Page 44 of An Enchanted Spring

If Aidan wanted to stay away from her, he could. But she wasn’t going to stay away from him unless she received a clear message from the Universe, or heard the words directly from his mouth.

Aidan restedhis head against the tile and let the cool air from the bathroom seep into the shower. His shoulders wouldn’t relax, and his thoughts wouldn’t slow down.

All because of one blonde, blue-eyed publicist who had stirred more feeling in his chest in a few days than all other women in the whole of his life combined.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. Heran his hands through his hair and inspected himself for damage. The small scrape across his chest barely garnered notice; he’d sustained much worse injuries from much larger blades without complaint.

A memory tugged at him. When he was but a boy of twelve summers, he was out riding his favorite horse, Aengus. He’d fallen, and the beast wouldn’t let him back on. The creature just kept teasing him—Aidan would get close, Aengus would shimmy away, neighing and blowing. The game went on until Aidan came face-to-face with a stranger who thought Aidan was trying to steal his cattle. Aidan had taken a sword to his lower back, and the scar sat just below his waistline.

Talk about stranger danger. His childhood had been one long lesson in staying alive.

He sighed. In his recent adulthood, he had gone soft. He knew it, and a part of him was grateful for it. A small part, to be sure—he often craved the adventure of his youth. Though the world around him was full of marvels, Aidan’s ennui with people grew with each passing year. Most of them were so focused on money and fame they forgot that the true measure of a man’s worth was in his clan, in his connections with his past.

His brother would laugh his arse off if he were ever privy to Aidan’s thoughts.

When they last saw each other, Aidan thrived on battle and vanquishing enemies. Stealing cattle from other clans so his could eat, protecting Nick and Bri with his life, volunteering for any and all missions.

About two years after he arrived in the future, Aidan accepted that he most likely would never get back to his former life, so he sought what adventures he could find. Now his vanquishing took place in the antiquities and real estate markets. It was a lot less bloody and filled his coffers more than any battle ever had, yet it left his soul empty.

Pushing his thoughts aside, he threw open the door and stopped short. Sitting on his bed was the lovely Emma, looking both nervous and bold at the same time.

“Needing something, lass?” he drawled, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. When his towel slipped a notch, he didn’t bother to hitch it back up.

She blinked, her gaze moving from the top of his towel up his arms, over his chest, and finally to his eyes. He felt every bit of her stare, as evidenced by the towel hanging even more precariously over his hips.

She held up a first-aid kit and stuttered, “I, um, thought you might need this.”

“And you wanted to deliver it in person?”

“I thought you would dress in the bathroom,” she said lamely.

He did smile then. It wasn’t a kind smile, or even a welcoming one. It was wolfish, and he could tell she knew it. She swallowed, her throat working, and Aidan took a step toward her. She didn’t move, and he raised a brow in challenge.

She raised one back.

Emma Perkins surprised him at every turn, and he’d never felt more alive.

Her gaze zeroed in on his chest, and he just barely refrained from puffing it out to show off a little. The laugh that burst from her lips indicated she’d caught that small flex of his pecs.

“Now that you have me here, ready and willing to be fussed over, what are you going to do about it?” he asked. He advanced toward her slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, which were still fixed on his chest.

“What happened?” she asked, and he glanced down at the red scratch.

“A tiny, insignificant knife. Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. He reached the edge of the bed, and her face waslevel with his hips. The towel hung low, only staying on by the grace of the fates.

“A tiny knife?”

Aidan saw the worry in her eyes as she rose, alarmed. He pried the kit from her arms, opened it, and pulled out the antibiotic cream. “Aye.”

“Reilly’s knife?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay. Not Reilly’s knife.”

Her face lost some of its color, and Aidan handed her the cream silently. A surge of protectiveness crashed over him as he watched the realization dawn on her…the danger was real and he was involved. He knew there wasn’t any point in lying about it.

“Did—was it Ben? Did he try to kill you?” she finally asked.

“He triedsomething.If it was an attempt on my life, it was the weakest one yet.”

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