Page 4 of Enchanted
She heard the sea, like an echo of memory, and turned unerringly onto the left fork of the path. What began as a whisper became a roar, and she started to hurry, was nearly running by the time she burst out of the trees and saw the cliffs.
Her boots clattered as she climbed up the rocks. The wind kicked and tore loose what was left of her braid so that her hair flew wild and free. Her laughter rang out, full of delight as she came breathlessly to the top of the rise.
It was, without a doubt, the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen. Miles of blue ocean, hemmed with fuming white waves that threw themselves in fury against the rocks below. The afternoon sun showered over it, sprinkling jewels onto that undulating mat of blue.
She could see boats in the distance, riding the waves, and a small forested island rising out of the sea like a bunched fist.
Gleaming black mussels clung to the rocks below her, and as she looked closer, she saw the thorny brown sticks of a bird’s nest tucked into a crevice. On impulse she got down, bellied out and was rewarded by a glimpse of eggs.
Pillowing her chin on her hands, she watched the water until the boats sailed away, until the sea was empty and the shadows grew long.
She pushed up, sat back on her heels and lifted her face to the sky. “And that is the first time in too long that I’ve done nothing at all for an afternoon.” She let out a long, contented breath. “It was glorious.”
She rose, stretched her arms high, turned. And nearly stumbled over the edge of the cliff.
She would have fallen if he hadn’t moved quickly, so quickly she had no sense of his moving at all. But his hands closed firmly over her arms and pulled her to safe ground.
“Steady,” he said, and it was more an order than a suggestion.
He might have been the prince of any woman’s imaginings. Or the dark angel of her most secret dreams. His hair was black as a moonless night and flew around a face lightly gilded by the sun. A face of strong, sharp bones, of firm, unsmiling mouth, of haunting male beauty.
He was tall. She had only a sense of height as her head reeled. For he had the eyes of the wolf she’d thought she’d seen—tawny and gold, unblinking and intense—under arched brows as black as his hair. They stared directly into hers, making the blood rush hot through her veins. She felt the strength of his hands, as he’d yet to release her, thought she saw both impatience and curiosity flicker over that gorgeous face.
But she might have been wrong because he continued to stare, and say nothing.
“I was— You startled me. I didn’t hear you. You were just there.” She nearly winced as she heard herselfbabble.
Which was his own fault, he supposed. He could have made her aware of him gradually. But something about the way she’d been lying on the rocks, gazing out at nothing with a half smile on her face had muddled his mind.
“You didn’t hear because you were daydreaming.” He arched one sweeping black eyebrow. “And talking to yourself.”
“Oh. It’s a bad habit of mine—talking to myself. Nervous habit.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not—I wasn’t.” God, she’d tremble in a moment if he didn’t let her go. It had been a long, long time since she’d been this close to a man other than Alan. And much too long since she’d felt any kind of response to one. She’d never experienced a reaction this strong, this violent or this disorienting, and put it down to nearly tumbling over a cliff.
“You weren’t.” He skimmed his hands down to her wrists, felt the jittery bump of her pulse. “Now you are.”
“You startled me, as I said.” It was an effort, but she glanced over her shoulder and down. “And it’s a long drop.”
“It is that.” He tugged her away another two steps. “Better?”
“Yes, well … I’m Rowan Murray. I’m using Belinda Malone’s cabin for a while.” She would have offered a hand to shake, but it would have been impossible, as he was still cuffing her wrists.
“Donovan. Liam Donovan.” He said it quietly, while his thumbs stroked over her pulse beat and somehow steadied it.
“But you’re not from around here.”
“Aren’t I?”
“I mean, your accent. It’s beautifully Irish.”
When his lips curved and his eyes smiled she very nearly sighed like a teenager faced with a rock star. “I’mfrom Mayo, but I’ve had this place as mine for nearly a year now. My cabin’s less than a half mile from Belinda’s.”
“You know her, then?”
“Aye, well enough. We’re in the way of being relations, distant ones.” His smile was gone now. Her eyes were as blue as the wild bellflowers that grew in sunny patches of the forest in high summer. And in them he found no guile at all. “She didn’t tell me to expect a neighbor.”
