With His Kiss. Laurey Bright

away from the house and avoiding Zed’s cottage, she took a path under the trees. It was darker here but she knew every inch of the grounds, and her stride didn’t slacken as she followed a winding course up a slope, until the path ended at a tiny stone building covered in climbing vines and holding a wooden seat just big enough for two.

      Once, she supposed, it had been a spot for lovers, before Magnus bought the house and grounds from the descendants of the man who had built it at the beginning of the twentieth century.

      She came here when she needed a break from the constant demands on her time and energy. The boys were interesting, always stimulating, sometimes riotous, sometimes poignant and often exhausting. A few moments to herself were rare and precious. Sometimes lately she’d felt it was all too much—the house too big, its inhabitants too volatile, and everyone expecting too much of her.

      In daylight the arched doorway of the grotto allowed a glimpse through trees of the farmlands beyond, and cars streaming to and from Auckland along the motorway in the distance. There were moments when she longed to join them, escape from the tyranny of responsibility that had fallen on her shoulders. Steve was here now to share it, but his hostile presence only imposed more stress.

      It was getting dark, the cars intermittent flashes of light, far away, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cool stone and trying to think of nothing.

      Which was difficult, because Steve’s strong, handsome features and condemning, metallic scrutiny kept getting in the way.

      After a while she opened her eyes, and immediately sat up straight with a gasp that was almost a scream.

      A tall, broad-shouldered figure loomed in the narrow arched doorway, blocking what remained of the fading light.