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and, as she stepped away from him, she ran a hand through her hair, realizing only then it had come loose during the struggle.
    “I’m not gay,” she blurted, unsure why. “I just didn’t want him.”
    “Aye well,” he muttered , looking woeful, “If only you were.”
    Puzzled by the remark, she rounded on him and looked into his face. He was tall and strapping and so handsome it too k her breath away. He smelled of cigarettes, making her suddenly crave one intensely. The familiarity niggled again. “How do we know each other?
    “We met this afternoon ,” he said, his expression serious. “In the university library.”
    She frowned at him. “No, I mean before that. Why do I feel like I know you?”
    “Do you?”
    The frown deepened into a glower . “You know perfectly well I do. You said we’d met before. A couple of times. So why are you being so obtuse all of a sudden?”
    He looked away, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out his cigarettes. Gauloise s. Ugh. Still, they were better than nothing. “Can I have one of those?”
    Disapproval narrowed his eyes. “ You smoke?”
    She shrugged. “Sometimes. When I’m stressed.”
    Like now. Aside from his bewildering familiarity and evasiveness, she’d come dangerously close to being raped. She’d come almost as close back in secondary school. The memory of it still made her bristle. Despite vowing never to put herself in such a position again, she had. Because she’d wanted to impress someone who seemed intent on messing with her head.  As her fury rekindled, she felt torn between kicking herself or him.
    He held out his cigarettes. With trembling fingers, she plucked one from the packet and pressed it between her lips. He flamed the tip with a gold lighter, also gnawingly familiar. Why wouldn’t he explain how they knew each other? Or even tell her his name?
    Looking at him hard, she said, “If you won’t tell me who you are, will you at least tell me how you know the O’Lyrs?
    He drew on his cigarette and exhaled. “I live with them.”
    Concern zapped her heart. “Which one?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Which of the O’Lyrs do you live with? Him or her?”
    He shrugged one shoulder. “Both.”
    Did she dare pursue it? After all, what business was it of hers? Tears tightened her throat , but she swallowed them back. She already felt pathetic enough without turning on the waterworks.
    “Thank you, by the way,” she managed to squeeze out. “I don’t want to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come along when you did.”
    “ Nor do I. But you ought not to play with fire. And if you did it with me in mind, you needn’t have bothered.”
    She frowned up at him, stunned once again by his astonishing eyes. “ What are you talking about?”
    “The spell.”
    Her mouth fell open. How could he know about the charm and why’d he say she needn’t have bothered? Blinking up at him, she bravely asked, “Do you find me so unappealing?”
    Stepping up to her, he set a finger under her chin. As he lifted her eyes to his, her breath caught and her pulse quickened. His pull on her was powerful, magnetic, like nothing she’d ever felt before. She thought he meant to kiss her and couldn’t believe how much she wished he would. But he didn’t. Instead, he said, soft as moonlight, “No, lass. Quite the opposite. Now, go back inside where you’ll be safe.”
    “But , I feel safe with you.”
    “ You’re anything but.” Letting her go, he stepped back. “And if you value your life, you’ll stay as far away from me as possible.”
    “Cat?”
    The sound of Avery’s voice made her turn. Her friend was on the sidewalk, hands on hips, face etched with a mixture of annoyance and worry.
    “What are you doing out here? Not leaving, I hope.”
    “No. I was just talking to —”
    She turned back to the Scot, but, dammit, he’d pulled another disappearing act.
    “Talking to whom?”
    “That friend of Benedict’s. With the long ginger