Something about her mysterious air, the creative side of her jangled a similar place in him. She'd said she'd lost her land and been reduced to writing, and she'd been damned good at it. Loss had given them the same choices to make. Their goals were the same. Pick up the pieces and succeed at something else.

At the moment, his goal was to make Kitty Beebe tell all her New York friends that The Inn was the best bed and breakfast in South.

But could he get his guest to succumb to his charm, his talent. . .his obsession?

Change. That was what he needed. Change to his approach, his execution. He would make the Beebe woman fall in love with this place, with his very country until she didn't want to return to Ireland.

If he were to succeed at that, it meant giving up his resolve to stay out of a woman's way. It meant putting himself directly in her path and he knew what direction her path would be.

It was written on every page of her damn book.

Angry, he walked to the doorway of the shop and peered out. The rain hadn't let up since daybreak. The early spring green of the grasses was just appearing and he watched as birds fluttered in the ground beneath one of the oaks, playing. They were probably mating.

He turned away, unsettled. It had to do with Kitty. The first attractive woman who had not been a newlywed seeking an overnight stay on the way to a bigger, more fun honeymoon and he was in a dilemma.

Maybe Nikki was right. Maybe his interest had nothing to do with the fact she was a guest at The Inn.

And her book hadn't helped anything.

He'd read some of it while trying to go to sleep. The reminder of the Ireland he'd experienced with Carla was uncanny, and uncomfortable. Since then, he'd only wanted more. He fought the urge to pick it up every time he had spare time. What kind of woman could create such beauty and desire within a man just with simple words?

The reminder of that exact woman who rested in the house across the lawn made him collect the woodwork and walk out into the pelting rain.