"Yes. But not now." Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.
They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.
Doyle ushered her through the back door. "Go have a nice long bath. I'll prepare dinner."
"You don't want me to help?"
He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. "Did Helen?"
She grinned. "Well no, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."
"I think I'll take it as a sign." He tossed her one of the plastic bags. "Don't turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead."
She looked inside the bag. There wasn't only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner, and soap. "Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know."
"You have a ceremony to perform at midnight, remember? There are rituals to follow if you don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention. One of them is cleansing."
Unease slithered through her. She'd all but forgotten about the ceremony. "So using these will help keep the bad things away?"
He nodded. "Partly. There are other things we have to do, but we'll worry about them later. Go have your bath. Let me worry about that side of things."
When it came to magic, she had no choice but to trust him. She'd never really taken much notice of the ways of witchcraft, even though Helen had often warned she might regret it. Still, she hesitated. "What about the bandages I'm wearing?"
"Take them off. The wounds should be healed by now anyway."
She nodded and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the taps, she poured in the oil then sat on the edge of the tub. Scents filled the air—an odd combination of basil, geranium and pine, mixed in with something else she couldn't define. It was relaxing and yet somehow invigorating.
She turned off the water, then stripped and climbed in. For a long time she lay there, enjoying the heat and the moment of peace. When the water finally began to cool, she reluctantly sat up and washed.
Climbing out, she dragged some clothes out of her bag and dressed. Then she blew out the candle and walked barefoot to the kitchen.
Only to stop in surprise at the doorway. Doyle hadn't just cooked, he'd created magic. A pristine white cloth covered the table. Candles flickered in the center, flushing warmth across the length of the table but barely touching the darkness beyond that. Wine glasses and cutlery glimmered in the golden light, and the mismatched patterns on the side plates somehow added to the appeal.
He appeared out of the shadows and walked towards her, eyes as warm as the atmosphere he'd created. "Table for two? I think we can manage to squeeze you in. This way, my lady."
He offered her his arm. Smiling, she hooked her arm through his and let herself be led to the table.
"For your eating pleasure tonight," he continued, seating her, "we have a warm chicken salad, followed by a simple, but pleasant dessert of strawberries soaked in Contreau accompanied by freshly whipped cream."
He picked up a paper napkin, fluffed it out and placed it on her lap. His fingers brushed her legs, and warmth shivered through her. She wondered again how she was going to survive the night without giving in to desire.
Wondered if she even really wanted to survive.
He opened the wine and poured them both a glass. Then he disappeared into the shadows, coming back moments later with the two meals. He placed them, then sat opposite her and picked up his wine.
"To the bravest woman I have ever met," he said softly.
Heat flushed through her cheeks. She wasn't brave. If she was, she wouldn't be sitting here dithering about her feelings for this man. She'd take what fate offered and let the future worry about itself.
She picked up her glass and met his gaze. No matter what her personal fears might be, right now he deserved some sort of honesty from her. "To the only man I have ever been tempted to trust. To the sexiest thief I have ever met."
His smile shimmered right though her, settling warmly in her heart. He touched his glass lightly to hers then motioned to her salad. "Eat, before the chicken gets cold."
She ate. The meal was perfect, soothing her hunger without sitting like a weight in her stomach. She sighed with contentment when she finished and picked up her wine.
"Thank you," she said. "That was delicious."
He smiled and leaned back in the chair, his face half in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming cobalt in the flickering light. "Thank my mother. She was the one who insisted her sons know how to cook."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sons?"
He nodded. "I have three brothers, all younger, and two sisters, both older."
She couldn't help a twinge of envy. It must have been wonderful growing up with so many siblings.
Noisy, but wonderful. Especially at Christmas. Or birthdays. She blinked. Today was her birthday.
She took a drink then said, "Do you see much of them?"
"No. They all live in Oregon, in a small town up near the Crater Lake National Park. My work—past and present—has always conspired to keep me away. But I'm in the process of buying a house up there and hope to correct that."
His words sliced through her. She lowered her gaze, concentrating instead on her wine. So, the truth was there for them both to see. No matter what happened between them, he wouldn't stay here in Australia.
"Kirby—" She raised a hand. "Don't." Don't tell me you care for me. Don't tell me you might love me, because in the end, it doesn't really matter. Nothing did, beyond the fact that he would go back to America.
Take heed, my foolish heart.Because knowing he would leave didn't alter the fact that she wanted him as she'd never wanted a man before.
"I'm not—" She met his gaze. "Are you going to tell me you're not going back?"
"No, but—" "Then I don't want to hear it."
"And you have the gall to call me irritating." He sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair.
"Whatever am I going to do with you?"
Take me with you, she thought, and knew that just wasn't an option. His work was too important—to him, and to the other people he was destined to save. He didn't need someone permanently in his life, particularly when that someone was as flawed as she was.
She raised her wine glass. "How about pouring me some more wine."
He did as she requested, then collected the plates and side plates and rose. "Do you feel like dessert now, or would you rather wait a little?"
"I think I'll let dinner settle a bit more, thanks," she said.
He disappeared into the darkness. Flame flickered briefly, then a tiny patch of warmth appeared. "I can't see how a flame that size is going to do you much good," she said, amused. "Why not borrow one of the candles on the table?"
"Because this candle suits my purpose just fine." He appeared out of the shadows, the tiny flame becoming a birthday candle sitting on the top of a cupcake.
"Happy birthday," he said, placing the cake in front of her. "Don't forget to make a wish."
Her smile felt tremulous. She blew out the candle, then closed her eyes and made her wish. Time was all she asked for. Time with Doyle.
She opened her eyes, and he held out a small, carefully wrapped present. She didn't take it. Could barely see it though the tears stinging her eyes.
"You shouldn't have." Her throat felt so constricted her voice came out little more than a hoarse whisper.
"Birthdays are important." His smile was warm, sexy, and reflected deep in his eyes. "And you should never let one go by uncelebrated. Go on, open your present. It doesn't bite. I promise."
She smiled, and with trembling fingers began unwrapping the dark-red tissue paper. As the layers fell away, a long, plush velvet box was revealed. Her stomach churned. It looked expensive. Felt expensive.