As far as first impressions went, he’d made a complete mess of it. He didn’t usually alienate women on sight. But then again, the sight of a woman didn’t usually slam into him like a hard, sweaty fist. Considering that, he supposed he could be excused for not being at his best.

He went downstairs, then detoured back into the great room instead of continuing to the outside. He stood staring at the painting as he had the first time he’d seen it at the auction house. The way he’d stared at it countless times since he’d acquired it.

He’d have paid any price for it.

It was true enough what he’d told Malory and Flynn. He’d bought it because it was magnificent, powerful, compelling. He’d been intrigued by the one figure’s face, its resemblance to his childhood friend.

But it had been another face in the painting that had dazzled him, consumed him. Undone him. One look at that face, Zoe’s face, and he’d fallen unreasonably in love.

Strange enough, he thought, when the woman had simply been a figure in a painting. How much more complicated and impossible was it now that he knew she was real?

HE thought about it while he put some of his house in order. He continued to think about it later when he and Flynn climbed up to sit on the wall surrounding Warrior’s Peak.

They each opened a beer and studied the exotic silhouette etched against a gloomy sky.

Lights glowed against the windows here and there, but as they drank their beers in silence, they saw no figure pass behind the glass.

“They probably know we’re out here,” Flynn said after a time.

“If we take your girlfriend’s theory to heart, and label them Celtic gods with a few thousand years under their belts, yeah, pretty safe bet they know we’re out here.”

“You used to be more open-minded,” Flynn noted.

“Ah, no. Not really. Jordan would be the one inclined to bite on this kind of a story line and run with it.”

“You see him lately?”

“A couple months ago. He’s been doing a lot of traveling, so we don’t manage to get together as often as we used to. Fuck it, Flynn.” Brad flung an arm around Flynn’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you assholes.”

“Same goes. You going to tell me what you thought of Malory?”

“Classy, intellectual, and very, very hot—despite her dubious taste in men.”

Flynn tapped the heels of his ancient tennis shoes against the stone of the wall. “I’m about half crazy about her.”

“Serious crazy, or let’s mambo crazy?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t figured it yet.” He studied the house, and the quarter slice of moon that drifted over it. “I’m hoping it’s door number two, because I’d just as soon not get serious crazy at this point.”

“Lily was a social-climbing opportunist with a great rack.”

“Jesus, Vane.” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or give his friend a hard shove off the seven-foot wall. So he did neither and only brooded instead. “I was in love with her. I was going to marry her.”