Heart Of The Sea goa-3

by Nora Roberts

  And his antenna began to quiver as Trevor played the opening bars.

  Quick, Nigel thought, lively, subtly sexy, and fun. Yes, Trevor was right, as always. They had a gold mine in Shawn Gallagher. And it wouldn't hurt to meet the man face-to-face, he supposed, even if it did mean traveling to Ireland. God help him.

  He listened, nodding to himself, then grinning when Trevor sang the lyrics. His friend had a strong voice, and still an easy one. But the words needed a female. Nigel recognized it at once.

  I'll have your hand

  I'll have your heart

  I'll have them all together.

  For if you think I'll settle for part,

  Prepare for stormy weather.

  Yes, a woman's song, confident, even arrogant and sexy.

  He opened his eyes again, and grinned as Trevor played it out. He wasn't an easy sell, but his foot was tapping before the song was done.

  "The man's a fucking genius," Nigel declared. "Simple, straightforward lyrics in a tangle of complicated notes. Not everyone can sing that one and punch it."

  "No, but I have someone in mind who can. Make arrangements for Ardmore, Nigel."

  Nigel took a pull on the designer water that was never beyond arm's reach. "If I must, I must. Now, is that the bulk of the business on our slate this afternoon?"

  "The bulk, yes. Why?"

  "Because I'd like to know, as an old and trusted friend, just what's crawling around under your skin.

  You're nervy, Trev, and it's not usual for you." He didn't like that it showed, was going to make damn sure it didn't before he saw Darcy again. "There's a woman."

  "Son, there's always a woman."

  "Not like this one. I brought her with me."

  "Oh, did you now? That's a new one." Each word was stretched long and full of meaning. "And when do

  I get to have a look at her?" Trevor sat again, ordered himself to relax. "Come to

  Ardmore," he said and directed the conversation back to business.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  She wasn't quite sure how to play it, and it did seem like being onstage. Should she be sitting in the splendor of the parlor having tea or a cocktail when Trevor returned? Or would it be more casual and sophisticated if she were up in the sitting room, passing the time with a book?

  Perhaps she should take a walk and not be there at all.

  In the end, not being sure of the lines or motivations of the character she appeared to be playing, Darcy prepared to dress for the evening. She took her time about it, and that was a luxury itself. Having buckets of time to loll in the bath, to make use of the lovely scented creams that were set about in antique bottles.

  Better to be ready, she decided as she smoothed the silky lotion on her legs, and avoid any awkwardness of just how and where the two of them were going to dress for dinner. Sex, as she saw it, was the final act in today's play, and she had to admit she was both eager for and nervous about the performance.

  Yes, much wiser to meet him in the sophisticated mode, wearing the little black dress. She would indeed go down, have a cocktail, so when he came in she would be sitting in that almost terrifyingly formal parlor, all sort of lady-of-the-manorish.

  Winthrup would probably serve little canap‚s-or did the butler do that? Well, no matter. She could offer him one as if she did such things every day.

  That was just how to play the part.

  When scented and polished, she stepped out of the bath to the bedroom just as Trevor stepped in from the hall, her stomach did a shaky flip. Time to ad-lib, she thought and put on her best smile.

  "Well, hello, there. I thought you'd be another hour or more."

  "I finished up early today." He kept his eyes on hers as he closed the door behind him. "And how was your day?"

  "Lovely, thank you." Why couldn't she get her legs to move? It would be far better if she could just stroll across the room. "I hope yours was successful."

  "It was worth the trip."

  As he stepped forward, she managed to shove herself away from the door, moved to the little table where she'd laid the bracelet. "I want to thank you for this. It's beautiful, and extravagant, which is nearly as important. We both know I shouldn't accept it."

  He closed the distance between them and, taking the bracelet, circled it around her wrist. "And we both know you will." He fastened it with a quiet click that echoed in her head.

  "I suppose we do. I've a hard time resisting the beautiful and extravagant."

  "Why resist?" Firmly, possessively, he laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them down the arms of her robe. "I don't intend to."

  It wasn't the way he'd planned it. He'd imagined it all very civilized. Drinks, then the sort of elegant dinner she'd enjoy, a quiet ride home, then a smooth, practiced seduction that would please them both.

  But here she was, in that long robe, her skin warm and fragrant from her bath, her eyes wary and watchful.

  Why resist?

  His gaze held hers as he loosened the tie of her robe. He watched the heat flicker in that deep, deep blue, heard the quick and quiet catch of her breath. Lowering his mouth to hers, he captured that breath, skimmed his hands under the thin material to trail his fingers up and down her sides.

  "Now." He murmured it, surprised that he had to fight off a shudder at just the touch of his fingertips to her flesh.

  "Well, then." She let her body have its way, lifted her arms around him.

  He meant to go slowly, to savor, to take them both up level by level. But the moment her mouth answered his, the instant her body pressed to his, greed swallowed him. It was as if he'd been waiting his whole life to taste this, to touch this, to have this.

  He jerked the robe off her shoulders and set his teeth on her.

  She gave a muffled cry, both pleasure and shock. In that flash of heat, she forgot all about role playing, motivation, consequences. Desperate for more, she tugged at his jacket, yanked and pulled until it was in a heap on the floor. His mouth was savaging hers, her hands dragging at his tie as they stumbled to the bed.

  Light going dim with evening poured through the windows, and the busy sounds of London traffic swished and coughed on the street below. The grand clock in the hall struck the hour of five. Then the only sound in the room were gasps and murmurs.

  She rolled with him over the luxurious duvet, sinking in, sliding over. Her fingers fought with the buttons of his shirt, and his pulled her robe aside. The weight of him pushed her deep into the covers, like sinking into clouds of silk, she thought, then he took her breast in his mouth and she didn't think at all.

  Fire and light and the sharp saber points of desire, the wild, unsteady roll of sheer lust. It filled her, and burned in the blood, and pushed a raw cry of delight from her throat.

  "Hurry." She all but chanted it. "Hurry, hurry, hurry." She'd die without him inside her. Frantically she struggled with the hook of his trousers.

  His fingers shook. The roar in his head was a thousand waves pounding on a thousand rocks. All he knew was that to wait a moment longer would destroy him.

  Her hips arched toward him, and he drove into her in one violent thrust.

  Their twin groans rippled the air, and their eyes met-shock mirroring shock. For a heartbeat, then two, they stared at each other.

  Then it was all movement, a frantic mating driven by hot blood. Flesh against flesh, the ragged strain of quickened breath, the low cry of a woman at peak. Bodies plunged together in a slick and sensuous dance.

  She came again, staggered that there could be so much, so very much. As her hands slid limply onto the rumpled covers, she felt him fall with her. And thought he said her name.

  She lay still, wrecked, wonderfully wrecked, with his face buried in her hair and his long, lovely body pressing hers into the bed. Now she knew, she thought, just what happened when his control snapped. And oh, it was a wild and marvelous thing.

  His heart still hammered, she could feel it knocking against hers. Drifting on that gilded p
lateau of contentment, she turned her head and skimmed her lips over his shoulder.

  That one gesture had him opening his eyes, struggling to clear his head again. She seemed soft as water under him, limp as melted wax and nothing like the frenzied woman who'd urged him to hurry. He knew he'd have taken her fast and hard in any case. He'd never needed anything, anyone, the way he'd needed Darcy at that moment. As if his very survival depended upon it.

  A dangerous woman, he thought. And found he didn't give a damn. He wanted her again. And again.

  "Don't go to sleep," he murmured.

  "I'm not." But her voice was thick and rough and at the sound of it his blood heated once more. "I'm just considerably relaxed." She opened her eyes and pondered the plasterwork of scrolls and stars on the ceiling. "And enjoying the view."

  "Late eighteenth century."

  "Isn't that interesting?" Amused, she stretched under him like a cat, then ran her hands over his back, more for her pleasure than his. "Would that be Georgian or rococo? I never can keep my historical periods straight."

  It made him grin and lift his head to look down at her. "I'll give you the full tour with a lesson later if you like. But just now-" He began to move inside her again.

  "Oh, well, now," she murmured. "You're a healthy one, aren't you?"

  "If you don't have your health"-he lowered his head, bit her lip-"you don't have anything."

  He was a man of his word and took her to dinner. French food served elegantly enough to soothe, fussily enough to amuse, with wine designed to turn golden on the tongue. The surroundings-gilt mirrors, quiet colors, candlelight glowing in crystal-suited her, Trevor thought. No one looking at the stunning woman in the sleek and simple black dress would imagine her waiting tables in an Irish pub.

  Another skill of hers, he decided, a chameleon's ability to alter her image at will. The sassy barmaid, the heartbreaking singer, the sexy delight, the breezy sophisticate.

  And which, he wondered, was Darcy Gallagher, at the heart?

  He waited until she was sipping champagne with her elaborate dessert before he touched on business.

  "One of my meetings today involved you."

  She glanced over, momentarily distracted from her debate of whether eating every bite of that fancy and extraordinary concoction on her plate would be bourgeois.

  "Me? Oh, you mean the theater?"

  "No, though I had some dealings regarding that, too."

  She decided she could safely eat half of it without looking like a complete bumpkin, and spooned up a glorious combination of cream and chocolate. "What other business might I be a part of?"

  "Celtic Records." He gauged his rhythm. One more aspect of her was the businesswoman, and he didn't underestimate that side of her.

  She frowned a little, lifted her glass. "For the recording of Shawn's music, and the performance at the opening. That's a family decision and a family enterprise, I suppose you'd call it. I think we'll be willing to come to terms on that."

  "I hope you will." Casually, he sampled a bite of her dessert. "But that isn't what I meant. I'm speaking of you, Darcy, specifically, exclusively."

  Her pulse jumped, so she set the champagne down again. "Exclusively, in what way exactly?"

  "I want your voice."

  "Ah." She squashed the hard jolt of disappointment. It had no place here, she told herself. "Is that why you brought me here, Trevor?"

  "In part. And that part is totally separate from what happened this evening."

  When his hand covered hers, she glanced down, studied the way they fit. Then, because that was too romantic a notion for comfort, she looked back up at him. "Naturally such matters must remain separate, or they're altogether a mess, aren't they? You wouldn't be a man who usually pursues, what would it be, clients, in this sort of way."

  He drew back from her, his eyes going hard as stone. "I don't use sex as a lever, if that's what you mean. Being lovers has nothing whatsoever to do with any of our business dealings."

  "Of course not. And if we could only have one or the other, which would it be?"

  "That," he said stiffly, "would be up to you."

  "I see." She managed a faint smile. "That's good to know. You'll excuse me a moment, won't you?"

  She needed to gather herself, to give her head and heart a chance to settle. Leaving him frowning after her, she walked to the ladies' room, where she could lean on the pretty tiled counter and get hold of herself.

  What was wrong with her? The man was offering her a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that was hers to take or discard as she pleased. Why should it hurt? Why did it leave her feeling not just unsettled but unhappy as well?

  Somehow she had come to weave romantic notions around Trevor Magee without even being aware of doing so. And those notions, those imaginings, had him caring for her. Caring for who she was, with all her many flaws. Caring with no strings attached, no outside interests connected. Just caring, she thought, and closing her eyes, she lowered herself to sit on the padded stool in front of the mirror.

  Her own fault, of course. He stirred something in her that no one else ever had. And he'd come very close, dangerously close, to touching something so deep in her heart that she had trouble recognizing just what it was.

  But she thought she could fall in love with him, with very little effort. And perhaps no encouragement at all. Then what?

  Steadying herself, she looked in the mirror. Face the facts, Darcy. A man like Trevor didn't tie himself permanently to a woman of her background and limitations. Sure, she could present herself well, play the game skillfully, but under it all she was and would forever be Darcy Gallagher of Ardmore, who worked the family pub.

  Another type of man she could twist around her finger and make him forget such mundane matters. And hadn't she always planned to? Hadn't she hoped to find a fine, wealthy man one day who would fall under her spell and give her a life full of luxury? She'd have been willing to fall in love, or at least to have a great fondness for the man who fit the bill. She'd have wanted to respect him and enjoy him and would have given him all her affection and her loyalty in return.

  That wasn't shameful.

  But Trevor wasn't a man who would see only a pleasing face. He'd just given her proof of that. Business was very much a part of what he wanted from her, and a deal for mutual profit marched alongside the attraction.

  Passion, she thought, such as they'd found in each other, would flame high and fizzle out. She didn't have to be a romantic like Jude to know that passion without love was short-lived.

  So- it was best to be sensible and to take as much of both parts he offered her as she pleased. She rose, squared her shoulders, and went out to join him.

  He'd ordered coffee and was brooding into it. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or baffled that the sorrow he was certain had been in her eyes when she'd risen wasn't there as she sat across from him again.

  "I'm not sure I made myself clear," he began, but she shook her head, smiled easily.

  "No, you did. But I wanted a moment to think." She picked up her spoon, had another taste of dessert. "First, tell me about Celtic Records. You said, on the plane, the company is six years old."

  "That's right. I had an interest in music, traditional in particular. My mother's fond of it."

  "Is she?"

  "She's fourth generation. You'd think she'd been born in a crofter's cottage in County Mayo. She's fiercely Irish."

  "So you started the company for your mother."

  "No." Then he found himself fumbling, frowning. Of course he had, in a very real way. Why hadn't he realized that before? For God's sake, he'd even named it for her. "Partly. I suppose."

  "I think that's a lovely thing." And made her want to stroke his hair. "Why does it befuddle you?"

  "It's business."

  "So's the pub, but it's family as well. I like your Celtic Records more for knowing it's both. It's more important to you, and you'll take more care of it, because it's both. I prefer con
sidering dealings with a company that's well cared for."

  "This one is. And so are the artists we sign. We're based in New York, but we've cracked the international market, so we have an office here. And we'll open one in Dublin within the year."

  We, thought Darcy, almost never did he say / when speaking of it. She doubted it was modesty, but more a keen sense and appreciation of teamwork. It made her think of the pub again, and she nodded. "What kind of arrangement are you looking for? Business-wise," she added, pleased when his eyes narrowed.

  "A standard recording contract."

  "Well, now, I wouldn't know what that entails, having no experience in the area." She studied him over the rim of her champagne flute, and went with impulse. "But it seems wise for me to engage an agent to discuss the matter with you if I decide it interests me. To be frank, Trevor, I don't know as I want to make a living singing, but I'll listen to your offer."

  He should have left it at that. Every business instinct ordered him to simply nod and move on to some other topic. But he leaned forward. "I'll make you rich."

  "That's a particular ambition of mine." She scooped up more dessert, offered it to him. "And it may be, in the end, that I'll let you help me achieve it."

  He took her wrist. "You'll have everything you've ever wanted. A hell of a lot more than you've ever dreamed of." And felt her pulse scramble.

  "Christ, you know how to make the mouth water. But I'm not one to leap without looking."

  Relaxed again, he nodded. "No, you're not. I like that about you. I like damn near everything about you."

  "Are you speaking to a potential client, or to your lover?"

  He cupped the back of her neck and brought his mouth to hers, lingering long enough to make a few heads turn. "Clear enough?"

  "I'd say that was crystal. Why don't you take me back and make love with me until neither of us can think about anything at all?"

  "Why don't I?" he agreed, and signaled for the check.

  In the morning he rose while she was sleeping. He wanted to clear away the rest of his business as quickly as possible and spend the remainder of the day with her.