Yes, magic exists. Not the backwater voodoo witches practice where Mississippi Deputy Sheriff Margot Saulnier grew up. But the age-old black magic a woman weaves around a man that draws him under her spell. The kind Margot’s best friend used to kill her husband”¦and get away with it.

Margot chases her friend to Scotland, determined to prove her guilty of murder. No one will stop Margot. Not the SAS agent sent to watch her”¦and not the Scottish lord legend says murders his lovers when they cannot free him from the spell that has imprisoned him in Castle Morrison for three hundred years.

He’s just a legend.

And magick doesn’t exist.

Excerpt–

“Ms. Saulnier.”

The deep male voice caused Margot to slow her walk along the east garden path and glance over her shoulder. A tall, sandy haired man approached. Blue jeans hugged long legs, and a brown bomber jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Arresting blue eyes held her gaze. Margot’s pulse skipped a beat. Well, damn, Scotland was the place for good-looking men.

She stopped and turned so he could catch up with her. “Sugar, I don’t think we’ve met, but I’m glad you didn’t let the possibility of rejection stop you. Not that there’s much chance you’ll get rejected.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Special Director McNeil, at your service.”

Margot startled. “What?” Before he could respond she murmured, “Hicks.”

She was a fool. She’d known Chief Hicks enough years to know he wouldn’t let her walk out and not keep tabs on her.

“You’re going to get me killed,” she said through tight lips.

McNeil’s brow lifted. “That could get me a discommendation.”

“A comedian,” she muttered, then shot a glance past him at the castle battlements visible beyond the trees. Who had he talked to at the office? She turned and started down the path. He fell in alongside. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” she said.

“Professional courtesy.”

“Bull””” The brow shot up again and she gave him a sweet smile. “You’re checking up on me, sugar.”

“A moment ago you seemed glad a stranger had the bullocks to approach you.”

His cultured tone did nothing to belie the sensual undertone in his voice, and butterflies tickled the inside of her stomach at thought of those bullocks and the matching cock. A man appeared on the path ahead, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with gardening tools, and the erotic picture evaporated. Margot cursed at recognizing the head gardener. Reports of her meeting with a man in the garden would reach Cat within the hour.

“Once Cat gets wind that the Northern Constabulary paid me a visit, she’ll know this isn’t the vacation it’s supposed to be,” Margot said.

“That shouldn’t prove a problem,” he said. “I’m not with the Northern Constabulary.”

She started to ask, then knew. “Scotland Yard.”

He smiled, and she remained quiet as the gardener passed with a sidelong glance in their direction. Margot took a deep breath and waited until they reached a branching path, then turned left.

“Look,” she said, “you’ve got to see this from my point of view.”

“Actually, Ms. Saulnier, I don’t. You’re a visiting law enforcement officer. That accords you professional courtesy””as I said earlier””but make no mistake, I do not have to understand your point of view. Rather, you need to understand mine.” He paused. “Your police chief strongly suggests you return home.”

“He’s not my police chief,” Margot corrected.

“He said you’re good, the best, but you’re mistaken this time.”

“Did it occur to you he might be mistaken?”

“I’m not in a position to judge him.”

“No, you’re not. You’re also not in any position to hassle me.”

“Not hassle,” McNeil began in a mild voice, “let’s just say I am in a position to advise. Though, given a choice, I’d prefer another position, altogether.”

She blinked. “You’re propositioning me?”

He shrugged. “How often does a man meet a beautiful Mississippi Deputy Sheriff?”

“Ex-Mississippi Deputy Sheriff.”

“Your badge hasn’t yet grown cold.”

“I doubt I’ll be here long enough for any position. By now, that gardener has reported to Cat, and she’s checking you out. By the time we’re finished with this walk, she’ll know Scotland Yard paid me a visit.”

He shook his head. “Cousin Harry sent me here to investigate the castle. He’s rich as the Devil, and is interested in bringing his wife here for holiday.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Margot shot back. “Cat will check you out””you ensured that by waylaying me.”

“Waylaying?” he repeated, voice laced with a heaping of amusement that made her want to throttle him. “Waylaying would be if I dragged you into those trees and had my way with you.”

Margot did a double take with the mental picture of her pressed against a tree, dress bunched up to her waist as his cock thrust hard and fast into her. His face snapped back into focus and she found him staring.

Heat spread across her cheeks at flashflood speed. “Cat won’t be fooled by a Scotland Yard cop showing up at Castle Morrison, no matter what story he spins.”

“She won’t find Charles McNeil on any employee list,” he replied.

“What? Scotland Yard’s cops aren’t clandestine.”

“Correct. But SAS is.”

“Special Air Services?” What kind of favor had Hicks called in? “What is special forces doing on a case like this?”

“John realized that a visit from a Bobby might compromise your cover so he called me.”

“John?”

“John Gordon.”

She gave a small nod. John Gordon, Chief Constable of the Northern Constabulary. She’d checked out local law enforcement before leaving the States. First Hicks was on her tail, now the head of the whole damn island.

Margot gave McNeil an appraising look. “That’s some favor your constable called in.”

“He’s a close friend.”

“What’d he do, save your life?”

“Something like that. So, where shall we go for dinner?”

She stared. “Are you kidding?”

He shrugged. “How better to keep you under surveillance?”

“You could simply leave me alone.”

He shook his head. “I have my orders.”

“Just what kind of uncover work do you do?”

He turned his gaze onto her “A kind sure to please you.”

Her pulse skittered, but she forced her chilly cop’s voice, “You’re damned sure of yourself.”

“I’m a trained professional. Shell we say seven? I know the perfect restaurant.”

Margot narrowed her eyes. “This is blackmail.”

He shrugged. “All part of the professional courtesy.”

“Professional courtesy, my ass,” she muttered, and wondered what Hicks would do if she sent him a thank you note for keeping tabs on her.

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