The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  Oh, Jesus, the man had the most magical of mouths.

  “I don’t need it.” Her breath was coming hard and fast and making her dizzy. “Or seductions.”

  “I do.” He tilted his head so he could nibble down her throat.

  “If you’ve decided—and it appears to me you have— that we should have sex after all, we’ll take an hour now and go to your cottage.”

  His chuckle was muffled against her skin, skin that was soft as sun-warmed silk. “Somewhere in the middle, Brenna. I want you.” He felt her shiver as his mouth found hers again. “But I’ve a mind to drive us both a bit crazy before I have you naked and under me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s more enjoyable that way. Do you like it when I do this?” She drew in her breath in three short gasps when he feathered his fingers just under her shirt so the backs of them rubbed the curve of her breast. “I see you do. Your eyes are blurry.”

  “I’m half blind. The hell with the cottage, we’ll just finish this right here.”

  But when she locked her arms around his neck, he laughed and swung her in a circle. “Oh, no, we won’t. I won’t short myself or you of the pleasure.”

  “It doesn’t seem like middle ground from where I’m standing. It’s leaning heavily toward your way of things.”

  “Maybe, but you’ll thank me for it when we’re done.”

  “So like a man,” she said when he set her on her feet. “Always thinking you know what’s best and how it all should be done.”

  His teeth flashed. “Brenna, darling, if I wasn’t a man we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  She blew out a breath, settled her cap more firmly on her head. “Well, you’re right about that, aren’t you?”

  “You told me you had an itch, well, I’ll scratch it for you, in my own time and my own way. That’s fair.”

  She looked at him, nodded. “Frustrating, but fair.”

  “And wherever we stand now or after, we walk away friends at the end of it. As much as I want you, I won’t touch you if we don’t take a vow here to walk away friends.”

  How could she help but care for him, Brenna wondered, when he was the kind of man who would think of that? And would mean it. “Friends now, during, and after.” She offered her hand on it. “I’ll promise that to you.”

  “And I to you.” He took her hand, held it. Then, just to see her reaction, brought it to his lips to nuzzle.

  Her mouth fell open, delighting him into a rolling laugh.

  “Mary Brenna, I believe you’re in for a few surprises along the way.”

  “Maybe.” She tugged her hand free, put it behind her back, where it continued to tingle. “But I’m not without a few tricks of my own.”

  “I’ll count on that.” Plucking the key from his pocket, he turned toward the door. “Why don’t you come down tonight and I’ll fix you supper, and I can show you some . . . surprises in the storeroom.”

  “In the storeroom?” Before she could laugh, a thought took root. “Just how many women, might I ask, have you surprised in the storeroom?”

  “ Mauverneen. ” He winked at her before he strolled out. “I’m not a man who counts.”

  NINE

  “MAGEE’S MAN FINKLE’S here.” Darcy hissed it as she scurried into the kitchen.

  Shawn glanced up from the trio of bookmaker’s sandwiches he was making. “Is he now?”

  “Big as life.” Out of habit, she checked her face and hair in the little mirror she’d hung beside the door. “ Aidan’s pulling him a pint of lager and chatting him up at the bar, though the Finkle looks to be all business.”

  Knowing his sister’s skills, Shawn gestured with his knife. “Give me him in a hundred words or less.”

  Darcy narrowed her eyes, tapped a finger to her lips. “Middle fifties and balding. Sensitive about it, as he does a comb-over. A prosperous belly that tells me he likes his food. Married, but not above casting an eye. An indoor man. A company man used to taking orders and giving them on down the line. Frugal, as Mary Kate tells me he bargained fierce on the room rate even though it’s on his expense account. Urban through and through and a bit of a dandy. I could pluck my eyebrows in the shine off his shoes.”

  “Well done.” Shawn’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “You won’t have any trouble charming him, will you?”

  With the smuggest of smiles, Darcy examined her nails. “Shooting fish in a barrel.”

  “I’m not talking about leading him into temptation, Darcy, just making him stumble around the far edges of it.”

  “Give me some credit. I said he was married. I’m not a homewrecker.”

  “Sorry. It was the look in your eye. It’s a terror you are to mankind.”

  She took a tube out of her tip pocket and freshened her lipstick, with her eye on Shawn’s in the mirror. “Mankind loves terrors like me.”

  “I can’t argue with you there, as I’ve seen too many of the fallen. I’ll help you serve the sandwiches here, so the Finkle can get a look at the harmless brother.”

  In harmony with him, Darcy helped Shawn load the tray. “He’s impatient, I’d say, to get a look at things, eye the land, talk his deal.”

  “He’s in Ireland now,” Shawn said easily. “Rushing isn’t the Gallagher way.”

  He put the orders together and got some bowls of crisps for the bar. “I wasn’t daydreaming,” he said to Darcy’s back, lifting his voice slightly as they passed through the kitchen door into the pub. “I was thinking.”

  Following his lead, Darcy sighed. “You can’t put orders together in good time if your head’s in the clouds. Try staying on the ground with the rest of us now and again.”

  Adopting a sulky expression, Shawn began to set bowls out on the bar.

  “Shawn, come meet Mr. Finkle from New York City.” Shawn let his face clear and moved down the bar in Aidan’s direction, leaned on it to offer a friendly smile at the man with thinning hair and vaguely irritated black eyes.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Finkle. We’ve cousins in New York City, and friends as well. They say it’s a fast and busy place, with something doing every minute of every day. Aidan, you’ve been to New York City. Is that how you remember it as well?”

  Because he had to swallow a chuckle, Aidan merely nodded. Shawn had thickened his accent, just enough to add atmosphere and a touch of country bumpkin.

  “Aidan’s one for traveling. Sure, and it runs in the family, it does. But as for me, I’m one for staying where he’s planted.”

  “Yes, well,” Finkle began, obviously prepared to dismiss Shawn and get back to important matters.

  “So, have you come on holiday to Ardmore, Mr. Finkle? Sure, and it’s a fine spot for it. Quiet now, so you’re lucky,” Shawn went on. “By end of May, they’ll come swarming to the beaches since we’ve such fine ones, and then they pack into the pub so I can barely keep up with the orders. A body can get a bit of a rest in the winter at least.”

  “I’m here on business.” Finkle spoke precisely, and the hard edge to his consonants Shawn recognized as native New Yorker. “For Magee Enterprise.”

  At Shawn’s convincingly blank look, Aidan shook his head. “Shawn, I told you about the possibility of doing a deal with Mr. Magee. His theater?”

  “Well, now, I never thought you were serious.” Shawn scratched his head. “A cinema in Ardmore?”

  “Not a movie theater,” Finkle said with obvious impatience. “One for live entertainment.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Darcy sidled up to the bar, beamed approval at Finkle. “Just brilliant. You must come to the pub tonight, Mr. Finkle, so you can have a sample of the kind of local talent we could offer your theater.”

  “What about the man from London?” Shawn sent baffled looks to Darcy, then Aidan. “The restaurant man?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Aidan gave Shawn a small and very obvious nudge. “That’s not important.”

  Finkle’s shoulders st
raightened, his eyebrows lowered. “Are you speaking with another investor, Mr. Gallagher?”

  “It’s not a serious matter. Not at all. Why don’t I show you the land we’ll be discussing? Sure, you’ll want a look at it, won’t you? You’re not after buying a pig in a poke. Shawn, you man the bar here, there’s a lad.” Hastily, Aidan flipped up the pass-through. “We’ll have a walk about the place, Mr. Finkle, and see what’s what.”

  “Please do come back, won’t you?” Darcy called out and had the satisfaction of seeing Finkle flush a little as he glanced back her way. “I’d love to sing for you.”

  She waited until they were safely out and away. “The man from London,” she said, snickering. “That was inspired.”

  “Just came to me. And I’ll wager a pound to a pence that the minute he gets back to a phone he’s ringing Magee in New York to tell him we’re playing two lines.”

  “It could backfire, you know, Shawn, and have this Magee looking elsewhere.”

  “Or it could pay off.” He reached over to tug her hair, surprised at how much fun he’d had playing the game. “Life’s a gamble, isn’t it?”

  He looked up as Brenna and her father came in for their lunch hour. “And that’s half the fun of living. A good day to you, Mr. O’Toole,” he said when Mick strolled to the bar. “Mary Brenna. And what can we do for you?”

  “I’ve a thirst, Shawn.” Mick sent Darcy a wink.

  “We can help you there.” Knowing his man’s preferences, Shawn slid a pint glass under the tap and began the process of building a Guinness. “And for you, Brenna?”

  “I’m more interested in that soup I see on your menu.” She nodded toward the daily board. “But there’s no hurry.”

  “None at all,” Mick confirmed as he slid onto a stool. “We’re all but finished at your brother’s house this morning. My Brenna here will tidy it up by day’s end, then we’ll be back to renovating rooms at the hotel. Sure, and I’ll miss coming in here for your cooking, Shawn. Not that the hotel doesn’t serve a good meal, but no one has your touch.”

  “Will you have some soup today, and a sandwich as well, Mr. O’Toole?” Darcy slipped behind the bar to pour the tea she assumed Brenna wanted. “A man works as hard as you, he needs his fuel.”

  “Well, I will at that, Darcy darling. You’ll make some fortunate man the best of wives one day, as you’ll know how to tend to him.”

  With a quick and wicked laugh, Darcy slid the tea across to Brenna. “I’m looking for one who’ll tend to me—and lavishly. Speaking of it, has Daniel rung you up, Brenna?”

  “Daniel?” She caught Shawn’s raised brow and fought not to squirm. “He did, yes.”

  “That’s fine, that. Matthew said he would. That’s a fine-looking and well-set-up young man has his eye on your daughter, Mr. O’Toole.”

  “And why shouldn’t he? She’s a pretty thing.”

  “All right, Dad.”

  “Well, you are, and what’s wrong with saying so?” The slap on the shoulder he gave her was one most men would have given a son. “A man’d be fortunate indeed to snap up a lass like my Brenna, as she’s fair of face and a good worker too. A bit of a temper, maybe, but that only adds the spice. A man doesn’t go looking for a bland sort of woman, does he, Shawn?”

  Shawn laid the next level of Guinness in the glass. “That would depend on the man.”

  “Well, a smart one doesn’t, for he’d be bored brainless within a year. Not that I’m in a rush to see my Brenna here off and married. My chicks are leaving the nest quick enough now, with Maureen already wed and Patty looking to be a bride in a few months.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do without my Brenna when the time comes.”

  “You won’t have to do without me, time or not. We’re partners. I’ll just go back and get the soup, since you’re shorthanded here.”

  It was as good an excuse as any to get out of the spotlight and away from uncomfortable topics. She was behind the bar and through the kitchen door as quickly as she could manage without letting on she was in a hurry. When the door was behind her, she rolled her eyes heavenward and blew out a breath.

  Her father was getting powerfully sentimental lately, and while she found it touching most times, this wasn’t one of them. She got down bowls and tried not to wince when she heard the door open again. She didn’t have to turn to know it was Shawn.

  “I can get this. You’re busy.”

  “And Darcy can man the bar as well as me—or anyone. Besides, your father wants a sandwich. You don’t build as well with bread and meat as you do with wood and nails.”

  Because he wanted to, and because he knew it would fluster her, he came up behind, took her hips in his hands and bent down to nip at the back of her neck.

  Heat flashed straight down to her toes. “What are you about? You’re to be working.”

  “You’re work enough.” He turned her, then slid his hands up her sides.

  “I’ve only time to get a bite to eat. I have to get back to the house and finish up.”

  “I’ll feed you soon enough.” With his hands hooked under her arms, he boosted her onto the counter. “You feed me first. I’ve an appetite for you.”

  She started to protest, though her heart wouldn’t have been in it, but then his mouth was nibbling on hers. “Someone could come in,” she managed, but her hands were already in his hair.

  “And why would that bother you? Just put your mind to this for a minute.” He framed her face, tilted his head. And took her under.

  He’d promised to drive her crazy, and she was forced to admit he was a man of his word. For days he’d kept her on a shaky sexual edge that was both frustrating and wonderful. It was never more than a kiss, long and slow and deep or fast and hard and hot. The bare, teasing brush of hand or fingertips. The quiet look that could send her pulse scrambling without a word spoken.

  An appetite for her, he’d said. It must have been true, as he was sampling and savoring and consuming her in lazy, lingering bites. When she began to tremble he only made a sound of satisfied approval.

  “Shawn.” The man made her light in the head and wild in the belly. “I can’t go on like this much longer.”

  “I can.” He was dreaming in her. “I could go on like this for years.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He chuckled, then drew back, pleased by the clouds of desire in her eyes. “What did you say to this Daniel?”

  “Daniel who?”

  His grin flashed, and her mind cleared. Swearing, she gave him a shove and jumped off the counter. “Damn you, Shawn, that’s what this was about. Just softening me up and fogging up my brain so I’d boost your ego a notch.”

  “That was just a side benefit.” He got out the makings for a sandwich. “But the fact is, Brenna, I’ve an interest in knowing if you’re going out with the Dubliner again just now.”

  “I ought to, just to slap at you.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “That’s what Darcy would do.”

  “Ah, but you’re not Darcy, are you, darling?”

  “No, I’m not, and I haven’t the talent or the energy to juggle men like apples. I told the Dubliner I was seeing someone.”

  Shawn glanced over, met her eyes. “Thanks for that.”

  “What I’d like to know is when I’m going to be sleeping with someone.”

  He added the spiced mustard he knew Mick O’Toole favored, and kept his brows lifted. “In all the years I’ve known you, never did I realize you had such an obsession with sex.”

  “I wouldn’t be obsessed with sex if I was having sex.”

  “Well, now, how can you be sure of that, as you’ve never had it with me?”

  She wanted to pull her hair, decided to laugh instead. “Christ Jesus, Shawn, you’re enough to drive a woman to drink.”

  “Go out and have Darcy pull you a pint on me,” he began, then his head came up again as he heard the sound of voices through the back door. “No, wait. Follow along here.”


  “Follow what?”

  “Ladle the soup.” He gave a wag of his hand toward the bowls. “And just follow along.”

  The back door opened, and Aidan stepped back to let Finkle go through. “The kitchen’s Shawn’s territory, as you can see. We’ve added this and that as he’s felt a need for it. Oh, hello, Brenna. This is our friend and occasional employee, Brenna O’Toole. Brenna, Mr.Finkle from New York.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Clueless, Brenna put on a company smile and ladled the soup.

  “Mr. Finkle’s here about adding a restaurant to the pub,” Shawn began.

  “A theater,” Aidan said in a tone so sharp that Brenna nearly bobbled the bowl in surprise. “The theater, Shawn. You’re confused again.”

  “Oh, aye, the theater. Sure and I can’t keep business dealings straight in my mind for five minutes at a run.”

  “But you make a lovely soup.” Brenna gave him an encouraging look, one she might have sent to a slightly slow twelve-year-old. And hoped that was what he’d had in mind. “Would you care for a bowl of it now, Mr. Finkle, or have you eaten already?”

  “No, I haven’t.” The kitchen smelled like someone’s devoted grandmother’s kitchen, and it had his mouth watering. “It’s very aromatic.”

  “And tastes better, I can promise you. What kind of theater are you thinking of?”

  “A small, tasteful entertainment arena. My employer wants something traditional.”

  “People like to eat and lift a glass or two before or after the theater, don’t they?” Shawn dressed the sandwich with a bit of parsley and radish.

  “As a rule.” Finkle scanned the room, the shining pots, the scrubbed counters, the tidy workstation. The stove was enormous and looked older than Zeus, but it appeared to be in good working order.

  It might do, he thought. He would make a note of it in his report.

  “Well, then, they couldn’t do better than Gallagher’s for that,” Brenna assured him. “Would you like to sit here in the kitchen, sir, or would you prefer a table?”

  “A table, if you don’t mind,” he told Brenna. The better to observe the business flow.