did he have if he didn’t want to stand in this room for an eternity, “will continue to grow and manifest. You’ll need my guidance to learn to use them.”
Her feet left the floor again, and, muttering in disgust, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused her mind. Though he’d been tried beyond all reason, Culhane respected the fact that she was learning so quickly to contain the power charging through her.
An instant later Maggie dropped back to the floor. Then she opened her eyes, met his gaze and said, “All I really need at the moment is an anchor. And maybe a glass of wine before going to sleep and waking up tomorrow to find out all of this is just some twisted nightmare.”
“Ignoring this won’t change what is.”
She gave him a brilliant, albeit forced smile. “Worth a try, though!”
As she scooted past him her breasts brushed against his chest, and for one split second they were both caught, swept up into a frenzied wash of need that seemed to thread cords around their bodies, tightening with every breath. Maggie swayed a little, looked up at him and accused, “Are you doing that?”
“I’m not.” Culhane stepped back and away from her, breaking whatever bonds had temporarily linked them. He wasn’t interested in developing an attachment to her. All he wanted from her was the right to rule the Fae as her consort. And he would do what needed doing to accomplish that.
With the bond severed her breathing came easier, and the flush of heat that had filled her cheeks drained away. “Good, because you may be a hottie, but I’m not looking for another man at the moment. Especially one who floats and refuses to peel me off the ceiling when I need him to.”
His green eyes fixed on her face, Culhane felt her fear, her hesitation, as surely as if they were living beings swirling around them in the too-small room. He’d given her enough to think about tonight. Better that he return again later, when her powers were manifesting and she was more likely to accept his help.
Dark brows lowered over narrowed eyes, he said quietly, “You can’t fight destiny, Maggie Donovan. When you accept that, I’ll be back.”
He seemed to blur for a second; then he was gone. Maggie looked around the room, half expecting him to leap out from behind the furniture or something. But there was nothing. Just the scent of him still lingering in the air. Something foresty, clean and a little—okay, a lot— tantalizing.
“Talk about your impressive exits.”
Maggie painted Sam’s Hardware first thing in the morning. It was good to be back doing something normal. Something she was good at. The fact that she kept floating off her small stepladder was just a minor irritation.
The brief storm had passed, the morning sun was already hot and they were heading for at least eighty-five degrees. Nothing like painting snow and trying to get all the paint on before the heat dried it up on the glass.
Her arm was aching, so she took a break, half turned on the ladder and looked up and down Pacific Coast Highway. Castle Bay was a small town by anyone’s standards. Supposedly at one point in its history it had been a stagecoach stop, and really, it hadn’t gotten much bigger since then.
These days it was more or less a pit stop for people exiting the freeway looking for gas or food or a bathroom break. Sometimes they’d spend a few dollars at the boutique shops or the half dozen art galleries before continuing on to Monterey, Carmel, and all of the other tourist traps lining the West Coast. Castle Bay’s only real claim to fame was the haunted lighthouse on a spit of land jutting out from Smuggler’s Cove. Every Halloween the town was crowded with paranormal seekers and just plain weirdos. But other than that life was quiet, simple, uncomplicated.
At least, it had been for Maggie.
Up until yesterday.
“Not a dream,” she told herself as she remembered trying to brush her teeth that morning while bouncing around the
Her feet left the floor again, and, muttering in disgust, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused her mind. Though he’d been tried beyond all reason, Culhane respected the fact that she was learning so quickly to contain the power charging through her.
An instant later Maggie dropped back to the floor. Then she opened her eyes, met his gaze and said, “All I really need at the moment is an anchor. And maybe a glass of wine before going to sleep and waking up tomorrow to find out all of this is just some twisted nightmare.”
“Ignoring this won’t change what is.”
She gave him a brilliant, albeit forced smile. “Worth a try, though!”
As she scooted past him her breasts brushed against his chest, and for one split second they were both caught, swept up into a frenzied wash of need that seemed to thread cords around their bodies, tightening with every breath. Maggie swayed a little, looked up at him and accused, “Are you doing that?”
“I’m not.” Culhane stepped back and away from her, breaking whatever bonds had temporarily linked them. He wasn’t interested in developing an attachment to her. All he wanted from her was the right to rule the Fae as her consort. And he would do what needed doing to accomplish that.
With the bond severed her breathing came easier, and the flush of heat that had filled her cheeks drained away. “Good, because you may be a hottie, but I’m not looking for another man at the moment. Especially one who floats and refuses to peel me off the ceiling when I need him to.”
His green eyes fixed on her face, Culhane felt her fear, her hesitation, as surely as if they were living beings swirling around them in the too-small room. He’d given her enough to think about tonight. Better that he return again later, when her powers were manifesting and she was more likely to accept his help.
Dark brows lowered over narrowed eyes, he said quietly, “You can’t fight destiny, Maggie Donovan. When you accept that, I’ll be back.”
He seemed to blur for a second; then he was gone. Maggie looked around the room, half expecting him to leap out from behind the furniture or something. But there was nothing. Just the scent of him still lingering in the air. Something foresty, clean and a little—okay, a lot— tantalizing.
“Talk about your impressive exits.”
Maggie painted Sam’s Hardware first thing in the morning. It was good to be back doing something normal. Something she was good at. The fact that she kept floating off her small stepladder was just a minor irritation.
The brief storm had passed, the morning sun was already hot and they were heading for at least eighty-five degrees. Nothing like painting snow and trying to get all the paint on before the heat dried it up on the glass.
Her arm was aching, so she took a break, half turned on the ladder and looked up and down Pacific Coast Highway. Castle Bay was a small town by anyone’s standards. Supposedly at one point in its history it had been a stagecoach stop, and really, it hadn’t gotten much bigger since then.
These days it was more or less a pit stop for people exiting the freeway looking for gas or food or a bathroom break. Sometimes they’d spend a few dollars at the boutique shops or the half dozen art galleries before continuing on to Monterey, Carmel, and all of the other tourist traps lining the West Coast. Castle Bay’s only real claim to fame was the haunted lighthouse on a spit of land jutting out from Smuggler’s Cove. Every Halloween the town was crowded with paranormal seekers and just plain weirdos. But other than that life was quiet, simple, uncomplicated.
At least, it had been for Maggie.
Up until yesterday.
“Not a dream,” she told herself as she remembered trying to brush her teeth that morning while bouncing around the
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