Enchanted by Nora Roberts

muscle in her body be on alert? Why would her heart still be tripping in her chest?
    But she would not look.
    Of course she looked. And he was still there, a few paces away, his hands tucked casually in his pockets, his face turned toward the water. It was just bad luck, she supposed, that he was so attractive, that he could stand there with the wind in all that glorious hair, his profile sharp and clean, and remind her of Heathcliff or Byron or some other poetic hero.
    A knight before battle, a prince surveying his realm.
    Oh, yes, he could be any and all of them—as romantic in jeans and a sweatshirt as any warrior glinting in polished armor.
    “I don’t mean to do battle with you, Rowan.”
    She thought she heard him say it, but that was nonsense. He was too far away for those soft words to carry. She’d just imagined that’s what he
would
say in response if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. So she sniffed, glanced back down at her book and, to her disgust, noted that she’d begun to sketch him without realizing it.
    With an irritated flick, she turned to a blank page.
    “There’s no point in being angry with me—or yourself.”
    This time she knew he’d spoken, and looked up to see that he’d strolled over to her. She had to squint, to shade her eyes with the flat of her hand as the sun streamed behind him and shimmered its light like a nimbus around his head and shoulders.
    “There’s no point in discussing it.”
    She huffed out a breath as he sat companionably beside her. When he lapsed into silence, appeared to be settling in for a nice long visit, she tapped her pencil on her pad.
    “It’s a long coast. Would you mind plopping down on another part of it?”
    “I like it here.” When she hissed and started to rise, he simply tugged her back down. “Don’t be foolish.”
    “Don’t tell me I’m foolish. I’m really, really tired of being told I’m foolish.” She jerked her arm free. “And you don’t even know me.”
    He shifted so they were face-to-face. “That could be part of it. What are you drawing there in your book?”
    “Nothing apparently.” Miffed, she stuffed the book back into her bag. Once again she started to rise. Once again he tugged her easily back.
    “All right,” she snapped. “We’ll discuss it. I admit I stumbled my way through the woods because I wanted to see you. I was attracted—I’m sure you’re used to women being attracted to you. I did want to thank you for your help, but that was only part of it. I intruded, no question, but you were the one who kissed me.”
    “I did indeed,” he murmured. He wanted to do so again, right now, when her mouth was in a stubborn pout and there was both distress and temper in her eyes.
    “And I overreacted to it.” The memory of that still made her blood heat. “You had a perfect right to tell me to go, but you didn’t have the right to be so unkind about it. No one has the right to be unkind. Now, obviously, you didn’t have the same … response I did and you want to keep your distance.”
    She pushed at the hair that was coming loose from her ponytail to fly in her face. “So why are you here?”
    “Let’s take this in order,” he decided. “Yes, I’m used to women being attracted to me. As I’ve a fondness for women, I appreciate that.” A smile tugged at his lips as she made a quiet sound of disgust. “You’d think more of me if I lied about that, but I find false modesty inane and deceitful. And though I most often prefer to bealone, your visit wasn’t intrusive. I kissed you because I wanted to, because you have a pretty mouth.”
    He watched it register surprise before it thinned and she angled her face away. No one had told her that before, he realized, and shook his head over the idiocy of the male gender.
    “Because you have eyes that remind me of the elves that dance in the hills of my country. Hair like oak that’s aged and polished to a gleam. And skin so soft it seems my hand should pass