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  there to know that Brian was doing his best to impress the rich guests, hoping they would part with their money. Money was the only thing that really meant anything to him.

  A brief flash of anger smoldered as she thought about the fight they had at the hotel. He had informed her in a nasal whine that an Aunt, and particularly not a Great-Aunt, was not a close enough relative for her to go home and miss the gallery opening. Never mind that Chloe was her only family and had raised her from the time she was ten years old.

  Emma blinked away the stinging tears that threatened to fall. When she discovered that Brian had kept the news of her beloved Aunt’s death from her until after the funeral, she had lost control and slapped him. She regretted that; she was not a violent person at heart, and Brian was not worth the energy.

  It seemed like in the last few weeks her life was falling apart, when it should have been coming together. With Brian’s greed and the stress of the show piled on top of Great-Aunt Chloe’s illness, she was exhausted. Sometimes her conversations online with her friend Muffin were the only thing that had kept her going. She wondered if he missed her in the chatroom, then chided herself with a sad smile. He was probably flirting outrageously and romancing several dozen others and had not even noticed she was gone.

  Taking a deep breath and pushing all thoughts of Brian firmly out of her head, she focused on happier memories. Great-Aunt Chloe, Emma thought fondly, 12

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  had been a lovable nut. Eccentric down to her purple-glitter-painted toenails, and the perfect mentor, companion, and mother figure for a little girl who had lost everything. Chloe would have loved attending her beloved niece’s first big gallery opening in Paris.

  She sighed and wished for the millionth time she had been able to be there for Aunt Chloe’s last illness.

  Turning her thoughts back once more to where she was now, she brightened her smile for the two ladies waiting for her.

  * * * * * *

  The Puca lay in the shadows of the doorway and watched the bright red vehicle stop in a cloud of dust.

  Unable to see the occupant of the vehicle through the tinted windows and glare off the windshield, Kian snorted. He growled softly, steadily, baring his teeth.

  The car door opened and Miss Emma Cora O’Neill, the niece Miss Chloe had left their home to, stepped out into the crystal sunshine of the warm spring day.

  Laying his head down on the white-painted boards of the porch, he covered his eyes with his paws and whined softly. This was going to be a disaster he could feel it in his bones. He clearly remembered the plain child who had followed him everywhere, and a real pest she was, to be sure. Kian had grudgingly watched over the annoying little girl to please his beautiful Miss Chloe and the Brownies. She had followed him everywhere, proving extremely difficult to shake.

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  He peeked around a paw, glancing at the Brownies, and was surprised to see them smiling.

  They had not smiled since before Miss Chloe had taken ill. His curiosity got the better of him, and he raised his head and sat up a bit straighter.

  Looking back over at the interloper just coming up the porch steps, his growl died in his throat.

  Somehow he had forgotten that human children grew up much faster than the children of his people did.

  And sometimes their children’s plain and even ugly exterior held no hint of the beauty to come.

  He watched Miss Emma as she came up the front steps, drinking in the sight of her soft, golden honey-brown hair and ivory skin. The Puca could smell the soft lavender and honeysuckle scent of her perfume on the warm breeze, along with a musky undertone that proclaimed a woman made for loving. Made for him.

  A playful gust of wind caught the hem of her simple blue cotton sundress, fluttering it and molding it against her legs. The Puca suddenly found himself panting. She most definitely was not the homely little pest he remembered.

  “Go on, get out of the door, you great daft flea factory!” Tilly interrupted his lustful thoughts, waving her snowy white apron at him in an attempt to shoo him away. He gave her an insolent sneeze.

  She turned and smiled at Miss Emma, giving him a hard nudge with her foot. “Welcome home,” Tilly said cheerfully.

  Emma returned the Brownie’s smile. “Hello, it’s 14

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  good to be back. I wish it was for a happier reason.”

  He could see her blinking back tears, and the urge to lick them away was almost too strong to bear.

  “Chloe would have none of this sadness,” Tilly said, holding out her arms to embrace Emma.

  He watched Emma lean over and hug the little old ladies. He wanted her to hug him like that, and wondered if she still smelled like chocolate and freshly baked bread like she did as a child. The Puca growled, jealous of the attention she was giving the Brownies. Emma sighed and turned to him at last, smiling at him in his coal-black dog form.

  The Puca glanced quickly at Tilly, giving her a look of utter contempt, and slowly rose to his feet. He snorted at her once again, turning his nose up and dismissing her as not worth the effort of notice.

  Stepping closer to Miss Emma, looking up at her with adoration in his bright hazel eyes, he gave her a friendly doggy grin and drooled on her shoe. Oops, he thought with a mildly embarrassed mental chuckle.

  “Hi, sweetie, do you remember me?” she asked, holding out her hand out to be sniffed.

  “Arrogant mutt,” Tilly grumbled under her breath.

  “Surely this isn’t the dog I used to play with? He looks too young,” Emma asked.

  “O-oh, y-yes, th-this is th-the P-puca,” Pin said, smiling hugely.

  “But he still looks like a puppy, don’t you, Pookie sweetie?” Emma said. She gave the Puca’s ears a scratch.

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  Pookie? What sort of name is that? The Puca whined.

  And whatever happened to respect for a fine creature of dignity and grace such as myself? I wonder if she would be rubbing my belly if I rolled over for her, he thought shamelessly.

  “He’s a great daft walking dust mop,” Tilly said sourly.

  The Puca growled and barked at his aunt. Turning his attention back to Emma, he stood, ignoring her hand, deliberately nudging her hip and rubbing himself against her soft, warm body as he ambled past and down the front steps. I remember the child you were, Emma, my love, but you’re not a child any longer, he thought, knowing full well what it was but refusing to name the hunger that filled him.

  Stopping at the bottom of the porch steps, the Puca turned and looked lazily back over his shoulder. Ah, it’s not just your fine soft hands I’ll be wanting, Miss Emma, he thought, no, not at all. He took his time, walking toward the woodshed, a vision of that lovely body, flushed and beautiful, in his hands.

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  Chapter Two

  mma watched the huge black Irish wolfhound Ewalking away. A trick of the light made it appear the dog was winking at her. Was it really the same dog? she wondered silently. He didn’t look as if he was old enough to be the dog she had played with all those years ago. Dismissing that train of thought, she turned back to the two sweet little old ladies and followed them into the house, a flood of memories from her childhood all clamoring loudly for her attention.

  The house had not changed much since she had left for college and her art career. It was neat and clean, yet still with the air of a well-lived-in home. Emma took a deep breath and sighed, the knot in her chest she hadn’t realized was there loosening. She could still smell Aunt Chloe’s Christian Dior perfume.

  A picture on the entrance hall wall caught her attention and stopped her. She reached out, her fingertips barely touching the glass, hovering over the smiling faces of the woman and little girl in the old photo. A tear escaped and dashed over her cheek, remembering all the trips they had taken in search of the strange and unusual. Aunt Chloe had believed in things like Fairies and Elves, but she
never really had herself. She had stopped believing in the magical 17

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  world the day her parents had been killed in the awful accident.

  Emma shivered and continued down the hallway past more pictures and another long-repressed memory surfaced.

  She saw Tilly and Pin look at each other knowingly.

  “Miss Emma, you’ve grown up to be a woman beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. You’ll be doing just fine with the house; we could not have hoped for better.” Tilly beamed at her, Pin happily nodding her agreement.

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you,” Emma said with a wry smile.

  “N-no, no, ev-everything will b-be f-fine.” Pin caught Emma’s hand with a comforting squeeze.

  “Aye, that it will,” Tilly said briskly. “Come along now, you’ll be in the large bedroom suite at the end of the hall.”

  They took her to the room that would be hers, a cheerful place furnished in Victorian shabby chic. The ornate brass bed looked soft and comfortable with its lace canopy and patchwork quilt. Emma had the strongest urge to just crawl under the covers and sleep the rest of the day in a nest of pillows. The sitting area with its overstuffed chairs looked almost as inviting as the bed.

  “I should get my bags from the jeep,” Emma said, peeking into the brightly painted armoire that served as a closet. Several of Chloe’s dresses and her aunt’s favorite sweater hung in the cool, lavender-scented 18

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  interior.

  “N-no, no, i-it wi-will be take-taken c-care of,” Pin stammered and waved her hands dismissively.

  “Yes, don’t you be worrying over that. Come and see the rest of the house,” Tilly said proudly. They caught Emma’s arms and tucked them through theirs, pulling her along toward the stairs and the upstairs guest rooms.

  Emma enjoyed the tour Tilly and Pin gave her.

  They seemed to have everything under control and ready for the first guests of the season. There was not a speck of dust or an out-of-place knickknack anywhere in the huge old house.

  Great-Aunt Chloe had insisted on their going ahead and opening the house for the spring and summer tourists as part of the instructions in her will.

  Emma was glad she would have some help, since she had no idea how to run a bed and breakfast.

  Emma heard the sound of someone moving about downstairs and sighed softly. Kian’s name had been mentioned in the document as well. She smiled, remembering the day she realized the trips were to put distance between herself and Kian, her Great-Aunt Chloe’s sexy handyman.

  “And what do the guests do while they’re here?”

  Emma asked, filing away her thoughts on Kian for later examination.

  “Well, Mrs. Overstreet and Miss Crow come every spring to enjoy the flowers and walk in the woods.

  They hope to see Fairies there someday,” Tilly said dryly.

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  “F-fairies,” Pin snorted. “Nas-nasty th-things,” she added under her breath. Emma kept her chuckle inside when Tilly gave her sister a nudge, obviously thinking Emma was not watching.

  “And the Bakers come every year for the Renaissance Festival the town holds,” Tilly added.

  “A-and d-don’t for-forget the new fa-family,” Pin chimed in.

  “Oh my, yes, the Masterson family will be arriving late with three wee children.” Tilly nodded and smiled.

  Emma smiled to herself, thinking of the number of rooms on the second floor. If she counted correctly, the old third-floor attic would be empty and was large enough she could set up her painting studio there. She turned. “Is the attic room still vacant?”

  “Ah, the attic?” Tilly asked with a guilty note in her voice.

  “Yes, I thought I could paint up there,” Emma said patiently.

  “Paint. Ah, well...” Tilly began.

  A loud bang startled Emma. “What was that?” She asked, concerned.

  “Oh, th-that w-was—” Pin began.

  “The help, bringing in your things, no doubt, nothing to be concerning yourself about,” Tilly interjected a shade too quickly.

  “The help? Is Kian still working here?” Emma asked with a smile. The one thing she had never forgotten about the place was Kian. She was pretty sure her memory of how gorgeous he was had been 20

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  exaggerated with the passing of time, but he had to still be at least nice-looking.

  “Oh, y-yes,” Pin said smiling brightly.

  “Aye, indeed, he lodges in the attic room,” Tilly said quickly. “Miss Chloe preferred him close by these last months.”

  “Ah, I’ll find somewhere else to work, then.”

  Emma nearly laughed at the relieved expressions on their faces.

  * * * * * *

  Downstairs, Kian dropped one of Emma’s bags and tripped over it. He swore, landing on his knees. What in all the wide world did the darling lass have in these bags to make them so heavy, he thought sourly.

  He stood up and wiped the midnight-black hair from his eyes. He hefted the bags up. Women, he huffed to himself and trudged into the room they had given Miss Emma.

  He heard the footsteps of the ladies moving around above him and smiled, setting the suitcases down beside the yellow-and-white checked bedroom chairs.

  Shutting his eyes, he inhaled deeply, holding his breath in blissful enjoyment for a long moment before slowly exhaling. The room was already scented warmly with her unique perfume, and his mouth watered.

  The Puca’s breath caught at the stirring of heat that began in his belly and moved out into every part of him in a slow, tingling wave of desire. Unless he 21

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  missed his guess, she would be a conquest to remember down the years along with his past great passions. He tilted his head to one side, listening. The ladies were on the stairs. He smiled, licking his lips as a strong feeling of lust crept over him, and he slipped out through the open window, a wisp of pale grey fog.

  * * * * * *

  Emma followed the sweet little ladies down the stairs and back into the bedroom she had been given. She stopped and took a deep breath. The room smelled like newly mown hay, sweet and green.

  The Brownies left, and Emma sat down on the edge of the brass canopy bed and ran her hand over the softly faded patchwork quilt. Double wedding ring, she remembered Aunt Chloe naming the pattern.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She could handle it for a few weeks until she decided whether to sell the house or not. The developers interested in the property were offering quite a bit of money for the forest. Idly, she wondered why they wanted the land so badly.

  She liked Tilly and Pin, the dog seemed harmless enough and the house was in good repair, so selling it shouldn’t be a problem. What to do about them if she sold was a concern. She would never be able to leave them homeless. She stood and walked over to her suitcases someone—probably Kian—had left sitting on the floor by the bedroom chairs. She lifted one and 22

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  laid it on the bed, opening it and beginning to putting away her clothes.

  She had just put the last stack of her lacy underthings in the dresser drawer and pushed it closed when a timid knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” she said, turning to see who it was.

  “Ah, um, miss, there’s a f-fine l-lunch on the table if...if you’ll b-be coming with m-me,” Pin stammered and blushed.

  “Thank you, I would love to,” Emma said, following Pin down the hall to the kitchen.

  Pin shivered uncomfortably, and Emma suddenly recalled the ladies did not like to be thanked.

  She heard voices coming from the kitchen as they got closer, Tilly arguing with a man. Emma raised her eyebrows and glanced at Pin.

  “T-tilly s-said to, to tell you, K-kian would b-be along for lunch,” Pin said breathlessly.

  “Kian? I’m looking forward to seeing him. Did he ever marry that blonde woman I used to see him with?” Emma asked. She chuckle
d. “I used to pester him, spying on them when they were up by the pond.”

  Pin looked at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, reminding Emma strongly of a raccoon caught in truck headlights.

  She smiled at the timid old woman. “Never mind, let’s go have lunch.”

  Pin heaved a great sigh of relief and bustled through the door.

  Emma kept her laugh to herself and followed her 23

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  into the big homey kitchen. Stepping inside the bright cheery room, she was greeted by the wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread and a savory stew.

  “Something smells wonderful,” Emma said. The scents made her realize just how hungry she was.

  Tilly bustled up and caught Emma’s arm, smiling up at her with bright brown eyes. Emma allowed herself to be pulled over to the table where the most beautiful man she’d ever seen already sat. His hair was a little longer than she remembered, but nothing else about him had changed since she had pined after him when she was a girl. Tossing back India-ink hair, he looked straight into her eyes and gave her a slow predatory smile.

  Her eyes widened; his teeth looked impossibly white and sharp, with slightly oversized canines. She told herself it was a trick of the light. This could not be Kian, she thought. He’d been around thirty years old when she left for college, at least twelve years older than she was. She was thirty-three now, which would make him at least forty-five. He didn’t look a day older than she remembered from the last time she had seen him, nearly fifteen years ago.