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  She knew from what Henry had told her that Thistle Down Manor was an ancient, secluded estate. Her rental, Heather Cottage, was a later addition, one not leased out often. She felt fortunate that she had somehow passed whatever screening Henry used to determine who would be lucky enough to rent the cottage.

  Sitting in the peaceful little sunroom off the kitchen, Sarah felt like she was where she was supposed to be for the first time in her life. Now if she could only figure out why she was supposed to be here. It would be so much easier to follow up on these feelings if they would simply be a little more specific.

  When Sarah had stumbled across the rental listing during her late-night internet search for a place to stay, it had, as she’d told Ian, felt right. He’d nodded politely as if he’d understood. No point in explaining that meant something entirely different to her than to anyone else. The whole evening had been unusual enough without pointing out her oddities to a complete stranger. Besides, he’d notice them on his own soon enough. Everyone who got close to her did.

  “What am I thinking?”

  She stood and shook her head. She wouldn’t be getting close enough to him, or to anyone else for that matter, for anyone to notice anything. She was here for peace and quiet—to get in touch with her “feelings” and to finish the book she should have finished months ago. She was not here to meet a man. Especially not that man.

  She chuckled as she began to unpack her bag. Seriously. Where was her head? Even if she weren’t too old for him, which she was, he was way out of her league. Gorgeous men like that, gorgeous young men, went for gorgeous young women. She was neither. She had turned thirty-eight on her last birthday. Even in her twenties, no on had ever accused her of being gorgeous. Not her mother, nor her grandmother. And certainly not Brad. Her ex-husband had called her a number of things, but gorgeous was not one of them.

  Still, Ian McCullough was a most unusual man, and not just because of his drop-dead looks.

  Everyone, every single person she’d ever touched since her seventh birthday, gave off some type of current. Her sensitivity to it often made that touch almost unbearable. Sorrow, greed, anger, joy, pain—all of that and more came through in the touch. Even the good emotions could be painful when too intense.

  But when she’d touched Ian last night, there had been no jolt, no frenzy of feeling, only a flow of warmth. That had never happened before.

  Of course, she had been exhausted at the time.

  Perhaps that accounted for it. Perhaps, if the opportunity presented itself, she’d touch him again. Only to test what would happen. Like a science experiment. To see if it had been fatigue that had interfered with the feelings.

  Right now she needed to concentrate on getting settled in and getting to work. No more daydreaming. She laughed out loud at that thought. Daydreaming was her work.

  She walked into the central room and lifted her heavy shoulder bag from the floor onto the little desk, opening it and removing her laptop. Looking around, she knew she was going to like it here. From this spot, she could see the whole of the cottage interior. Two doors opened off the tiny hallway to her right. One led to the bathroom, the other a bedroom. Her living room was open to the kitchen, separated only by a countertop and cabinets. A wooden table and two chairs filled the floor of the small kitchen area. A love seat and coffee table dominated the living area, with a fireplace on one wall and the desk and large window on the other.

  From that window, the view of the early summer gardens was exactly what she needed. Absolutely inspiring.

  She should start to work. That was the first thing on her list. Well, maybe a walk through those lovely gardens before she actually started work, but work was really, really close to the top of the list.

  And no more thinking about Ian McCullough. He wasn’t anywhere on the list.

  A knock on the door of the cottage saved her from the battle she was losing to procrastination.

  When she opened the door, Ian stood there, one large suitcase held effortlessly in each hand.

  “Good morning, luv. I’ve brought yer things up from the auto. Seems the battery is run down, so Peter’s working on that now. Did you know you left yer lights on?” He grinned.

  Wow…Who would have guessed he’d look even better in the daytime? He wore a black T-shirt, tight enough to outline every muscle in the wall of chest confronting her.

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” She shrugged, unable to stop the sheepish expression that stole over her face. “After what happened, I couldn’t quite bring myself to deal with the dark.”

  “Ah.” He narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long, silly story.” She shook her head. Here in the welcoming atmosphere of the cottage, she’d almost been able to forget the man she’d seen last night, the fear she’d felt as she ran from her car. She wasn’t particularly anxious to relive it by sharing the tale. “Thanks for bringing my luggage. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s nothing. Besides, I thought you might like to get out of those ill-fitting things.”

  She was still wearing his clothes. She’d been so captivated by the cottage since Martha had brought her here after breakfast, she hadn’t even thought about what she was wearing. The slow burn started up her face.

  He wasn’t trying to hide his grin as he shouldered past her with the luggage, which he carried directly to the bedroom. Coming out, he swiped his hands together as if dusting them off.

  “There. All settled. Tell you what, you get yerself dressed and then I’ll show you around the gardens. The estate’s large, so it’s best if you know what to look for so you dinna get lost.” He arched an eyebrow. “And you can tell me the long, silly story that made you leave yer lights on last night.”

  “Well, I really should…” She hesitated and glanced out the window. The beauty there called to her. And it did make sense. She should find out about the place if she planned to be here for three months. “Okay. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

  After all, how could a simple walk cause any problems? It wasn’t like someone could learn all your deep, dark secrets in a couple of hours.

  * * *

  She’s naïve.

  Who would have guessed? Especially in a woman her age.

  Ian walked alone in the deep forest of the estate. He had spent the better part of the day with Sarah, showing her around the gardens and pointing out different trails she might enjoy should she decide to spend time outdoors. More important, he’d pointed out the trails she would want to avoid—those he wanted her to avoid—to keep from getting lost or wandering onto private land belonging to others who didn’t take kindly to intruders.

  He smiled to himself. The fact that she’d assumed he meant neighbors only worked to his advantage. In a way, he guessed, it did mean neighbors. Just not the Mortal ones.

  During the course of the day, it had become apparent to him that she was obviously inexperienced with men, and quite unsure of herself. Not something he would have expected in an attractive woman like her. He’d been skeptical when her cheeks had pinkened as he pointed out she was still wearing his clothing, surprised as the color reappeared when he’d complimented how she looked at the start of their walk. But the deep crimson that had flowered on her face when he’d invited her to dinner was what finally convinced him.

  He still wasn’t exactly sure what had prompted him to issue that particular invitation.

  He didn’t avoid women. Far from it. He only avoided women who required commitment. He was already committed—to his work. What he did was too important, required too much of him for there to be any room left for more than a quick fling. Required that he hide too many secrets for any type of relationship. So he avoided genuine, authentic, innocent women.

  Women like Sarah.

  Not that Sarah wasn’t hiding secrets of her own. Perhaps that, as much as her appealing innocence, was what enticed him to spend more time with her. Though it didn’t really matter.

  Henry would be ho
me tomorrow and then he would be gone. Hunting those who needed hunting. Protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.

  Ian felt the presence before he heard the words.

  “I see Henry’s let the cottage again.”

  “Aye, he has. I was looking for you to make sure you knew.”

  Not that much ever escaped this particular Fae’s attention. Dallyn was his direct contact with the Realm of Faerie—the closest thing he had to a boss. And although Dallyn could be exceedingly arrogant at times, Ian trusted the Fae with his life. He could count on one hand the beings who fell into that category, and still have fingers left over.

  “Looking for me? Would that be before or after dinner with the woman?”

  Exceedingly arrogant.

  “It’s why I’m out here now.” Ian shook his head, choosing to ignore the imperious expression worn by the Fae. “And why are you out here? Spying on Henry’s guest?”

  Dallyn attempted, unsuccessfully, to control a tiny smile threatening to break free. “Partly. There’s something about this one…” He left the thought hanging.

  “Aye, there is that.” Partly, he’d said. “And the other reason you’re out here?”

  “Have you spoken to Daniel? Do we know if he’s made any progress?”

  Lord Daniel Stroud, Ian’s partner, was his best friend and his connection into the British authorities. Like Ian, Daniel was a half-blood Fae. He also happened to fall into that small number of beings Ian could count on one hand.

  “No. I left word for Danny, but they said he was in London. I’d imagine he’s in for a briefing. I expect to hear back by tomorrow. Either way, Henry will be home by then and I’ll go down there meself.”

  “And abandon your lovely guest?”

  “Henry’s guest. Once he returns, he can keep an eye on her.”

  “So, you’ve no other interest in this woman? Nothing but ‘keeping an eye on her,’ as you say?”

  They stared at one another for a long moment.

  “In all this time, when have you ever known me to let a woman get in the way of my duties?”

  Dallyn bowed his head, the smallest of movements. “My apologies, if I offended. It was not my intent. I only meant to question the amount of time you’ve spent with her.”

  “After tomorrow, this conversation will be for naught. I’ll be gone and Henry will be looking after the woman.”

  “Yes, well. As for Henry’s deciding on another guest, what was it this time? How did this one talk him into letting her stay?”

  Guests were here so rarely, it was only logical Dallyn would question the presence of this one.

  “You’d best chat with Henry about that.”

  “Soul healing again?” Dallyn closed his eyes, making a tsking noise as he did so. “Well, it’s no more than I should expect…give a Mortal a gift and they think they have to use it.”

  Ian didn’t comment. There was no need to defend Henry. In spite of Dallyn’s attempt to appear irritated, Ian knew Henry’s use of his healing gift pleased the Fae.

  “What does he think it is? Another wounded soul?”

  “Aye. But…” Ian paused, unsure of whether or not to share his unfounded suspicions.

  “But…?” The Faerie High General’s scrutiny would wither a lesser man.

  “Nothing, really. It’s just that I’ve my doubts about that being a wounded soul. I’m wondering if the lad might have gotten it wrong this time.”

  There was a first time for everything.

  “Really?” Dallyn pursed his lips, tapping his finger to them lightly. “Perhaps I need to have a closer look at this woman.”

  “I would no think that necessary.” In fact, Ian found the idea of Dallyn’s spying on Sarah to be more than a little irritating. “Or particularly wise.”

  “I fail to see a problem with it, Ian. It’s not as though she’ll even know I’m there. And my interest is piqued now.” The Fae turned and walked away. Before he disappeared into the trees, he tossed back a final comment.

  “Besides, as lovely as she is, it certainly won’t be an onerous duty.”

  The sound of soft laughter drifted back from the direction Dallyn had gone.

  Exceedingly arrogant.

  * * *

  Sarah had changed her outfit three times already, and Ian was due any minute. What on earth had she been thinking to agree to have dinner with that man?

  “Not thinking. Not thinking at all,” she muttered, reaching for a fourth outfit. That, at least, was true enough.

  They had spent hours walking through some of the loveliest gardens she’d ever seen. Just when she’d almost started to relax, he’d begun by telling her that he’d be picking Henry up at the hospital tomorrow, bringing him home. That he’d be leaving shortly after, since he’d only planned to stay long enough to help out in Henry’s absence. She’d wavered somewhere between relief that she wouldn’t have to see him anymore and distress that she wouldn’t get to see him anymore. It was then, while she was weakened, torn between those ambivalent feelings, he’d done it.

  He’d caught her with her guard down.

  He asked her to dinner. Offered to show her the village nightlife, although he warned her it wasn’t much. Told her how he’d hate to eat by himself on his last evening here. What could she do? He’d been so nice taking time to show her around and trying to make her comfortable—even though what he’d done was make her most uncomfortable. But he couldn’t be held responsible for that. That was all her.

  She stood in front of the mirror, frowning. And peeled off the sweater she’d just put on. She looked around the mess in the bedroom and, sighing, picked up the dress she’d started with. A simple, sheer summer dress. Nothing elegant, nothing fancy. It would have to do. She dropped it down over her head, letting it slide into place. Then she slipped her feet into sandals and stared down at them in distaste. For going out with a man this tall, she’d really prefer to wear high heels, but she hadn’t brought any. She’d simply have to be short tonight.

  Wait.

  She wasn’t really going out. This wasn’t a date. It was only dinner. Dinner with a man who didn’t want to eat alone.

  There was a thought that made her smile. As if a man like him couldn’t find plenty of eager dinner partners, no matter how small the town might be.

  More likely it was dinner with a man who had promised his uncle he’d be nice to the current renter, regardless of who she was or what she looked like. Nothing more than a man doing a favor for his uncle.

  She sighed. Ah well, perhaps if she actually dated, she’d know more about what a date was or wasn’t and wouldn’t be stressing out right now.

  No—she didn’t really regret not dating. Women dated to find a husband. She’d had one of those. Briefly. Let those other women, the ones who still wanted husbands, fill the dating pool. She’d pass on that pain again, thank you very much.

  She was running the comb through her hair, wishing there was something better she could do with her unruly curls, when he knocked on the door.

  It might not be a date, but her stomach did the butterfly dance as she went to answer all the same.

  She opened the door and stared. Was there a GQ issue missing a cover guy somewhere? Black silky T-shirt, black dress pants, black sport coat. Wow! Why had she even bothered to worry about what to wear? No one was going to notice her anyway.

  “Good evening, Sarah. Are you ready?” He smiled. It was a devastating look on him.

  “I just need to get my purse.”

  When she returned, he extended his elbow and escorted her to the front of the main house, where his car was parked.

  A racy little black sports thing. Why wasn’t she surprised?

  She walked ahead and stood by the door, waiting until she looked up and saw his grin.

  “What?”

  “Did you want to drive, then?” he asked.

  “No, I…” Wrong side. Stupid British backward cars. Stupid American tourist. “Sorry. Forgot.” Stupid blush
that forever plagued her life.

  “No worry, luv. One day you Yanks will wake up and straighten out yer cars, learn to drive properly.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” she muttered as he helped her into the passenger side.

  His smile turned into an outright laugh as he joined her in the car.

  “I thought we’d have Indian cooking tonight. I hope that’s good for you.” He glanced over at her with an inquisitive look.

  “That’s fine.” She’d never had Indian food before. Imagine coming all the way to Scotland to taste Indian cooking.

  * * *

  As it turned out, the food was delicious. As was the wine they’d had with dinner. It had been a lovely evening, filled with inconsequential, safe conversation and periodic silences.

  They were headed home now, a full moon overhead as they neared the gates of the estate.

  “It feels so different tonight.” It slipped out. She hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Of course, she hadn’t intended to have two glasses of wine either.

  “Different how?” His attention stayed on the dark road in front of them.

  “Different as in not threatening now.”

  “The storms we get here can be pretty violent and frightening at times.”

  It wasn’t that. It hadn’t been the storm that had slipped into her memory unbidden so many times during the day. It had been that man and the feeling she’d had when she’d seen him.

  The road curved toward the estate drive and Ian motioned toward the gates. “Is that where you thought you saw the man?”

  She nodded. “My figment. I guess exhaustion can play some pretty wicked tricks with your mind, huh?”

  “True. If you’d mentioned it last evening, I could have checked for footprints when we collected yer auto this morning. Still, I suppose the storm would have removed any evidence.” His voice trailed off.

  “I’m sure I must have imagined it. He couldn’t have been real. Real people don’t jump over cars before disappearing into the woods.”