The Lost Enchantress Read Online Free PDF

distant hum and the air around her warmed and melted into the sound. For a fraction of time she couldn’t define, the entire universe was pared down to the few square feet of space separating them and Eve felt a sudden, powerful sense of being drawn to him, body and soul.
    Anyone who didn’t know better might easily mistake the feeling for love at first sight. Either that or lust: the instantaneous, anchors-away, all-hands-on-deck variety that hits like a tsunami, leaves you witless and is frequently sparked by a bottle of something eighty proof. But Eve did know better. She wished she didn’t, but she did. She didn’t know exactly what was happening to her, but she knew enough to understand it had nothing to do with lust and even less to do with love.
    It had to do with magic. And magic had everything to do with danger. So if A equals B and B equals C, she needed to get away from there as quickly as possible.
    Easier said than done. In spite of the deductive reasoning of her brain, she didn’t want to walk away from him; she didn’t even want to look away, and it took all her will to do it. She lowered her eyes briefly, letting her gaze slide over him all the way to the floor, and then slowly looked up again, this time refusing to be drawn in by those dark eyes that never wavered, that seemed to see everything and give nothing.
    That quick glance was enough for her trained journalist’s eye to catalogue the basics. Whoever he was, he was the perfect height, with straight, darkest brown hair, worn unfashionably long and swept back from the face of a first-class heartbreaker. The gods must have been feeling exceptionally generous on the day he was born, because they’d bestowed upon him the deluxe package: cheekbones high and chiseled, eyes dark, stormy gray, and a full, brooding mouth worthy of Byron himself. She’d bet anything the body beneath the long black overcoat—designer cashmere, almost certainly Ralph Lauren—was a lovely blend of lean and muscled. If she were twenty and silly and whole of heart, she would blow off the auction and follow him anywhere.
    Fortunately, there were years of hard-won, battle-scarred wisdom between her and twenty. She couldn’t say the same for him. She pegged him as late twenties, thirty tops. Not that his age mattered to her any more than his GQ looks, she told herself sternly. She didn’t even care how he was connected to the sudden hijacking of her nervous system; she just knew she had to put a stop to it.
    She started by squaring her shoulders and turning away. Next she took a deep breath and ordered her feet into action. So far so good. She was moving. Slowly and in the right direction, toward the ladies’ room. She needed a few minutes alone to regroup. The pull on her senses was still so strong it felt as if she was wading through molasses. Worse, she wanted to go back, or at least to turn and look at him one more time. And the wanting was like a weight in her chest. She forced herself to keep moving, and the feeling lessened as she put more distance between them. By the time she reached the ladies’ room it was no more than a tingle and a memory.
    She hurried through the sitting area with its rose-damask-covered chaises and gilt-edged mirrors and into the first unoccupied stall. Locking the door behind her, she leaned back against it and waited for her head to clear and her heart to stop pounding and the world to right itself. What had just happened didn’t make any sense. Magic had no place in her life now; it was part of her past.
    And part of your blood , a voice deep inside reminded her.
    Eve closed her eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. The voice was right, of course. Like it or not, magic had always been a matter of blood. Like it or not, she’d been born an enchantress, with all the wonder and all the complications that entailed.
    Once, before she knew better, she’d accepted that as easily as she accepted having green eyes and long legs. She’d