Chapter One
THREESISTERSISLAND
MAY2002
It had been more than ten years since he'd stood on the island. Over a decade since he'd seen - except in his mind - the wedges of forest, the scatter of houses, the curve of beach and cove. And the drama of the cliffs where the stone house stood beside the white lance of the island lighthouse. He shouldn't have been so surprised by the pull and tug, or by the sheer simplicity of pleasure. Sam Logan was rarely surprised. But the delight in seeing what had changed, and what hadn't, surprised him by its depth.
He'd come home and hadn't realized, not completely, what that meant to him until he'd gotten there. He parked near the ferry dock because he wanted to walk, to smell the salty spring air, to hear the voices from the boats, to see the life flowing along on the little bump of land off the coast ofMassachusetts .
And perhaps, he admitted, because he wanted a little more time to prepare himself before seeing the woman he'd come back for.
He didn't expect a warm welcome. The fact was, he didn't know what to expect from Mia. Once he had. He'd known every expression on her face, every inflection of her voice. Once she would have been standing on the dock to meet him, her glorious red hair flying, her smoky eyes alight with pleasure and promise.
He'd have heard her laugh as she raced into his arms.
Those days were over, he thought as he climbed the road toward High Street and the stretch of pretty shops and offices. He'd ended them, and had exiled himself, deliberately, from the island and from Mia. Now, he was deliberately ending that exile.
In the time between, the girl he'd left behind had become a woman. A businesswoman, he thought with a half laugh. No surprise there. Mia had always had a head for business and a view for profit. He intended to use that, if need be, to wheedle his way back into her good graces. Sam didn't mind wheedling, as long as he won.
He turned on High Street and paused to take a long look at the Magick Inn. The Gothic stone building was the island's only hotel, and it belonged to him. He had some ideas that he intended to implement there, now that his father had finally released the reins.
But business would wait, for once, until the personal was dealt with. He continued walking, pleased to see that while traffic was light, it was steady. Business on the island, he decided, was as good as reported.
He had a long stride, and it ate up the sidewalk quickly. He was a tall man, nearly three inches over six feet, with a rangy, disciplined build more accustomed in the last years to tailored suits than the black jeans he wore today. The long dark coat he wore against the brisk breeze of early May billowed behind him as he walked.
His hair was black as well and, windblown now from the ferry ride from the mainland, swept past his collar. His face was lean, the long bones of his cheeks well defined. The planes and angles were softened somewhat by a full and sculpted mouth, and with those black wings of hair flying back, presented a dramatic picture.
His eyes were alert as they scanned what had been, and would be again, his home. Somewhere between blue and green, they were the color of the sea that surrounded the house, framed by dark lashes and brows.
He used his looks when it suited him, just as he used charm or ruthlessness. Whatever tools came to hand were employed to reach his goal. He'd already accepted that it would take everything at his disposal to win Mia Devlin.
From across the street, he studied Cafe Book. He should have known Mia would have taken what had been a neglected building and turned it into something lovely, elegant, and productive. The front window held a display of books and potted spring flowers scattered around a lawn chair. Two of her deepest loves, he mused. Books and flowers. She'd used them both in a way that suggested it was time to take a break from the yardwork, sit down, and enjoy the fruits of the labor with a ride in a story. Even as he watched, a couple of tourists - he hadn't been away so long he couldn't tell tourists from islanders - walked into the bookstore.
He stood where he was, hands in his pockets, until he realized he was procrastinating. There was little more turbulent than Mia Devlin in full temper. He expected her to lash out at him in blistering fury the minute she laid eyes on him again.
And who could blame her?
Then again, he thought with a grin, there was little more arousing than Mia Devlin in full temper. It would be . . . entertaining to strike swords with her again. Just as it would be satisfying to soothe that temper away.
He crossed the street and opened the door to Cafe Book.
Lulu was behind the counter. He'd have recognized her anywhere. The tiny woman with a gnome's face almost swallowed up by silver-framed glasses had, essentially, raised Mia. The Devlins had been more interested in each other and traveling than in their daughter, and Lulu, the former flower child, had been hired to tend her.
Because Lulu was ringing up a customer's purchases, he had a moment to look around the store. The ceiling was pricked with lights for a starry effect and made the prospect of browsing through the books a festive one. A cozy seating area was arranged in front of a fireplace with a hearth, scrubbed and polished, used as a haven for more spring flowers. The scent of them sweetened the air, as did the pipes and flutes playing softly on the speaker system.
Glossy blue shelves held books - an impressive array, he reflected as he wandered through, and as eclectic as he would have expected of the proprietor. No one would ever accuse Mia of having a one-track mind.
His lips quirked as he saw that other shelves held ritual candles, Tarot cards, runes, statues of faeries, wizards, dragons. An attractive arrangement of another of Mia's interests, he thought. He'd have expected nothing else there, either.
He plucked a tumbling stone of rose quartz from a bowl, rubbed it between his fingers for luck. Though he knew better. Before he could replace it, he felt a blast of frigid air. Smiling easily, he turned to face Lulu.
"Always knew you'd come back. Bad pennies always turn up. "
This was his first barrier, the dragon at the gate. "Hello, Lu. "
"Don't you hello-Lu me, Sam Logan. " She sniffed, skimmed her gaze over him. Sniffed a second time.
"You buying that or do I call the sheriff and have you hauled in for shoplifting?"
He laid the stone back in the bowl. "How is Zack?"
"Ask him yourself, I don't have time to waste on you. " Though he had her by a foot in height, she stepped forward, jabbed her finger at him, and made him feel twelve years old again. "What the hell do you want?"
"To see home. To see Mia. "
"Why don't you do everybody a favor and go back to where you've been gallivanting these past years?New York City ,Paris , and oo-la-la. We've all done fine without you taking up space on the Sisters. "
"Apparently. " He gave the store another casual look. He wasn't offended. A dragon, in his mind, was meant to be devoted to its princess. In his memory, Lulu had always been up to the job. "Nice place. I hear the cafe's particularly good. And that Zack's new wife runs it. "
"Your hearing's just fine. So listen up. Go on and get. "
Not offended, no, but his eyes turned edgy, the green in them deepening. "I came to see Mia. "
"She's busy. I'll tell her you stopped by. "
"No, you won't," he said quietly. "But she'll know in any case. "
Even as he spoke, he heard the sound of heels on wood. It could have been a dozen women, descending the curving steps in high heels. But he knew. As his heart stumbled in his chest, he stepped around the bookshelves and saw her just as she made the last turn.
And the look, that one look at her, sliced him into a thousand pieces. The princess, he thought, had become the queen.
She'd always been the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. The transition from girl to woman had only added polished layers to that beauty. Her hair was as he remembered it, a long tumble of flaming curls around a face of rose and cream. That skin, he remembered, was as soft as dew. Her nose was small and
straight, her mouth wide and full. And he remembered, perfectly remembered, the texture and flavor. Her eyes were smoke-gray, almond-shaped, and watched him now with a studied coolness. She smiled, and that, too, was cool, as she walked toward him.
Her dress, a dull gold, clung to her curves, showed off long, long legs. The heels she wore were the same tone and made her look like something glowing with heat. But he felt no warmth from her as she arched a brow and looked at him in turn.
"Well, it's Sam Logan, isn't it? Welcome back. "
Her voice was deeper, just a few degrees deeper than it had been once upon a time. Sultrier, smokier, silkier. It seemed to wind its way into his belly even as he puzzled over her polite smile and detached welcome.
"Thanks. " Deliberately, he matched her tone. "It's good to be back. You look amazing. "
"We do what we can. "
She tossed back her hair. There were citrine stones at her ears. The details of her, down to the rings on her fingers, the subtle scent that surrounded her, etched themselves into his mind. For an instant, he tried to read hers but found the language foreign and frustrating.