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EXCERPT:

Emerson Matthews watched her patient through the two-way mirror, and he gazed right back. Obviously, he knew he was being observed. Stretching out his long legs he leaned back in the chair and stared as if he could bore a hole through the glass. He shoved his shoulder-length hair from his face in irritation - chestnut coloured waves she itched to drag her fingers through. At this distance it was impossible to discern the colour of his eyes, but she had no trouble making out his high cheekbones and gorgeous mouth.

It was impossible to look at him and not imagine how his lips would feel against hers. He pushed up the sleeves of his knit shirt to reveal beautifully sculpted forearms. With his broad chest, she couldn't help but wonder what he looked like beneath his clothes. She'd bet his legs and ass were as tightly muscled as his arms.

She sighed. Getting worked up over a patient was number one on the no-no list for therapists everywhere. She'd clearly gone too long without sex and it was affecting her work. The slightly less rational part of her brain insisted that she was merely experiencing the logical response to being confronted with the single most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. No matter what he looked like, she needed to get her mind out of his pants and help him. Focus, Emerson. Focus.

She reread the scant information on his chart. Having attempted suicide by train, Taliesin No-Last-Name was brought into St. Mary's Psychiatric Facility late last night by the local sheriff's department. The train operator insisted that he'd hit the man, but the guy didn't have a scratch on him. He'd complained of a headache, but that was it. He'd also demanded - loudly - to leave. But that wasn't going to happen, not until he'd been thoroughly evaluated. Adjusting her glasses, she turned the knob and opened the door.

The man rose to his feet with a loose-limbed grace and offered her his hand as he read her name tag. "Dr. Matthews. I'm assuming it's too much to hope that you've come to release me."

"Why don't we talk a bit first?" Trying to place his slight accent, she gestured to the chair behind him as she sank into the one opposite him. He didn't bother to hide his annoyance as he sat and stared at her while she straightened the forms on her clipboard. His eyes were grey. Definitely grey. God, he was gorgeous. Focus.

"Despite what it likely says in your file, I wasn't attempting suicide."

She glanced at the chart. "I'm not sure how else to interpret standing in front of an oncoming train."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I was pushed."

"By whom?"

He shifted uneasily. "A friend."

"Some friend," she muttered.

His lips curved in a bone-melting grin. "Yeah. He can be a real bastard."

Emerson stared at him trying to remember where she'd been going with that line of questioning.

Train. Death wish. Right. "The engineer's statement doesn't mention anyone else."

Taliesin tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "It wouldn't. My friend is rarely visible to humans."

Rarely visible to humans. It was going to be a long night.

Emerson glanced out the window behind him and watched as huge fluffy snowflakes drifted to the ground. She might as well get comfortable. It wasn't like she had anywhere to go - besides, she'd volunteered for the three weeks prior to Christmas, just so she could get time off over the holidays to spend with her family.

She studied the man across from her. He looked completely lucid, but his comments so far belied that. "Let's start with a history," she said turning to a fresh intake sheet. "Name?"

He shifted in his chair and she tried not to admire the way the worn fabric of his jeans encased his legs. "Taliesin."

"Last name?"

"I don't have one."

Emerson tried not to frown. "What about your parents? What's their surname?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a lock of hair partially covering his eye. "I don't have parents in the strictest sense of the word." Emerson fought the urge to brush his hair aside and see if it was as soft as it looked. "You're an orphan?" she asked. Perhaps she'd follow in Angelina Jolie's footsteps and adopt him.... Okay, this was inexcusable. She was a professional, for God's sake. Obviously she needed to get laid and quickly. This inability to focus was interfering with her job.

"Not exactly." He stood and walked to the window.

She tried not groan. His ass was as perfect as she'd imagined it would be. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Age?"

"Not sure."

She studied his reflection in the window pane. If she had to guess, she'd say late twenties to early thirties. Time for a different tack. "I've noticed you've got a bit of an accent. Where are you from?"

"Lots of different places." His lips curved in a sad smile as he stared out the window. "But I spent my formative years in Wales."

That was an interesting coincidence. Her grandmother was from Wales. Of course, her sister, Beckett, would tell her there were no such things as coincidences, but Emerson didn't buy into it. There were no mystical forces guiding hers or anyone else's life. If God existed, and that was a big if, as far as she was concerned, He sure as hell didn't care about any of the people he'd supposedly created. If He did, He'd actually bother to answer prayers.

The pain of loss clogged her throat, but she pushed it away and stood, nearly colliding with the man she was supposed to be evaluating. Taliesin placed his hand under her elbow to steady her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern darkening his eyes.

The warmth of his body seeped through her blouse, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into him and forget. He stared into her eyes as if he could find the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

"I'm fine, she managed and stepped back. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I could help you - if you'd let me."

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Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the sudden silence. The mower had stopped. Opening her eyes, she scanned the yard looking for Kieran. She didn't particularly want him to know she was here yet. Especially while she was alone.

The creak of the front door shattered the silence and she whirled to face her past.

"Beckett?"

The rough need in that single word trailed fingers of anticipation along her spine and set her heart pounding in her chest. She swallowed hard, unable to answer any of the questions reflected in his deep green eyes.

Before she could open her mouth, he crossed the room and dragged her forcefully against him. The heat from his sun warmed skin seeped into her as she breathed in his familiar woodsy scent. Now it was overlaid with the tang of sweat and the sharp fragrance of freshly mown grass. His firm, full lips tightened into an annoyed line as he stared at her.

Beckett's head spun and to her own ears, her breathing sounded too fast and uneven. Kieran's own inhalations brushed his chest against hers with every breath he took. Her nipples pebbled against him, tight knots of near pain.

"Five fucking years," he growled. "And not a goddamn word. I don't know whether to turn you over my knee or take you now." He shifted, insinuating his thigh between hers. The rock hard proof of his arousal pressed against her stomach and she bit her lip to stifle the threatening groan.

Her cleft flooded with need for his body. Need for him. She hadn't been in the country for more than an hour and she'd already creamed her panties with want. She was in the same sorry shape she'd been in when she'd fled all those years ago.

Daring a glance at his face, she pushed at his chest. "You don't want this."

He laughed, the sound an almost angry bark as his nostrils flared slightly and he pressed her back against the whitewashed wall of the cottage. Lowering his head, he hovered a fraction of a centimetre above her lips. "The fuck I don't."

Spearing his fingers through her hair, he held her immobile as he took her mouth, forcing her lips open and delving inside. All thoughts of fighting vanished at her first taste of him. How had she lived without it for so long?

He tightened his grip on her, moulding her to his body as she clung to him, digging her fingers into his sweat-slick skin and pulling him closer. How many nights had she made herself come with the memory of fucking this man, only to fall asleep in her cold, empty bed? Too many. She needed the real thing - needed him inside her - filling her - if only for a little while. Even though it was a mistake of epic proportions, she wasn't about to stop now.

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"Touch her, and I will geld you before you take your next breath." Rage filling her vision, Willow stepped in front of the young priestess at her side and blocked the advances of the man before them.

His thin lips peeled away from his teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile. "Mayhap, I will touch you instead."

As he reached for her breast, she drew her dagger from the sheath attached to her kirtle and pressed the blade against the man's groin. Unprepared for her bold move, he gasped and froze in place. She did not bother hiding her smile as she pushed the blade upwards bringing him to his toes. Hooves clattered over the courtyard's stones and a rider dismounted, but she refused to look away from the man in front of her.

The rider moved beside her and locked a warm hand around her wrist.

She turned to glare at the second man. "Have you come to protect your brother in arms from my blade?"

Recognition hit her low in the gut as familiar eyes, blue as a bright autumn day, crinkled with poorly concealed amusement. Gareth. A crooked smile quirked his lips as he ignored her question as well as her barb. "While I am tempted to allow you to make good on your threat, I do not think the King would appreciate you spilling the blood of one of his knights." He paused and eyed the man at the end of her dagger. "No matter how much he likely deserves it."

"Release me," she demanded. She refused to allow either man to think she was a helpless child.

In response, Gareth grabbed the other man's tunic and gently, but firmly, pulled her weapon from its intended target. "The priestess is none of your concern, Maleagant. You will give her a wide berth or Arthur will hear of this."

The other man narrowed his eyes, rage bright in the icy depths. "They are pagan whores." Yanking free of Gareth's grasp, he stumbled backwards. "God does not care for them. Why should Arthur?"

Willow shook with anger as he disappeared from view. She turned her scowl on the man who still held her wrist, caressing the underside with a callused thumb. A shiver worked down her spine as he continued to stroke the sensitive skin.

"Ever the protector of the weak, Sir Gareth the Brave," she scoffed as she shook her hair from her face, taking care not to reveal how his slightest touch affected her. Though she had taken pains to pretend otherwise, her childhood infatuation had never truly gone away. If anything, it was worse than ever. However, it was difficult to rectify the noble knight before her with the boy who had pushed her into mud puddles and put frogs in her hair.

Gangly, red-haired Gareth had become a knight to be envied. Gone were the knobby knees and clumsy feet of a boy. In his place stood a man, tall and broad shouldered. If the heavy mail covering his body was any indication, he was also thickly muscled - he would have to be to support the weight of the metal as if it were no more cumbersome than his tunic. His hair had darkened to a russet brown, and his voice had deepened, though it still held the rich accent of the Orkney Isles. Only his eyes remained unchanged and right now they bored into hers.

She attempted to tug her arm free of his grasp, but he held firm, pulling her closer until she needed to tilt her head to meet his gaze. The heat of his body surrounded her, chasing away the chill of the spring morning.

"You have made a fierce enemy in Malaegant," he growled.

She shrugged. "I do not fear him."

"You should." He tightened his grip on her wrist. Plucking her dagger from her fingers, he slipped it into his belt.

How dare he appropriate her weapon as though she was a child who could not be trusted to handle sharp objects? Her irritation deepened.

"You have humiliated him, and he will not soon forget it. If ever." Lifting her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. "You must take heed, Willow - especially while you are at Camelot. He is a dangerous man."

She leaned closer and gently lifted his hair from his forehead, enjoying the sensation of his silky locks sliding through her fingers. Squinting, she peered intently at him as if searching for hidden secrets.

Frowning, he caught her wandering hand and pressed it to his chest. "What do you play at, woman?"

"I play at nothing. I am simply searching for hoof prints."

His brow furrowed and confusion spread across his features. "Hoof prints?"

She bit her lip, stifling the smile that threatened. "Your solicitous behaviour is so unlike your usual treatment of me, I can only assume your mount has kicked you in the head recently."

His firm lips twitched, but whether in amusement or annoyance, she was unable to tell. She fought the urge to smooth her fingertips across them. He leaned towards her, bringing his face so close she could feel the warm flutter of his breath upon her skin. Was he going to kiss her?

Holding her gaze, Gareth slowly raised her palm to his lips and brushed a kiss across the centre. Nervous excitement trembled through her middle as he raised his head slightly. "Have a care, Willow, lest I feel the need to remind you that Malaegant is not the only dangerous man nearby."