by Nora Roberts
“I don’t make coffee often enough for it to be worthwhile. I start my day with tea most usually.”
“That’s just . . . sick.”
“Ah, such a weakness. It’s nice to find one. There. We just wait for the kettle now.” She reached up to get him a mug, and looked so pretty doing it, rising on her toes, shaking back her tumbled hair, that he was dizzy with . . .
Just dizzy, he told himself. Just dizzy from the picture she made.
“But don’t think I’m making you breakfast.”
He had to touch her, just touch. So he slipped his arms around her, pressing his lips to the side of her neck as he brought her back against him. “You’re so mean.”
Her heart jumped, then beat thickly. The gesture was so simple, so warm, so full of the sweetness of intimacy that frantic sex could never achieve. She squeezed her eyes shut and was careful, very careful, to keep her voice light.
“Well, now, aren’t you affectionate of a morning?”
He wasn’t, not as a rule. He’d have puzzled over it if it hadn’t felt so good to just hold her. “Any woman makes me coffee, I shower her with affection. If she makes me breakfast, I’m her slave.”
“The waitresses in New York City must fight for your table.” She laid her hands over the ones he’d linked around her waist. Just for a moment she wanted that illusion of quiet, settled love. “Myself, I’m not in the market for a slave, but you’re welcome to whatever you can forage.”
He settled for toast, since she didn’t seem to have much else, and leaned against the counter while it browned and she poured boiling water over the waiting grounds.
“God.” He breathed deep. “How does anyone live without the smell of that in the morning?” He gave her a pitying look. “Tea.”
“You Yanks drink so much of it, you don’t know it doesn’t taste near as good as it smells.”
“Blasphemy. There’s a deli two blocks from where I live. Now, they make coffee that brings tears of gratitude to a man’s eye.”
“You miss that.” Since it did smell seductive, she got down a mug for herself. “The delis, the hustle-bustle.” She opened the refrigerator and got out her little carton of cream. “What else do you miss about New York?”
The toast popped. “Bagels.”
“Bagels?” She got out butter and jam as well, then just stood holding them and staring at him. “A man of your resources, and what you miss about New York is coffee and bagels?”
“Right at this moment, I’d pay a hundred dollars for a fresh bagel. No offense to your Irish soda bread. But, really.”
“Well, that’s a wonder.”
He started to make some joke, but the glorious scent that filled the kitchen had his mind clicking in. It was, he decided, too good an opening to pass up.
“New York’s got more to offer than coffee and bagels—though they shouldn’t be lightly dismissed.” He put the toast on the plate she offered him. “Restaurants, theater, art—and for the materialistic, anything and everything that can be bought. You’d love it.”
“Because I’m materialistic?”
“Because if you know what you want, it’s next to impossible not to find it there. Thanks.” He accepted the mug with deep and sincere gratitude. “It’s one of the places you’d go if you signed with Celtic.”
And so, she thought, the door closes on intimacy and opens to business. There was no point in regretting it. “And why would I go to New York?”
“The same reason you’d go to Dublin, London, Chicago, L.A., Sydney, wherever. Concerts, media, exposure.”
She added cream and sugar to her own brew. “It’s a lot to promise when you don’t know how I’ll record, or perform, or stand up to the kind of life that would make.”
“I do know. It’s my business to know.”
“You’ve a lot of businesses, Trevor, and I’ll wager you’re good at each and every one. But it’s this particular one that concerns me. I take your word on this and make this change, I change everything. It’s a lot for me to risk because you like the sound of my voice.”
She held up a hand before he could speak. “You’d risk as well, I understand that. You’d be making an investment in me. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You make investments, and if one doesn’t pay off, another does, so it’s no great loss. A disappointment, an annoyance, but not your life.”
“Point taken,” he said after a moment. “Get dressed.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Get dressed. I think I have a way to settle your mind on part of this.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Make it fast, will you?”
“You’ve your nerve, don’t you? Ordering me about this way, and at six in the morning at that.”
He started to ask what the hell the time had to do with it, then wisely concluded that arguing would only force her to dig in her heels. “Sorry. Would you come with me? It won’t take long, and it does go to your point. Your very valid point.”
“Clever, aren’t you? Well, I’ll go because I’m up and about anyway. But keep in mind I’m not on your payroll, and I don’t jump when you snap.”
She turned and stalked back to the bedroom. Satisfied, Trevor finished his breakfast.
For the second time that morning, Trevor roused someone out of sleep. In this case, the results weren’t as cozy.
“Bloody fucking hell” was Nigel’s response. “If your lady’s kicked you out of bed at this godforsaken hour, take the sofa. I’m not budging, and I’m not sharing.”
“I don’t want to get in the bed, I want you to get out of it. Darcy’s downstairs.”
One of the eyes Nigel had firmly shut popped open. “Does that mean you’re sharing?”
“Remind me to punch you later. Right now, get up, get dressed, and make yourself presentable.”
“No one’s presentable at . . . Jesus, six-thirty in the morning!”
“I’m pressed for time, Nigel.” Trevor turned and started out. “Five minutes.”
“At least put the bloody coffee on,” Nigel shouted.
“I’m not making it this time,” Darcy said firmly the minute Trevor came down the steps. She had her arms folded over her breasts and a steely look in her eye. She’d already made it known, in no uncertain terms, that she hadn’t appreciated Trevor rushing her along.
“No problem.” He snagged her hand and pulled her with him toward the kitchen. “Do you want some tea this time?”
“I won’t be placated by a cup of tea. You barely gave me time to put on my lipstick.”
“You don’t need it.”
Since he hadn’t yet put the kettle on, he had to assume the hissing sound came from her and not from boiling water. “Oh, it’s ever like a man to say something so stupid and think it’s a compliment.”
He got the kettle going, then turned back to her. “You are,” he said, very deliberately, “the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a considerable number of beautiful women.”
She only huffed and sat at the table. “Flattery isn’t going to help you.”
It surprised them both when he walked to her, cupped her face in his hands, lifted it. “You take my breath away, Darcy. That’s not flattery, that’s fact.”
Her heart fluttered. There was no help for it, and no way to stop the emotion from swirling into her eyes. “Trevor.” She murmured it, drawing him to her, then again with her lips against his.
And it was there, suddenly, like light. The love and the longing, the wishes yet unsaid. For an instant, for the time it takes a needy heart to beat, she felt him answer it, and her world shimmered like a jewel.
Music, she swore she heard it. The romance of harpsong, the celebration of pipes, the lusty beat of drums. The sound she made, her mouth warm on his, was a kind of song. A single note of joy.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nigel said dryly from the doorway. “But you did tell me to hurry it up.”
The light fractured, wavered. Trevor drew back, his hands still framing her face,
his eyes still on hers. Then he stepped away, and the music died.
“Yeah.” Something was echoing in his head, in his heart, but he couldn’t get hold of it. He rubbed a hand over his shirt, as beneath it the silver disk seemed abruptly hot against his heart.
Behind him the kettle shrilled, one long scream of frustration. Trevor turned and shut it off with a restrained anger that made no sense to him.
“Good morning, Darcy.” Nigel thought it was like stepping into raw nerves, but he kept his polished and pleasant expression in place. “Can I offer you some coffee once it’s done?”
“No, thanks all the same, but I’ve had some already. After my rude awakening this morning.”
“Ah.” Deciding to make the best of it, Nigel sat across from her at the table. “When our Trevor gets in a mood, no one is safe. He’s a tidal wave.”
“Is he, now?”
“Christ, yes.” Nigel lit his first cigarette of the day. “You get swept along, or you drown. Of course, it’s one of the ways he gets things done when he wants and as he wants.”
Enjoying herself now, Darcy leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
“He’s a single-minded individual, and detours only rarely—when he deems it worth his while. Ruthless, some would say, and they wouldn’t be wrong.” He paused, blew out smoke. “But he’s a boy who loves his mother.”
“Shut up, Nigel,” Trevor ordered when Darcy laughed.
“Not until I’ve had my coffee.”
“Oh, and dare you cross him in such a way?”
“He loves me, too.” Nigel sent Trevor a glittering look as he brooded by the stove. “Who wouldn’t?”
“I’m growing fond of you myself. And what more should I know of this ruthless individual who loves his mother?”
“He’s got a brain like a blade—bright and sharp, and a loyal if stubborn heart. A generous man, Trevor, but never one to be taken advantage of. He admires efficiency, honesty, and creativity in all things. And his way with the ladies is known far and wide.”
“That’ll do.” Annoyed but unruffled, Trevor set a mug in front of Nigel.
“Oh, but I’m sure he’s just getting started,” Darcy protested. “And the topic is greatly fascinating to me.”
“I’ve got one that should be more fascinating to you. Nigel heads up the London branch of Celtic Records. However irritating he might be on a personal level, he’s unerringly astute on a professional one.”
“True.” Nigel took a sip. “Too true.”
“You heard Darcy sing last night, in a pub, without mikes, filters, orchestration, rehearsal. In what we could call the most informal of venues. What was your impression?”
“She’s very good.”
“We’re not negotiating here, Nigel,” Trevor said. “Not diddling terms. Tell her what you thought, straight out.”
“All right.” Nigel replied. “Once in a while, in my profession, you stumble across a jewel, a diamond—no, in your case we’ll use sapphire because it goes with your eyes. A rare, brilliant, undiscovered jewel. That’s what I heard at Gallagher’s last night. I’d love to put that jewel in the proper setting.”
“I’ll leave it to you to explain what that setting might be. I have to get to the site. I’m already late.” Trevor picked up his keys from the counter where Nigel had tossed them the night before. “I’ll leave the car for you.”
She could only stare blindly at the keys. “Thanks, but I’ll just walk back. It’ll clear my head, and I’d prefer it.”
“Suit yourself.” But he leaned down, rested his hands on her shoulders. “I have to go.”
“It’s not a problem. Come have lunch at the pub, since you had to make do with such a skimpy breakfast.”
“If there’s time.” He kissed her lightly before turning to Nigel. “Come down and have a look at the site later. The walk will do your city legs good.”
“Thanks very much.” As Trevor left, Nigel rose to top off his coffee. “Sure you won’t have a cup, Darcy?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He poured out, sat again, smiled. “So—”
He stopped when Darcy held up a hand. “Please, I have a question. Would you have said what you did just now if I wasn’t sleeping with Trevor? Be honest,” she continued as his eyes flickered. “I won’t tell him your answer, you have my word on that, but the truth here is important to me.”
“The truth, then. It would have been easier, and suited me more comfortably, to be able to tell you what I just did if you weren’t sleeping with Trevor.”
“I’d have preferred it as well, but here we are. I hope you’ll take this as truth as well. I’m not sleeping with Trevor so he’ll offer me a big contract.”
“Understood.” Nigel paused, considered. “Is having a personal relationship with him what’s stopping you from agreeing to a professional one?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t make a habit of having a personal relationship with his artists, would he? It’s not his style.”
“No, it’s not.” Interesting, Nigel mused. No, fascinating. Unless he missed his guess, this was a woman in love. “But I’ve never known him to be involved with anyone he hoped to sign for the label. I’d have to say all bets are off in this case.”
No, she thought, it was a wager still. The biggest of her life. “If I signed with Celtic, what would be expected of me?”
Nigel’s grin was all charm. “Oh, Trevor, he expects everything. And he gets it.”
She relaxed enough to chuckle. “Give me the high points then, and the lows as well.”
“You’ll deal with directors, producers, musicians, marketing, consultants, assistants. It’s not just your voice we want, but the package, and everyone will have ideas or demands for presenting that package. However, my impression is that you’re a smart woman, and self-aware, so you’d know the package is already as perfect as it can get.”
“Meaning if I was toad ugly or couldn’t string two coherent sentences together you’d find ways to remake the package.”
“Or use the flaws. You’d be amazed at what a clever publicity campaign can do with flaws. Regardless, the work you’ll do will be hard, the hours long, and not all the choices will go your way. You’ll be tired, annoyed, frustrated, baffled, stressed, and . . . are you temperamental?”
“Me?” She deliberately fluttered her lashes. “Of course I am.”
“Add blowups, sulks, and rages, then—and that’s just in the first recording session.”
Darcy rested her chin on her fist. “I like you, Nigel.”
“That’s mutual, so I’m going to tell you this—which if I didn’t like you, I’d leave out. If you and Trevor continue as you are, people will talk. Not all of them kindly. Some will snipe and scratch and mutter that the only reason you got a contract is because you’re
shagging the boss. They’ll make sure you feel that in dozens of nasty, petty ways. It won’t be easy on you.”
“Or him.”
“They won’t let him know, unless they’re very, very stupid. And the petty and jealous are rarely stupid. You can cry on his shoulder, of course.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes kindled. “I don’t cry on any man’s shoulder.”
“I bet you don’t,” he said quietly. “But if it comes down to it, Darcy, I hope you’ll use mine.”
She was glad she’d chosen to walk back to the village. There were so many thoughts buzzing around in her head. How long it would take to separate them, consider each one, she didn’t know. She only knew that it had to be done.
She asked herself what she would do if there was nothing between herself and Trevor but the offer. The answer came quicker than she expected. She’d take it, of course. It would be a grand adventure, and a chance for more. And if she failed, there was no shame in it. Better, if she succeeded, there was the lush life she’d always imagined.
And all because she could sing. Wasn’t that astounding?
The work Nigel had spoken of didn’t worry her over
much. She wasn’t afraid of working hard. The travel was something she’d always dreamed of. The niggle came from the fact that she had no driving ambition to perform. But perhaps that was to the good. Without that force and need, mightn’t she enjoy it more?
She’d have money to lavish on herself, her family, her friends. Oh, she’d have no problem at all with the money.
But it all circled back. There was something between herself and Trevor, and on her part it was more vital than anything had been in her life.
She had to make him love her.
It was so irritating not to know if she was making progress there. The man was much too self-contained for her peace of mind. With her mouth set in a pout, she tugged a fuchsia blossom from the hedge and tore it to pieces as she walked down the narrow road.
Why was it when it finally happened, she’d lost her heart to a man who wasn’t dazzled with her? Who wasn’t eager as a puppy to please? Who didn’t promise her the world on a silver platter, even if those who had done that most often hadn’t had the platter, much less the world, at their disposal.
She probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with him if he’d been or done any of those things, but that was beside the point. She was in love with him, so why couldn’t he just love her back so everything could be lovely?
Damned perverse individual.
When he’d kissed her there in the kitchen of Faerie Hill Cottage, hadn’t he felt it? Hadn’t he known her heart was spilling right out of her and into his hands? Oh, she hated that she couldn’t stop it.
Hated more that the first time, the only time, she’d wanted a man to see inside her, he just wasn’t looking.
So, she’d have to deal with that. She tossed the remains of the tattered blossom away, watching it whip like confetti in the brisk wind on the hill. She had plenty of tools at her disposal to employ. Sooner or later, she’d box him right in.
Damned if she wouldn’t.
Before she was done, she’d be rich, famous. And married.
As she came around the bend, the sun flashed into her eyes like a beacon, sharp and white and direct. She raised a hand to shield them, blinking, and saw through the glare the glint of silver.