And yet now, for the first time, she felt the sly quickening of fear with a man.

The simplicity of a kiss filled a basic need. But there was nothing simple in this. How could it be simple, when excitement and unease were dancing together along her skin?

She wanted to believe that the power came from her, was in her. She was responsible for this whirlwind of sensation that surrounded them. Conjuring was often as quick as a wish, as strong as the will.

But the fear was there, and she knew it came from the knowledge that this was something beyond her reach, out of her control, past her reckoning. She knew that spells could be cast on the strong, as well as the weak. To break a charm took care. And action.

She slid out of his arms, moving slowly, deliberately. Not for an instant would she let him see that he had had power over her. She closed a hand over her amulet and felt steadier.

Nash felt like the last survivor of a train wreck. He jammed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from grabbing her again. He didn't mind playing with fire—he just liked to be sure he was the one holding the match. He knew damn well who'd been in charge of that little experiment, and it wasn't Nash Kirkland.

"You play around with hypnosis?" he asked her.

She was fine, Morgana told herself. She was just fine. But she sat on the couch again. It took an effort, but she managed a smile that was sultry around the edges. "Did I mesmerize you, Nash?"

Flustered, he paced to the window and back. "I just want to be sure when I kiss you that it's my idea."

Her head came up. The pride that swam in her blood was something else that was ageless. "You can have all the ideas you like. I don't have to resort to magic to make a man want me." She lifted a finger to touch the heat he'd left on her lips. "And if I decided to have you, you'd be more than willing." Under her finger, her lips curved. "Then you'd be grateful."

He didn't doubt it, and that scraped at his pride. "If I said something like that to you, you'd claim I was sexist and egocentric."

Lazily she picked up her glass. "The truth has nothing to do with sex or ego." The white cat jumped soundlessly on the back of the couch. Without taking her eyes off Nash, Morgana lifted a hand and stroked Luna's head. "If you're unwilling to take the risk, we can break off our… creative partnership."

"You think I'm afraid of you?" The absurdity of it put him in a slightly better mood. "Babe, I stopped letting my glands do the thinking a long time ago."

"I'm relieved to hear it. I'd hate to think of you as some calculating woman's love slave."

"The point is," he said between his teeth, "if we're going to work this out, we'd better have some rules."

He had to be out of his mind, Nash decided. Five minutes ago he had had a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly delicious woman in his arms, and now he was trying to think up ways to keep her from seducing him.

"No." Lips pursed, Morgana considered. "I'm not very good with rules. You'll just have to take your chances. But I'll make a deal with you. I won't lure you into any compromising situations if you'll stop taking smug little potshots at witchcraft." She combed her hair back with her fingers. "It irritates me. And I sometimes do things I regret when I'm irritated."

"I have to ask questions."

"Then learn to accept the answers." Calm but determined, she rose. "I don't lie—or at least I rarely do. I'm not sure why I've decided to share my business with you. Perhaps because there's something appealing about you, and certainly because I have a great deal of respect for a teller of tales. You have a strong aura—and a questing, if cynical, brain—along with a great deal of talent. And perhaps because those closest to me have approved of you."

"Such as?"

"Anastasia—and Luna and Pan. They're all excellent judges of character."

So he'd passed muster with a cousin, a cat and a dog. "Is Anastasia also a witch?"

Her eyes remained steady. "We'll discuss me, and the Craft in general. Ana's business is her own."

"All right. When do we start?"

They already had, she thought, and nearly sighed. "I don't work on Sundays. You can come by tomorrow night, at nine."

"Not midnight? Sorry," he said quickly. "Force of habit. I'd like to use a tape recorder, if that's all right."

"Of course."

"Should I bring anything else?"

"Tongue of bat and some wolfbane." She smiled. "Sorry. Force of habit."

He laughed and kissed her chastely on the cheek. "I like your style, Morgana."

"We'll see."

She waited until sundown, then dressed in a thin white robe. Forewarned was always best, she'd told herself when she'd finally broken down and slipped into the room at the top of the tower. She didn't like to admit that Nash was important enough to worry about, but since she was worrying, she might as well see.

She cast the protective circle, lit the candles. Drawing in the scent of sandalwood and herbs, she knelt in the center and lifted her arms.

"Fire, water, earth and wind, not to break and not to mend. Only now to let me see. As I will, so mote it be."

The power slid inside her like breath, clean and cool. She lifted the sphere of clear crystal, cupping it in both hands so that the light from the candles flickered over it.

Smoke. Light. Shadow.

The globe swam with them, and then, as if a wind had blown, cleared to a pure, dazzling white.

Within she saw the cypress grove, the ancient and mystical trees filtering moonlight onto the forest floor. She could smell the wind, could hear it, and the call of the sea some said was the goddess singing.

Candlelight. In the room. Inside the globe.

Herself. In the room. Inside the globe.

She wore the white ceremonial robe belted with a rope of crystals. Her hair was unbound, her feet were bare. The fire had been lit by her hand, by her will, and it burned as cool as the moonlight. It was a night for celebration.

An owl hooted. She turned, saw its white wings flash and cut the dark like knives, she watched it glide off into the shadows. Then she saw him.

He stepped away from the trunk of a cypress, into the clearing.

His eyes were full of her.

Desire. Demand. Destiny.

Trapped in the sphere, Morgana held out her arms, and took Nash into her embrace.