Captivated by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

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.
    The walls of the tower room echoed with one brief curse. Betrayed—by herself—Morgana threw up a hand. The candles winked out. She stayed where she was, sulking in the dark.
    She cursed herself, thinking she’d have been better off not knowing.
    *  *  *
    A few miles away, Nash woke from a catnap he’d taken in front of a blaring television. Groggy, he rubbed his hands over his face and struggled to sit up.
    Hell of a dream, he thought as he worked out the kinks in his neck. Vivid enough to make him ache inseveral sensitive areas. And it was his own fault, he decided on a yawn as he reached absently for the bowl of popcorn he’d burned.
    He hadn’t made enough of an effort to get Morgana out of his mind. So if he was going to end up fantasizing about watching her do some kind of witch dance in the woods, about peeling her out of white silk and making love with her on the soft ground in the moonlight, he had no one to blame but himself.
    He gave a quick shudder and groped for his lukewarm beer. It was the damnedest thing, he mused. He could have sworn he smelled candles burning.

Chapter 3
    Morgana was already annoyed when she turned into her driveway Monday evening. An expected shipment had been delayed in Chicago, and she’d spent the last hour on the phone trying to track it down. She was tempted to deal with the matter her own way—nothing irked her more than ineptitude—but she was fully aware that such impulses often caused complications.
    As it was, she’d lost valuable time, and it was nearly dusk before she parked her car. She’d hoped for a quiet walk among the trees to clear her mind—and, yes, damn it, to settle her nerves before she dealt with Nash. But that wasn’t to be.
    She sat for a moment, scowling at the gleaming black-and-chrome motorcycle in front of her car.
    Sebastian. Perfect. Just what she
didn’t
need.
    Luna slid out of the car ahead of her to pad up the drive and rub herself against the Harley’s back wheel.
    “You would,” Morgana said in disgust as she slammed the door. “As long as it’s a man.”
    Luna muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary and stalked on ahead. Pan greeted them both at the front door with his wise eyes and his loving tongue. While Luna moved on, ignoring him, Morgana took a moment to stroke his fur before tossing her purse aside. She could hear the soft strains of Beethoven drifting from her stereo.
    She found Sebastian exactly where she’d expected. He was sprawled on her couch, booted feet comfortably crossed on her coffee table, his eyes half-closed and a glass of wine in his hand. His smile might have devastated an ordinary woman, with the way it shifted the planes and angles of his dusky face, curved those sculptured, sensuous lips, deepened the color of the heavy-lidded eyes that were as tawny and sharp as Luna’s.
    Lazily he lifted a long, lean-fingered hand in an ancient sign of greeting. “Morgana, my own true love.”
    He’d always been too handsome for his own good, she thought, even as a boy. “Make yourself at home, Cousin.”
    “Thank you, darling.” He raised his glass to her. “The wine’s excellent. Yours or Ana’s?”
    “Mine.”
    “My compliments.” He rose, graceful as a dancer. It always irritated her that she had to tilt her head to keepher eyes level with his. At six-three, he had five full inches on