by Nora Roberts
Bub arched his back, then, as if it was an afterthought, leaped down to wind his way through Brenna’s legs. She reached to give him one long stroke. “Sorry, darling, but I’ve a mind to pet someone else this morning.”
The man surely made use of every inch of bed. Well, he was about to share it, she thought, and unbuttoned her shirt.
If he’d bothered to build a fire the night before, it had died to ash. Kindling one now to chase the chill away might wake him. She had plans to do that by other methods altogether.
He was a quiet sleeper, she noted as she stripped down to the skin. One who appeared to nestle into dreams without a lot of rolling about. As she recalled, he slept deep as well—hadn’t she heard Mrs. Gallagher shout him awake dozens of times when she’d spent the night with Darcy down the hall?
So they would soon see how much time and trouble it took to wake him by other means.
It was exciting to watch him when he didn’t know, when he was defenseless, when he had no idea of what she had in mind for him. His face held both strength and beauty, and, she supposed, a kind of innocence now. But then, she’d always considered Shawn a great deal more innocent than herself.
He believed in things. Believed they would just happen along at the right time without a body having to take a hand in it, put their back into it. That’s what bothered her the most about him when it came to his music. What did the man think, that someone would just wander into the cottage and buy up the tunes he had scribbled on papers?
It wasn’t enough to write them. Why didn’t he see that? Bone-lazy, she supposed, then shook her head. If she kept thinking of that, she’d work herself right out of the mood. And that would be a terrible waste of a morning.
Naked, she walked to the bed, slipped under the covers, and straddled him. Her mouth fit over his. She intended to start the process with a reverse on the waking of Sleeping Beauty. But she didn’t intend to stop with a kiss.
He was steeped in dreams, all a blur of color and shape. A pleasant place to be. Sensation slowly weaved its way through. The warm flavor of woman that stirred the blood and roused the mind. Then the scent of her— subtle, familiar, so that the next indrawn breath thickened the pulse. And the shape of her, the feel of flesh sliding along flesh.
He lifted a hand, lost it in that wonderfully wild tangle of hair. Even as he murmured her name, she was shifting over him, surrounding him, taking him in. The first burst of lust exploded inside him while he was still half sleeping.
He thrust up into her, helpless, trapped in a web of need woven while he’d been dreaming. For the first time in memory he could do nothing to finesse control over his own body. Nothing but let himself be taken.
When he opened his eyes, she rose over him in the soft gray light, her hair bright as fire, her eyes sharp and green. Then she bowed back, fisting her hands in her own hair as she rode them both to finish.
“Mother of God,” was all he could manage, and nothing could have pleased her more.
“Good morning to you.” She felt golden and bright. “
“And that’s all the time I have for you. I’ve got to be going.”
“What? Why?” He grabbed for her hand, but she slipped nimbly out of reach.
“Well, I’m finished with you, boyo, and I’ve work to do.”
“Come back.” He thought about sitting up, but only rolled to his side. “I’ll do better by you now that I’m waking up.”
“I did well enough by both of us.” She tugged her Tshirt on, then shrugged the flannel one over it. “And I’m expected at the hotel. As it is, I’ve got to take at least a quick look at your car, since I told Dad that was why I was coming by here first.”
“Tonight, then.” He only grunted when the cat leaped up on his ass and nipped it with his claws. “Find a way and stay here tonight.”
“Stay” was the word that made her uneasy, but she snuck a glance at him while she pulled on her work pants. His eyes were half closed. “I’m working at the pub tomorrow night. I can say I’m sleeping over with Darcy.”
“Why do you have to lie?”
“You know how people would talk if anyone knew we were seeing each other this way.”
“And that matters?”
“Of course it does.” This time when she looked over at him, she was surprised to note his eyes weren’t sleepy, but focused and alert.
“Is this something that shames you, then, Brenna?”
“No. But it’s private. I’ll have a look at your car now, and the fact is I’ll give it a good going-over first chance I have.” She leaned over to kiss him, then shoved back her hair. “I’ll be back ’round soon as I can.”
He rolled over onto his back, annoying Bub enough to set the cat to stalking off again. Alone, he stared at the ceiling until he heard her shut the front door behind her.
When, he wondered, had he started wanting more? Why should she be the one he wanted more from? What was this need that was growing inside him? Had it always been there?
Questions, he thought in disgust. Well, he seemed to have plenty of them, without the first answer.
He rolled out of bed and might have sulked off into the shower, but the sound of his own car starting up drew him to the window.
Brenna was just rounding to the bonnet, and as he watched she yanked it open, stuck her head under. He imagined she was already muttering curses because he’d neglected this or allowed that to get dirty. It never did him a bit of good to tell her that as far as he was concerned everything in there was dirty and mysterious and not of any particular interest to him. As long as the engine started when he turned the key, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what made the whole business possible.
She would, of course. A born tinkerer was Brenna. She was never happier than when she had something taken apart and all the pieces of it spread out for her examination. It made him think he should ask her to have a go at his toaster, as it was burning one side of everything he put in it.
Then she pulled her head out, slammed the bonnet smartly. She shot a look up at the window where he was standing, and her eyes, full of righteous annoyance, flashed to his. He sent her what he knew was a cheeky grin in return before she stomped off to her lorry. The way her mouth was moving, he assumed she was assigning him to the devil.
Rain sprinkled down on her as she hitched herself into her lorry. He watched as she, with her usual energy and carelessness, bulleted in reverse into the road, then zipped away over bumps.
But he was no longer smiling. Amusement had fallen away into sheer shock. He had one of the answers now, and he didn’t care for it one bit.
He was in love with her. “
“Bloody, stinking hell. What in the wide world am I supposed to do with that?” He started to jam his hands into his pockets, but got no satisfaction, as he was naked. He turned, intending to drown himself in the shower in the hopes the feeling would pass.
Lady Gwen stood just inside the doorway, her hands folded neatly, watching him.
“Sweet Jesus.” However foolish it was, he snatched the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around him. “A man’s entitled to his privacy in his own home.”
Flustered and fumbling, he stared back at her. She looked as real as he felt, and as lovely as all the legends professed. Now her eyes were full of quiet sympathy, and an understanding that had his gut churning uneasily.
She was there, no question that she was there, and the cat had come back to ribbon around her skirts and purr ferociously.
“So, is this what you were waiting for before you showed yourself to me? For me to realize something that hurts? Well, it’s said misery loves company, but I prefer to nurse my own wounds alone.”
She walked to him, graceful, dignified, those soft eyes swimming with emotion. He saw her lift a hand, and though he felt no pressure, no slide of skin to skin, he felt the touch of it against his cheek as gentle comfort.
Then she was gone.
He did what he usually did when he came up against someth
ing he didn’t want to deal with. He tucked it into a corner of his mind, trusting he’d work out some solution eventually, and dived into his music.
It balanced him, fed his heart. As close as he was to his family, he’d never been able to explain what it meant to him to be able to hear music in his head, to feel it inside him, then to be able to make it sound in the air.
It was the one thing he’d always had—and having, needed—and needing, feared losing.
Until Brenna.
He’d always had her as well, and needed her without realizing how deep that need was rooted. And now knowing, he feared losing her, and what he’d just discovered.
Thoughtfully, he opened the little box he’d put on the piano. Inside he’d placed the pearl he’d been given at Maude’s grave. He understood now what Carrick wanted him to do with it. But he was far from ready to offer that pearl, and himself, to Brenna.
Whatever others had planned for him, he would move in his own time, and in his own way. He’d promised Brenna friendship. He wouldn’t go back on his word, but he was beginning to understand just what keeping it would cost him if he couldn’t win the whole of her heart.
The woman who’d come to his bed that morning wasn’t looking for romance and the promise of a future. She was looking only at the moment and the pleasures it could bring.
He hadn’t been so different himself, at other times, with other women. It didn’t sit comfortably to be the one pining. Since comfort was important to him, he didn’t intend to pine for long.
It was just a matter of figuring which steps to take, in what order and in which direction. And as it was Brenna, he knew that he would get to his objective faster, and smoother, if he found a way to make her believe it was all her idea in the first place.
So . . . he ran his hands lightly over the keys. He just had to work it out so that he was in the position of being courted by Brenna O’Toole.
He was amused enough by the notion that his fingers began to move faster, to make the tune livelier. Even as he stopped to scribble down the notes, words began to jump into his head.
Come back ’round so you can catch me. I’ll give you a dance as long as you please. But circle back soon, my red-haired lovely, for it’s only you I’m wanting to tease. Now kiss me quick and say that you’ll love me from now till ever birds sing in the trees. I’m waiting right here so you can convince me the time’s come to get down on my knees.
It made him see the humor of it all, and smoothed out the knot of tension from the back of his neck. After all, how could anyone who knew the pair of them not see the absurdity of it?
She the planner, he the dreamer. Why, they rammed up against each other’s basic personalities at least as often as they meshed. Well, what did the heart know about the logic of things? And, he was wise enough to know that if he’d fallen for someone more like himself, they’d while their lives away without getting the first thing accomplished.
And though he couldn’t think of a man like Brenna, he imagined if she’d come across one, the two of them would hammer each other’s brains out within a week.
So, in the big scheme of things, by falling in love with her, and arranging for her to decide they should make what was between them a permanent thing, he was only saving her from a brief, and certainly violent, life.
Though he thought it might be best all ’round if he kept that opinion strictly to himself.
Satisfied, he closed the pearl back in its box, left his music scattered about, and went off to start his day of work.
• • •
He baked apple tarts with Brenna’s appetite in mind. If he was going to approach the business from a kind of role-reversal angle, baking one of her favorite weaknesses seemed rather canny.
He toyed with the idea of trying to talk himself out of being in love with her, as he imagined people did when the fit wasn’t as comfortable as they might prefer. He even imagined he could do a fair job of it, starting with listing all the reasons why it wasn’t a wise idea. The head of that would be the simple fact that he hadn’t planned on falling in love, not seriously, for years yet.
And when he imagined the woman on the receiving end, it was always a soft, feminine, gentle-natured sort. A comfortable woman, he thought as he trimmed his pastry. There was nothing comfortable about the O’Toole, for all she was a blessing in bed. After all, much as it appealed, a man couldn’t spend his life in bed with a hot-blooded, naked woman.
Which made him think about the morning, and the way she’d ridden him to a blind, sweaty finish before his brain had even waked up. Which made him a great deal less comfortable altogether. So, being Shawn, he put that thought away. For the time being.
It hadn’t been the sex he’d fallen in love with. That had simply been the key that opened him up so he’d see what had been waiting inside him for her. She’d never be an easy woman. God knew she’d poke and she’d prod at him until he was ready to throttle her. She would pick fights and would always find the way to put his own temper on the boil.
But Jesus, she could make him laugh. And she knew half of what was in his mind before he’d gotten the words out. There was treasure in that. She knew his every flaw, and didn’t hold any of them against him overmuch.
She didn’t think much of his music, and that stung more than a little. But he chose to think it just a lack of understanding. Just as he had no interest or knowledge of what mysteries were under the bonnet of his car.
Whatever the weight of the scale, for or against, didn’t matter. His heart was already hers. All he had to do was make her realize she wanted to keep it.
He fancied up the pastries, adding bits of dough in little designs, the way he’d seen in a picture somewhere. After brushing the lot of them with egg wash, he popped them into the oven.
When Darcy came in he was whistling over the Gallagher’s Irish stew he had simmering in his big pot.
“My larder’s bare as the top of Rory O’Hara’s head. I need a sandwich before shift starts.”
“I’ll make it.” Shawn cut her off before she could grab from the refrigerator. “You’ll just leave a mess for me to clean up otherwise.”
“I’ll have some of that roast beef if there’s any left.”
“There’s enough.”
“Well, then, don’t be stingy.” She sat, propping her legs on the chair beside her, as much to admire her new shoes as to rest her feet before the long shift ahead. When she noted the bowls he’d yet to wash, she sniffed the air. “Is that apple tarts you have in the oven?”
“It might be. And I might see there’s one left for you, if you don’t badger me.”
Experimentally, she ran a finger around the inside of the bowl that had held the filling and licked. “I seem to recall that Brenna favors apple tarts particularly.”
Shawn sliced the sandwich neatly in two, knowing Darcy would complain otherwise. “I recall that as well.” His expression bland, he slid the sandwich in front of her.
“Are you—” Darcy cut herself off, picked up the first half of her lunch. “No, I don’t want to know. My best friend and my brother,” she said over the first bite. “I never thought to have to work to keep that image out of my head.”
“Well, keep working at it.” Curious, he sat across from her. “You’re friends with Jude, and it never seemed to bother you that she and Aidan—”
“I was new friends with Jude.” Darcy stared at him over her sandwich with eyes that were blue and sulky. “It’s a different matter entirely. It has to be your face,” she decided. “Because she knows you through and through, so it’s certainly not your riveting personality. She’s just dazzled by the look of you, as there’s no denying you’ve a strong and handsome face.”
“You’re only saying that because we look so much alike.”
Her teeth flashed before she bit in again. “That’s true enough. But we can’t help being beautiful, can we, darling?”
“We can only do our best to bear the terrible weight of it. Then offer it
up.” He said it ponderously and made her snicker.
“Well, it’s a burden I enjoy carrying. And if a man doesn’t want to look any further than my face, I’ve nothing to complain over. It’s enough that I know I’ve a mind behind it.”
“Is the Dubliner you’ve been seeing treating you like a pet, then?”
She moved a shoulder, annoyed with herself for being dissatisfied with a relationship that held so much potential. “He enjoys my company and takes me nice places in fine style.” And because it was Shawn, she could hiss out a breath. “Where he spends half the time bragging about himself and his work and expecting me to be impressed beyond speech. And the thing of it is, he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is, and owes most of his accomplishments, such as they are, to family connections rather than his own hard work or skill.”
“You’re tired of him.”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then shrugged. “I am, yes. What’s wrong with me?”
“If I tell you, you’ll be after throwing that plate at me.”
“I won’t.” As a sign of truce, she pushed it aside. “This time.”
“All right, then, I’ll tell you what’s the matter. You underestimate yourself, Darcy, then you get annoyed when others do the same. You don’t have any respect for the men who fall at your feet, promising to give you the world on a platter. You’ve filled your own platter all your life and carried it with your own hands. And you know you can keep doing it.”
“I want more.” She said it fiercely, finding herself inexplicably on the verge of tears. “What’s wrong with wanting more?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He reached out to close his hand over hers.
“I want to go places, see things. Have things.” She shoved away from the table, prowling the kitchen as if it were a cage. “I can’t help wanting it. Everything would be easier if I could be a little bit in love with him. Just a little would be enough. But I’m not, and I can’t talk myself into it. So I woke up this morning knowing I’d be breaking it off, and tossing away a lovely trip to Paris.”
