We couldn’t leave you today without a smidge of Helen’s newest book in her Magic Knot Fairies series, The Phoenix Charm.

If you’ve read The Magic Knot, you know that Michael, Niall’s twin, is as sexy as can be but a little irresponsible. Boy, are you in for a surprise when it comes to that roguish twin!

If you’ve not read Helen’s work yet, you need to get busy. No paranormal fan wants to miss out on stuff this good. And if you’re not into the paranormal all that much, you will be a convert by the end of this book. That’s guaranteed!  Here’s a little something to get you started:

HE’S PURE TEMPTATION.
Cordelia has sworn she’ll abstain from looking into Michael’s future–particularly when the image in the gilded smoke of her divination mirror shows him half naked. Yet she can’t resist watching the sexy rascal slowly running his hand down his ribs, over his abdomen, flicking open the button on his jeans with a little flourish like a magician performing a trick.
SHE’S TRYING TO RESIST.
Respectable wise woman Cordelia restrains her secret water nymph sensuality with the Celtic symbols painted on her skin. But Michael’s powerful fairy glamour leaves her breathless, off balance, struggling for control. When Gwyn ap Nudd, the Welsh King of the Underworld, steals away Michael’s infant nephew, Cordelia must work with him to save the child. But how can she trust her instincts with Michael tempting her to explore the hidden elemental depths of her nature and insisting that she believe in the power of…The Phoenix Charm.  Now on to the good stuff…….

Chapter One

The sun sank into the Atlantic, painting the water molten gold and casting a warm glow over the granite manor house set atop the rocky cliffs of Cornwall. After years of neglect, Trevelion Manor, ancestral home of the Cornish pisky troop, now thrived under the care of the new pisky king and queen. Sun sparkled off the tiny diamond panes of glass in the windows. Tumbling creepers dotted with purple and yellow flowers clothed the walls, while granite tubs on the terrace overflowed with scarlet, pink, and white geraniums.

Seated on a Windsor chair at the table in the library, pisky wise woman Cordelia Tink paused at her work and glanced out the open window, inhaling the floral-scented air. She ran her hand down the crease of the huge leather-bound book laid on the table before her and took a moment to reread the last few paragraphs she’d written. With a sigh, she set aside her pen and rubbed her eyes.

The task of recording the history of the pisky troop fell to her, but she would have gladly handed the job to another of the piskies. Two years ago, Niall and Rose O’Connor, the new pisky king and queen, had rescued the troop from thirty years of imprisonment in the shadowy nothingness between life and death called in-between. Today, Cordelia had finally summoned the strength to relive her failure to protect her people from that horror and enter an account in the pisky annals.

Lazing in the last few rays of sunlight on the desk at Cordelia’s side, her gray cat Tamsy opened one eye. She peered at Cordelia critically and flicked her tail. “You’re right, poppet.” Cordelia nodded to her cat. “Enough doom and gloom for one day.” Cordelia closed the book with a thud and pushed it away.

She stroked the soft fur on Tamsy’s belly and smiled at the rumbling purr of response. What she needed was something to take her mind off the past—something pleasurable. Just the word “pleasure” summoned the image of Michael O’Connor’s seductive smile in her mind. A quiver of awareness ran across her skin, light and tickly as the brush of a feather. She’d once seen him do that—trail a feather across a woman’s naked body…

Cordelia screwed her eyes closed, trying to rid herself of the image she’d seen while foretelling his future. Instead, the memory became clearer, his long naked body spread languorously on the sheets while he brushed the feather over the woman’s breasts.

Cordelia stood and swiped her hands down the front of her dress to rid herself of the tingling sensation tightening her skin.

Although the pisky king Niall O’Connor was not Cornish, but half noble Irish Tuatha Dè Danaan and half leprechaun, he was a strong, caring leader they could depend on. How the womanizing rascal Michael could be related to Niall, let alone be his twin brother, baffled her.

She pressed her hand to her bodice where the hot thud of Michael’s psychic presence beat in her chest like a second heart. She was powerful enough that fairy glamour didn’t affect her, with one darned annoying exception—Michael O’Connor.

Unwillingly, her eyes rose to the silver divination dish she used to foretell the future. The skin on her scalp prickled and her cheeks warmed as she tried to pretend she wasn’t thinking of doing what she was thinking of doing.

“Not again. I promised myself I’d abstain.” Despite the firmness of her tone, her feet were already moving toward the door. She pulled it open just enough to poke her head out and check that the hall was empty. The ancient oak creaked as if trying to alert someone to her wicked intent. She drew back quickly and turned the long iron key, grimacing at the thunk of the lock.

Pressing her back to the door, she rubbed her temples. In anticipation of what she was about to see, the sensual water nymph allure she’d inherited from her mother churned within the confines of the restrictive magical wards painted on her skin.

She drew a slow, deep breath and stared through the dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight at her divining dish. Were the gods themselves tempting her to indulge? Surely everyone was allowed one illicit pleasure—even she.

Tamsy sat up and watched with enigmatic gray eyes as Cordelia gave a defiant huff and marched back to her seat. She lit the three fat white candles floating in the silver, water-filled dish. Within seconds, wide ribbons of smoke rose before her.

Raising a hand, she sketched a magical symbol in the air. The smoke stilled and glazed over into a mirror. Her insides trembled expectantly while she concentrated on Michael’s psychic signature and waited for an image of his future to appear in the shiny surface.

She pressed her fingers to her lips as the picture became clearer. When she peeped into Michael’s future, half the time she saw him performing routine activities at the pub he owned in a nearby village, the other half…

Her breath caught. She stared, too entranced to blink as an image of Michael’s naked shoulders and lean back filled her scrying surface. Muscles rippled beneath smooth skin when he moved. His biceps clenched as he lifted a hand and flicked back a handful of dark wavy hair from his face.

A woman appeared before him, an indistinct form clothed in muted colors. When Cordelia watched Michael, she chose to ignore the identity of his numerous human lovers. All her attention focused on him.

Cordelia’s heart thudded as he prowled forward, faded jeans riding low on his hips. Slowly, sensuously, he ran his hand down his ribs, over his abdomen, flicked open the buttons on his fly one by one with a little flourish of his hand like a magician performing a trick. Although it was no white rabbit he was about to pull out. As the last button popped and the jeans slid lower, a small needy sound escaped Cordelia’s lips. Heat flashed across her flesh, gathered and swirled, a hot whirlpool in her belly. Her sensual water nymph allure flowed closer to her skin, preparing to draw in and capture the man she desired. When the energies met the barrier of the magical Celtic symbols painted on her skin, her temperature shot up as though she were trapped in a pressure cooker.

She flapped a hand in front of her face, fanning herself. If she kept watching Michael, she would expire from lust.

Although she was burning up, a breath of chill through the window raised goose bumps on her arms. She caught a whiff of something rotten on the breeze and reluctantly dragged her eyes from Michael to glance out at the twilight sky.

When she looked back to the divination mirror, darkness oozed across the gilded smoke like oil on water, obscuring Michael and his faceless woman. Cordelia blinked in surprise and leaned closer to get a better view. A howl issued from the murky surface, a mournful wail that slashed fear through her. Her cat shot to its feet, fur on end, puffed up to twice her normal size. Hidden within the mirror’s shadowy image, other creatures joined the lament until the eerie clamor of baying filled the room.

Tamsy scooted off the table and crouched beneath a chair in front of the huge stone fireplace, but Cordelia had no time to comfort her. She stared at her divination mirror, searching the gloom for any clue to the meaning of the augury. Was this still Michael’s foretelling? Had another possible future for him intruded? The hair on her neck prickled when pairs of small red dots appeared. They looked like animal’s eyes glowing evilly in the darkness.

Her fists curled against the table as the memory of being imprisoned in-between crawled back to haunt her. Then, on the edge of perception, a whispered name snapped her to attention, trapped the breath in her lungs.

Gwyn ap Nudd.

The King of the Underworld.

Her concentration shattered. The murky image dissolved with a pop, scattering wisps of smoke. Her eyes watered, and she waved a hand to clear the air. The thought of the red-eyed creatures unsettled her, but more worrying was the fact that the whispered words had not come from the mirror. Someone nearby in Cornwall had actually spoken the name Gwyn ap Nudd.

She thrust out her awareness, tried to identify who’d called the King of the Underworld. Behind the deep pulse of Michael’s psychic signature, the members of the Cornish pisky troop filled her senses with the white noise of their presence. Cordelia focused on the lingering chill of the dreadful name.

She was sure the call had not originated from inside the manor. She puffed a misty sigh of relief in the cold air, wishing the granite fireplace held a roaring fire instead of a stoneware pot full of dahlias.

What would happen if the Welsh King of the Underworld answered the summons and came to Cornwall? Niall and Rose had left for two weeks to search for displaced piskies in America, leaving her in charge. Why on Earth did this have to happen now? Cordelia glanced at the Queen Anne clock on the oak mantelpiece. They’d already be in the air over the Atlantic. The earliest she could call them for advice would be the following day.

She traced her finger across a lacy layer of ice that had formed on the water in her divination dish, and shivered. When the pisky troop had been trapped thirty years ago, she should have foreseen the danger, but she’d been so distracted by the old king’s death, she had let her duties slide. This time she wouldn’t let the piskies down.

She glanced at the rows of massive leather-bound tomes holding records of pisky life going back centuries. She must find out quickly if the piskies had any history of conflict with Gwyn ap Nudd or the Welsh fairies in his domain.

Tamsy slunk out from beneath the chair and jumped on the desk. She padded closer, mewed softly, and butted her forehead on Cordelia’s chin.

Cordelia laid her cheek against Tamsy’s shoulder and considered what to do. She couldn’t check through a whole shelf of books in one night on her own.

She winced. “Oh, rats’ tails!” If she needed help, the logical choice was Michael. Not only was he the pisky king’s brother, but while the king and queen were away, he was responsible for their twin boys. He had a right to know immediately if the children might be in danger.

With luck, she might catch him upstairs putting the babies to bed before he went down to the great hall below the manor house for the night’s entertainment. In Ireland, he’d been Seanchai, the official storyteller in the Irish fairy court. Now that he lived in Cornwall with the piskies, he’d fallen into the routine of telling a tall tale to the assembled troop most evenings.

Cordelia stood and peered at her rosy cheeks in a small mirror near the door and thanked the gods that Michael would never guess the reason she was flushed. She fastened the three small buttons on the front of her dress, closing the garment to her throat.

When she reached the nursery, she found Michael’s leprechaun half sister Ana dozing in a chair beside the cot, keeping watch over the babies. But no sign of Michael.

She huffed as she closed the door. Tamsy wound between her legs and looked up at her with inscrutable gray eyes. “All right, I know. I’ll have to look for him in the great hall.”

After she descended the stairs, she strode purposefully along the moth-eaten carpet runner covering the passage. She’d rather stick pins in her eyes than walk into the packed hall and interrupt Michael when he was telling a story, but if she wanted his help, she had no choice.

When she reached the top of the narrow staircase that led beneath the house, she paused for Tamsy to catch up, and grabbed a fortifying breath. Then she descended to the rooms carved from the granite underneath the manor grounds. At the bottom, she grasped the doorknob for a couple of heartbeats before she pushed the door open.

The jaunty beat of Irish music assailed her.

She slipped in and pressed her back to the wall, hugging the shadows. Rising on tiptoe, she peered between the tall brown-haired piskies. Most of them worked the land, turned wood or forged metal, and lived in cottages around the estate. Many were still dressed casually in work clothes, but a few had donned brightly colored jackets and hats in anticipation of the rowdy evening that always ensued when Michael told one of his bawdy tales.

A lump formed in her throat when she glimpsed Michael O’Connor on the far side of the room putting a mug down on the bar. His shaggy dark hair shone in the low light. The divine masculine shape of his wide shoulders and narrow hips silhouetted against the lamplight sent a hot shiver through her. How she hoped she could get the image of him naked out of her mind before she talked to him.

Michael grabbed the hand of an older pisky woman. She grinned up at Michael like a teenager on her first date and giggled as he spun her into a dance. The piskies clapped to the beat. Cordelia plucked at the neck of her dress, the collar tight on her clammy skin. Despite its size, the confounded hall was always stuffy in the evenings.

Tamsy pressed her silky body against Cordelia’s legs. Relieved at the distraction, Cordelia scooped the cat into her arms. She rested her cheek on Tamsy’s head and watched the laughing crowd of piskies.

Mewing, Tamsy turned a speculative eye on Cordelia. “I know.” She buffed the top of the cat’s head with her fingers. “No need to bully me. I’m about to ask him.”

Michael had escorted his partner to her seat and was now weaving between the tables toward his storytelling stool. As usual, the spiky auburn hair of her ward, Thorn, marked his presence a few steps behind Michael. She wished Thorn had chosen a more suitable male role model: Niall for instance. But at least Michael had generously taken the young man under his wing. She couldn’t fault him for that.

Cordelia threaded her way through the crowd. When people noticed her, they stepped aside with deferential nods. She pasted on her serene wise woman mask and held her head high.

When she entered the brighter circle of light near the bar, Michael looked toward her. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and flicked up his eyebrows in question. Cordelia nodded in answer to his unspoken query. He grinned the wide seductive smile that had women falling at his feet.

Streamers of heat unfurled inside her, rippled beneath her skin. Her heart raced and she gritted her teeth. She could hardly think straight when she got close to Michael. But she’d eat worms before she admitted as much. The reprobate was already far too cocky.

He held out his arms and shimmied sideways between the tables, heading in her direction. The disreputable faded jeans he wore were the ones she’d just watched him unbutton. Cordelia swallowed. She wanted to look away; she really did. But his fairy glamour entranced her so much, she couldn’t fight the compulsion to stare.

Since St. Patrick’s Day, he’d insisted on wearing a green trilby with shamrocks embroidered on the band. He turned to face her, tilted the hat at a rakish angle on his mop of dark wavy hair, and captured her with his sinful blue gaze.

“You be wanting me, darlin’?”

Cordelia opened her mouth to answer, but there didn’t seem to be any air in her lungs. She sucked in an embarrassing gasp that made Michael’s lips twitch. “I need to speak to you on troop business.”

Michael reached out and rubbed a finger underneath Tamsy’s chin. The cat tipped back her head and purred, vibrating against Cordelia’s chest.

“Here’s me hoping you might be wanting me for something a tad more interesting.” As his finger lazily caressed Tamsy’s fur, he glanced up at Cordelia from beneath his lashes. A hot spurt of desire shot through her body, making her legs tremble.

This is ridiculous.

Fantasizing about him in private was one thing, being seduced by his glamour like a gullible human was another. After the effort her grandmother and father had put into hiding her uncontrollable sensual allure, she couldn’t let them down and shame herself—again. The price she’d paid the one time she defied them still haunted her night and day. Cordelia tightened her arms around Tamsy, shielding herself. The poor creature squeaked and Cordelia hastily loosened her grip.

“This is no time for joking. It’s a matter of urgency.” Someone chose that moment to reduce the volume of the music. Her final word came out rather louder than she intended. A few anxious glances shot her way.

She smiled reassuringly. The last thing she wanted was panic.

With a nod toward the exit she said, “Come upstairs where we can talk in private.” She ignored the wicked sparkle in Michael’s eyes.

“Your wish is my command, darlin’.”

In the two years since she’d met Michael, Cordelia could count on one hand the times they’d exchanged more than a polite greeting. Yet the way he called her darling with that deep Irish lilt to his voice was exactly the way he spoke to the women she watched him take to bed. She reached the door and ascended the first few steps, then paused and looked back at him. “I’d rather you didn’t call me…darling. I don’t feel the name’s appropriate.” And if he kept speaking to her in that tone of voice, she was likely to muddle fantasy with reality.

He grinned up at her, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

With a sigh of exasperation, mostly at her own ludicrous reaction to him, she hurried up the stairs, promising herself she was strong enough to ignore his glamour.

He grinned as he stopped in the doorway at the top and rested his shoulder against the frame. “Maybe I should call you sugarplum? You have the sweet ripe fullness of fruit ready to be—”

“Michael!”

In the silence that followed her explosive retort, all she could think was ready to be what? A small part of her wished she hadn’t interrupted him.

And she hated that she fell for his suggestive banter.

Anger bubbled up, giving her words a harsh edge. “Just call me Cordelia in a normal tone of voice like everyone else.”

He flicked up his eyebrows, unabashed.

“Enough nonsense.” Cordelia smoothed her skirt, reluctant to admit she needed his help. “While I was foretelling in the library, darkness invaded my divination mirror. I also heard someone whisper the given name of the Welsh King of the Underworld.”

The mischievous half smile that always hovered on Michael’s lips dropped away. He pushed off the door frame and straightened, his expression serious.

“When did this happen, lass?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, turned, and glanced up the stairs. “Ruddy Badba,” he cursed. “I hope the babies are safe.”

Before she could reassure him that she’d just visited the nursery and the boys were fine, he took off, running up the stairs two at a time. She stared up at the landing while he put his head in the nursery door.

Thirty seconds later, he closed the door quietly and descended more slowly, a look of relief on his face.

“The babies are still there. When we tried to put them to bed, I half expected them to disappear and reappear somewhere else.” At Cordelia’s raised eyebrows he continued. “The rascals have just discovered they can walk unseen like me father.”

Cordelia shook her head in disbelief. Rose had told her the children took after their air elemental grandfather. But it had never occurred to her the children would exhibit the rare air elemental gift of walking unseen: disappearing and reappearing in another place.

“What sort of threat do you think Gwyn ap Nudd could be?” Michael asked.

“We’ve had no dealings with him during my life, but it’s possible he holds an ancient grudge against the piskies. You know what long memories these immortals have.”

He nodded and something dark passed behind his eyes. “Aye, I know.”

When Michael and Niall had lived in the Irish fairy court, Niall had apparently had problems dealing with the self-obsessed Irish fairy queen. Perhaps life had been just as difficult for Michael.

“I want to check through the pisky troop records for references to Gwyn, but there are at least fifty volumes in the library. I need another set of eyes to help me.”

Michael took off his trilby and ran his hand through his hair, lifting the luxuriant chestnut waves off his face, then letting them tumble back. All thought deserted her as she watched the silky strands settle against his skin.

“‘Tis not a problem, lass. I’ll gladly offer you me eyes. I read fast, so we’ll be through the books in no time.”

Cordelia blinked, pulled her attention back to the conversation. Michael O’Connor might be a master storyteller, but the possibility of his speed-reading seemed as unlikely as his sprouting wings. “Great. Thank you,” she uttered, feeling a touch guilty for doubting his word when he’d offered to help. “I’d rather not involve anyone else until we know if the danger is real.”

Michael nodded and popped his green hat squarely on his head. “We don’t want to go causing alarm, to be sure.”

He extended an arm graciously in the direction of the library and smiled, a hint of mischief creeping back into his expression. “Lead on, sugarplum.”

For a moment, Cordelia debated whether to argue over her name. With a sigh, she decided she must choose her battles, and this wasn’t important. She marched off toward the library, acutely aware of him striding behind her, probably ogling her bottom.

* * * * *

Michael enjoyed the view as he paced along the hall to the library. Cordelia Tink might be uptight, but she had a damn fine arse. Although she’d covered herself from head to foot in a nondescript gray dress, it hugged every curve—and she had plenty of curves to hug. Her waist nipped in neat and small, accentuating the sweet roundness of one of the sexiest rumps he’d ever seen.

Realizing she’d halted, he raised his eyes to find her peering at him over her shoulder with a frown.

Oops.

He did the same thing he always did when he was caught out–grinned, infusing the expression with glamour.

She rolled her eyes and pointed at the massive green leather-bound books that filled the bottom two shelves of the wall facing the fireplace. “We need to start from…here,” she said, resting a hand on a book.

Michael dragged out five volumes and hefted them onto the desk where she’d cleared a space. “A bit dusty.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and then drew in a deep breath.

Her hand shot up. “Don’t you dare.”

Confused, he let the air go.

“You’ll spread dust everywhere if you blow it.” She marched to her desk, pulled a duster from the drawer, and arched an eyebrow at him.

He stepped away, leaned an elbow on a chair back, and watched while she dusted each book, shaking the cloth out the window at regular intervals. Niall was always full of praise for Cordelia’s prophetic skills and thoughtful advice. But on the one occasion Michael had approached her because he thought having his future read would be fun, she’d nearly bitten his head off. According to her, she wasn’t a carnival sideshow for his entertainment.

Her gaze flicked up to him, then darted back to her book. She was attractive in a repressed way, as though she didn’t want anyone to notice. But whatever she wore, she couldn’t hide the fact she had a damn fine body, and incredible hair. Up close, he could distinguish pale gold strands mingled with the dark, and her braid was as thick as his wrist. He imagined her naked, her loose hair draping her shoulders like a cloak. He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. She’d be all covered up, but he’d bet her nipples would poke through.

“Michael.”

He jumped guiltily.

“Are you going to help me or not?” She held out a dusted volume.

Book in hand, he settled in one of the wing chairs before the fireplace. He’d tried not to worry about Gwyn ap Nudd, but the possibility his nephews were in danger flipped his stomach with a sick lurch. He pictured the sleepy little lads snuggled together in the cot they shared. The mantle of responsibility hung awkwardly on his shoulders, but he would do whatever was necessary to protect them. He loved the boys. Besides, Niall would string him up if he let anything happen to them.

Taking a steady breath, he focused his concentration on the key words to search for, then scanned the first page, flipped it over, scanned the next page, flipped, read, flipped, read—

“Michael! If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll find someone else to help.”

He blinked, adjusting his gaze. “Crikey O’Reilly, lass, I can’t go any faster.”

Confusion swept the annoyance from her face. She set down her book and swiveled in her chair to face him. “You’re reading the pages?”

“Aye.” He grinned. “I’m thinking you didn’t believe me when I said I could read fast?”

She opened her mouth—closed it again without making a sound, her gray eyes huge and soft. Beautiful eyes. Not like the normal pisky earth elemental brown or hazel. Somewhere in her lineage, she must have an ancestor who was not a Cornish pisky.

Cordelia swallowed audibly. “You’re sure you know what’s on each page?”

“Aye.” He gave her a moment to absorb the truth.

She stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown an extra head, but in a good way, as though the extra head impressed her more than the original. The possibility that reading fast would impress females had never occurred to him. Actually, he didn’t need any help attracting women. His local fame for telling tall tales meant there were always eager human women crowding his bar on the lookout for fun. Using his fairy glamour it was oh so easy to send them home with lovely memories but no recollection of his face or name.

Cordelia cleared her throat and turned back to her page. Michael settled again and did the same. When he finished the book, he placed it back on the shelf, and selected another from the pile. He forbore to comment that Cordelia was only on the tenth page of her first book. Ms. Starchy Pants would not appreciate the comparison.

As he prepared to start his second book, the library door cracked open. His friend Nightshade, the vampiric fairy, poked in his head. The lamplight cast a sheen on his ebony skin, and his silver eyes glinted with predatory satisfaction. Michael suppressed a sigh. Since he’d allowed the nightstalker to bite him and forge a blood bond between them two years ago, Nightshade hardly let him out of his sight. The way the vampire watched his every move was worse than being handfasted to a jealous woman.

Nightshade sauntered in, bare-chested, his wings folded tight to his back. He tilted his head and with one hand swept his long black hair off his face “I wondered what had become of you, bard. They’re asking for you in the great hall.”

Michael smacked his forehead. “I can’t believe I’ve gone and forgot about tonight’s tale. You’ll have to tell one.”

The vampiric fairy gave Michael an incredulous look.

“Erm, you’re right. ‘Tis a bad idea.” Although Nightshade’s mother had been a pisky, and his nightstalker father had left before his birth, Nightshade had confided that he’d always felt like an outsider. Thirty years ago, he’d betrayed the piskies and conspired with an evil druid to trap them in between life and death. He’d later repented and helped Niall and Rose free the troop, but the piskies had never forgiven him.

“Could Thorn tell a story? He’s listened to you often enough.” As Nightshade spoke, Thorn’s cheeky grin appeared around the door.

“I’ve been down to the hall and told them you’re busy tonight and won’t be back.” Thorn’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “They assumed I meant busy with the babies.”

Thorn dogged Michael’s heels, but the lad was full of fun. He’d just turned twenty and needed some mates to have a laugh with. Michael had no idea what had happened to the young man’s parents. Cordelia seemed to be his surrogate mother.

Thorn grinned. “Hello, Dee. What you doing?” Without waiting for her to answer, he hurried to Michael’s side and stared eagerly at the book on his lap. “Can I help?”

Cordelia released a resigned sigh, nodded, and placed a hand on the pile of books. “Grab one each and make yourselves comfortable. We’re looking for any reference to Gwyn ap Nudd, Welsh King of the Underworld.”

Thorn lifted a book and took the chair across from Cordelia. Nightshade remained standing, hands on hips. “Why?”

Cordelia rubbed her temples. When her eyes met Nightshade’s, the tension in the room thrummed. “Someone nearby called his name this evening. I need to know if he has any reason to threaten the piskies.”

Nightshade remained rooted to the spot. Cordelia stared at him, her soft gray eyes now hard as flint, her lips pinched. The antipathy rolled off her in waves, far stronger than the other piskies’ dislike. Michael’s curiosity pricked to know what had happened between them to cause such hostility.

When Nightshade continued to glare at Cordelia, Michael decided that as he was blood-bonded to the vampire, he might as well make use of the connection. “You going to be helping us or not, boyo?” he asked softly.

The tension snapped when the nightstalker turned to him, his gaze softening. “Whatever you want, bard.” He gave Michael’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then hefted two volumes off the table before claiming the seat beside Michael.

Michael purposely avoided Cordelia’s questioning gaze. He did not want to explain his relationship with Nightshade. Ms. Prim and Proper would disapprove of the fact that he’d enjoyed the illicit pleasure of a vampire’s bite.

He resumed flipping pages. He knew little about the Welsh fairy king, but as Cordelia had observed, these immortals could be difficult. Growing up in the Irish fairy court, Michael had learned to survive the whims, wiles, and spiteful temper of the Irish fairy queen. If Gwyn were at all like the Queen of Nightmares, he did not want to meet him anytime soon.

If you’re looking for something different to read, something fun, magical, and romantic, then The Magic Knot by Helen Scott Taylor is for you.

You will fall in love with the writing, the characters — even the bad boy — and the uniqueness of this story. And it’s just the beginning, the first book in Helen’s Magic Knot Fairies series. There’ so much more to come!

Here’s just a taste before the main course:

HE’S A BIKER WITH AN ATTITUDE
What woman wouldn’t be attracted to Niall O’Connor’s soft Irish brogue and dark good looks? But Rosenwyn Tremain must find her father, and she isn’t going to let a sexy, stubborn Irishman and his motorcycle distract her. Rose’s intuition tells her he’s hiding something, a secret even the cards cannot divine. Her tarot deck always reads true, but how can one man represent both Justice and Betrayal?

SHE’S A WOMAN ON A MISSION
Magic. Niall’s body tingles with it when he finds the woman snooping in his room. Rosenwyn might believe she’s a no-nonsense accountant, but her essence whispers to him of ancient fairy magic that enslaves even as it seduces. Her heritage could endanger those he’d die to protect, but her powers and her passion, if properly awakened, might be the only thing that can save both their families, vanquish a fairy queen bent on revenge, and fulfill a prophecy that will bind their hearts together with…THE MAGIC KNOT.

THE MAGIC KNOT

Now that his jacket was off, she could see that his shirtsleeves  were folded up. She examined the webbing and Velcro wrist sheaths, each holding a  crystal-bladed knife. “How very untraditional of you.”

He opened the Velcro and dropped the knives and sheaths onto the nightstand. “ ’Tis more comfortable and con venient. I told you, lass, I value practicality.”

With a relaxed smile, he took her hand and drew her toward the side of the bed. “Unless me sums are wrong, I’ve removed three pieces of clothing, and you’ve taken off only one.” He hooked one of his sexy long fingers beneath the shoulder strap of her bra and flicked his eyebrows. “I’m thinking ’tis your turn again.”

Rose laid her hands on his chest and reveled in the flex of muscle beneath his shirt. Soon she would have her hands on his skin. All her inhibitions fell away as she grinned up at him. His eyes glowed with pleasure. For a moment time seemed to stop. Was it possible to lose oneself in the gap between seconds and feel like this forever?

Niall blinked; her heart stumbled and she snatched a breath. “Weapons don’t count,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Who says?”

“Me.”

With a little grunt, Niall wrapped an arm around her waist and flung her backward onto the bed.  Rose squealed as he trapped her legs between his knees and tickled her. “I say we get equal voting rights on this, and ’tis me vote that weapons count.”

He grazed his fingertips across the front of her pan ties. The muscles in  Rose’s stomach quivered and jumped. An aching clench of need grabbed low in her belly.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and stilled. Suddenly she didn’t care who took what off, as long as all the clothes came off and fast.

“I say we both take something off.” He nudged the tip of his finger beneath the waistband of her pan ties. Rose grabbed his wrist, felt his tendons flex beneath the skin. Their eyes met and held for a beat.  Rose remembered to breathe.

She pushed up on an elbow, unhooked her bra, and tossed it away without caring where it landed.

Niall stared at her breasts. A flush of arousal crept across his cheeks, and he licked his lips.

“Your turn,”  Rose said softly.

“Aye.” Niall pulled his shirt over his head without unfastening it.  Rose bit her lip, hard.

She’d imagined he’d look the same as Michael, but Niall’s muscles  were precisely defined, his body a living sculpture. With an unsteady hand she traced the bulge of his pecs, his ribs, the ridges of his abs, solid as warm wood beneath her fingertips. Anticipation rippled through her, making her hand tremble against his skin.

When she touched the waistband of his pants, his abs tightened and she heard him swallow. She glanced at his face, but he was looking down at her hand.  Rose brushed her fingers across the heavy cotton of his combat pants, and flattened her palm over the ridge of his erection.

Niall closed his eyes. His nostrils flared. In precise, economic movements, he stripped off the rest of his clothes.

Rose lay back and dug her fingers into the satin bed-covers. Heat sizzled beneath her skin as he moved toward her, lean muscles rippling beneath silky skin.

“Move back.” Niall knelt next to her, his eyes devouring her body as she slid up the bed. Stretching out beside her, he placed his palm on her belly and splayed his fingers. “You’re so smooth.”

Running her hands over his shoulders, she molded his muscles in her palms like a sculptor savoring her creation. He kissed her, his body warm and heavy against her side. The swirling well of emotion filled her chest, leaving her  light- headed.

With work- calloused hands, Niall rubbed her breasts, cradling them in his palms, first one, then the other, as though he wanted to learn her shape.  Rose closed her eyes as his kneading fingers shot silky ribbons of plea sure through her.

“Rose, lass.” He waited for her to open her eyes. “Watch me.” Then he touched the tip of his tongue to her nipple.

Oh, my God.

Rose flexed against him. Wanting more. Wanting everything. Now.

When he closed his mouth over her breast and sucked, flashes of fire raced across her skin, igniting a flaming core of need low in her belly.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she pulled him closer, moving her thigh against the hot, hard length of his erection. With a small grunt of pleasure, he rubbed against her, the friction sending shocks of desire into her tender places. She pressed her nose to his face, drugging herself with the fragrance of him: green leaves, spicy wood, the tang of mountain air.

The bumps and hollows of his muscles flexed beneath her palm as she fingered his biceps. She ran her hand along the taut strength of his forearm, his ribs, gripped the angle of his hip. He stilled when her fingers drifted onto his belly, hissed in a breath as her hand slid lower. Wrapping her fingers around his hard, silky shaft, she explored the sensitive parts of him until he gasped and pulled away.

Niall raised his head, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, pupils huge and dark. “I want you naked.”

With shaky legs,  Rose lifted her hips. He stripped her panties and tossed them away.

Niall sprawled over her, heavy, hard, hot, pressing her into the soft embrace of the mattress. Her Magic Knot around his neck throbbed between them. With the rough hunger of dwindling control, he found her mouth, demanded her body, and she gave him her soul.  Rose clutched at his back, wrapped her legs around his waist, lost herself in the sensual press of him against her delicate flesh.

“Not this way,” he mumbled, and raised his head. He slid to the side, exposing her to his gaze, and grazed his palm down her body to the join of her legs. He touched her with exploring fingers, watching her face as he found his way inside.

Rose closed her eyes, trembling on the edge of losing herself as he stroked.

He pressed his mouth against her ear. The wet tip of his tongue circled, and then he whispered, “Must be sitting up.”

She opened her eyes and watched him trail his hand up her body to rest over her heart. “Why?”

“ ’Tis the way it works, lass.” He pulled her into a sitting position, then balanced the pillows behind him and sat, his back against the ornate gold headboard. “Come  here.”

With gentle command, he steadied and guided her as she lowered herself onto his lap. Hands on his shoulders, she gazed, breathless with wonder, at the eager intent on his face. He nipped his lip between his teeth and stared at her body as though she  were a priceless treasure.

The fact that he trusted her enough to accept her Magic Knot and reveal his emotions brought tears to her eyes. He was normally so guarded. She would never hurt him, never make him regret this.  Rose framed his beautiful face in her hands and pressed her lips against his forehead, his eyes, his nose, breathing him in, languishing in the heat undulating around them like a warm sea.

Her career, her professional image, the ac cep tance of her  colleagues—none of it mattered anymore. Niall mattered. He’d help her make her future with the piskies. Confirmation of who she was and the ac cep tance she’d searched for all her life shone from his eyes.

Gripping her hips, he pulled her closer. The hot length of his erection pulsed against her belly. Heat exploded through her. Rose gasped before pressing her mouth to his.

“A ghrá.” Niall’s endearment whispered in her mind, wound silken threads around her heart. At his bidding, she let her weight carry her down on him. Colors exploded behind her eyelids as he slid inside. Holding her hips, he urged her down, pushing deep. Pleasure rippled up through her, sighing from her lips.

Rose pressed her cheek to his, shuddering as waves of sensual heat overtook her. Niall touched his mouth against her ear. “Move, my love. Move.”

She watched the pleasure on his face as he lifted her, then let her slide back down. The flash of blue between his dark lashes glowed inhumanly bright, the light of a million stars trapped in sapphires. He moved within her, physically and with the boundless caress of the infinite. Deep memories stirred within the fabric of her being, unfolding toward the light.

“Niall.” His name rolled over her tongue, dark and rich. Had she known he was the one from the first moment she saw him? “Niall,” she whispered against his lips, sharing the delicious sound.

They devoured each other with long, breathless kisses feeding mind, body, and spirit. Blissful peace ran deep and quiet beneath the sparkling ripples of pleasure that shook her body. She’d waited all her life for this. She trusted him. He wouldn’t let her down.

When the ache of delight grew too much to bear, Niall held her still and rubbed his lips over her face. “Steady, lass. Take your time.”

He stared into her eyes, his gaze so deep and intense it mesmerized her. Slowly he lifted her, then let her slide back on him.  Rose gripped his arms, his muscles granite hard as he took her weight. He rubbed the side of his nose against hers, nibbled her lips. Love consumed her, gave her the strength to forget what she’d been and become what she must.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for these feelings. Ecstasy pulsed in rhythm with her heart. Was this her inner fairy waking up?

“Now.” Niall urged her faster. Her thighs trembled as pleasure bloomed, a hot surge from her belly, streaking along her limbs, singeing the edges of her mind, consuming her. Niall put his face against her neck, held her down, grunted softly.

Rose pressed her lips into his hair, stilled, breathed him, tasted him, felt him around her, inside her. All was perfect in the world, and she never wanted to move again.

Niall sucked in a ragged breath against her skin. A tiny frisson of disquiet skittered through her. Warily she reached toward him mentally, and brushed cold ripples of pain. The breath locked in her throat. As cautiously as if she  were handling a panicked animal, she cradled his head, stroking his hair. Slowly increasing her connection, she let warmth and love flow into him. “Are you all right, my love?”

His eyes remained closed, lashes scrunched into dark semicircles against his skin. Disquiet grew into jagged spikes of fear. “Niall,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

Sandy M’s review of The Phoenix Charm (Magic Knot Fairies, Book 2) by Helen Scott Taylor
Contemporary Paranormal Romance published by Love Spell 29 Dec 09

It’s official, Helen Scott Taylor has become my newest favorite author. She has the magic touch, as far as I’m concerned, to give readers terrific characters, a unique storyline, and a lovely romance. This second book in her series is every bit as intriguing and charming as her first. If you haven’t read her yet, you should. If you’re not, you’re missing out on something very special.

Cordelia, the Pisky wise woman, is left in charge when the King and his wife are out of town. She’s always been drawn to Michael, the King’s twin, but because she’s half water nymph, she’s always kept her allure warded so havoc won’t ensue because men, including Michael,  lose control around her. In the Pisky realm there’s an accidental portal breach to the underworld, and because the King is not in attendance to help seal it, his son Finian is taken to ensure closure.

Michael is a lover of women, the clan storyteller who has a voice full of glamour that can entrance nearly any being. He’s always been free of responsibility, but when young Finian is placed in danger it’s up to Michael to rescue his nephew, even give his life if necessary for the return of his brother’s son. Journeying with Cordelia, her familiar and her ward, as well as Nightshade, a vampire who is blood bonded to Michael, they walk right into danger, death, and enlightenment, the last two courtesy of Michael’s father who bestows on him the Phoenix Charm, along with the knowledge Michael needs to finally know who and what he is.

I think I like this book even a little better than the first in the series, The Magic Knot, and I loved that one. Michael grows and steps into himself at first with doubt, then with stoicism, a little fear, and eventually a lot of pride. He’s one terrific hero. His love for his nephews is just as moving as his growing love for Cordelia, and she is the perfect heroine for him. She has her own battles to face, but when the chips are down, she’s as selfless as can be.

There is a side story for Nightshade that caught me off guard.  It’s tender and happy and I was completely taken with it. We also meet another son of Troy, who I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m hoping his story is what we might get next. He’s definitely hero material.

Good versus evil, life and death, magic, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, love of every kind imaginable, and, of course, romance are all just a smidgen of what you’ll find in this book. The writing is simply perfection, the emotion is raw and heartrending, the story is something you’ll not find anywhere else. You cannot miss by giving this book — this series — a chance. I think you’ll like it every bit as much as I did.

Grade: A+

Summary:

HE’S PURE TEMPTATION.
Cordelia has sworn she’ll abstain from looking into Michael’s future–particularly when the image in the gilded smoke of her divination mirror shows him half naked. Yet she can’t resist watching the sexy rascal slowly running his hand down his ribs, over his abdomen, flicking open the button on his jeans with a little flourish like a magician performing a trick.
SHE’S TRYING TO RESIST.
Respectable wise woman Cordelia restrains her secret water nymph sensuality with the Celtic symbols painted on her skin. But Michael’s powerful fairy glamour leaves her breathless, off balance, struggling for control. When Gwyn ap Nudd, the Welsh King of the Underworld, steals away Michael’s infant nephew, Cordelia must work with him to save the child. But how can she trust her instincts with Michael tempting her to explore the hidden elemental depths of her nature and insisting that she believe in the power of…The Phoenix Charm.

Read an excerpt. (scroll down halfway & click link)

Other books in this series: