A Woman's Heart

by JoAnn Ross

  Quinn looked into the fathomless depths of those green eyes overbrimming with life and wondered how it was that she could make him laugh so easily.

  “Point taken.”

  She returned his faintly abashed grin with a warm open smile of her own. “It’s the magic of course.”

  “And you’d be one to believe in magic.” Quinn never had, despite the fact that he wrote books about otherworldly events.

  “Aye. While I may not burn candles and cast old Celtic spells as Kate does, I’ve felt it myself too many times not to know it exists. Obviously you’ve been feeling it, too, Quinn, which isn’t surprising, since the blood of the ancient ones flows in your veins.”

  Quinn damn well didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good sunset by discussing his Gallagher blood.

  “I’ve always been irritated by women who give men mixed signals,” he said, in an effort to change the subject. “But it occurs to me that’s exactly what I’ve been doing to you.” This was not an appealing realization.

  “It’s the magic,” she said again. “It’s obvious it has you feeling uneasy. And a wee bit testy.”

  “More than a wee bit.” Her creamy complexion was framed by a windblown tangle of flame silk. Feeling an overpowering urge to touch, Quinn brushed away some strands that were blowing across her eyes. “I’ve been a bastard.”

  “Aye,” Nora agreed.

  He laughed again at her unfailing honesty and felt a release of tension. “You could argue with me.”

  She lifted a teasing brow. “And why would I be arguing with the truth, Mr. Gallagher?”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes at the exaggerated lilt in her tone.

  “Saints preserve us,” he drawled on a mock brogue laced with amusement. “And would you actually be flirting with me, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”

  “I believe I just might be, Mr. Gallagher.”

  Tenderness. As the water carved new curves into ancient cliffs, Quinn felt it and fought against it. “I’m not a man for pretty words and promises, Nora.”

  “You’re underestimating yourself.” She lifted a hand to his cheek and felt the ridge of the white scar beneath her fingertips. “It would seem to me that a famous writer such as yourself would have more than enough words at his disposal.”

  His fingers curled around her wrist as if to pull her hand away. But he didn’t. Not yet. “Are you saying you want me to lie?”

  “No.” Nora thought it sad that a man who was the epitome of self-confidence would seem so unsure of himself when it came to being loved. Although it cost her, she didn’t press. “Pretty words can be lovely, Quinn. I know of no woman who doesn’t enjoy hearing them.” She saw the Aha! look flash in his eyes. “But I wouldn’t be needing them.”

  “That’s what you say now. But you’re fooling yourself.” His fingers tightened in a way Nora knew would leave bruises. “I won’t be kind.”

  Although she’d rather attempt to face down a banshee on a moonless night on the Burren, Nora forced herself to meet Quinn’s challenging gaze straight on. “I don’t believe that.” She was pleased when her voice revealed none of the anxiety bubbling up inside her.

  His answering curse was rich and ripe. “Once won’t be enough.”

  Tangled nerves had her laughing at that. “Sure, and I was hoping not,” she said, her exaggerated brogue earning another rare genuine smile. Like a fledgling bird making its first attempt at flight, hope took stuttering wing in her chest.

  She’d never been a woman to make the first move. With Devlin, their kisses had been a spontaneous shared exploration of youthful emotions. Conor had literally swept her into his arms less than ten minutes after he’d walked into his sister’s horse barn and found her sitting on a bale of hay, crying her eyes out over her poor dead mam.

  There’d been other kisses from other men, not many, but enough for her to understand that this ache to taste was as unique as Quinn Gallagher himself.

  Linking her fingers together at the back of his neck, Nora went up on her toes and touched her mouth to his.

  Magic. Quinn felt it in the sizzle of heat as Nora’s lips touched his, tasted it in the hot wine flavor of the kiss, heard it in the small sound—a murmur or a moan, he couldn’t quite tell over the thunder of the blood pounding in his head—that vibrated beneath his mouth as he took the kiss deeper. Darker.

  Passion, restrained for too long, rose like the wind, tearing from him into her. Desire, rich and ripe and hot, flowed from her lips directly into his bloodstream. She strained against him, saying his name in a way that was part plea, part prayer as his mouth roamed her uplifted face, gathering in the taste of salt mist, searing her skin, cooling it, then setting it aflame again.

  She was burning. Engulfed in emotions more turbulent than she’d ever experienced before, Nora was vaguely aware of the echo of the incoming tide, the cry of the gulls, the moan of the wind. And then, all those faded into the distance as she heard the lovely music of Quinn calling her sweetheart in a far different way than all those other times he’d practically flung the word at her like a challenge.

  She clung to him, as if he were an anchor, a lifeline in a sea of titanic waves. His hands were beneath her sweater, caressing her in a wicked practiced way that left her shuddering.

  “I want to make you crazy.” His lips skimmed up her throat; he touched the tip of his tongue against the fragrant hollow where her pulse hammered.

  “You are.”

  “It’s not enough.” He nipped at her lips in painful yet pleasurable bites that had her moving restlessly beneath his hands. “I want to make you as crazy as you’ve made me. Being with you is almost all I’ve been thinking about.” He kissed her eyelids, which fluttered obediently closed. “Dreaming about.”

  “I know.” Her own hands had sneaked beneath his sweater, allowing her to revel in the feel of the smooth skin and taut muscles of his back. How could such a strong hard man have flesh as smooth as an infant’s bottom? Nora wanted to feel him everywhere. Heaven help her, she wanted to taste him everywhere. “I know the dreaming.”

  “Thank God.” His rich laugh held none of the acid sarcasm or anger she was used to hearing. He took his hands from her hot flesh, leaving her feeling bereft as he tugged the sweater back into place.

  “Another minute of that, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and I would have been dragging you down to the sand and taking you right here and now.”

  “Another minute of that, Mr. Gallagher,” Nora retorted on a ragged breath, “and I would have helped you.”

  Chuckling again in a very unQuinn-like way, he framed her face with his palms, bent his head and touched his lips to her ravaged ones in a kiss so sweet it nearly made her weep.

  “I want to take you to dinner.”

  She told herself that it was because her head was still spinning that she’d misunderstood. “After that fine meal you made us?”

  “No.” Another kiss. Longer, sweeter. “Tomorrow night. I want to drive into Galway for dinner in a fine restaurant, with candlelight and wine and a rose in a crystal vase in the center of the table, and perhaps, if we’re lucky, even a romantic violinist to serenade you.”

  “You want to take me out on a date?”

  “For starters.” He laughed at the enthusiasm for the idea that was emblazoned all over her face. Her lovely lovely face. “Then, I figured, we could take things from there.”

  Nora knew he’d chosen Galway to get her away from home, where everyone would talk about them. Of course, she considered, spending an evening, and perhaps even a night, away with the man more than one Castlelough resident was now referring to as “her American,” would be guaranteed to set tongues wagging. In Castlelough, as in most villages, gossip was the coin of the realm. And the Americans were providing a wealth of stories.

  “I’d love that.” It was not in Nora’s nature to play coy. “But Fionna’s leaving for Derry in the morning, and even if I could talk Da into staying at home with the children…”

  “Mary and John are old enough
to baby-sit. And Kate’s just a phone call away, on the next farm.”

  “You’re right of course.”

  Her mind was whirling its way through her closet, wondering if she possessed anything remotely suitable for such a romantic evening, when she heard the sound of her name being carried on the wind. She turned and experienced a jolt of surprise mixed with pleasure.

  “Oh! It’s Devlin!”

  “Devlin?” Quinn didn’t like the rich warmth in her tone.

  “A boy I knew from school. His mother is Mrs. Monohan, who sold you the wine and curry.”

  The man walking toward them on a long beach-eating stride was built like an oak tree. Broad and firm and solid. When Nora waved at him, he began running, and when he reached her, swept her up with a bold confidence that caused something hot and lethal to slice through Quinn.

  “Jaysus, if you don’t get more beautiful every time I see you, wench,” Devlin Monohan said. As Quinn was forced to watch, the Irishman kissed her full on the mouth. Nora, Quinn noticed with building fury, kissed him right back. “It’s a wonder all the men in Castlelough aren’t crippled from walking into stone walls whenever you go by.”

  “And you’re more full of blarney every time I see you,” Nora said laughingly. “Next time you’ll have to give me warning. So I can dig out my Wellies to wade through your foolish compliments.” She banged a palm against his shoulder. “Now put me down so I can be properly introducing you.”

  “That’s always been your trouble, Nora, me love,” he said, nevertheless doing as instructed. “You’ve always been too proper for your own good.” His expression was open and friendly as he turned to Quinn, acknowledging him for the first time. “Good evening to you. I’m Devlin Monohan, the man this one drove to distraction once upon a time ago.”

  The fact that he’d not imagined the familiarity between the two did nothing to lighten Quinn’s mood. “Quinn Gallagher.” He reluctantly shook the outstretched hand. It reminded him of a bear’s paw.

  “Of course you are. I’d recognize you even if Fionna hadn’t told me that Nora was down here with you. I enjoy your stories, Mr. Gallagher. And admire the affection you portray for animals. The tale about the ghost stallion was particularly well done.”

  It was difficult for Quinn to hate someone who’d just paid his work a compliment. But the memory of this man’s mouth on Nora’s made it easier. “Thank you.”

  “Devlin’s a veterinarian,” Nora said. “He’s just gotten a position at the National Stud.” She beamed up at him. “I’m so proud of you!”

  “That’s very impressive,” Quinn said grudgingly. He knew that the Irish stud farm was responsible for the bloodstock of the world’s greatest Thoroughbreds.

  “It’s an honor,” Devlin said easily enough. “And one I hope I can live up to.”

  “Of course you will,” Nora said with a fervent loyalty that had Quinn grinding his teeth. “You’ve always had the magic touch when it comes to horses, Devlin.”

  “And you’ve always been prejudiced, love,” he countered with a deep laugh. “I suppose Mam told you my other news?”

  “That you’re getting married? She did, and I think it’s wonderful.”

  “I’m rather fond of the idea myself,” Devlin Monohan’s rapt expression revealed that “fond” was something of an understatement. “And that’s why I’ve interrupted yours and Mr. Gallagher’s sunset stroll. To invite you to a party to meet my new bride-to-be.”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful! When?”

  “Since I’m due at my new position the day after next, Mam was thinking tomorrow night.”

  Nora’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry, Devlin, but I’m afraid I have plans—”

  “Nothing that can’t be changed,” Quinn broke in. “We can go to Galway some other night. You should celebrate with your friend.”

  She was, Quinn noted, clearly torn as she looked back and forth between himself and the other man.

  “I don’t want to be influencing you either way, Nora,” Devlin said. He looked over at Quinn, his friendly gaze now measuring. “And of course you’d be invited, as well, Mr. Gallagher.”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t be intruding. Besides, wouldn’t it give my mother boasting rights throughout the entire county for the next decade having one of the Americans in her house for a social event?”

  Quinn knew that Nora would not renege on her agreement to go to Galway with him. He also knew that he didn’t want to risk a possible pall over the evening from any guilt she might be feeling from missing the engagement party of an obviously very close friend.

  “It sounds like fun,” he said, not quite truthfully. Although from his brief meeting with the gregarious Mrs. Monohan in the mercantile, he was sure she’d be an excellent hostess, he’d much rather be wining, dining and making mad passionate love to Nora in Galway. “Please tell your mother I appreciate the invitation.”

  From the expression on Nora’s face as she looked up at him, Quinn realized he’d done the right thing.

  “Thank you,” she murmured after they’d said their goodbyes and were watching Devlin walk back toward the stone steps carved into the cliff. “That was a very generous thing to do.”

  Quinn shrugged. “I could tell you wanted to be with him and—”

  “No. I wanted to be with you. But Devlin’s important to me, as well.”

  “So it appears.” Quinn had to ask. “I suppose he was your first lover?” Apparently Mary had gotten the wedding-night story wrong.

  “No,” Nora said mildly, ignoring his all-too-familiar gritty tone. “My husband was my first lover. Devlin was my first love.” She linked her fingers with his and smiled at him in a way that made Quinn feel like an ass. “And you’ve no reason to concern yourself about him. Even if he hadn’t gotten himself engaged to another woman, what Devlin and I shared was over a very long time ago.”

  “But you’re still friends.”

  “Aye. Perhaps as you and Laura Gideon are.”

  Quinn had no response for that. Taking pity on him, Nora stopped walking, went up on her toes again and gave him a kiss that, brief as it was, still packed one helluva punch.

  “You don’t have to worry about me having romantic feelings for Devlin, Quinn.”

  That may be, Quinn told himself as they walked back up the steep breath-stealing steps. But the romantic feelings he was harboring for this woman, whose slender hand fit so perfectly in his, was definitely something to worry about.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Something to Believe In

  Kate O’Sullivan had spent a restless night. She’d tossed and turned, then suffered an anxiety attack shortly before dawn that had her heart pounding so hard she’d feared she was having a heart attack. She’d been left feeling as fragile as glass.

  It wasn’t just because she and Cadel had had another fight. After all, hadn’t she learned to expect him to be out of sorts when he spent the entire day drinking whiskey in the pub? The pitiful truth was, that drunk or not, Cadel O’Sullivan was an ill-tempered bully. And by agreeing to marry him when she’d discovered she was carrying Andrew Sinclair’s child, she’d made a deal with the devil.

  Nora was, of course, right about her needing to do something about her marriage, Kate thought as she waved Jamie off on the bus to school. But fortunately, with her husband having stormed off to stay with his cousin in Dungarven, such decisions could be put off a bit longer.

  “Quinn’s coming today,” she told her daughter, Brigid, as she washed the breakfast dishes. “We’re going to go to the stones.”

  “Stones!” the red-haired toddler shouted gleefully while banging a spoon against a pot lid. “Brigid dance with fairies!”

  “Aye.” Despite her continuing unease, Kate smiled and thought how wonderful to be of an age when everything was an adventure. Just then there was a knock on the kitchen door. As she went to answer it, she said, “And won’t the fairies smile when they see you’ve come
visiting?”

  “Fairies will smile. And dance!” Brigid abandoned the pot and spoon and began spinning around the kitchen, looking like a whirling flame-topped daffodil in her bright yellow dress and leggings.

  Quinn had no sooner entered the kitchen when he was attacked by a whirling sunshine-bright dervish. “Dance!” the toddler shouted as she spun up to him and grabbed hold of his legs.

  “Far be it from me to refuse a beautiful girl.” He scooped Brigid up in his arms, breathed in the scents of milk and baby powder, and began waltzing around the kitchen.

  “I thought I might drop her off at Nora’s, but we’re running late,” Kate apologized.

  “Didn’t you hear, Mrs. O’Sullivan?” He dipped the little girl and made her giggle. “When God made time, he made plenty of it.”

  Kate hung up the dish towel, then cocked her head, studying him. He’d certainly changed since that first morning she’d met him at the Joyce farm. It could be her imagination, but she’d swear the harsh lines on his face had softened. And his dark eyes had lost their flinty hardness. She couldn’t imagine the man she’d met that morning waltzing around the kitchen with a two-year-old.

  “Still, I know you’re a busy man.”

  “The day I’m too busy to dance with a beautiful redhead is the day I need to reexamine my priorities.”

  “Dance with fairies!” Brigid announced loudly.

  “I told her we were going to the circle of stones,” Kate explained as she took a small white Aran Islands sweater down from the hook beside the door. “It’s one of her favorite places. If you don’t mind her coming with us, that is.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, meaning it.

  He’d never been all that comfortable around babies and little children, but Brigid O’Sullivan was so outgoing it was impossible not to fall under her cheerful spell. Quinn wondered if Jamie had once been this gregarious. Then wondered how long it would take for Brigid’s spirit to be darkened by her ill-tempered father, how long before she’d lose the ability to trust.