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“I have. And I find you an intriguing mix of half-truths and stark honesty. I wonder what you are really like…We may never meet again, Rose, so perhaps you can let your hair down a bit? I promise not to get you drunk or lure you into bed. I like your company, and as I have nowhere to be, and I’m hoping you also have nowhere to be, that we can enjoy ea ch other’s conversation for as long as you would like to stay. ”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “You really are forthright, aren’t you?”

“It’s the best part about my culture,” he replied. He winked. “Well, that and football.”

She took another thoughtful sip, and Colin could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

He hoped she would take him up on his offer.

He knew from experience that English women weren’t cold or snobbish, although they were portrayed that way on television at home.

He knew them to be warm, witty, and kind, once you earned their trust enough for them to let their guards down a bit.

Usually, he had more than a few hours to earn that trust, but he had to make do with what he was given.

And he couldn’t let Rose walk out of his life yet; he needed more information so that he could find her again.

The pull toward her was one he couldn’t control, even if he wanted to.

The fact that he didn’t want to should have made him pause.

The fact that it didn’t should have made him run in the other direction.

He made her nervous? Hell, she frightened the living daylights out of him.

“I’m a simple person. I like reading, and rain, and quiet nights home,” she said.

Colin highly doubted she was simple , but he didn’t interrupt her.

“I’m terrible at small talk.”

“You’re doing fine with me,” he noted. The look on her face told him she hadn’t realized she was until that moment, and he wondered at her surprise. “Perhaps you’re at your best when you’re nervous.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, and she chuckled.

“Hardly. I’m usually walking into things, such as open doors, when nerves strike. Hmm.” She took a thoughtful sip of the stout and considered him, but then her eyes slid past him. “Poppies!” she exclaimed suddenly.

He frowned and resisted the urge to look behind him lest she dart away; he would lose her company forever. “Poppies? Is that a British football team?”

She flashed a true smile at him, and his stomach flipped as though he were a fifteen-year-old boy whose crush had finally noticed him.

She laughed. “No, of course not. But your cousin, the Irishman. He has poppies growing in his garden.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “There’s a lot of dissension between some of the English and the Irish. The Irish think poppies in Ireland are a sign of disrespect to the Irish veterans.”

“How so?”

Rose went on to tell him exactly why, but Colin didn’t hear a word of it.

Instead, he noted her intelligence, the sparkle in her eyes, the cadence of her voice.

The way the light breeze gently lifted the ends of her hair, as if daring him to touch it and see if it was as soft as it looked.

Her animated hands, used to accentuate her words, only stilled when her mouth stopped moving.

He was fascinated.

“The truth is, poppies are overlooked by most people until Remembrance Day, anyway. They’re just simple weeds, really,” she was saying.

“There’s that word again.”

“What word?” she asked, curiosity lighting her face.

“‘Simple.’ You said earlier you were simple…but I’m finding that not to be the case at all.”

She sat back and crossed her arms. “Oh?”

Instead of answering, he strode to the garden. He plucked a single poppy from the ground, then dragged his chair even closer to hers. “See this? How many colors do you see? ”

She pursed her lips. “Three. Red petals, black center, green stem.”

Colin gently plucked a petal. “Feel this. What do you feel?”

“I feel like I’m suddenly living in a child’s touch-and-feel book,” she quipped. When his laughter subsided, she said, “It feels like tissue paper. The kind you’d wrap around a book.”

“Look closer. Do you see anything other than red on those petals?”

She peered at it. “I must admit to never really looking at one, but yes, I see what you’re getting at. There are small veins of deeper reds, and even a bit of white on the edges.” She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the firelight, her hair shining in the surreal blue glow of the moon.

Colin’s gut clenched in a wholly unfamiliar way. “So…not so simple?”

Wordlessly, she nodded her head in agreement.

“It’s quite stunning when you take the time to really look at it,” he murmured.

She visibly shivered, but didn’t break eye contact. Heat suffused Colin; he was drawn to her, without explanation, without sense.

But he knew, without a doubt, that this woman held his destiny in her hands.

The thought snagged in his brain, rolling around in confusion until it settled, content, in its fate.

The moment stretched. Colin gravitated closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers, and his gaze refocused to her lips, which were slightly parted. Their breath mingled, and in the instant before his flesh touched hers, a loud crash came from the woods.

They both jumped to their feet.

“Wh-what was that?” she asked, twisting her hands.

“Sounded like a branch falling from a tree,” he replied, aching to take her into his arms .

“I didn’t realize how late it is! It was lovely to meet you. I have to get going.” She held out her hand. “May I borrow your phone?”

He reluctantly handed it to her, and before he realized what she was doing, she asked him for the address, then called a taxi to collect her. Colin frowned. “Wait a second. You walked all the way here without carrying a cell phone? What if something happened to you?”

She laughed. “Colin, no one other than my aunt has ever taken the time to fuss over me. When I escape to Ireland, I leave my cell phone in the house when I go walking because I don’t want to be bothered.

” She glanced up at the night sky. “I admit, though, that I don’t want to walk back in the dark. Those woods are creepy at night.”

“As long as you stick to the clearly marked path, you’d be fine during the day. But I agree with you—walking through them at night isn’t a smart move. Can I bring you home? I can cancel the taxi.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, thank you. This night was…” She paused, and he waited patiently for her to find her next words. She gave him a sweet smile. “This night was perfect. I want to remember it just like this, a perfect story.”

“Once upon a time,” he murmured, and her eyes widened in delight, “there was a beautiful flower. “During the day, the flower held its petals tight, so that only none could see them. But at night, when she was alone, and unfurled them in a glorious display of color.”

Her eyes unfocused slightly, trapped on his lips as he spoke.

“But then, one early summer’s night,” he continued, his voice low as he stepped towards her, “she stepped on a tree root.”

Rose choked on a laugh, but her eyes never left his mouth.

“And an unworthy caretaker convinced her to stay until her delicate petals recovered. She decided to grace him with her beauty, and after a few hours of conversation, she unfurled a bit of herself, and the caretaker was allowed a glimpse at that color. It was unlike anything he ever saw.”

“What color did he see?” she whispered, her body swaying closer.

“The deep red of a single, perfect Rose.” He stepped closer to her, enveloping her in his heat.

“I’m going to kiss you. Let me kiss you, or tell me no,” he said softly.

He took another step closer to her and placed his hand on her waist. The electricity nearly knocked him flat, and he knew if he didn’t kiss her, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he found her again and touched his lips to hers.

Slowly, gently, he drew her closer to him until their bodies were flush.

“Tell me no, Rose.”

She dragged in a ragged breath, her eyes not leaving his. He lowered his head, giving her more time to say no, praying she didn’t say no, but hoping that she did, for he was certain that the moment he touched his lips to hers, he would be lost forever.

“Tell me no,” he breathed, his forehead against hers.

She closed her eyes and reached for him…and finally, finally , he pressed his lips to hers.

Fireworks exploded behind his eyelids. Colin deepened the kiss, and she allowed it, wrapping her hands around his neck.

She fit perfectly against him, as though she had been created just for him, and he for her.

He brushed her tongue with his, tasting every bit of her mouth, committing it to memory.

Her smell invaded his senses, and he felt light-headed from the beauty of it, the power of it.

Suddenly, she broke the kiss, and Colin dimly realized the taxi was out front, honking its horn in aggravation.

“Don’t leave.” Hoarse, his words held a plea, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed more of this woman, more of her time, of her essence. His dark eyes searched her lighter ones, beseeching, but he saw panic descend .

She quickly stepped back, almost tripping. “I must. Thank you for…” She trailed off, then licked her lips and met his eyes. A shy, genuine smile danced across her mouth. “It was lovely to meet you, Colin.”

“You said that already,” he whispered, but she was already halfway around the house. As the taxi drove away, Colin stared up into the night sky and swore.

“Damn it.” Colin stared moodily into the tumbler, watching the amber whiskey as it swirled in the glass.

“If you wanted a Guinness, you could’ve just walked to the pub,” Reilly called out from the kitchen, irritation in his voice.

“Those were my last two! The courteous thing would’ve been to send a text to let me know, so I could’ve stopped off and grabbed more.

” Reilly sauntered into the living room and stopped cold.

“Well. You’ve moved onto my Jameson, it seems. What the hell happened to you? ”

Colin shook his head in defeat. “I don’t even know. She wandered into the garden tonight, and she stayed to have a drink. That turned into two drinks, and then a third, although the last two were waters.”

“I still can’t believe that you’re in Ireland for what? Five minutes? and a she wanders into my garden.” Reilly threw himself onto the couch next to Colin. “How do I always miss the female travelers?”

Colin rubbed his chin. “You know she’s from my time, Ry. She was just out for a walk and happened upon your garden.”

“Not the brightest move, to be wandering around an Irish forest.”

“No, no. She’s smart. Really smart. I got the impression that she reads a lot. Maybe the classics. She was kind of clumsy, but not in a bad way. Could laugh at herself, you know?”

“Ah,” Ry said, his eyes twinkling. “A smart, well-read, rather clumsy woman, out for a bit of exercise in Ireland. Poor thing couldn’t have been a looker. Tell me that I didn’t miss the company of a smart, clumsy, and beautiful woman? Because that would go to show how unfair life truly is…”

Colin groaned. “I think a better word is stunning.”

Reilly’s eyes narrowed. Colin continued to swirl his liquor, his eyes following the liquid around the base of the glass. “Stunning,” Ry echoed.

“Yeah. And the longer we talked, the more stunning she became. Dark brown hair, with these lighter streaks in it that only showed up when the sun hit it as it set. And her eyes…they were like honey. Unlike any eyes I’ve ever seen.” He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Reilly struggled to contain his grin. “By the saints, Colin, you seem to wax poetic about this lass. Who said romance is dead?”

“Chivalry,” Colin corrected him, finally meeting his cousin’s eyes. “Chivalry is dead.”

“Only if you sent her on her way without a proper kiss. What’s her name?”

Colin barked out a laugh. “She claims her name is Rose.”

Reilly flinched. “Claims? So the lass didn’t tell you, a stranger, her real name? I like her more and more. No ideas as to her real name, then?”

Colin miserably shook his head.

“When will you see your mysterious Rose next?”

“She leaves for London tomorrow. I have no idea how I’m going to find her again.”

Reilly blinked in astonishment. “You knew she was headed to London tomorrow, and you didn’t press for her real name? You really like to make things hard on yourself, lad. Do you think she might be your mate? ”

Colin thought back to the men he’d met who’d let their mates get away.

He hadn’t been able to travel back in time and tell them of the mistake they were making, but he’d wished he could after seeing the shells of men left.

None of those men had any family to live for, nor any reason to fight the battles of their clans.

They became husks of their former selves as the years dragged on, unable to settle for less than their life partner.

The women fared better—they usually married and had families of their own, but he wondered if they were truly happy.

Colin closed his eyes in defeat. “When I kissed her…” He shrugged helplessly. “Ry, it was as if everything in my world shifted into place.”

“Oh.” Reilly sat back and blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Colin replied miserably. “Oh.”

“You are flying out of here in seven hours, and you have that meeting for work tomorrow afternoon. You need to go to sleep, or at least try. There’s nothing you can do, short of calling the taxi company and getting the address.”

“Tried that,” Colin replied heavily. “They told me they would report me for stalking.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll have to look for her after I’m done with Emsworth. She said she works at a university library in the city, and her intelligence made that, at least, believable. I’ll go to every university until I find her.” He nodded firmly. “Simple.”

“There’s more than twenty universities in London,” Reilly informed him sympathetically. “But I’ll help you. We’ll find her. And let’s look on the bright side. It sounds like you found your soul mate, and she’s Irish.”

“She’s British.”

“Honest to God, Colin, can you do nothing right?”

Colin’s answer was to down the rest of his whiskey and reach for the bottle.