The Trouble with Magic (Loveswept) by Mary Kay McComas

truth of her words. “I admit that I wanted this island, and that nothing you said would have changed my mind. But I’m not as unreasonable as you think. I do understand your feelings about this place and ... and maybe we can work something out.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, I don’t know yet,” he said, but he knew her eyes were more radiant, dazzling really, when they weren’t protected by her glasses—almost the way diamonds sparkled brighter when removed from a jeweler’s display case.
    He was off track. What had he been saying? Oh, yes. “But we could go back to St. Peter’s Bay and discuss it. You have my solemn vow that I won’t take any action until we’ve come to an amicable arrangement. One we can both live with.”
    It was Harriet’s turn to question his mental stability.
    “I’m supposed to b-believe that? Your solemn vow?” she asked. She’d once pledged her devotion to the King of Endless Promises, and too late discovered him forgetful.
    “I am a man of my word, Ms. Wheaton,” he said. Granted, he’d been called a cold, hollow shell of a human being—but no one had ever labeled him a liar before. He was nothing if not honest, because there wasn’t anything he wanted bad enough to lie for and there was nothing he was afraid of losing by telling the truth.
    “Prove it,” she said. “Stay here and think up your amicable arrangement. And w-while you do that, I’m going up to take a hot bath. Excuse me.”
    “Harriet, don’t do this,” he called after her. “It’ll only get you into more trouble. Listen to me. I promise I’ll—”
    Her bedroom door slammed back the rest of his words. Temporarily defeated, he lowered himself to sit on the steps. “I th-think I’m in d-deep t-trouble,” he muttered.

Four
    H EAVEN WAS A HOT bath with lilac-scented bubbles. The thought floated through Harriet’s mind on a hazy pink cloud, her body temperature somewhere between bone-shattering cold and warm goo. Her eyes were closed; her mouth was open, lips lax. She couldn’t tell if she was still breathing, and she didn’t really care.
    She smiled and slid down until she felt bubbles bursting under her chin. Did real criminals learn as much in prison as people who weren’t really criminals? she mused, thinking it a shame that it had taken her eighteen months of showers to give hot bubble baths their due. Bubble baths and open spaces without fences and quiet and sugary breakfast cereal and more than two pairs of shoes to choose from and the wind in her face and ...
    Her eyes popped open, and she slowly turned her head toward the door that separated her bedroom from the bath. There was silence, and then the noise came again. Whistling, soft and low. Someone was in her bedroom.
    “Mr. Dunsmore?” she called, holding her breath.
    “Yes?”
    “You’re in my bedroom.”
    “Yes.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “Snooping through your drawers.”
    She frowned. “I’m glad to hear that you’re making yourself at home, but my room is off-limits, Mr. Dunsmore.”
    “So was my life, Ms. Wheaton, until you decided to kidnap me.”
    “I didn’t kidnap you. I—”
    “Yeah, yeah. No ransom. No demands. Face it, kidnapping is kidnapping.”
    “I’m as stranded here as you are until Sunday. Couldn’t we just say that I stranded us here?”
    “If that would make you feel better.”
    “Oh, yes. Much better.”
    “Then no. We’ll stick with kidnapping,” he said, abandoning his efforts to search her room quietly, slamming a drawer shut. “Which reminds me, what happens if something ... happens? Say, one of us gets hurt. Like you, for instance. Is there any way to get help out here?”
    “Is that a threat or are you trying to scare me, Mr. Dunsmore?” Her bath was turning tepid, and she shivered. She was losing her bubbles, too, she noted absently. “Or is it a test to see how serious I am about this and how well I planned for it? Or are you really worried about my safety and