He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips for an old-fashioned kiss. Startled, she squashed a gasp of surprise. Although she'd seen him lift a man with one arm, his grip remained gentle with her. In fact, as he released her, his fingers drew over hers with sensual exploration.

She inhaled, her breath a little sharp as a twirl of sensation traveled up her arm and landed in her lower belly.Wow. Could a man get any sexier than this?

A smile curved one corner of his mouth for a second, almost as if...as if he knew what she'd been thinking. "Why did you come here if you know there is a serial killer lurking and that this whole town is haunted?"

She smiled. "I grew up here."

One of his eyebrows quirked upward. "Interesting. It doesn't make you immune to harm."

Damn the man. "I realize that. I just got here today and wanted some pictures as the sun was setting. I didn't get a chance to take any shots before that idiot jumped out at me."

Ronan shook his head. Another miniscule movement of his lips, a tiny twitch of amusement. "You were lucky he wasn't the serial killer. You should leave town and not come back."

She bristled. "I know my way around here, and a person can't live their life running from fear all the time."

He shifted closer and she caught a whiff of leather, bergamot, and another spice she couldn't identify. He smelled so delicious. Arousal heated her face with a blush.

"Sure, and you may think common self-defense is enough, but it isn't. Not against this killer. You cannot fight him."

How do I know it isn't you?

"How do you know it's not me?" he asked.

An eerie shiver ran through her as he echoed her thoughts. As powerful as this man appeared, she wouldn't have much chance of escape. Clarissa wondered if she'd made the worst mistake of her life.

Reality and rising dread slapped her in the face. Her heart fluttered with a peculiar combination of fear and renewed admiration. "You saved me from the pirate just to hurt me?"

Ronan crossed his arms. "You heard me say this is my territory."

Think fast, Clarissa."I'm expected for dinner at six. If I don't show up they're going to come looking for me."

He nodded. "Undoubtedly. But if you're already dead, what good would it do if they found you?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"I might be."

Ire made her lash out. "Then get on with it. This witty repartee is starting to piss me off."

A laugh burst from his throat, deep, rumbling and tantalizing. She didn't want to feel anything for this irritating man, but the resonance in his laugh made desire center low in her stomach once again.

It was insane to feel yearning and trepidation at the same time. Absolutely, irrevocably nuts.

When had she encountered a man this contrary, this frightening and amazing at one time? Never. The fact she couldn't control it confused Clarissa down to the marrow.

"Are you willing to risk all you have for a feckin' photograph?" he asked. "And for what? A place of the dead? That's bollocks."

Irritated, she whirled and headed toward the front gate, intent on putting as many miles between her and the Irishman as she could. This situation was too weird.

Lightheadedness assaulted Clarissa and her eyelids fluttered. She swayed and reached out. Her hands landed on stone as she touched the side of a crypt and leaned against it.

Panic trembled in her chest.

Powerful arms reached around her waist and pulled her back against hard-as-rock muscles. She gasped and tried to writhe out of his grip. He clasped her wrists, effectively pinning her arms against her waist.God, he was so big. He could snap her like a twig.

Something primitive, old, and perceptive motivated this man. She knew it down deep with certainty. She'd experienced these uncanny sensations before about people.

Individuals who held secrets didn't realize she could sometimes see those mysteries when she touched them.

Just like she saw Ronan Kieran's.

Danger crackled and burned around him like untamable wild fire. Visions came alive as she excavated them from his mind.

The first vision slammed into her.

Ronan sat on a huge black warhorse, swinging a massive broadsword over his head in a gesture of defiance and strength. All around him mayhem raged. Other men rode horses toward a line of combatants holding axes, spears and swords. Archers drew back and firedlongbows and the volley of arrows pierced the air.

The visualization shifted like smoke on the breeze.

Weak, she sagged in his arms. Blurred images scurried into her mind.She saw him crouched over a petite young blonde woman dressed in gray garments. The blonde lay on an overgrown path, her throat punctured and dried blood on her dress. He pulled the blonde into his arms, andwhen he looked up from her ravaged body, his eyes held an untamable anguish. He closed his eyes, threw his head back and cried out, the sound of a man in inconceivable torment.

She jerked out of the revelation and struggled against his grip.

Ronan tucked her tight against his body. "Shhh. Easy. I'll not harm you."

"You killed her," she rasped, her throat so tight it hurt.

He stiffened. "Who?"

"The little blonde."

"Damn it woman, who are you talking about?"

Woman?Oh, now she was pissed. "On a path. Her throat was bitten-"

"How did you know about her?" His voice went hard and rough. "How did you know?"

"I saw it. A vision." Her voice weakened as fear rushed her.

If she expected to hear disbelief in his voice, she didn't.

"Don't speak of her again. I didn't kill her." Fresh pain entered his words, the rawness and authenticity so cruel it spilled into her system like acid.

Then clean sensations replaced her fear and ire. Pressed along his long, muscled body, everything focused to a fine point, an awareness of him as a man reaching deep into her sensibilities. Each breath she took sounded magnified, every brush of his body against hers created prickles across her skin.

"There are forces at work here you don't understand, Clarissa. Forces that would destroy you."

His words were potent, as effective as a sleeping draught for her senses. As his heat sheltered her against the cold night, she savored his strength as energy injected straight into her bloodstream. With one hand he tilted her head to the side. Warm breath puffed on her neck as he touched the side of her skull. A cross between a moan and a growl issued from his lips. Power seemed to radiate from him like the sun, a coiled strength she knew could protect or annihilate.

"Your head hurts a little?" he asked, the words tender.

Compelled to answer, she licked her dry lips. "Yes."