Iain knocked on the nursery building’s front door. He knew it was late, or early depending on what day you thought it was, but he had to see her. He’d tried to take a walk, to wait for a decent hour, but the potion bottle in his pocket was a hot little reminder of what he was expected to do. Was he bound by a spell? Was his judgment so wrong when he was with her? He trusted his family. Yet what he felt when he stood near Jane was…magickal. Pure magick. Not a spell. Not a trick. Magick—natural, raw, primal. He was sure of it. “Jane, are ya there?” “Iain?” A sleepy Jane appeared on the other side of the glass door. Her pajama pants and T-shirt were wrinkled, matching her disheveled hair. She yawned and scratched her hip. “What are you doing here?” Guilt filled him at the very sight of her. A man did not call upon a lady at this hour. What was he doing? He didn’t want to give her the potion. It didn’t matter how valid of a point his family made, he trusted Jane.
