Chapter 2

      Sayre Murphy stiffened at the sound of a car smoothly rumbling its way through the quiet forest that surrounded her home; a noise she didn’t often hear these days. She pulled off her gardening gloves and moved to her feet, turning away from the flourishing herb garden she’d been tending to cast a worried look toward the narrow dirt road that led right to her cabin. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the heat was already oppressive, which was why she was dressed in a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank top and nothing more. She no longer had any need to dress for company, and she sure as hell hadn’t been expecting any. Jillian and the others knew better than to show up unannounced, which meant that whoever was coming up her drive wasn’t going to be anyone in her family.

      And that meant they could be looking for trouble.

      She dropped her gloves beside a leafy, aromatic patch of basil and flexed her hands at her sides, confident that she could deal with any threat that might be approaching. As a Lycan witch, she didn’t possess the ability to shape-shift like the others in her pack—but with the strength of her powers these days, it didn’t matter. She could zap any person or creature that tried to get near her with a jolt of pure energy that had brought grown Lycans to their knees.

      “Ohmyfreakinggod.” The hoarse words slipped past her lips as a sleek black sports car came around the last bend in the road and she caught sight of the driver. Stunned, she lurched back as if she’d suddenly been kicked in the stomach. Cian Hennessey was the last person she’d ever expected to see, and she shuddered, every blasphemy she could think of screaming through her head. Gripping the front of her tank top, directly over the thundering beat of her heart, she pushed down as if she needed the physical pressure to keep the racing organ inside her chest.

      His pale gray eyes were locked hard on hers as he killed the engine, opened the door and unfolded his long, powerful body from behind the steering wheel. The sight of him had her stumbling back again, and she nearly fell on her bottom when the right heel of her hiking boot connected with the wooden edge of a flower bed.

      The morning sun was behind him now, shining directly into her eyes. It was difficult to make out his features as he headed directly for her, his long-legged stride making short work of the yards that separated them. But she felt him with every part of her. The pull between them was so strong she could have counted his thudding heartbeats down to the minute, or his quickening intakes of air. The closer he came, the more heightened her sensory perception grew, and she really hoped that it didn’t work in the reverse. She didn’t want this man reading her. Didn’t want him to feel the rushing of her pulse or the heat gathering beneath her skin, warm and thick and wild.

      And she sure as hell didn’t want him to know that there was a part of her breaking into sharp, jagged little pieces deep inside just because she was looking at him, breathing him in, completely and embarrassingly glomming on to every exquisite detail, after believing for so long that she’d never see him again. She knew there wasn’t a man alive who could make jeans, a black T-shirt and boots look so unbelievably good—his body appearing even harder than it’d been before, as if he’d spent the past five years engaged in brutal combat.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded as firmly as possible, when he came to a stop no more than ten feet in front of her and she finally managed to find her voice. The way his long-lashed silver gaze swept hotly over her figure, taking her in from head to toe as if he had every right to what he saw had her vibrating with pure, volcanic rage. The freaking nerve of the guy! “No, scratch that. I don’t care why you’re here. Just get back in your car and go away, Hennessey. I don’t want you here.”

      He didn’t respond to her outburst in any way other than to take a step closer, and she was surprised when she found herself pulling in even deeper breaths of air through her nose, just so she could soak in that sexy-as-sin scent of his. A heady combination of the outdoors, musk and salt, it sat on her tongue like something she wanted to savor and suck on, and keep it there forever. She’d always enjoyed the way Cian had smelled, even when he carried the faint scent of cigarette smoke on his skin, but...whoa, her reaction had never been this intense before, as if she wanted to rub up against him like a kitten and get that mouthwatering scent all over her. More than a little rattled, she snapped, “Well? Are you going to stand there staring at me all day or are you at least going to say something?”

      “Sorry,” he rasped, the lilting sound of the brogue she knew he’d developed while growing up in Ireland even stronger than she remembered it, making her wonder where he’d been living. His tongue touched the corner of his mouth, and his thick lashes lowered over eyes she could have sworn had started to glow like melting metal, despite the tiredness she could see in them. “I just...you surprised me,” he added gruffly. “I didn’t expect you to be even more beautiful than you were before.”

      Wearing cutoff denim shorts with a threadbare tank top and scuffed boots on her feet, her long hair in a crazy swarm of curls around her shoulders and dirt probably smeared on her cheek? Um, yeah, like she was really rocking an attractive look at the moment. Shaking her head, she snorted at his lame-ass attempt at flattery. “We’ve never lied to each other before, Cian. It would be pointless to start now.”

      “I’m not lying, lass. You’re...” He trailed off as his breath left his lungs on a sharp exhalation, and he cursed as he slowly rubbed one of his hands over his wide mouth. “You were always pretty, but the only word I can think of that does you any justice now is stunning.”

      The scowl on her face became a little fiercer, and she wanted to tell him to take his bullshit and shove it up his backside. She knew she looked different than the scrawny eighteen-year-old he’d left behind—she was curvier now, her hair was longer and wilder, and God only knew she had more freckles on her nose and shoulders thanks to all the hours she spent outdoors—but she didn’t look that different.

      And he was...damn him, he was still just as gorgeous as ever. Other than the shorter cut of his hair, he didn’t look as if he’d changed at all, even though he had to be pushing close to forty by now. His features were still chiseled, but ruggedly male, the shadow of stubble on his lean cheeks and square chin giving his already dangerous good looks an even sharper, more aggressive edge. All broad shoulders and masculine lines, ripped and lean and deliciously cut. The kind of guy that women acted like idiots over, losing their self-esteem somewhere down around their ankles, right along with their underwear.

      Then there was his bravery and intelligence and his wicked sense of humor. His undeniable loyalty to his friends and family.

      Well, that last bit could no doubt be scratched from the list now, seeing as how he’d turned his back on them as completely as he had on her. But before that...God, before that, Cian Hennessey could have been exactly what she’d wanted.

      If he’d only wanted her in return.

      “Cian, please,” she said as carefully as she could manage, praying her voice wouldn’t tremble. “Say whatever you came to say and then