Page 16 of Enchanted
His eyes sharpened, glinted. “She led you there?”
“I suppose you could put it that way. You know the place? I never expected to find something like it here. You think of Ireland or Britain, Wales or Cornwall—not Oregon—when you think of stone dances.”
“You find them where they’re wanted. Or needed. Did you go in?”
“No. It’s silly, but it spooked me a little, so I went around. And got completely lost.”
He knew he should have felt relieved, but instead there was a vague sense of disappointment. But of course, he reminded himself, he’d have known if she’d stepped inside. Instantly. “Hardly lost, since you’re here.”
“It seemed like I was lost. The path disappeared and I couldn’t get my sense of direction. I probably have a poor one anyway. The tea’s wonderful,” she commented. It was warm and strong and smooth, with something lovely and sweet just under it.
“An old family blend,” he said with a hint of a smile, then sampled one of her cookies. “They’re good. So you cook, do you, Rowan?”
“I do, but the results are hit-and-miss.” All of her early-morning cheer was back and bubbling in her voice. “This morning, I hit. I like your house. It’s like something out of a book, standing here with its back to the cliffs and sea and the stones glittering in the sunlight.”
“It does for me. For now.”
“And the views …” She rose to go to the window over the sink, and caught her breath at the sight of the cliffs. “Spectacular. It must be spellbinding during a storm like the one we had last night.”
Spellbinding, he thought, knowing his father’s habit of manipulating the weather for his needs, was exactlywhat the storm had been. “And did you sleep well?”
She felt the heat rise up her throat. She could hardly tell him she’d dreamed he’d made love to her. “I don’t remember ever sleeping better.”
He laughed, rose. “It’s flattering”—he watched her shoulders draw in—“to know my company relaxed you.”
“Hmm.” Struggling to shake off the feeling that he knew exactly where her mind had wandered, she started to turn. She noticed the open door and the little room beyond where he’d left a light burning on a desk, and a sleek black computer running.
“Is that your office?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I’ve interrupted your work, then.”
“It’s not pressing.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you ask if you want to see?”
“I do,” she admitted. “If it’s all right.”
In answer he simply gestured and waited for her to step into the room ahead of him.
The room was small, but the window was wide enough to let in that stunning view of the cliffs. She wondered how anyone could concentrate on work with that to dream on. Then laughed when she saw what was on the monitor screen.
“So you were playing games? I know this one. My students were wild for it. The Secrets of Myor.”
“Don’t you play games?”
“I’m terrible at them. Especially this kind, because I tend to get wrapped up in them, and then every step is so vital. I can’t take the pressure.” Laughing again, she leaned closer, studying the screen with its lightning-stalked castle and glowing fairies. “I’ve only gotten to the third level where Brinda the witch queen promises to open the Door Of Enchantment if you can find the three stones. I usually find one, then fall into the Pit of Forever.”
“There are always traps on the way to enchantment. Or there wouldn’t be pleasure in finding it. Do youwant to try again?”
“No—my palms get damp and my fingers fumble. It’s humiliating.”
“Some games you take seriously, some you don’t.”
“They’re all serious to me.” She glanced at the CD jacket, admiring the illustration, then blinked at the small lettering: Copyright by the Donovan Legacy. “It’s your game?” Delighted, she straightened, turned. “You create computer games? That’s so clever.”
“It’s entertaining.”
“To someone who’s barely stumbled their way onto the Internet, it’s genius. Myor’s a wonderful story. The graphics are gorgeous, but I really admire the story itself. It’s just magical. A challenging fairy tale with rewards and consequences.”
