, inspiring.”

“You’ll remember, I voted against standing around up here at dawn. Since it’s Sunday, both of you can go back to bed. I’m on duty all day.”

“Ripley”—Nell managed to make her voice mild and patient—“it’s the solstice. Celebrating the longest day should begin when the day begins.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ripley scowled at Nell. “You’re awfully bright and chipper for a pregnant woman. Why aren’t you flat out with morning sickness?”

“I’ve never felt better in my life.”

“Or looked happier,” Mia said. “We’ll celebrate fertility today. The earth’s and yours. The first balefire has burned since sunset. The dawn fire is for you to light.”

She lifted a circlet she’d woven from lavender and set it on Nell’s head. “You’re the first of us to carry life, and to take what we are to the next generation. Blessed be, little sister.”

She kissed Nell’s cheeks, then stepped back.

“Okay, that gets me misty.” Ripley moved up, kissed Nell in turn, then linked her hand with Mia’s. Nell lifted her arms and let the power ripple into her. “From dawn until the day is done, this fire we make glows bright as the sun. As light grows strong across the sky, I call the flames from air to fly. Burn no flesh, no feather nor tree. As I will, so mote it be.”

Fire spewed up from the ground, bright as gold.

Mia lifted another circlet from the white cloth on the ground. Set it on Ripley’s head. Though she rolled her eyes for form, Ripley lifted her arms. The power was warm,

[Dalyia]

and welcome.

“In the earth we sow our seed that she may grant us what we need. Across her breast the dawn brings light, all through this day to shortest night. We celebrate her fertility. As I will, so mote it be.”

Wildflowers sprang up through the earth to ring the circle.

Before Mia could reach for the third circlet, Ripley picked it up, and kissed her. “Just to make it official,”

she said and settled the flowers on Mia’s hair.

“Thanks.” She, in turn, lifted her arms. Power was like breath. “Today the sun holds its full power. Its strength and light grow hour by hour. Its bright fire warms the air and earth. Its cycle sustains us birth to death to birth. I celebrate the fire in me. As I will, so mote it be.”

From her fingertips beams shot, to the sun, and from the sun to her. Until the circle in the clearing shimmered with the birth of the day.

She lowered her arms, joined hands with Nell, with Ripley. “He watches,” she told them. “And he waits.”

“Why don’t we do something about it?” Ripley demanded. “The three of us are here, and like both of you keep hammering home, it’s the solstice. That’s a lot of punch.”


“It isn’t the time to—” Mia broke off when Nell squeezed her hand.

“Mia. A show of force, of solidarity and strength. Why not make a point? Our circle is whole.”

A point, Mia thought. Perhaps the unbroken circle was the point. At least for the moment. She could feel, through the link, Nell’s determination, Ripley’s passion.

“Well, then, let’s not be subtle.”

She gathered herself, and the pooled strength of her sisters.

“We are the Three and of the blood,” Ripley began, moving like her sisters in a ring within the ring.

“From us the force and light will flood.”

“With might that strikes the waiting dark.” Nell’s voice rose to echo on the air. “An arrow of light toward what bears our mark.”

“Here we stand so you can see.” With hands still joined, Mia lifted her arms. “And beware the wrath of the sisters three.”

Light spewed up from the center of the circle like a funnel, whirling, roaring as it geysered up. Like the arrow Nell had called, it shot out of the circle, out of the clearing, and into the shadows of the summer trees.

From those shadows came a single furious howl.

Then there was only the quiet breeze and the musical call of crystals hanging from branches.

“So he slinks away,” Mia remarked.

“That felt good.” Ripley rolled her shoulders.

“It did. It felt positive.” Letting out a long breath, Nell looked around the clearing. “It felt right.”

“Then it was right. Today, he can’t touch us or ours.” Whatever came after, Mia thought, they had made a stand.

They had made their point. She lifted her face to the sun.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

She intended to spend it in her garden, away from the crowds that would pack into the village and the traffic that would stream along the roads. She intended to spend it on simple things, the tasks that gave her pleasure.

A day without worry, she thought. A clean and clear day with all shadows brushed away like dust with a broom.

She gathered the herbs and flowers she’d selected for her midsummer harvest with a bolline, the curved white-handled knife she saved for that purpose alone. The scents and shapes and textures never failed to delight her, the variety of their uses never failed to satisfy.

Some she would dry by hanging them in her kitchen, some in her tower room. She would make charms from some, potions from others. From soaps to creams to healing balms and divination aids. And some would simply be sprinkled into sauces and salads for flavor, or mixed into a potpourri to scent the air.

Just before twelve she stopped to light the noon balefire. She set it on her cliffs, like a beacon. And stood for a time watching the sea and the pleasure boats that skimmed over it. Now and then she saw the glint of binoculars and knew she was watched as she watched. There! the summer people would say. Up on the cliffs. She’s supposed to be a witch. Such attention would once have caused her to be hunted and hanged. Now, Mia thought, the possibility of magic brought people to the island and into her store.

So the wheel ran, she mused. A circle spinning.

She went back to her garden. When her herbs were tied and hung, she used the sun to brew a small pot of chamomile tea. She had it iced with a hint of fresh mint when Sam stepped onto her path.

“Traffic’s a bitch,” he said.

“Midsummer and Mabon draw the most tourists.” She poured the tea into a glass. “Tourists who are interested in such things,” she added. “Did you light your balefire?”

“This morning, near your circle in my woods. Your woods,” he corrected when she arched her eyebrows. Absently, he reached down to pet Isis, who had come to rub against his legs. He noted the new collar and the charm hanging from it, a pentagram carved on one side, a sun wheel on the other.

“New?”

“For the Midsummer blessing.” She cut a slice of bread from a fresh loaf, drizzled it with honey, and offered it to him. “I made more than the faeries need.”

He took a bite, but she noticed that his restless gaze roamed her garden. It was rich and ripe with summer, the tall spires dancing in the breeze, the mobs of color tumbling over the ground. He watched a hummingbird flash by, then drink from the long purple bells of foxglove. Roses, red as passion, climbed up the trellis to her old bedroom window as he had once climbed, risking flesh and bone to reach her.

The scent of summer roses could still make his heart ache.

Now he sat with her, in the sun and dappled shade of her garden. Adults with more weighing on them than the girl and boy could have imagined.

She wore a sleeveless dress, green as the lush leaves that surrounded them. And her face, beautiful and calm, told him nothing.

“Where are we, Mia?”

“In my midsummer garden, having tea with bread and honey. It’s a lovely day for it.” She lifted her cup.

“But judging from your mood, perhaps I should have served wine.”

He rose, paced away. He would, she knew, tell her what was on his mind soon enough. Whether or not she wanted to hear it. Only a few nights before, he’d been lighthearted and playful enough to coax her into a swim. But today there was a cloud around him.

He’d always been a moody creature.

“My father called me this morning,” he told her.

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Sam repeated, and managed to make the syllable a bite. “He’s ‘displeased with my performance.’

That’s a direct quote. I’m putting too much time and money into the hotel here.”

“It’s your hotel.”

“I pointed that out. My hotel, my time, and my money.” Sam rammed his hands into his pockets. “I might’ve saved my breath. I’m told I’m making rash and dangerous financial and career decisions. He’s pissed off that I’ve sold my place in New York, annoyed that I’ve budgeted so much for the rehab at the hotel, and irked that I sent a proxy rather than attending the June board meeting personally.”

Because she felt for him, Mia rose and rubbed his stiff shoulders. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult ramming up against parental disapproval. It doesn’t matter how old we are, it stings when they don’t understand us.”

“The Magick Inn is our first and oldest asset. He’s figured out that I finessed it from him. Now it’s like a bone he wants to drag back from me.”

“And you’re just as determined to keep your teeth in it.”

He shot a furious look over his shoulder. “Damn right. He’d have sold it to strangers years ago if he hadn’t been legally bound to keep it in the family. He sold it to me happily enough, but now he’s realized I intend to make something of it, so he’s irritated. It’s a thorn in his side. So am I.”

“Sam.” For a moment she pressed her cheek against his back. And for a moment she was sixteen again, and comforting her unhappy, moody love. “Sometimes you just have to take a step away, and accept what is.”

“What is,” he agreed, turning to her. “He never could. Neither he nor my mother ever accepted what I am. It was something not to be discussed, as if I had some sort of embarrassing condition.”

Furious, as much because of letting himself be sucked in again as by the facts themselves, he strode down the path, through an arbor where morning glory vines were busily tangling.

“It’s in his blood as much as mine.” He saw her start to speak, then stop herself. “What? Just say it.”

“All right, then. It’s not the same for him. You respect what you have, you celebrate it. For him it’s a . . . well, a pesky inherited trait: He’s not alone in that. And because of it, you have more—are more—than he can ever have or be.”

“He’s ashamed of it. And me.”

“Yes.” Her heart wrung with pity. “I know. It hurts you. It always has. You can’t change what he thinks or feels. You can only change what you feel.”

“Is that how you handle your family?”

It took her a moment, and that was a jolt, to realize he meant her parents and not Lulu, or Ripley and Nell. “I used to envy you on some level. Just the fact that your parents worked up the interest and energy to push at you. Even if it meant pushing you in the wrong direction. We never argued here.”

She turned back to study the house she loved. “They never noticed if I was angry. My rebellions were completely wasted on them. There came a point when I had to accept that their disinterest wasn’t personal.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

She nearly laughed at his impatient explosion. “It was healthier, and more practical, and certainly more comfortable all around. What was the point of breaking my heart over it, when they wouldn’t have noticed? Or if they had, it would have baffled them. They’re not bad people, just careless parents. I’m who I am because they were what they were. That’s enough for me.”

“You always were sensible,” he replied. “I could never figure out whether I admired that or found it annoying. I still can’t.”

“You always were moody.” She sat on the bench by the arbor. “And the same goes. Still, it’s a shame the call put a blight on your holiday.”

“I’ll get over it.” He slipped his hands into his pockets again, fingering the tumbling stones he’d forgotten he carried. “He expects me back in New York within the month, to resume my proper place in the company.”

Her world tilted. She gripped the edge of the bench to balance herself, then forced herself to her feet. Forced shut that piece of her heart she’d allowed to be touched by his pain. “I see. When will you leave?”

“What? I’m not going back. Mia, I told you I was here to stay. I meant it, no matter what you think.”

With a careless shrug, she turned to start back to the house.

“Damn it, Mia.” He grabbed her arm, pulled her back.

“Watch your step.” She said it coldly.

“Are you just waiting for me to pack up and go?” he demanded. “Is that where we are?”

“I’m not waiting for anything.”

“What do I have to do to get us past this?”

“You can start by letting go of my arm.”

“Letting go is just what you expect.” To prove her wrong he took her other arm so they were facing each other in the dappled shade of the path. “So you won’t let me touch you, not where it matters most. You’ll take me to your bed, but you won’t come to mine. You won’t so much as sit and have a meal with me in a public place, unless it’s under the guise of business. You won’t let me talk about the years without you. And you won’t share magic with me when we make love. Because you don’t trust me to stay.”

“Why should I? Why should I do any of those things? I prefer my bed. I don’t choose to date. I’m not interested in your life off-island. And to share magic during the physical act of love is a level of intimacy I’m not willing to explore with you.”

She shoved his hands aside and stepped back. “I’ve given you cooperation in business, some friendly companionship and sex. This is what suits me. If it doesn’t suit you, find someone else to play with.”

“This isn’t a goddamn game.”

Her voice was sharp. “Oh, isn’t it?” He stepped toward her, and she held up her hands. Light, spitting red, shot between them. “Be careful.”

He merely held up his own hands, and a wash of searing blue water struck the light until there was nothing but the sizzle of vapor between them. “Was I ever?”

“No. And you always wanted too much.”

“Maybe I did. The problem was I didn’t know what I wanted. You always did. It was always so fucking clear to you, Mia. What you needed, what you wanted. There were times when your vision choked me.”

Stunned, she dropped her hands to her side. “Choked you? How can you say that to me? I loved you.”

“Without questions, without doubts. It was as if you could see the rest of our lives in this pretty box. You had it all lined up for me. Just the way my parents did.”

Her cheeks paled. “That’s a cruel thing to say. And you’ve said enough.” She hurried back down the path.

“It’s not enough until I’m done. Running away from it doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re the one who ran.” She whirled back, and the pain of it crashed through all the years and struck her with a fresh blow. “It changed everything.”

“I couldn’t be what you wanted. I couldn’t give you what you were so sure was meant to be. You looked ahead ten years, twenty, and I couldn’t see the next day.”

“So it’s my fault you left?”

“I couldn’t be here. For God’s sake, Mia, we were hardly more than children and you were talking marriage. Babies. You’d lie beside me when my head was so full of you I couldn’t think and talk about how we’d buy a little cottage by the woods and . . .”

He trailed off. It seemed to strike both of them at once. The little yellow cottage by the woods—where she hadn’t come since he’d moved in.

“Young girls in love,” she said, and her voice trembled, “dream about marriage and babies and pretty cottages.”

“You weren’t dreaming.” He walked to her table again, sat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “It was destiny for you. When I was with you, I believed it. I could see it, too. And at that point it smothered me.”

“You never said it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I didn’t know how, and every time I tried, I’d look at you. All that confidence, that utter faith that this was the way it would be. Then I’d go home and I’d see my parents and what marriage meant. I’d think of yours and what family meant. It was hollow and airless. The idea of the two of us moving in that direction seemed insane. I couldn’t talk to you about it. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

“So instead, you left.”

“I left. When I started college, it was like being torn in two. The part that wanted to be there, the part that wanted to be here. Be with you. I thought about you constantly.”

He looked at her now. He would say to the woman what he’d never been able to say to the girl. “When I’d come home on weekends, or breaks, I’d be half sick until I’d see you waiting on the docks. That whole first year was like a blur.”

“Then you stopped coming home every weekend,” she remembered. “You made excuses for why you needed to stay on the mainland. To study, to go to a lecture.”

“It was a test. I could go without seeing you for two weeks, then a month. Stop thinking about you for an hour, then a day. It got easier to convince myself that staying away from you, and the island, was the only way I was going to escape being trapped into that box. I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t want to start a family. Or be in love with one girl my entire life. Or root myself on a little island when I’d never really seen the world. I got a taste of the world in college, the people I met there, the things I learned. I wanted more.”

“Well, you got more. And the lid’s been off the box for a number of years. We’re in different places now, with different goals.”

He met her eyes. “I came back for you.”

“That was your mistake. You still want more, Sam, but this time I don’t. If you’d told me this eleven years ago, I would have tried to understand. I would have tried to give you the time and the room you needed. Or I’d have tried to let you go, without bitterness. I don’t know if I would have succeeded, but I know I loved you enough that I would have tried. But you’re not the center of my life any longer—you haven’t been for some time.”

“I’m not going away, or giving up.”

[Dalyia]

“Those are your decisions.” Ignoring the headache brewing, she gathered up the tea things. “I enjoy having you for a lover. I’ll regret having to end that, but I will if you insist on pressing for a different dynamic in our relationship. I think I’ll get that wine after all.”

She carried the dishes inside, rinsed them. The headache was going to plague her, so she took a tonic before selecting a bottle of wine, taking out the proper glasses.

She didn’t allow herself to think. Couldn’t allow herself to feel. Since there was no going back, no crisscrossing over paths that were already long overgrown, the only direction was forward. But when she stepped outside, he was gone.

Though her stomach fluttered once, she sat at the table in her midsummer garden and toasted her independence.

And the wine was bitter on her tongue.

He sent her flowers at the bookstore the next day. Simple and cheerful zinnias, which in the language of flowers meant he was thinking of her. She doubted he knew the charming meaning of a bouquet of zinnias, but puzzled over them nonetheless as she selected a suitable vase. It wasn’t like him to send flowers, she mused. Even when they’d been madly in love, he’d rarely thought to make such romantic gestures.

The card was explanation enough, she supposed. It read:

I’m sorry.

Sam

When she found herself smiling over the flowers instead of getting on with her work, she carried the vase downstairs and set it on the table by the fireplace.

“Aren’t those sweet and cheerful?” Gladys Macey slipped up beside her to coo over the bouquet.

“From your garden?”

“No, actually. They were a gift.”

“Nothing perks a woman up more than getting flowers. Unless it’s getting something sparkly,” Gladys added with a wink. She slid a discreet glance over to Mia’s left hand. But not discreet enough.

“I’ve found that a woman who buys herself something sparkly ends up with something that suits her own taste.”

“Not the same, though.” Gladys gave Mia’s arm a quick squeeze. “Carl bought me a pair of earrings on my last birthday. Ugly as homemade sin, no question about it. But I feel good every time I put them on. I was just on my way up to the café to see how our Nell’s getting on.”

“She’s getting on beautifully. When she tells you she thinks she’s started to show, just go along with her. It makes her happy.”

“Will do. I just pre-ordered Caroline Trump’s new book. We’re all excited about her coming here. I’ve been delegated by the book club to ask if she would agree to doing a book discussion just before the official signing.”

“I’ll see if I can set it up.”

“Just let us know. We’re going to give her a real Three Sisters welcome.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Mia made the call to New York herself. Once the wheels were set in motion, she checked her book orders, called her distributor to nag about a delay in a selection of note cards, then picked up the newest batch of e-mail orders.

As Lulu was busy, Mia filled them herself, slipping in the notice that signed copies of Trump’s book would be available. Then she carted them down to the post office.

She ran into Mac as she came out again. “Hello, handsome.”

“Just the woman I was looking for.”

Smiling, she slid her arm through his. “That’s what they all say. Are you on your way to the café to meet Ripley for lunch?”

“I was on my way to the bookstore to talk to you.” He glanced down, noted that she was wearing heels.

“No point asking you to take a walk on the beach with me.”

“Shoes come off.”

“You’ll ruin your stockings.”

“I’m not wearing any.”

“Oh.” He flushed a bit, delighting her. “Well, let’s walk, then, if you’ve got a few minutes.”

“I always have a few minutes for attractive men. How’s your book going?”

“Fits and starts.”

“When it’s finished, I expect Café Book to host your first signing.”

“Nonfiction books with academic bents on paranormal science don’t exactly draw in the crowds for book signings.”

“They will at Café Book,” she retorted.

They crossed the street, winding through the pedestrian traffic. Families returning from the beach, their skin pink, their eyes blurry from the sunlight, trudged into town for lunch or a cold drink. Others, loaded with coolers, umbrellas, towels, sunscreen, walked toward the sand and surf. Mia slipped off her shoes. “By the time the solstice crowd thins out, the Fourth of July crowd will stream in. We’re having a good summer on the Sisters.”

“Summers go fast.”

“You’re thinking of September. I know you’re concerned, but I have it under control.” When he didn’t speak, she tipped down her sunglasses and peered over the tops. “You don’t think so?”

He struggled with the guilt of keeping Lulu’s incident from her, weighing it against her peace of mind. “I think you can handle just about anything that gets tossed at you.”

“But?”

“But.” He laid a hand over the one she’d curled around his arm. “You play by the rules.”

“Not honoring the rules is what put us here.”

“Agreed. I care about you, Mia.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. Something about him made her want to cuddle. “I know you do. You added to my life when you came into it. What you and Ripley have together adds to it.”

“I like Sam.”

She retreated, lifting her head. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“Look, I’m not prying. Okay,” he corrected, “I’m prying, but only for practical and scientific purposes.”

“Bullshit,” she said, laughing.

“All right, mostly for those purposes. If I don’t know where the two of you stand, I can’t weigh my theories and hypotheses. I can’t calculate what we might need to do.”

“Then I’ll tell you we’re, for the most part, enjoying each other. Our relationship is primarily comfortable and largely superficial. As far as I’m concerned, it’s going to stay that way.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t approve.”

“It’s not for me to approve. It’s for you to choose.”

“Exactly. Love, consuming and obsessive, destroyed the last sister. She refused to live without it. I refuse to live with it.”

“If that was enough, it would be over.”

“It will be over,” she promised him.

“Look, Mia, there was a time when I believed it could be that simple.”

“And now you don’t?”

“Now I don’t,” he confirmed. “I was up at your place this morning. You said I could go up and take readings after the solstice.”

“And?”

“I went up, took Mulder with me so he could get some exercise. To keep it simple, I’ll say I started getting snags in the readings right at the edge of your front lawn. Positive and negative spikes. Like a . . .”

He slammed the heels of his hands together to demonstrate. “One ramming against the other. I got similar readings around the verge, straight toward the cliffs on the other side of the lighthouse, and into the forest.”

“I haven’t been lax in protection.”

“No, you haven’t, and it’s a damn good thing. We followed the readings away from the clearing, away from the heart. My sensors started going wild, and so did Mulder. He damn near snapped the leash. There’s a path of negative energy. I could follow it, the way it circled around, like an animal might stalk prey.”

“I know it’s there, Mac. I don’t ignore it.”

“Mia, it’s gaining strength. There were places along that path where everything was dead. Brush, trees, birds. The pup stopped straining at the leash and just curled up, crying. I had to carry him, and he didn’t stop shaking until we’d come out again. We came out, following that path, at the north end of your cliffs.”

“Have Ripley do a cleansing spell on the puppy, and on you. If she doesn’t remember the ritual—”

“Mia.” Mac grabbed her hand in a tight grip. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? It has you surrounded.”

Fourteen

“ W hat did she say when you told her?”

As Sam paced his office, Mac lifted his hands. “That it has surrounded her all her life, but is just being more blatant about it now.”

“Yeah, I can just hear her saying that. When we were—before I left the island, we talked about it a couple of times. She’d read up on it more than I had at that point. That’s probably still true. The woman can absorb a book before most of us get to chapter two. She was so confident about it all. Good would overcome evil as long as good was strong and faithful.”

“She’s both of those. What I didn’t tell her was that my readings picked up several different—let’s call

them fingerprints—on her side of the line. I’m assuming they’d be yours.”

“Just because she doesn’t want my protection doesn’t mean she isn’t going to get it.”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

Sam wandered to the window, looked out on the new terrace across the street. She had taken in the tables she’d put out for the weekend, and the crew was setting the slate in place. “How did she look today?”

“Spectacular.”

“You should see her when she uses real power.” Then he glanced back at Mac. “But I suppose you have.”

“Late last winter—a call to the four elements. It took me half a day to come to my senses. I wonder if she uses the Wiccan equivalent of a dimmer switch on that face of hers for the everyday.”

“No. The power punches it up, as if it wasn’t enough already. Beauty like that blinds a man, muddles the brain. I’ve asked myself if it’s that that pulls me to her.”

“I can’t answer that.”

“I can now. I’ve loved her all my life. Before I knew what love meant, after I tried to redefine it. It’s a nasty blow to finally understand that now, when she doesn’t love me. Or won’t.”

He turned back, eased a hip onto the edge of his desk. “All right, scientifically speaking—or theoretically, academically, whatever you like—is my being here—no, loving her now—putting her at greater risk?”

“Your feelings don’t count.” As soon as he said it, Mac winced. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I get it. It’s her feelings that tip the scale, one way or the other. In that case, I’m going to assume that trying to rekindle her feelings, or change them, won’t hurt her. If you think otherwise, I’ll hold off on that until after September.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then I’m going with the gut. If nothing else, I intend to be as close to her as I can when it comes to the sticking point. Even the circle can use a guard dog.”

He called her that night, at home, just as she was settling in with a book and a glass of wine.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“No.” Mia pursed her lips as she studied the play of light and liquid in her glass. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”

“I’m glad you liked them. I am sorry we argued yesterday. That I took my mood out on you.”

“Accepted.”

“Good. Then I hope you’ll have dinner with me. We can call it a business meeting, to discuss the details of Caroline’s tour stop. Would tomorrow night suit your schedule?”

So pleasant, she thought. So smooth. That was when you had to watch him most carefully. “Yes, I suppose.”

“I’ll pick you up, then, say seven-thirty?”

“There’s no need. I can easily walk across the street.”

“I had somewhere else in mind and you usually take the late afternoon and evening off on Tuesdays. No point in you changing your routine just for this. I’ll pick you up. We’ll keep it casual.”

She’d nearly asked for specifics before she decided he wanted her to. “Casual’s just fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hung up, went back to her book. But found it hard to concentrate. The day before, she thought, they’d raked up the past with all its wounds and bitterness. Had she trapped him by being so blindly in love, so sure of her own feelings and so confident of his? Could he have been so selfish, so cold, that he had cast her aside rather than share his own mind and heart, rather than give her a chance to understand?

How foolish and shortsighted of both of them, she thought now.

Still, blame, excuses, reasons, none of that changed what had happened. None of it changed, nor would she have it change, who each of them had become. It was best to bury it again and go on as they were. Cautious friends, careless lovers, with no plans to be more.

From his current attitude, it seemed he agreed with her on that one point. And yet . . .

After setting it aside, Mia said to her cat, “He’s up to something.”

On the other side of the village, Sam made a hurried second call. “Nell? It’s Sam Logan. I have an emergency. A confidential emergency.”

It was a matter of sharpening the details. To hone some of them, he had to wait until Mia left the store the next afternoon. He also concluded that the only way to deal with Lulu was to be direct. Inside Café Book he gestured her over to a display of CDs. A CD titled Forest Serenity was tucked in a slot labeled Playing Now.

“Which one’s her favorite?”

Lulu adjusted her glasses. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to buy her favorite.”

Always ready for a sale, Lulu ran her tongue around her teeth. “You buy five, you get the sixth half price.”

“I don’t need half a dozen—” He broke off, hissed. “Okay, I’ll buy six. Which ones are her favorites?”

“She likes them all or they wouldn’t be in here. It’s her store, isn’t it?”

“Right.” He started to pluck some at random.

“Don’t be in such a damn hurry.” She brushed his fingers aside. “When she gets in before me, she tends to put one of these three on.”

“Then I’ll take these three. And these.”

“We sell books, too.”

“I know you sell books. I’m just . . . What would you recommend?”

She hosed him, but Sam decided it was money well spent. Or well enough. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t use a hundred-dollar coffee table book on Renaissance art, or this week’s top ten bestsellers. Or the six CDs, and the three audiotapes. And the rest of it.

At least when Lulu had rung him up, she’d laughed. And meant it.

He left Café Book several hundred dollars poorer, and with a great deal left to do in a short amount of time.

[Dalyia]

Despite that, he arrived at Mia’s door at exactly seven-thirty.

She was just as prompt, and stepped out carrying a slim file.

“Notes,” she said. “On the event. And copies of the flyer that went out, the store’s newsletter, and the ad that will run for the next two weeks.”

“Can’t wait to see them.” He gestured toward his car. “Want the top up?”

“No, let’s keep it down.”

She noted he’d meant casual. He wore dark trousers and a blue T-shirt. Once again, she had to suppress the urge to ask him where they were going for dinner.

“By the way”—he gave her a light kiss before he opened the car door for her—“you look wonderful.”

All right, she thought. Smooth and lightly flirtatious. She could play that game.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she replied as she slid into the car. “It’s a lovely evening for a drive down the coast.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He walked around to the driver’s side, got behind the wheel. “Music?”

“Yes.”

She settled back, calculating how much time she would allow him to seduce her, then lifted her eyebrows in surprise as flutes played on the speakers. “An odd choice for you,” she commented. “You were always more fond of rock, particularly if it was loud enough to slam the eardrums.”

“No harm in changing the pace now and then. Exploring different avenues.” He lifted her hand, kissed it.

“Broadening horizons. But if you’d prefer something else . . .”

“No, this is fine. And aren’t we accommodating?” She shifted, her hair flying around her face. “The car handles well.”

“Want to try it out?”

“Maybe on the way back.” Deciding against trying to puzzle him out, for now she sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride.

And when he drove through the village without stopping, she tensed up again. She studied the yellow cottage when he parked in front. “Odd, I didn’t realize you’d turned this into a restaurant. I believe that’s a violation of your lease.”

“It’s temporary.” He got out and came around the car for her. “Don’t say anything yet.” Again, he lifted her hand, brushed his lips over her knuckles. “If you decide you’d rather go somewhere else, we’ll go somewhere else. But give it a minute first.”

Still holding her hand, he led her around the house rather than into it. On the freshly mowed lawn a white cloth was spread. It was surrounded by candles not yet lit, and pillows in rich colors and fabrics. Beside it was a long basket overflowing with lilacs. He lifted it. “For you.”

She studied the flowers, then his face. “Lilacs are out of season.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, holding the basket out to her until she took it. “You always liked them.”

“Yes, I’ve always liked them. What is all this, Sam?”

“I thought we’d have a picnic. A compromise between business and pleasure, public and private.”

“A picnic.”

“You always liked them, too.” He leaned forward to brush his lips over her cheek. “Why don’t we have a glass of wine, and you can think about the idea?”

To refuse would be both cold and ungracious. And, she admitted, cowardly. Just because she’d once imagined them happily married and having picnics on the lawn by their own little cottage was no reason to slap at him for trying to give her a pleasant evening.

“I’d love some wine.”

“I’ll be right back with it.”

She let out a little sigh when he was out of earshot, and when the back door swung shut behind him she lifted the basket of lilacs and buried her face in them.

Moments later, she heard the music of harp and pipe drifting from the house. With a shake of her head, she sat down on one of the pillows, put the basket of flowers beside her, and waited for him to come back.

He brought not only wine but caviar.

“Some picnic.”

He sat, and in an almost absent gesture, lit the candles. “Sitting on the grass doesn’t mean you can’t eat well.” He poured the wine, tapped his glass to hers. “Slainte.”

She nodded in acknowledgment of the Irish toast. “You’ve been tending the little garden.”

“In my limited capacity. Did you plant it?”

“Some of it, and some is Nell’s doing.”

“I can feel her in the house.” He heaped beluga on a toast point. “Her joy in it,” he said and offered the caviar to Mia.

“Joy is one of her greatest gifts. When you look at her, you don’t see the horror she’s been through. It’s been an education to watch her finish discovering herself.”

“How do you mean?”

“With us, it always was. The knowing. With Nell it was finally unlocking a door, then stepping through it and finding a room full of fascinating treasures. The first magic I showed her was how to stir the air. Her face when she did it . . . it was wonderful.”

“I never taught anyone. I did attend a weekend seminar on Wicca a few years ago, though.”

“Really?” She licked caviar off her thumb. “And how was that?”

“It was . . . earnest. I went on impulse, and actually met a few interesting people. Some of them with power. One of the lectures dealt with the Salem trials, and segued into Three Sisters Island.”

He helped himself to the caviar. “They had most of the facts, but not the spirit. Not the heart. This place . . .” He skimmed the woods, listened to the beat of the sea. “It can’t be summed up in a fifty-minute lecture.” He looked back at her. “Will you stay?”

“I’ve never left.”

“No.” He brushed her hand with his. “For dinner.”

She picked up another toast point. “Yes.”

He topped off her wine before he rose. “It’ll take me a minute.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No. It’s under control.”

Under control, he thought as he went back to the kitchen, thanks to Nell. Not only had she prepared everything and delivered it, but she’d left him a detailed list of instructions—one, he’d discovered, that even the culinary retarded could follow.

Blessing Nell, he managed to serve the tomato slices in oil and herbs and the cold lobster.

“It’s lovely.” Mia stretched out comfortably as she enjoyed the meal. “I had no idea you were such a whiz in the kitchen.”

“Untapped talents,” he said and smoothly changed the subject. “I’m thinking of buying a boat.”

“Are you? John Bigelow still makes wooden boats to order. Though he only does one or two a year now.”

“I’ll go see him. Do you do any sailing now?”

“Occasionally. But it was never a passion of mine.”

“I remember.” He touched her hair. “You preferred watching boats to being on one.”

“Or being in the water rather than on it.” She glanced over as a group of teenagers raced by, using the shortcut from one of the neighboring summer rentals to the beach. “Mr. Bigelow rents boats, too, but if you want to try your hand again before you buy, you’re better off talking to Drake at Seafarer. He’s built up a very nice rental business.”

“Drake Birmingham? I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back. Or Stacey. How are they?”

“They’re divorced. She took the kids—they had two—and moved to Boston. Drake remarried about six years ago. Connie Ripley. They have a little boy.”

“Connie Ripley.” Sam flipped through mental images as he tried to place her. “Big brunette with a lot of teeth.”

“That would be Connie.”

“She was just ahead of me in school,” he recalled. “Drake must be at least—”

“He’s on the other side of fifty.” Mia twirled her wineglass by the stem. “The age difference, and the speculation about a blistering affair between them causing the marriage to break up, was the hot topic on-island for a good six months.” She plucked up another bite of lobster. “Nell really outdid herself. The lobster’s delicious.”

He winced. “Tagged. Do I lose points?”

“Not at all. By hiring Three Sisters Catering, you show wisdom and good taste. Now.” She crossed her legs, picked up her file.

“I love looking at you.” He traced a fingertip over her ankle. “Any light, any angle. But just now, when the sun’s going down, and the candles are tossing light, I love looking at you.”

It fluttered in her blood. The words, the tone, the look in his eyes as he shifted toward her. Lightly, his hand cupped the back of her neck. Sweetly, his lips rubbed against hers. The flutter turned to a melting. She breathed him in, along with the scent of lilacs and candle wax. And her head took one long, lazy spin.

“Sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then eased back. “There are moments when I can’t keep my hands off you. Let’s see what you’ve got here.”

What she had was a case of weak knees and dizzy confusion. He’d kissed her bones away one moment and was now briskly reviewing her file.

“What is this about, Sam?”

“Business and pleasure,” he said absently and skimmed his hand down her back before taking out her copy of the upcoming ad. “This is great. Did you design it?”

Settle down, she ordered herself. “Yes.”

“You should send a copy to her publicist.”

“Done.”

“Good. I’ve already seen the flyer, but I don’t think I told you how effective it is.”

“Thank you.”

“Problem?” he asked nonchalantly.

She felt her teeth clench at his mild question. Irritated that she was irritated, Mia composed herself. “No. I appreciate your input.” She took a deep breath. “I really do. This is a big event for the store. I want it done not just right, but perfectly.”

“I’m sure Caroline’s going to enjoy herself.”

There was something, some subtle something in the way he said the name. “You know her personally?”

“Hmm. Yeah. This is a nice touch, having Nell make a cake that reproduces the book jacket. The flowers. You may want to change them to pink roses. I seem to recall she prefers those.”

“You seem to recall.”

“Uh-huh. I see here you’re planning to have champagne and chocolate in her suite as a welcome gift from the store. I’d suggest, since the hotel would already provide this amenity, that we add a couple of things and combine it. From the hotel and the store.”

Mia tapped her fingers on her knee, then made herself stop. “That’s an excellent idea. Perhaps some candles, a book on the island, that sort of thing.”

“Perfect.” He skimmed through the e-mail and faxed correspondence between Mia and the publicist, nodded. “I can’t see you’ve missed a trick. So . . .” He laid the folder aside, leaned toward her again. When his mouth was a breath from hers, she pressed a hand to his chest. Smiled. “I’d like to freshen up.”

She got to her feet, took her wine with her, and walked into the house. Once in the kitchen, she took a good look around. It was admirably tidy, but then she doubted if he used it except for brewing his first hit of coffee in the morning. He’d always been a cliché in the kitchen. The man who could burn water.

[Dalyia]

She saw Nell’s instruction sheet lying on the counter, and softened. She wandered into the living room, pursing her lips in consideration when she spotted the coffee table book. There were candles here as well, and he used them. It made her wonder what rituals and meditation techniques he practiced when he was alone.

Like her, he’d always been a solitary witch.

There were no photographs, but she hadn’t expected them. The pair of lovely watercolors on the wall was unexpected. Garden scenes, she mused. Soft and serene. It surprised her that he hadn’t selected more dramatic and bold images.

Other than the candles and paintings, and the obviously new and unread book, there was little of Sam Logan in the living area of the cottage. He hadn’t surrounded himself with the bits of comfort that were so essential to her.

No flowers or little pots of plants, no bowls of colorful stones or glass. Since she had pried this far—and she reminded herself she was both his lover and his landlord—she didn’t scruple to walk into his bedroom.

There was more of him here—the scent, the feel. The old iron bed she’d bought for the cottage was made up in an almost militarily efficient dark blue spread. The floors were bare. But there was a book on his nightstand, a thriller that she’d enjoyed herself, marked with one of his business cards. The single painting here was bold and dramatic. An old stone altar rose out of rocky ground into a sky vivid with the triumphant red streaks of sunrise.

On his dresser was a large and lovely chunk of sodalite that she imagined he used for meditation. His windows were open, and she could smell the lavender she’d planted herself. Because it made her yearn—the simplicity, the fragrance, that almost ridiculously masculine sense of him—she turned away from it.

In the tiny bathroom, she freshened her lipstick, dabbed the perfumed oil she had made herself on her throat, her wrists. Since Sam was priming her for a seduction, she would accommodate him. But not until she was home again, on her own ground.

She could play toy and tease just as skillfully as he.

When she came back out, he’d already switched the dinner service for glass bowls filled with ripe red strawberries and rich whipped cream.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted coffee, or more wine.”

“Wine.” A confident woman, she thought, could afford to be just a bit reckless. Night was sliding in. She sat beside him, letting her fingers dance through his hair before she reached for a berry. “I had no idea . . .” Deliberately, watching him, she ran her tongue over the berry, then nipped in.

“That you were interested in Renaissance art.”

Some circuit in his brain seemed to cross wires. He could almost hear it fizzle. “What?”

“Renaissance art.” She dipped her finger into the cream, licked it off. “The book in your living room.”

“The . . . oh.” He managed to tear his gaze away from her mouth. “Yes. It’s a fascinating period.”

She waited until he’d coated a berry with cream, then leaned over playfully and took a bite of it.

“Mmm,” she purred and slid her tongue over her top lip. “Do you prefer Tintoretto’s depiction of the Annunciation, or Erte’s?”

Another circuit snapped. “Both are brilliant.”

“Oh, absolutely. Except, of course, Erte was a sculptor, Art Deco, and born centuries after the Renaissance.”

“I assumed you were referring to Giovanni Erte, an obscure and impoverished Renaissance artist who died tragically of scurvy. He was very unappreciated.”

The laugh rolled out of her and tightened every muscle in his stomach. “Oh, that Erte. I stand corrected.”

This time she nipped his bottom lip instead of a berry. “You’re awfully cute, aren’t you?”

“I paid through the nose for that book. I imagine Lulu’s still cackling about it.” He let her feed him a berry. “I went in to buy some music and came out with fifty pounds of books.”

“I like the music.” She lay back across the white cloth, her head on an emerald-green pillow. “It relaxes me. Makes me think about floating in a warm river in a shady wood. Mmm. My head’s full of wine.”

She stretched, lazily so the thin fabric of her dress slithered over her curves. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to drive your sexy car tonight after all.”

She waited for him to tell her she could drive it in the morning, to ask her to come inside, to stay with
him. And when he lay beside her, traced a fingertip down her throat, over the rise of her breasts, she smiled.

“We can take a walk, let the sea air clear your head a bit.” He caught the flicker of surprise on her face just before he lowered his mouth to hers.

He nibbled, nipped, let his hands roam. He felt her yield, the softening of her body, the quickening of her pulse. To torment them both, he trailed his fingers along her leg, skimming them under her dress to the warm, silky skin of her thigh, circling the witch mark.

“Unless . . .” He slid a finger under the edge of her panties at the hip. Closed his teeth, lightly, lightly, over her breast through the soft cotton of her dress. “You’re not in the mood for a walk.”

She felt more than reckless now, and arched her hips in invitation. “No, a walk isn’t what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then . . .” He bit, just a little harder. “I’ll drive.”

And when he rose, held out a hand, she gaped at him. “Drive?”

“Drive you home.” Seeing her in speechless shock was, he thought, nearly as satisfying as . . . No, not even close to as satisfying, he admitted. But it was precisely the reaction he’d hoped for. He pulled her to her feet, then bent down to pick up her file and her flowers. “Don’t want to forget these.”

She recalculated on the drive home. He assumed, correctly, she thought, that she wouldn’t stay with him at the cottage. And he’d decided, also correctly, that in order to complete the seduction, he would need to maneuver her into her own bed.

And that, Mia thought as she leaned back to watch the stars, was exactly where she wanted him. Since he’d gone to so much trouble, and it had been sweet of him, she would let him . . . persuade her. Once they’d had sex, her mind and her body would be back on an even keel. When they pulled up at her house, she felt fully in control of the situation. “It was a lovely evening. Absolutely lovely.” The look she sent him was as warm as her voice as he walked with her to the door.

“Thanks again for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome.”

At the door, with her wind chimes singing, and the lamplight glowing against the windows, he ran his hands up her arms, down again. “Come out with me again. I’ll rent a boat, and we can spend a lazy day on the water. Swim.”

“Maybe.”

He cupped her face in his hands, tangled them in her hair as he kissed her. Going deeper when she made a quiet sound of pleasure. When she pressed invitingly against him, he reached behind her, opened the
door.

“Better go in,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Yes. Better.” Nearly dizzy with need, she stepped into the house, and turning, caressed his cheek. He thought she looked like a siren.

“I’ll call you.” With a hand that he considered admirably steady, he pulled the door closed between them.

They had, he thought as he walked to the car, just had their first official date in eleven years. And it had been a doozy.

Fifteen

S neaky bastard. No one had managed to get her so churned up since . . . Well, Mia admitted, no one had managed to get her so churned up since Sam Logan.

And he was better at it now.

Then again, she was better at banking her sexual urges than she’d once been. She’d had lovers over the years, but they’d been few and far between. As time had passed, she discovered that while she enjoyed the casual flirtation, she very rarely felt satisfied or content after having a man in her bed.

So, she’d stopped at flirtations.

It was something she considered a practical rather than an emotional decision. The energy and power she might have channeled into that area of physicality had gone, instead, into her craft. There was no doubt in her mind that she was a better witch for the period of self-imposed celibacy. There was no reason whatsoever why she couldn’t apply the same habit now. Since Sam hadn’t been in her bed for more than two weeks, it seemed the most logical choice. In any case, she was much too busy to worry about Sam, or sex, or just why he wasn’t following through on any of that maddening foreplay.

“You didn’t have to come back for this,” she said to Nell as she rearranged the café tables.

“I wanted to come back. I’m as excited about the signing tomorrow as you are. I’ll get the chair for that.”

“No, you won’t. No lifting. Period.” As she set the chairs herself, Mia kicked the one Ripley was slouched in. “You could get off your ass and help.”

“Hey, you don’t pay me. I’m just hanging out here so I don’t have to hang out at home while this male-bonding barbecue ritual is going on. I hope to hell Mac doesn’t blow something up.”

“It’s a charcoal grill,” Nell reminded her. “Charcoal doesn’t explode.”

“You don’t know my guy like I know my guy.”

“Between the three of them, they should be able to get it going and grill some steaks.” The image of Zack grilling burgers on their own deck flashed in Nell’s mind. And made her shudder. “But God help your poor kitchen.”

“Least of my worries.” Ripley crossed her feet at the ankles, legs stretched out, and watched in amusement as Mia continued to change the table arrangement.

“Now that one there?” She jerked her thumb toward Mia. “She’s got plenty of worries. See the line she gets between her eyebrows? Means she’s feeling bitchy.”

“I don’t have a line between my eyebrows.” And vanity had Mia smoothing it out. “Nor am I feeling bitchy. Slightly stressed, perhaps.”

“Which is why the barbecue’s such a good idea.” Nell walked over to the display table and began to toy with a design for the featured author’s book. “You’ll relax, have an evening with friends, and be clearheaded for tomorrow. I’m glad Sam thought of it.”

“He’s always thinking,” Mia concluded, but Ripley and Nell could hear the underlying edge to her statement.

“So, how did you like the concert on the beach the other night?” Ripley asked her.

“It was fine.”

“And the moonlight sail after the fireworks on the Fourth?”

“Dandy.”

“See?” Ripley nodded toward Nell. “Told you she was feeling bitchy.”

“I am not feeling bitchy.” Mia set down a chair with an ill-tempered little slap. “Are you looking for a fight?”

“Nope, I’m looking for a beer,” Ripley replied, and sauntered into the café kitchen to help herself.

“It’s going to be a wonderful event, Mia.” Ready to soothe, Nell continued to stack books. “It’ll be beautiful when you get the flowers in here tomorrow. And the refreshments are completely under control. Wait until you see the cake.”

“I’m not worried about the flowers, or the refreshments.”

“When you see how many customers start lining up, you’ll feel better.”

“I’m not worried about the customers, or not any more than I should be.” Mia dropped into a chair.

“For once, Ripley is right. I am feeling bitchy.”

“Is that a confession?” Ripley asked as she came out with her beer.

“Oh, shut up.” Mia dragged her hands through her hair. “He’s using sex. Or rather using the lack of sex to keep me edgy. Candlelight picnics. Moonlight sails. Long walks. He sends flowers every couple of days.”

“But no sex?”

Mia leveled a look at Ripley. “There’s considerable foreplay,” Mia snapped. “Then he dumps me at my front door and walks off. The next day I get flowers. He calls every day. And twice I’ve gone home and found a little gift at the front door. A pot of rosemary trained in the shape of a heart, a little pottery dragon. When we’re out, he’s absolutely charming.”

“The bastard!” Ripley slammed her hand on the table. “Hanging’s too good for him.”

“He’s using sex,” Mia complained.

“No, he’s not.” With a dreamy smile, Nell brushed a hand over Mia’s hair. “Sex has nothing to do with it. He’s using romance. He’s courting you.”

“He is not.”

“Flowers, candlelight, long walks, thoughtful little gifts.” Nell ticked the list off on her fingers. “Time and attention. That spells courtship to me.”

“Sam and I passed by the courtship stage a number of years ago. And that courtship didn’t include flowers and little gifts.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make up for that.”

“He doesn’t have to make up for anything. I don’t want him making up for anything.” Jittery, she got to her feet, walked over to shut the terrace doors. “He doesn’t want the traditional package any more than I do. Now. He just wants . . .”

And that was the trouble, Mia realized. She had no clear idea what he wanted this time around either.

“He’s got you scared,” Ripley said quietly.

“He doesn’t. He absolutely does not.”

“He never scared you before. You always had your course plotted.”

“It’s still plotted. I know what I’m doing. I know where I’m going. That hasn’t changed.” Even as she said it, she felt a sly chill whisperover her skin.

[Dalyia]

“Mia.” There was both sympathy and patience in Nell’s voice. “Are you still in love with him?”

“Do you think I’d risk letting him into my heart again? That I’d risk that not knowing the cost?” Steadier now, Mia crossed over to finish the display. “I know my responsibility to this island, its people, to my gift. Love, for me, is an absolute. I couldn’t survive it again. And I have to survive to fulfill my destiny.”

“And if he is your destiny?”

“I thought that once. I was wrong. When the time comes, the circle will hold.”

At the house on the bluff, three men watched the flames spurt from the charcoal grill with the same intense fascination as the cavemen watched their tribal fire.

“Going good,” Zack commented, and nodded at Sam. “See? I told you we could do it with good old Yankee know-how. We didn’t need any hocus-pocus crap.”

“Good old Yankee know-how,” Sam drawled. “An entire bag of charcoal and a half gallon of lighter fluid.”

“I can’t help it if his grill’s defective.”

“This is a brand-new grill,” Mac protested. “This is its virgin run.”

“Which is why it needs the hot flame. Has to be cured.” Zack tipped back his beer. Mac looked on sadly as the inside of his shiny red grill blackened. “If this sucker melts, Ripley’s going to kill me.”

“It’s goddamn cast iron.” Zack gave it a little boot with his foot. “Speaking of Rip, where the hell are they?”

“They’re on their way,” Sam replied as Zack frowned at him. “A little hocus-pocus crap. I like knowing where Mia is. Since Mister Science here clued us in on those readings around her house, I’ve been keeping tuned to her.”

“She finds out, she’ll kick your ass,” Zack pointed out.

“She won’t find out. She doesn’t see clearly when it comes to me. She doesn’t want to, and it’s damn hard getting Mia to do anything she doesn’t want.”

“How are things, you know, going between you?”

Sam studied Mac as he drank. “Is that personal or professional interest?”

“I guess you could say it’s both.”

“Fair enough. I like the way things are going. Can’t say I mind keeping her guessing. She’s a hell of a lot more complicated than she used to be, and it’s interesting—more than I figured—getting to know all the twists and turns.”

Zack scratched his chin. “You’re not going to start talking about mature relationships and exploring your inner couple or any of that shit, are you?”

“Shh. . . here they come.” Mac gestured toward the slash of headlights on the shell road. “Let’s act like
we know what we’re doing.”

Lucy, who’d been sprawled over the deck, leaped to attention and flew down the steps inches ahead of Mulder.

“Pretty women,” Zack said. “A couple of good dogs and some steaks. Damn good deal.”

The steaks were charred, the potatoes slightly underdone, but appetites were keen enough. They ate on the deck, by the strong glow of candles and the backwash of light from the living room, where music pumped out of the stereo.

When Sam lifted a bottle of wine to fill Mia’s nearly empty glass, she shook her head, laid her hand over the bowl. “No, I’m driving. And I need a clear mind for tomorrow.”

“I’ll come by in the morning, give you a hand with the setup.”

“No need. Most of it’s done, and we have plenty of time tomorrow. I already have thirty-eight pre-sold copies of the hardcover, with orders still coming in, and nearly that many of her backlist set aside. She’s going to be very busy tomorrow. I imagine she’ll . . .”

Mia trailed off as she caught the look on Nell’s face. Her body tensed, and she rose half out of her chair.

“Nell.”

“The baby moved.” The expression of shock and astonishment turned to wonder. “I felt the baby. A fluttering inside me.” She laughed, pressed a hand to her belly. “So quick and strong. Zack.” She grabbed his hand, pressed it against her. “Our baby moved.”

“Do you need to lie down?”

“No.” She leaped up, tugged his hand. “I need to dance.”

“You need to dance.”

“Yes! Dance with me.” She threw her arms around his neck. “We’ll dance with Jonah.”

“We don’t know it’s a boy.” Swamped with love, Zack wrapped his arms around her waist, drew her up to her toes and held tight. “Might just as easily be a girl. Then it’s Rebecca.”

“Uh-oh. They’re getting sappy.” Before it rubbed off, Ripley got up, pointed at Mac. “You’re dancing.”

“Somebody’s going to get hurt,” Mac muttered.

Sam watched the entertainment for a moment, then laid a hand on Mia’s. “We used to be good at this.”

“Hmmm?”

She was staring at Nell, her face wistful and so totally unguarded that seeing it was like a fist to his heart. Tears sparkled on her lashes. What he saw in them was love, and longing.

“Dancing.” Holding her hand, he stood. “We used to be good at it. Let’s see if we still are.”

Following impulse, he pulled her down the steps to the bluff. Then he spun her out to arm’s length, whipped her back.

Her arm hooked smoothly around his neck, her body fit to his.

“Oh, yeah.” He slid his hands down to her hips and began to sway with her. “We’re still good.”

It had been a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten his moves, his rhythm. And she remembered as well the sheer pleasure of moving with him to music. Giving herself to it, she kicked off her shoes. Sand flew under their feet as they turned, dipped, and spun.

Dancing had always been a kind of joyful and somehow innocent mating ritual between them. Bursts of energy. Co-ordination. Anticipation.

She stopped hearing the music with only her ears. She heard it in the quick pressure of his hand on her back, the grip of his fingers on hers, the whirl of her own body.

When he lifted her off her feet, she threw her head back and laughed. Then she linked her arms around his neck, for the first time in more than a decade, in an embrace that was sheer and simple affection. The applause and whistles exploding from the deck had her shifting her head, leaving her cheek resting against his temple as she caught her breath.

“Told you they were show-offs.” Ripley elbowed Mac, but she was grinning.

“Hey, we don’t have to take this abuse. Come on!” Holding Mia’s hand, Sam dashed down the beach steps so that Mia had to run to keep up.

“Slow down! You’ll break our necks!”

“I’ll catch you.” To prove it, he hauled her up, spun her in circles. “How about a swim?”

“No!”

“Okay, we’ll dance instead.” He set her on her feet, pulling her close and tight against him. The slow, seductive strains of “Sea of Love” flowed into the air, over the beach.

“That’s an old one,” she remarked.

“Classic,” he corrected. “Change of pace.”

He buried his face in her hair as they circled in the sand. Her heart was a steady beat against his. Their legs brushed as she rose on her toes, sliding with him until they formed one shadow in the moonlight. He remembered, so much, that the shapes and sounds of all the memories whispered and blurred in his brain. “Do they still have dances in the high school gym?”

“Yes.”

“Do kids still sneak outside to neck?”

“Probably.”

“Let’s pretend.” He turned his head, skimming his lips along her jaw before they met hers. “Come back with me.”

Before she understood, could think to resist, she found herself spinning. They were no longer dancing on the sand, but wrapped together in the shadows of the high school gym while a crisp fall breeze blew the scents of aging leaves and blooming mums around them.

Music pumped out of the building, a rebel crash of drums and guitars. Her hands rushed over the cool, worn leather of his jacket, into the silky warmth of his hair.

His body was slimmer, his mouth less skilled, but, oh, how hers responded. The torch of love burned blinding bright inside her.

She whispered his name, mindlessly. And offered everything.

It was the ache swelling inside her, throbbing like a wound, that snapped her back. Breath heaving, she shoved him away. “Damn you. Damn you! That wasn’t fair.”

“No. I’m sorry.” His head was spinning. For a moment he could still smell the crispness of autumn in the humid press of summer air. “No, it wasn’t fair. I wasn’t thinking. Don’t walk away.” He pressed his fingers to his temples as she turned from him.

He hadn’t planned it, and would have found some way to stop the impulse that had taken them back into what they’d been. How could he have known what it would be like to have her love him like that again?

To feel that absolute purity of emotion from her?

To know he’d tossed it away, and might never, never have it again. When he steadied himself she was standing at the edge of the water, hugging herself and staring out at the night.

“Mia.” He went to her, but didn’t touch her. One of them, he was certain, would break if he did. “I have no excuse, no way to apologize for that kind of manipulation. I can only tell you I didn’t intend to do it.”

“You hurt me, Sam.”

“I know.” And myself, he thought. More than I could have realized.

“Time can’t be erased. And it shouldn’t be.” She turned to him now, her face pale against the night. “I don’t want to go back to that girl, or that boy. I don’t want to give up what I’ve made of myself.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing of what you’ve made of yourself. You’re the most astonishing woman I’ve ever known.”

“Words are easy.”

“No, they’re not. Some of them have never been easy for me. Mia—”

But when he reached out, she turned away again. Then froze as she saw the pale blue light spilling out of the cave. “Stop it. You go too far.”

He saw it too, and did touch her now so she would feel, and believe him. “I’m not doing it. Wait here.”

He set her behind him, then strode quickly toward the cave, stopping only when he stood at the opening, washed in the light. He heard her step beside him, but said nothing as they both looked inside. The light in the cave was soft and blue, the shadows deep and still as wells. In that light were two people. Images carved like statues out of the light itself.

Then they breathed.

The man was beautiful. The sleek muscles of his long, naked body gleamed with water. His hair was glossy black, spilling damp and straight over his shoulders as he stretched on his side in a deep sleep. The woman was beautiful. Tall and slender in her dark cloak, she stood looking down at him. The hood was tossed back so the fiery curls of her hair tumbled free to her waist. In her arms, she held a pelt, black as midnight and still wet from the sea. When she turned, Mia saw what seemed to be her own face, with the skin glowing as if a thousand candles were alight beneath it.

“Love,” the one who had been Fire said, “is not always wise.” She walked toward them, cradling the pelt like a child. “It has no conditions, and no regrets.” She rubbed her cheek against the pelt as she stepped out of the cave. “Time is shorter than you think.”

Mia lifted a hand—a gesture of comfort and command. “Mother?” The one who was Fire stopped, and her beauty shimmered when she smiled.

“Daughter.”

“I will not fail you.”

“It is not for me.” She traced her fingers along Mia’s cheek, and Mia felt a line of warmth. “Take care not to fail yourself. You’re more than I was.”

She looked back into the cave. “You forget, too often, that he is in you as well.” Hugging the pelt she turned back until her eyes met Sam’s. “And me in you.”

She walked away across the sand. “It watches, in the dark.” And vanished like smoke. The light in the cave winked out.

“I can smell her.” Mia cupped her hands in the air as if it were water, and brought it to her face.

“Lavender and rosemary. You saw her amulet?”

He lifted the disk of silver and sunstone that Mia wore on a linked chain. “This one. The same way I looked at her face, and saw this one,” he said, lifting Mia’s chin.

“I have a lot to think about.” She started to step away, but her gaze was drawn up. As she watched, an inky haze blurred the bright edges of the moon.

“Trouble’s coming,” she whispered, seconds before they heard the growl. Fog spilled in from the sea, crawled up the sand. The wolf, the pentagram a white flash against its black body, waded into the mist and bared its teeth.

For the second time, Sam pushed Mia behind him. His body blocked hers like a shield. “Go. Now. Get to the house.”

“I won’t run from this.” She stepped to the side, into clear view, and watched the wolf track her. With no time to wait for her circle, she began the spell alone.

“Air that swirls and spins, arise, build to wind that screams and cries. Tremble earth beneath the sea, walls of water build for me!”

She speared her hands up, through the gale that spewed around her. Her hair blew out, wild ropes of red. And at the shout of her voice, the quiet waves of the cove boiled up, higher, higher with each crash. The world roared.

“Rage and thrash and whirl for me, air and earth and rising sea. Flames within my blood that churns, I conjure from you a circle that burns. Now you that crawled out of the mire, come if you dare, and face my fire!”

A ball of lightning hurled out of the sky, blazing like a comet on its violent arc. An instant before it crashed into the land, she saw the black wolf curl itself back into the fog.

“Coward,” she called out, riding wildly on the whip of her own power.

“Mia.” Sam’s voice was rock steady. “Can you turn it back?”

“I just did.”

“No, baby. The wave.”

“Ah.” She studied the wall of water, a full twenty feet high now and sweeping closer while the jaws of wind snapped vicious teeth. She held out her arms, targeted her energy down them like sighting down the barrel of a gun. Then flung it outward.

The wave collapsed into a shower of silver drops. The cool rain of them washed to shore, over her hair and skin as she twisted her fisted hand and gathered back the spinning wind. The night was once more clear as glass, the breeze playful as a faerie. She threw back her head, gulping in air while the heat of power streamed through her blood. “Well, yes, that gave him a taste, didn’t it?”

[Dalyia]

Sam was still gripping her shoulder, as he had been since she’d stepped out from behind him. “How long have you been doing that spell?”

“Actually, that was the first time I put it all together. I have to say”—she blew out a laughing breath—“it was better than sex.”

Hearing the shouts and running feet from above on the bluff, she turned to reassure her friends.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Mia grabbed one of Nell’s stroking hands. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I could use a drink.” Ripley popped open a beer, turned to Mia. “You?”

“No, thanks.” She already felt wonderfully, gloriously drunk.

“Some lemonade for the little mother.” Ripley poured a glass. “Sit down or something, Nell. You’re making me twitchy.”

“I think we should go down and see what they’re doing.”

“Oh, let them play with their toys.” Restless, Ripley paced the deck. Mac and the other men had hauled equipment down to the beach. Even now she could hear the beeps and mechanical squeals.

“That was a pretty big spell there, Glenda. How did it feel?”

Mia’s lips curved, slow and smug.

“Figured. Even linking last minute and adding a push, I got a nice rush. Always leaves me wanting more, though.”

“Zack’s going to get very lucky later.” Nell laughed, then immediately stopped herself. “How can we stand around here laughing about sex? That was terrifying. Mia, we couldn’t get down to you. Your wind came up like a tornado.”

“A nice summer breeze wouldn’t have done it. And you did get to me. I felt you.” With her hands braced on the rail, she leaned out, her face lifted to the sky. “It was like a thousand hearts beating inside me. A thousand voices in my head. And every cell, every muscle, every drop of blood was so alive. When it looked at me.” She whirled back. “When it looked at me, it was afraid.”

“Maybe it’s finished,” Nell said.

Mia shook her head. “No, not yet.”

“Whether’s it’s done or not, I’ve got to say one thing.” Ripley tipped back her beer. “I didn’t know you had that much, and I’ve known you all your life. And seeing what I saw tonight, I’ve got a better handle on why you’ve always been so picky and careful. That’s a lot of firepower to cart around.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation. With a warning tagged on. Wait for us next time. Okay.” She gathered up three more beers. “Playtime’s over. Let’s go see what Mac and his pals have come up with.”

On the beach, Mac had sensors and monitors scattered, cables strewed everywhere. He sat on the ground hammering away at the keyboard of his laptop.

Hauling the equipment down, carting it to where Mac wanted it, had helped. But Sam needed to do something physical and sweaty to take the edge off.

“Look, this is all really cool stuff, but what the hell is it doing?”

“Measuring. Triangulating. Documenting.” Mac tapped more keys, squinted behind his glasses at a near monitor. “Wish I’d gotten to a damn camera. Best estimate on that wave’s twenty feet. But that’s just eyeballing it from up above.”

“Twenty’s conservative,” Sam said mildly. “And that’s eyeballing it from down below.”

“Um. Ah.” Mac peered at the readout on his thermometer. “Give me your best guess at ambient temperature at the center here during the climax of the event.”

Sam shot a look at Zack, who just shrugged. “Ambient temperature? Jesus. It got hot.”

“But was it a dry heat?” Zack asked and made Sam laugh.

“Makes a difference.” Mac shoved up his glasses and frowned. “The ambients around the negative energy flow dip. It gets cold. In trying to reconstruct and calculate the ion clash and the dominant direction of force, I need reasonable estimates of the ambients.”

“It got hot,” Sam said again. “Damn it, I’m a witch, not a meteorologist.”

“Very funny. Now take that sensor and get me a reading where her fireball hit. Hey. Wow!” As one of his machines began to hum like a beehive, he scrambled up, barely missed snagging his foot on a cable. He made a dash for it just as the women came down the beach steps.

“Oh. Should’ve known.” He nodded, crouched down to get a better look at the readings.

“I’m going to take a look at the cave,” Nell informed Mac. “I want to help if I can.”

He grunted, then crooked a finger at Mia. Amused at him, she strolled closer, then stopped when he held up a hand.

“Whoa, baby,” he said. “Look at this, just look. It’s phenomenal. Are you doing any internal spells? Do you have anything working, actively working, in another area?”

“Not at the moment. Why?”

“Your readings are spiking. They’re all over the place, and all the way up the scale. You always have a
high level, even at rest, but this is a big surge. Hold on. I want to measure your vital signs.”

He took her blood pressure, her body temperature, her heart rate. He was studying the readout on her brain wave patterns when the rest of the group gathered around them.

“How do you do it?” Mac’s voice was quiet now, and sober.

Mia leaned toward him. Mimicking his tone, she pretended innocence. “Do what, Mac?”

“The level of energy pumping around inside you right now would have most people bouncing off the walls. But your vitals are well within normal range. You’ve been sitting here, calm as ice, for ten minutes.”

“Exquisite control. Now, this has been a delightful and entertaining evening, but I really have to go.” She rose, one smooth movement of grace, and brushed the sand from her skirts. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you stay here in the guest room?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Mac.”

“It’s not finished.”

“No, it’s not finished. But it’s done for tonight.”

Sixteen

S he didn’t sleep, nor had she expected to. Instead, she put the bubbling energy to good use. She worked on kitchen magic, put together some pocket charms. She polished furniture, scrubbed floors, then gave herself a manicure.

At dawn, she was in the gardens, selecting and clipping the flowers she wanted for store decoration. When she arrived at Café Book at eight, her energy level showed no signs of waning. Nell, dependable as sunrise, arrived at nine, loaded with supplies.

“You look incredible,” Nell said as Mia helped her transport boxes and containers.

“I feel incredible. It’s going to be a good day.”

“Mia.” Nell set the cake box on the refreshment table. “I trust you. But it’s just not like you to be so casual about what happened last night. That level of magic, that scope—”

“Was like having a dragon by the tail,” Mia finished. “I take what happened very seriously. I have to ride this wave, little sister. Physically, I really don’t have a choice. It doesn’t mean I’m not aware, or that I’m glib, or that I don’t know that what’s coming is more potent yet.”

A dragon by the tail? Nell thought. More like a herd of them. “I saw what you were able to call last night. I felt the edge of it whip through me. Just the edge, and it was staggering. Now you’re setting up
for a book signing as if it’s the most important thing you have to do.”

“Today it is.” She took one of Nell’s apple fritters from a box. “Can’t seem to get enough to eat. It’s a matter of routing the energy, which I imagine you did, very skillfully, with Zack last night.” She smiled a little as she bit into the pastry. “I’ve had a lot of practice finding ways other than sex to route mine. You could serve canapés off my kitchen floor this morning.”

“I thought you and Sam would leave together.”

“So did I.” Thoughtfully, Mia licked sugar from her finger. “Apparently he had other things to do.”

“After you left, Mac took readings from Sam. Sam didn’t like it. Zack had to insult him into it. You know, the way men do.”

“Questioning the size and stamina of his penis.”

“Basically. And calling him Mary.”

“Ah, yes.” Mia chuckled and nibbled. “Always effective.”

“Sam’s readings were nearly as high as yours.”

Still ravenous, Mia contemplated another fritter. “Really?”

“Mac’s theory, or one of them, is that Sam was at ground zero and absorbed some of the energy flying around. Now, of course, he wants to wait a few days and then get readings from Sam for comparison. His standard levels and so on.”

Mia gave in, took the second pastry, and told herself she’d do an extra hour of yoga later. “Sam wouldn’t care for that.”

“No, he didn’t like it. But my impression is he’s going to cooperate. Mac’s very persuasive, and he used you.”

“Me?”

“Any data are essential, every scrap of information goes into the whole and helps—don’t get mad at this—protect you.”

Mia brushed sugar from her fingertips, admired the slick coral polish on her nails. “Did I give anyone the impression last night that I needed protection?”

“They’re men,” Nell said simply, and restored Mia’s good humor.

“Can’t live with them, can’t turn them into jackasses.”

With preparations at Café Book well under control, Mia went down to meet the ten o’clock ferry. She noted that Pete Stubens’s dog had gotten off the leash again and was racing around the docks with the remains of some unfortunate, and very dead, fish hanging out of his mouth. She spotted Carl Macey’s boat at the dock and imagined that he and his crew would be unloading a fresher, more appetizing catch.

She toyed with wandering over and asking him to set aside some of it for her. There was little doubt that by the end of the day her appetite would be just as keen as it was now.

“Hi, Miz Devlin.” Dennis Ripley skidded his bike to a halt inches in front of the open toes of Mia’s Pradas.

“Hi, Mister Ripley.”

The boy grinned, as he always did. Growing like a weed, Mia thought, and well into the gangly-arms-and-awkward-elbows stage. In a couple of years, she mused, he’d be zipping along in some secondhand car instead of on his bike.

And the idea made her sigh.

“My mom’s coming to your store today to see that writer lady.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“My aunt Pat works at the hotel, and she says they’ve got a fancy room for her, with a whirlpool tub and a TV set in the bathroom.”

“Is that so?”

“She says writers make lots of money and live high on the hog.”

“I imagine some do.”

“Like Stephen King. His books are cool. Maybe I’ll write a book and you can sell it in your store.”

“Then we’ll both get rich.” She pulled down the bill of his ball cap and made him laugh.

“I’d rather play for the Red Sox, though. Gotta go.”

He shot off, whistling for Pete’s dog, who raced after him. Mia turned to watch them, and there stood Sam.

Neither spoke for a moment, but the air seemed to snap.

“Hi, Miz Devlin.”

“Hi, Mister Logan.”

“Excuse me a minute.” He slid his arms around her, gripped the back of her dress in a fist, and crushed his mouth down on hers.

And the air seemed to sizzle.

“I didn’t get around to doing that last night.”

“Today works.” Her lips vibrated from the heat of him.

She shifted away, a test of will with the energy bubbling inside her, and watched the ferry chug its way toward the dock. “Ferry’s on time.”

“We need to talk about last night.”

“Yes, we need to talk about a number of things. But not today.”

“Tomorrow, then. We should both be a little less . . . distracted.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Mia asked, amusing herself, and stepped forward as the ferry docked. A black sedan eased down the gangplank, steered to the side. Before the driver could walk around to open the door, a pretty blonde popped out of the backseat.

She gave a laughing shout, then rushed forward and all but jumped into Sam’s arms. The kiss was audible, an extended mmmmm! with a quick popping sound at the end.

“God! It’s good to see you! How did you manage to get better-looking? I can’t believe I’m here on your island. Just thinking about it’s gotten me through a week of book tour wars. Let’s have another kiss.”

Oh, yes, let’s, Mia thought dryly as she watched the exchange. Caroline Trump was as attractive as her book jacket photo. A swing of sunny blond hair curved around a pretty elfin face, warmed by honey-brown eyes and dominated by a shapely pink mouth. A mouth that, Mia noted, was currently fused to Sam’s.

She had the young, perky build of a high school cheerleader, though her bio put her at thirty-six. The bio had neglected to mention that she and Sam Logan had been lovers.

“Tell me everything you’ve been up to,” Caroline demanded. “I can’t wait to see your hotel. There has to be time for you to show me around this place. It’s great! The book signing will probably be a dud—God knows why they schedule in these little holes-in-the-wall—so I can cut out early. We’ll go to the beach.”

“You still talk too much.” Sam eased her back, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Welcome to Three Sisters. Caroline, this is Mia Devlin, the owner of Café Book.”

“Oops.” Caroline turned her cheerful smile on Mia. “I do talk too much. Just run on and on. I didn’t mean it about the signing.” She took Mia’s hand, pumped. “I’m just all wired up. Haven’t seen Sexy here for over six months, and I’ve had about a gallon of coffee already this morning. I really appreciate you having me.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Mia said in a voice so smooth it made Sam wince. She drew her hand free of Caroline’s grip. “I hope the trip from the mainland was pleasant.”

“It was great. I—”

[Dalyia]

“Then I’ll just add my welcome to Sam’s, and let you go so you can settle in. If there’s anything you need, you can reach me at Café Book. Sam,” she said with a regal nod and walked away.

“Oh, ouch.” Caroline rapped a fist against her forehead. “I’m such a moron. Brilliant author-bookseller relations.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam told her. He would. “Let’s get you settled at the hotel. I think you’re going to like your suite.”

An hour later, Sam braved the sting of hellfire and walked into Café Book.

“Upstairs,” Lulu called out as she busily rang up sales. “And she’s on a tear.”

He found her giving instructions to the part-time clerk at the auxiliary checkout counter. She didn’t look like a woman on a tear, he thought, but like a coolly efficient business owner taking care of details. But then, Lulu knew her all too well.

She moved away to replenish stock that customers had already taken from her area display. “Is our VIP

settling in?”

“Yes, she’s changing. I’m going back shortly to take her to lunch.”

“I hope our little signing doesn’t interfere too much with the social aspects of your reunion.”

“Can we take this somewhere a little more private?”

“I’m afraid not.” She turned, beaming a professional smile as a woman took another book off the display. “Be sure to fill out the form for our prize drawings. We’ll be pulling names throughout the event,”

she told the woman. “As you can see,” she said to Sam, “I’m too busy dealing with my pesky event in my little hole-in-the-wall to chat with you.”

“She didn’t mean to insult you, Mia.”

“Not to my face, in any case. There’s no need for you to explain your friend to me. On any level.”

“I was going to suggest you join us for lunch.” He didn’t flinch at the long, slow stare she aimed at him.

“Give her a chance to smooth over the awkward first impression.”

“Not only would it take more than lunch to manage that, but I don’t have the time or the inclination. And I certainly don’t intend to be part of any little ménage à trois, however civilized.”

Okay, he thought. First things first. “Caroline and I haven’t been involved in that way for a long time. And I don’t appreciate having to explain something like that in the middle of the damn store.”

She nudged him aside so that she could speak to a group of tourists who were currently goggling. “Good morning. I hope you’ll be staying for our event this afternoon.” She picked up a book to show them.

“Miss Trump will be here to discuss and sign her latest.”

By the time she finished her pitch and had the customers browsing the paperback display, he was gone.

“Dud, my butt,” Mia murmured.

“I’m going to be so charming she’s going to forget I ever had my foot in my mouth.”

“Stop obsessing, Caroline.”

“I can’t.” She poked at her Cobb salad. “And it’ll hurt my feelings if you’ve forgotten that about me. Obsession is like breathing for me. I’m going to win her over before I’m finished. You’ll see.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“I’m nervous. She made me nervous. God, Sam! I couldn’t stop babbling.”

“You always babble.” He nudged the coffee aside, nudged up her salad bowl.

“No, I chatter. Babbling’s different. She’s the one, isn’t she?”

“The one what?”

“The one you were always hung up on.” With her head angled to the side, Caroline studied him. “I always knew there was the one , even when we were together.”

“Yes, she’s the one. How’s Mike doing?”

“Ah.” She wiggled her fingers so she could see the glint of her wedding ring. It was still new. And though it was the second she’d worn, she was determined that this one would stick. “He’s great. Misses me when I’m on tour—which is good for my ego. I’m going to have to bring him back here for a vacation. It’s wonderful. And,” she added, “you changed the subject to distract me. You don’t want to talk about Mia Devlin.”

“You look wonderful, Caroline. Happy, successful. I really enjoyed your new book.”

“Okay, we won’t talk about her. You’re really not coming back to New York?”

“No, I’m not coming back.”

“Well.” She glanced around the dining room. “You’ve got a hell of a place here.”

She studied the portrait of the three women, turned a questioning glance at Sam. But when he simply continued to eat, she tossed her napkin on the table. “I’ve got to get over there and make her love me or I’m not going to be able to settle down.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you settled down.” But he rose, signaled to the waiter. “You’ve got time for a little walk around the village.”

“No, let’s just do it. I’ll go over to sign stock now and look around later.”

He led her through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.

“Terrific building,” she said, scanning Café Book. She squared her shoulders, sucked in a breath.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“She’s not going to claw you, Caroline.” He waited for a break in the traffic, guided her across the street. “She wants this event to be successful as much as you do.”

“Brother, you don’t know females.” Caroline stepped inside, blinked. “Wow! What a place! Dream bookstore. And I’m everywhere. Jesus, Sam, it’s packed. I can’t believe I called this place rinky-dink.”

“You didn’t. Your term was ‘hole-in-the-wall.’ ”

“Right. Right. Did I mention I was a moron?”

“Yes, I think you did. Lulu, this is Caroline Trump.”

“Glad to have you.” Lulu bagged up a sale, stuck out her hand. “I’ve been ringing up your books like they were going out of style. I read the new one last week. It had a good punch.”

“Thanks. I love the store.” She turned in a circle. “I want to live here. Oh! Look at those candles. Sam, I need ten minutes.”

When she dashed off, he leaned back, watching fondly as she whipped through the aisles. It took fifteen minutes, but he managed to head her upstairs.

“Well, you made Lulu like you,” he commented.

“That was just a side benefit. Her stock is so smart—not just the selection of books, which is impressive, but the sidelines too. Class all the way. And look at this.”

She stopped at the top of the stairs, dazzled.

The crowd was already thick. The café tables were packed, as were the rows of chairs. Over the hum of conversation, she heard Mia’s smooth voice announce her name and the time of the event.

“It’s a wonder she didn’t kick me out,” Caroline murmured. “There must be a hundred people up here.”

“Since you’re determined to feel lousy about it, I’ll tell you she worked her butt off. Look, just pass on what you think to your publicist. Getting other authors to Café Book will go a long way toward prying your foot out of your mouth.”

“Consider it done. Okay, here she comes.” Caroline boosted up her smile and walked in Mia’s direction.

“You have the most incredible store. And I want to know if there’s anything I can do to make up for being a jerk.”

“Don’t give it another thought. Can I get you something to drink, a bite to eat? We’re very proud of our café.”

“Got any hemlock?”

Mia put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, it could be arranged.”

“Why don’t I settle for a diet Coke, and you can put me to work.”

“I have a number of pre-sells, if you’d like to take care of them before the event. It will give you more beach time. I’ll show you into the stockroom, set you up. Pam,” Mia called to the woman waiting tables.

“Would you bring Ms. Trump a diet Coke? We’ll be in the stockroom. Sam, if you’re staying, you might want to find a seat. Just this way, Ms. Trump.”

“Caroline, please. I’ve done enough of these to know how much time and effort go into hosting a signing. I want to thank you.”

“We’re thrilled to have you.”

Caroline followed Mia into the stockroom. She’d also seen enough behind-the-scenes action in bookstores to recognize ruthless organization.

“I’ve flapped the copies at title page,” Mia began. “If that’s not your preference, I’ll change them.”

Caroline moistened her lips. “These are all pre-sold?”

“Yes. Fifty-three at last count. Those that require personalizing—I was told you’d personalize?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“They’re labeled with Post-its. Your publicist indicated this is the brand of pen—”

“Just stop a second.” Caroline dumped her briefcase, sat down at a stool at the counter. “I’ve never sold over a hundred new titles at a signing.”

“You’re about to break your record.”

“I see that. Just as I see you have the pen I like, and that there were pink roses, my favorite, on the signing table.”

“Wait till you see the cake.”

“Cake?” Caroline seemed flabbergasted. “You have cake? You sent me bubble bath and candles, and were at the ferry to meet me.”

“As I said, we’re thrilled to have you.”

“Not finished yet. Your store, which is amazing, by the way, is full of people, and an unbelievable number of them are holding my books. And you hate me because I said something careless, rude, and stupid.”

“No. I was annoyed with you because you said something careless, rude, and stupid. But I don’t hate you for it.” Mia moved to the door to take the soft drink from Pam.

“And because I was once involved, romantically, with Sam.”

“Yes.” Her tone pleasant, Mia offered the drink. “Naturally I hate you for that.”

“And that’s fair.” Caroline sipped her soft drink. “But since Sam and I haven’t been anything but friends for more than four years, and I’m happily married. . . .” She wiggled the fingers of her left hand. “And, since he’s hung up on you, who happen to be beautiful, smart, younger than I am, and who has those really fabulous shoes, I get to hate you more.”

Mia considered her for a moment. “That seems entirely reasonable.” She handed Caroline a pen. “I’ll open these for you.”

Four hours later, Mia was in her office tallying figures. When the publisher called on Monday for a follow-up on the event, she was going to knock their socks off.

Nell came in, dropped into a chair, and patted the belly she was sure had started to round. “That was great. That was outstanding. That was exhausting.”

“I noticed that even with free refreshments, the café did a brisk business.”

“Tell me about it.” Nell yawned hugely. “Did you want to do totals?”

“We’ll wait until closing for those. However, I do have the totals for the Trump books that sold during her appearance.”

“And they are?”

“New title, including pre-solds? Two hundred and twelve. Paper backlist, also including pre-solds?

Three hundred and three.”

“No wonder she walked out of here looking shell-shocked. Congratulations, Mia. She was terrific, wasn’t she? Funny and warm during the book discussion. I really liked her.”

“Yes.” Mia tapped a pen on the edge of her desk. “So did I. She used to be involved with Sam.”

“Oh.” Nell straightened in the chair. “Oh.”

“After meeting her, it’s easy to see why he was attracted. She’s very clever, urban, energetic. I’m not jealous.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“I’m not jealous,” Mia repeated. “I just wish I hadn’t liked her quite so much.”

“Why don’t you come home with me? We’ll sit around, talk about men, and eat hot fudge sundaes.”

“I’ve already gone way over my sugar intake for the day, which is probably why I’m still edgy. You go on. I’ve got to finish here. Then I’m going home to sleep for twelve hours.”