The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  The fact was, she didn’t want to. She’d been down that road and had been smeared on the pavement.

  Fun was better. The lack of commitment and expectations was liberating. They had mutual affection and respect, and if she was in love with him, well . . . that just made it all the more romantic.

  She wasn’t going to do anything to spoil it. In fact, she was going to do everything she could to enhance it, to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of the time she had.

  “When you come back from your trip there, Jude, I’ll have another pint before closing.”

  “Hmm?” Distracted, she looked down at the wide, patient face of Jack Brennan. “Oh, sorry.” She picked up his empty, then frowned at him.

  “I’m not pissed,” he promised. “My heart’s all mended. Fact is, I don’t know why I got in such a state over a woman. But if you’re worried, you can ask Aidan if I can stand another pint.”

  He was so sweet, she thought, and holding back on an urge to pat his head as she might that of a big, shaggy dog. “No urge to break his nose?”

  “Well, now, I’ll admit I’ve always half wanted to just because it’s never been managed. And he broke mine some time back.”

  “Aidan broke your nose?” It was appalling. It was fascinating.

  “Not on actual purpose,” Jack qualified. “We were fifteen and playing football and one thing led to another. Aidan’s never been much of a one for bloodying his mates unless . . .”

  “One thing leads to another?”

  “Aye.” Jack beamed at her. “And I don’t think he’s had himself a good mix-up in months. Due for one most like, but he’s too busy courting you to find time for a scuffle.”

  “He isn’t courting me.”

  Jack pursed his lips on an expression caught between concern and puzzlement. “Aren’t you sweet on him, then?”

  “I—” How did she answer that? “I like him very much. I’d better get you that pint. It’s nearly closing time.”

  “You’ve been run off your feet,” Aidan said when he closed the door behind the last straggler. “Sit down now, Jude, and I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it.” She had to admit it had been work. Delightful but exhausting. Her arms ached from carting heavy trays. It was no wonder, she decided, that Darcy’s arms were so beautifully toned.

  And her feet, it didn’t bear thinking about how much her feet were throbbing.

  She sank onto a stool, rolled her shoulders.

  In the kitchen Shawn was cleaning up and singing about a wild colonial boy. The air was blue with smoke, and ripe still with the smells of beer and whiskey.

  She found it all very homey.

  “If you decide to give up psychology,” Aidan said as he set a glass in front of her. “I’m hiring.”

  Nothing he said could have pleased her more. “I did all right, didn’t I?”

  “You did brilliantly.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Thanks.”

  “I liked it. I haven’t given that many parties. They make me so nervous. The planning keeps me in a constant state of anxiety. Then the hostessing, making sure everything’s running smoothly. This was like giving a party without all the nerves. And . . .” She jingled the coins in her apron pocket. “I got paid.”

  “Now you can sit and tell me about your day in Dublin while I clean up here.”

  “I’ll tell you about it while I help you clean up.”

  He decided not to risk her good mood by arguing again, but intended to have her do nothing more complex than clearing empties and setting them on the bar. But she was quicker than he’d thought and had her sleeves rolled up while he was still dealing with behind-the-bar work and the till.

  With a pail and a rag she’d gotten from Shawn, she began to mop down the tables.

  He listened to her, the way her voice flowed up and down as she described what she’d seen and what she’d done that day. The words weren’t so important, Aidan thought. It was just so soothing to listen to her.

  She seemed to bring such blessed quiet with her wherever she went.

  He started on the floors, working around and with her. It was amazing, he mused, how smoothly she slid into his rhythm. Or was he sliding into hers? He couldn’t tell. But it seemed so natural, the way she clicked into his place, his world. His life, for that matter.

  He’d never pictured her carting trays or making change. Of course it wasn’t what she was meant for, but she’d done it well. A lark for her, he supposed. She certainly wasn’t fashioned to be wiping up spilled beer every night. But she did so with such practical ease he had an urge to cuddle her.

  When he followed it, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her back against him, she settled right in.

  “This is nice,” she murmured.

  “It is, yes. Though I’m keeping you up late doing dirty work.”

  “I like it. Now that everything’s quiet, and everyone’s gone home to bed, I can think about what Kathy Duffy said to me, or the joke Douglas O’Brian told, and listen to Shawn singing in the kitchen. In Chicago I’d be sleeping by now, after finishing papers and reading a chapter of a good book that received bright literary reviews.”

  She closed her hands over his, relaxed. “This is much better.”

  “And when you go back . . .” He laid his cheek on the top of her head. “Will you find a neighborhood pub and spend an evening or two there instead?”

  The thought of it brought a dark, thick wall shuttering down on her future. “I have lots of time before that’s an issue. I’m enjoying learning to go day by day.”

  “And night by night.” He turned her, glided her into a waltz that followed the tune Shawn was singing.

  “Night by night. I’m a terrible dancer.”

  “But you’re not.” Hesitant was what she was, and not yet sure of herself. “I watched you dance with Shawn, then kiss him in front of God and country.”

  “He said it would make you boil with jealousy.”

  “So it might have if I didn’t know I could beat him senseless if need be.”

  She laughed, loving the way the room revolved as he circled her. “I kissed him because he’s pretty and he asked me. You’re pretty, too. I might kiss you if you asked me.”

  “Since you’re so free with your kisses, let me have one.”

  To tease—and wasn’t it wonderful she’d discovered she could tease a man—she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then placed another, just as soft, on his other cheek. When he smiled, when he circled her, she slid her hand from his shoulder into his hair, and keeping her eyes on his, rose to her toes to press her lips warmly to his.

  This time it was his body that jerked. She ruled the kiss, taking him unawares, moving it from warm to hot, from soft to deep, sighing so that his mouth, his blood, his brain were filled with the taste of her.

  Staggered, he fisted his hand at the back of her blouse and let her strip his mind clean.

  “Looks as if it’s past time for me to leave.”

  Aidan lifted his head. “Lock up as you go, Shawn,” he said without taking his eyes off Jude’s face.

  “I will. Good night to you, Jude.”

  “Good night, Shawn.”

  Whistling now, he clicked locks and discreetly closed the door behind him while Aidan and Jude stood in the middle of the freshly mopped floor.

  “I have a terrible need for you.” He drew the hand he still held to his mouth, kissed it.

  “I’m so glad.”

  “It makes it hard, now and again, to be gentle.”

  “Then don’t be.” Excitement spurted through her in one hot gush. Thrilled with her own boldness, she stepped back and began unbuttoning her blouse. “You can be whatever you want. Have whatever you want.”

  She’d never undressed in front of a man, not in a way designed to arouse. But the nerves that jumped in her belly were tangled with excitement, then swallowed by pure female delight as she saw his eyes go dark.

  The black lace bra
was cut low, an erotic contrast against the milky skin it was designed to showcase.

  “Jesus.” He let out an unsteady breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “Just seduce you.” She toed off her shoes. “It’s a first for me.” More from inexperience than design, she slowly unhooked her trousers. “So . . . I hope you’ll excuse any missteps.”

  His mouth went dry with anticipation of what was next. “I see nothing missing at all. Seems to me you’re a natural at it.”

  Her fingers were a little stiff, but she pried them away and let the trousers fall. More black lace, an excuse for a triangle that veed down over the belly and rose high on the hips.

  She hadn’t had the nerve to try the matching garter and sheer black hose Darcy had talked her into, but seeing the expression on Aidan’s face, she thought she would next time.

  “I did a lot of shopping today.”

  He wasn’t sure he could speak. She stood in the pub lights, her hair tidied back, her sea goddess eyes dreamy, wearing nothing but black lace that screamed sex.

  Which part of her was a man supposed to listen to?

  “I’m afraid to touch you.”

  Jude braced herself, then stepped out of the trousers and toward him. “Then I’ll touch you.” Heart hammering, she slid her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his.

  It was so arousing to press up against him when she was all but naked and he still fully dressed. It was so powerful to feel his body quiver against hers as if he were fighting some fierce and violent urge.

  It was so freeing to realize she wanted him to set that fierceness, that violence, loose.

  “Take me, Aidan.” She nipped his bottom lip and all but slithered against him. “Take whatever you want.”

  He heard his own control snap like a cannon boom inside his head. He knew he was rough and could do nothing about it as his hands bruised and his mouth feasted. Her gasp of shock was only more fuel as he dragged her to the floor.

  He rolled with her, wild to have his hands on her, everywhere. Mad for more, he closed lips and teeth over the lace at her breast.

  She arched up, bowed with pleasure, tingling from the nip of pain. It was power that flooded into her, the punch of the knowledge that she had pushed him beyond the civilized.

  Just by being. Just by offering.

  As crazed as he to touch, she tugged and tore at his shirt until she had her hands on flesh.

  Then her lips, then her teeth.

  Hot and frantic, with greedy hands they drove each other, pleased and pleasured. This wasn’t the patient man and the shy woman, but two who had stripped down to the primitive. She gloried in it, absorbing each sharp sensation and fighting to give it back.

  The first orgasm burst through her like a sun.

  More was all he could think. More and still more. He wanted to eat her alive, to devour so that the suddenly wild taste of her would always be inside him. Each time her body shuddered, each time she cried out, he thought again. And again and again.

  The need to mate was a fever in his blood. He plunged into her, his pace all the more frenzied when she came and called out his name. Then she was rising and falling with him, driving even as she was driven. His vision hazed so that her face, her eyes, her tumbled hair were behind a soft mist.

  Then even that vanished as the animal inside him leaped out and swallowed them both.

  She lay sprawled over him, exhausted, aching, smiling. He lay beneath, stunned and speechless.

  Their opposing reactions had the same root.

  He’d taken her on the pub floor. He hadn’t been able to help himself; he’d had no control whatsoever. No finesse, no patience. It hadn’t been making love but mating, just as recklessly primitive as that.

  His own behavior shocked him.

  Jude’s thoughts ran along the same lines. But his behavior, and her own, thrilled her.

  When he heard her long, windy sigh, he winced and decided he had to do whatever he could to make her comfortable.

  “I’ll take you upstairs.”

  “Mmmm.” She certainly hoped so, so they could do it all over again.

  “Maybe you’d like a hot bath and a cup before I see you home.”

  “Hmmm.” She sighed again, then pursed her lips. “You want to take a bath?” The idea was intriguing.

  “I thought it might make you feel a bit better.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to feel any better, not on this plane of existence.”

  He shifted, and since she was limp as a noodle, found it fairly easy to turn her around so she was cradled in his arms. When she only smiled and dropped her head on his shoulder, he shook his head.

  “What’s come over you, Jude Frances Murray? Wearing underwear designed to drive me crazy, then letting me have my way with you on the floor?”

  “I have more.”

  “More what?”

  “More underwear,” she replied. “I bought bags of it.”

  It was his turn to drop his head weakly on her shoulder. “Sweet Jesus. I’ll be waked in a week.”

  “I started with the black because Darcy said it was foolproof.”

  He only choked at that.

  Pleased with his reaction, she snuggled closer. “You were putty in my hands. I liked it.”

  “She’s gone shameless on me.”

  “I have, so I’ll tell you I want you to carry me upstairs. I love when you do that because it makes me feel all female and fluttery. Then take me to your bed.”

  “If I must, I must.” He glanced around, noting the scatter of clothes. He would come back for them, he told himself. Later.

  And when he did, quite some time later, he fingered the bits of lace as he carried them back upstairs. She was full of surprises, was Jude Frances, he thought. Just as much surprising to herself, if he was any judge.

  The shy rose was blooming.

  Now she was sleeping, cozy as you please, in his bed. She looked right there, he decided as he sat down on the edge to watch her sleep. Just as she’d looked right serving drinks in his pub, or working in her garden, or walking the hills with the O’Tooles’ dog beside her.

  She had, indeed, clicked neatly into his life. And why, he wondered, shouldn’t she stay a part of it? Why should she go back to Chicago when she was happy here, and he was happy with her?

  It was time he had a wife, wasn’t it? And started a family. He’d found no one who made the prospect of that a sunny one until Jude.

  He’d been waiting for something, hadn’t he? And here she had walked right into his pub one rainy night. Destiny took no more than that.

  She might think otherwise, but he’d talk her around it.

  It didn’t mean she had to give up her work, though he’d have to puzzle on exactly how she could do what most satisfied her. She was a practical woman, after all, and would want her options spelled out.

  She had strong feelings for him, he thought as he toyed with her hair. As he had for her. She had roots here, as did he. And anyone with eyes could see that now she’d found those roots she was blooming.

  There was a logic to it all that he was sure would appeal to her. Maybe it made him a little jumpy in the gut, but that was natural enough when a man contemplated such a big change in his life, along with the responsibility, the permanence of a wife and children.

  So if his palms were a bit sweaty, it was nothing to be concerned about. He’d work it out in his head for her, then they’d move on from there.

  Satisfied, he slipped into bed beside her, drew her against his side where he liked her best, and let his mind drift into sleep.

  While he slept, Jude dreamed of Carrick, astride a white winged horse, skimming over sky and land and water. And as he flew he was gathering jewels from the sun, tears from the moon, and the heart of the sea.

  FIFTEEN

  IT WAS A bold step, but she’d taken a lot of them lately. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. Maybe it was foolish and impractical, but it wasn’t illegal.
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  Still, Jude glanced around guiltily as she carried a table out to the front garden. She’d already chosen the spot, right there at the curve of the path where the verbena and cranesbill nudged against the stones. The table wobbled a little on the uneven ground, but she could compensate for it.

  A little wobbling was nothing compared to the view and the air and the scents.

  She went back for the chair she’d selected, arranged it precisely in back of the table. When no one came along to demand what the devil she thought she was doing, she dashed back for her laptop.

  She was going to work outside, and the prospect had her giddy with delight. She’d angled her work area so that she could see the hills as well as the hedgerows, and the hedgerows were blooming wildly with fuchsia. The sun gleamed softly through the cloud layers so that the light was a delicate tangle of silver and gold. There was the most fragile of breezes to stir her flowers and bring their fragrance to her.

  She made a little pot of tea, using one of Maude’s prettiest pots. A complete indulgence with the little chocolate biscuits she’d arranged on a plate. It was so perfect it was almost like cheating.

  Jude vowed to work twice as hard.

  But she sat for just a moment, sipping her tea and dreaming out over the hills. Her little slice of heaven, she thought. Birds were singing, and she caught the bright flash of a duet of magpie, at least she thought they were magpies.

  One for sorrow, she mused, two for joy. And if she saw a third it was three for . . . She could never remember, so she’d just have to stick with joy.

  She laughed at herself. Yes, she’d stick with joy. It would be hard to be any happier than she was at that moment. And what was better to prolong happiness but a fairy tale?

  Inspired, she got down to work.

  The music of birds trilled around her. Butterflies flitted their fairy wings over the flowers. Bees hummed sleepily while she drifted into a world of witches and warriors, of elves and fair maidens.

  It surprised her to realize how much she had accumulated already. More than two dozen tales and fables and stories. It had been so gradual, and so little like work. Her analysis of each was far from complete, and she would have to buckle down there. The trouble was her words seemed so dry and plain next to the music and magic of the tales.