“I took you to meet my family, and it’s family I want to speak of. I’d prefer it if you’d sit the bloody hell down instead of prowling about the room.”

Her shoulders wanted to hitch up in defense at the angry tone but she forced them to stay straight. “I’m making breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

He muttered something, then flung out his hands. A plate of lightly browned toast appeared on the counter. “There. Though how you can call that breakfast is beyond me. Now sit down with it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of making my own.” But she carried the plate to the table before deliberately going to the refrigerator and taking her own sweet time choosing jam.

“Rowan, you’re trying my patience. I’m only asking you to sit down and talk to me.”

“Asking is exactly what you didn’t do, but now that you have, I will.” Surprised at just how smug she felt over that small victory, she came back to the table and sat down. “Do you want some toast?”

“No, I don’t.” And hearing the snap in his voice, sighed. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him with such sudden, such open sweetness, his heart stumbled. “I hardly ever win arguments,” she told him as she spread jam on the toast. “Especially when I don’t know what the argument’s about.”

“Well, you won that one, didn’t you?”

Her eyes danced as she bit into the toast. “I like winning.”

He had to laugh. “So do I.” He laid a hand on her wrist as she lifted her mug. “You didn’t add your cream and all that sugar. You know you don’t like your coffee black.”

“Only because I make lousy coffee. Yours is good. You said you wanted to talk about your family.”

“About family.” He moved his hand so he was no longer touching her. “You understand what runs through mine.”

“Yes.” He was watching her so closely, his eyes so focused on hers, she had to fight the urge to squirm. “Your gift. The Donovan Legacy.” She smiled. “That’s what you named your company.”

“Aye, that’s right. Because I’m proud of where I come from. Power has obligations, responsibilities. It’s not a toy, but it’s not something to fear.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Liam, if that’s what worries you.”

“Maybe, in part.”

“I’m not. I couldn’t be.” She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she loved him, but he pushed back from the table and began to prowl about the room just as he’d asked her not to.

“You’re seeing it as a storybook. Magic and romance and happy-ever-after. But it’s just life, Rowan, with all its messes and mistakes. Its needs and demands. Life,” he repeated, turning back to her, “that has to be lived.”