He all but shoved her out the door. Her rare and occasionally awesome temper shot to the surface as the wind slapped her face. “All right, Liam, because I don’t want it to be simple.” Her eyes flared at him as she dragged her hair back. “I’m tired of settling for simple. So don’t put your hands on me again unless you mean to complicate things.”

Riding on anger, she spun around, and didn’t question the fact that the path was there, wide and clear. She just marched to it and strode into the trees.

From the porch he watched; long after she was out of sight, he continued to watch her, smiling a bit when she finally reached her own home and slammed the door behind her.

“Good for you, Rowan Murray.”

Chapter 4

The man had thrown her out of his house, Rowan thought as she stormed into her own. One minute he’d been kissing her brainless, holding her against that marvelously male body—and the next he’d marched her to the door. Given her the boot as if she’d been some pesky saleswoman hawking an inferior product.

Oh, it was mortifying.

With temper still ringing in her ears like bells, she strode around the living room, circled it twice. He’d put his hands on her, he’d made the moves. He’d kissed her, damn it. She hadn’t done anything.

Except stand there like a dolt, she realized as temper sagged miserably into embarrassment. She’d just stood there, she thought as she wandered into the kitchen. And let him put his hands on her, let him kiss her. She’d have let him do anything; that was how dazzled she’d been.

“Oh, you’re such a fool, Rowan.” She dropped into a chair and, leaning over, lightly beat her head against the kitchen table. “Such a jerk, such a wimp.”

She’d gone to him, hadn’t she? Stumbling around in the woods like Gretel with a bunch of cookies instead of bread crumbs. Looking for magic, she thought, and rested her cheek on the smooth wood. Always looking for something wonderful, she acknowledged with a sigh. And this time, for just a moment, she’d found it.

It was worse, she realized, when you had that staggering glimpse, then had the door slammed in your face.

God, was she so needy that she’d fall at the feet of a man she’d met only twice before, knew next to nothing about? Was she so weak and wobbly that she’d built fantasies around him because he had a beautiful face?

Not just his face, she admitted. It was the … essence of him, she supposed. The mystery, the romance of him that had very simply bewitched her. There was no other word that fit what he made her feel.

Obviously, quite obviously, it showed.