Page 47 of Enchanted
“Well then, stop your fretting.” Dismissing her concerns, he paged through her sketches. “You’ll do well here. You do well here.” His grin flashed as he came to one with fairy eyes peeking through a thick flood of flowers. “Well and fine here, girl. Why is it you don’t use colors?”
“I’m no good with paints,” she began. “But I thought I might get some chalks. I haven’t done much with pastels and thought it might be fun.”
He made a sound of approval and continued to flip pages. When he came to one of Liam standing spread-legged and arrogant on the cliffs, he grinned like a boy. And there was pride in his eyes, in his voice. “Oh, this is like him, isn’t it? You’ve got him.”
“Have I?” she murmured, then flushed when that green gaze rested on her face again.
“Every woman has power, Rowan. She’s only to learn to use it. Ask him for something.”
“For what?”
“What pleases you.” Then he tapped a finger on the page. “Will you give me this? For his mother.”
“Yes, of course.” But when she started to tear the page out, it vanished.
“She misses him,” Finn said simply. “Good day to you, Rowan of the O’Mearas.”
“Oh, but won’t you—” He was gone before she could ask him to walk to Liam’s with her. “‘There are morethings on heaven and earth, Horatio,’” she murmured, and, rising, walked to Liam’s alone.
***
He wasn’t waiting for her. That’s what he told himself. He had a great deal to occupy his mind and fill his time. He certainly wasn’t roaming aimlessly around the house waiting for a woman. Wishing for her.
Hadn’t he told her he didn’t intend to work that day? Hadn’t he said that specifically, so they’d each have a little time apart? They both required their little pieces of solitude, didn’t they?
So where the devil was she? he wondered as he roamed aimlessly around the house.
He could have looked, but it would be too undeniable an admission that he wanted her there. And she had been very clear about her expectations of privacy. No one knew or respected the need for privacy more.
And he was giving it to her, wasn’t he? He didn’t follow the urge just to take a quick glance into the glass and see, or skim lightly into her thoughts.
Damn it.
He could call her. He stopped his restless pacing and considered. A quiet murmur of her name on the air. It was hardly an intrusion, and she was free to ignore it if she wished. Tempted, sorely tempted, he moved to the door, opened it to step out into the balmy air.
But she wouldn’t ignore it, he thought. She was too generous, too giving. If he asked, she’d come. And if he asked, it would be like an admission of weakness for her.
It was only a physical need yet, he assured himself. Just a longing for the taste of her, the shape, the scent. If it was sharper than was comfortable, it was likely due to his own restraint.
He’d been gentle with her, always. No matter how his blood burned, he’d treated her carefully. When every instinct clawed at him to take more, he’d held back.
She was tender, he reminded himself. It was his responsibility to control the tone of their lovemaking, to yank back the fury of it lest he frighten her.
But he wanted more, craved it.
Why shouldn’t he have it? Liam jammed his hands into his pockets and strode up and down the porch. Why the devil shouldn’t he do as he pleased with her? If he decided—and it was still his decision to make—to accept her as a mate, she would have to accept him as well. All aspects of him.
He’d had enough of waiting around while she was off somewhere ignoring him. As he paced, his temper and the passion stirring to life beneath grew more fierce and more restless. And he’d had enough of minding his step with her.
It was time she knew what she was dealing with—in him and in herself.
“Rowan Murray,” he muttered, and his eyes seared the air. “You’d best be ready for the likes of me.”
He flung up his arms. The flash of light that snapped out simmered to a glow as he re-formed on her porch.
And knew immediately she wasn’t there.
He snarled, cursed, furious with himself, not only for the act that had demonstrated his need for her, but with her for not being exactly where he expected her to be.
