“Darling men.” Maggie’s grin was wide and wicked. “Both of them. Would you like a little nap now, Shannon?”

“Nope.” Beaming, Shannon snatched up her glass. “Look, there’s more. I’ll just take it with me while I make a call. I need to make a call. A private call, if you don’t mind.”

“And who are you after calling?” Maggie asked.

“I’m after calling Mr. Murphy Muldoon, in County Clare, Ireland.”

“I’ll just come along,” Maggie suggested, “and dial the number for you.”

“I’m perfectly capable. I have his number right in my trusty little electronic organizer. I never go anywhere without it.” With the glass dangling dangerously from her hand, she looked around the room. “Where’d it go? No up and coming professional can survive without their organizer.”

“I’m sure it’s about.” With a wink for Rogan, Maggie took Shannon’s arm and led her away. “But it happens I have the number right in my head.”

“You’re so clever, Maggie. I noticed that about you right away—even when I wanted to punch you.”

“That’s nice. You can sit right here in Rogan’s big chair and talk to Murphy all you like.”

“He’s got an incredible body. Murphy, I mean.” Giggling, Shannon dropped into the chair behind Rogan’s library desk. “Though I’m sure Rogan’s is lovely, too.”

“I can promise you it is. Here, you talk into this end and listen in this one.”

“I know how to use a phone. I’m a professional. Murphy?”

“I haven’t finished calling yet. I’m an amateur.”

“That’s all right. It’s ringing now. There’s Murphy. Hi, Murphy.” She cradled the phone like a lover and didn’t notice when Maggie slipped out.

“Shannon? I’m glad you called. I was thinking of you.”

“I’m always thinking of you. It’s the damnedest thing.”

“You sound a bit strange? Are you all right?”

“I’m wonderful. I love you, Murphy.”

“What?” His voice rose half an octave. “What?”

“I’m so buzzed.”

“You’re what? Shannon, go back two steps and start again.”

“The last time I was a freshman in college and it was Homecoming and there was all this wine. Oceans of it. I got so awful sick, too. But I don’t feel sick at all this time. I just feel . . .” She sent the chair spinning and nearly strangled herself with the phone cord. “Alive.”

“Christ, what has Maggie done to you?” he muttered. “Are you drunk?”

“I think so.” To test she held up two fingers in front of her face. “Pretty sure. I wish you were here, Murphy, right here so I could crawl in your lap and nibble you all over.”

There was a moment of pained silence. “That would be memorable,” he said in a voice tight with strain. “Shannon, you said you loved me.”

“You know I do. It’s all mixed up with white horses and copper broaches and thunderstorms and making love in the dance and cursing at the moon.” She let her head fall back in the chair as the visions flowed and circled in her head. “Casting spells,” she murmured. “Winning battles. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think about it.”