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information about his family’s secrets to further her career.
    Her speculations about the grimoire, the Dragonierre’s Manual, had resurrected debates about its existence. Not only debates, but also the increasing number of those seeking to gain fame, fortune and power from discovering the truth about the grimoire.
    Somehow she was involved in the recent events at Mirabilus Keep. It was obvious by the timing that her paper on the manual had triggered an avalanche of disasters.
    In the months since her work had been published, there’d been four break-ins. During the attempts, four of his employees and an intruder had been killed, a hired carpenter was still in the hospital and another intruder had been seriously injured.
    As the ruler of Mirabilus Isle, he was responsible for his employees’ families. He didn’t care about either criminal. However, no clues were found at the scene andthe intruder’s prolonged coma made it impossible to get the information he needed.
    He’d tried using every ounce of power he possessed to get inside the intruder’s mind. But the attempts had proved useless. He’d received only distorted images of the man’s childhood.
    Dragon’s Lair was almost ready to open. He didn’t have the time or the energy required to make the repeated trips to Mirabilus, open the resort and keep both his family and the people under his protection safe against those seeking to harm them.
    He slammed his fist against the wall. He didn’t want Alexia here. Didn’t want to deal with the anger and lack of concentration her presence would create.
    The sight of headlights stopping just outside the gates warned him that whether he wanted to deal with her or not, she was here.
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    Far from a hotel, Dragon’s Lair looked more like a movie set for an old horror flick. A gloomy castle complete with towers, parapet and arrow slits for windows, it’d probably even have a dungeon outfitted with a torture device—in her size.
    Braeden would never go that far. Would he? Alexia shook her head and answered her own question. No, he wouldn’t.
    Even with people he didn’t like, he was always formal, polite and able to keep things impersonal. He wouldn’t be any less formal or impersonal with her.
    Impersonal. Great idea, but could she keep it that way? The years hadn’t dimmed her memories. She still remembered everything. The whirlwind courtship that brought them breathless to the altar. The deep timbre of his voice,his caressing touch, the heat of his kisses. The memories twisted in the pit of her stomach, consuming her with despair.
    To keep this dire visit impersonal, she needed to remember what had driven her away in the first place. Even though she’d been forced, it had been her unhealed anger and pain that had made it slightly easier to write the paper on the Dragonierre’s Manual. Her conscience still niggled regretfully. But there was little she could do about it now other than return the missing section to its rightful owner.
    She pulled through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive to the front of the castle. She grabbed the envelope off the seat, then stepped out of her car. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Someone was watching her from one of the many narrow windows.
    It would do her no good to put her fear and worry on display. She kept a firm grip on her package, squared her shoulders and opened one of the oversize entrance doors.
    Her breath caught in her throat.
    Antique iron wall sconces had been outfitted with flame-shaped lightbulbs. Suits of armor flanked all three of the arched doorways. Tapestries covered some walls, while murals of medieval hunting and jousting scenes graced the rest. It would take just a dusting of dried herbs on the rough, planked floor to complete the transformation to the Middle Ages.
    Alexia shivered. The enormous lobby was empty and as cold as it looked. If the Drakes had