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as she was prone to. And jolted like a frightened deer when the next flash of lightning broke the night.
    Well, he hadn’t thought of that, Liam admitted, and in a rare show of frustration dragged a hand through his hair. Her power was out, and she was alone in the dark, and scared half to death. Hadn’t Belinda told her how to work the little generator, or where the flashlight was? The emergency lanterns?
    Apparently not.
    He could hardly leave her there, could he? Shivering and stumbling around. Which, he supposed with a sour smile, was exactly what his clever, meddling cousin had known.
    He’d make sure she had light and heat, but that would be the end of it. He wouldn’t linger.
    While he was a witch, he was also a man. And both parts of him wanted her entirely too much for comfort.
    *  *  *
    “Just a storm, it’s just a storm. No big deal.” Rowan all but chanted the words as she lit more candles.
    She wasn’t afraid of the dark, not really. But it was so
damn
dark, and the lightning had struck so close to the cabin. The thunder rattled the windows until she was certain they would just explode.
    And if she hadn’t been sitting outside, daydreaming while the storm blew in, she’d have had a fire built. She’d have the warmth and light from that
and
the candlelight, and it would be sort of … cozy. If she really worked on believing it.
    And now the power was out, the phones were out and the storm appeared to be at its peak directly over her pretty little cabin.
    There were candles, she reminded herself. Dozens and dozens of candles. White ones, blue ones, red ones, green ones. She could only think that Belinda had bought out some candle store. Some were so lovely, with odd and beautiful symbols carved into them, that she held back from lighting them. And after all, she must have fifty flaring away by now, giving adequate light and offering marvelous scents to settle the nerves.
    “Okay. All right.” She set yet one more candle on the table in front of the sofa and rubbed her chilled hands. “I ought to be able to see enough to get a fire going. Then I’ll just curl up right here on the couch and wait it out. It’ll be fine.”
    But even as she crouched in front of the hearth and began to arrange the kindling, the wind howled. Her door banged open like a bullet out of a gun, and half the cheery candles behind her were blown out.
    She leaped up, whirled around. And screamed.
    Liam stood a few paces away, the wind swirling through his hair, the candlelight gleaming in his eyes. She dropped kindling on her stockinged feet, yelped and fell backward into a chair.
    “I seem to have startled you again,” he said in that mild and beautiful voice. “Sorry.”
    “I— You. God! The door …”
    “It’s open.” He turned, crossed to it and closed out the wind and rain.
    She’d been certain she’d locked it when she’d rushed in out of the storm. Obviously not, she thought now, and did her best to swallow her heart and get it back in its proper place.
    “I thought you might have been having some trouble with the storm.” He stepped toward her, each movement graceful as a dancer’s. Or a stalking wolf. “It seems I was right.”
    “Power’s out,” she managed.
    “So I see. You’re cold.” He picked up the scattered kindling and crouched to build a fire with wood and a match. He thought she’d had enough surprises for one night, even if it did take quite a bit longer that way.
    “I wanted to get some light before I built a fire. Belinda has a lot of candles.”
    “Naturally.” The kindling caught with a quick crackle, and flames licked obligingly at the logs he arranged. “This’ll warm the room soon. There’s a small generator out back. I can start it for you if you like, but this will pass before long.”
    He stayed where he was, with the firelight dancing over his face. And looking at him, she forgot about the storm and fears of the dark. She wondered if all that gorgeous hair that fell