Mr. O'Grady's Magic Box
on Irish folklore she borrowed from Mr. O'Grady's collection
downstairs. He'd given her permission to borrow whatever she needed
from his bookshelves in the library. Later on, she planned on
giving the shelves a more thorough look-over, but for now, she
wanted to soak up some sun.
    She headed downstairs with hopes of snagging
a seat out on the patio with a view of the bay.
    Some of the other patrons were in the lobby
below. One couple stood at the display case with brochures of
things to do in the area. Another stood at the desk, probably
checking in for a stay. Freshly roasted coffee and the tantalizing
scent of home-baked pastries hit her nostrils, making her mouth
water. She'd grab a muffin and a cup of java on the way out.
    Reaching the bottom step, her gaze shifted
to the front door as an amazing specimen of masculinity walked in.
She was positive it was Mr. O'Grady's grandson. The gardening belt
around his waist also was a dead giveaway he wasn't a guest.
    With the sun shining behind him, she could
only admire his broad shoulders and chest, tapering nicely down to
a tight waist and slim hips. My, my, his faded blue jeans fit
him all too well . Now, if he would step further into the foyer
so she could see his face clearly. As if on command, he took a few
steps forward only to be stopped by the couple with the brochures.
Perfect. She could admire the man without him noticing her.
    Dark hair trimmed at his ears and longer in
the back, straight nose, strong jaw—exquisite perfection brushed
with a touch of wildness and…something familiar.
    Her eyes narrowed then widened when
recognition hit her like a slap in the face. Her book and papers in
her hand were forgotten as everything went numb. The book slipped
from her grasp and smacked the ground like a gavel, startling
everyone into silence.
    His gaze riveted to hers while her papers
swirled in the air liked she'd thrown confetti. She turned away.
"Oh dear God, let him stay where he is," she mumbled under her
breath.
    No such luck. He flew to her rescue, his
strides long and sure. Flustered, she bent down to pick up the book
at the same time he knelt down. Their foreheads smacked together in
the process.
    His deep familiar chuckle strummed down her
spine like caressing fingers, making her heart dance in her chest. No, it can't be him. This is Mr. O'Grady's grandson. He'd be an
O'Grady, too.
    Not if his father married Mr. O'Grady's
daughter. Her nasty conscience mocked her, not letting her deny
the truth.
    Aubrey slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.
Her heart stopped and started again with the intent of bursting
from her chest. His features may have matured from a young man to
now, but the eyes were the same dark blue and the way he smiled
with a crooked curve of his lips couldn't be duplicated by anyone
but him. He wasn't an apparition; he was truly here.
    "Are you all right?" he asked, concern
lacing his words as he stared at her.
    She shook her head, feeling off centered.
"What?"
    "You look like you've seen a ghost." He
handed her the book, his fingers brushing hers. Then he really looked at her. His crystal dark-blue gaze locked with
hers, surprise registering before he realized his vision wasn't
playing tricks on him. "Aubrey?" His voice lowered to a husky
timber.
    At least the bastard had the decency to
remember her name. "Hello, Ian." She could have won an academy
award with those two words. Her voice sounded cool and calm when on
the inside she wanted to scream. It had been ten years, and in
seconds, all the feelings she thought were buried came blasting to
the surface with a vengeance. "Fancy meeting you here. I believe
the last time we saw each other, you were perfecting your
disappearing act." She moved away, retrieving the papers, hoping
he'd slink off somewhere. He didn't. His quick hands retrieved her
papers near the stairs.
    * * * *
    Blood pounded in Ian's head, as he absorbed
who stood no more than two feet away from him. Aubrey Jules. Not a figment of his
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