Under His Spell by Natasha Logan Page A

working. Apparently, she could write fiction all day long, making up story after story about how magical creatures were real and among humans, but get her in front of another person and she was about as convincing as a second-rate actress reading lines off a teleprompter. Her father had told her it was her goodness shining through and she should be proud of her honest nature.
    “Right.” He clearly didn’t believe her. “Listen, either you didn’t do your homework, or you are a nut job. Either way, do yourself a favor and stay away from this cottage. There’s a reason no locals wanted to buy this place.” He leaned over to grab the bottle and unscrewed the top. With a tip of the opening toward the cottage, he toasted, “Here’s to you Seri,” and took a drink. When he finished, he offered the bottle in her direction. She shook her head in denial, not taking it.
    “What’s Seri?” she asked.
    “Seri is a who.”
    “Who is Seri?”
    “No one you know.”
    “Fine. Who are you?” Valerie couldn’t discern if the man was trying to frighten her or simply warning her when he’d told her that no one wanted this place.
    “Nobody,” he mumbled, turning toward the woods.
    “No, seriously, who are you?” Valerie demanded. “Enough with being cryptic. Graniten is a small town. You know I’ll find out. You can either be neighborly and tell me who you are, or I can call the police, and they can tell me as they’re arresting you for trespassing on my land.”
    The threat stopped him, and he made his way back toward her.
    “Troy Olivier, ma’am, at your service.” He gave a small bow.
    “As in the owner of Olivier Manor?” She needlessly glanced over her shoulder to the home she’d just purchased.
    “Not anymore.”
    “I meant former owner,” Valerie corrected. She studied him carefully. “This isn’t going to turn into one of those stalk the new owner of your family home scenarios, is it? I was under the impression the owner wanted to sell.”
    “And I was under the impression you were an elderly woman from old Southern money.”
    “I didn’t see a foreclosure on the property. I paid a fair price. I may be from up North, but I can shoot as straight as any good ole boy, so whatever you’re thinking, know I will protect—”
    “No, I’m glad to be done with it.” He didn’t appear concerned by her warning.
    “Then what are you doing here?” Valerie relaxed when he didn’t become aggressive. In fact, the longer she studied him, the more she picked up on the impression of sadness. The impulsive feeling came back, urging her to move closer to him, to the cottage. As she stared, meeting his gaze, she became more aware of him, of herself. “Have we met? I don’t think…”
    “Who knows? Depends on if you believe in reincarnation, I guess.”
    Valerie shook her head in denial. “Only as an interesting concept and a device for fiction.”
    The pull of him drew her closer still. She wanted to touch him, but had no reason to be so forward. Instead, she held out her hand for him to take. “Let’s start over. It’s very nice to meet you, Troy. I promise to take good care of your former home.”
    He glanced at her hand as if it might burn him. Slowly, he reached out. He hesitated a few seconds before clasping his fingers around hers. Tiny sparks snapped between them, shocks of static electricity that should not have been possible. Heat worked up her arm, a burning that was beyond normal attraction. She gasped as her flesh began to turn pink.
    Troy did not release her, and she was unable to pull away. The magnetic pull of their touch fused them together. The sparks increased, following the redness in her arm. That’s when she noticed the same thing was happening to him. His chest heaved like a wild beast trying to catch its breath. His stance was rigid. Her eyes met his. Tiny red lines were in his brown irises.
    “What are you doing?” she managed to whisper. Valerie leaned away from him as if the