Sherryl Woods

by Devaneys 01 - Ryan's Place (v5)

  Just to be sure he didn’t give in to the desire swirling through him, he left the apartment and locked the door securely behind him. Of course, short of his tossing the key in the river, there was nothing to prevent him from unlocking the door and going right back in there an hour from now and struggling with the same neediness. To prevent any chance of that, he went downstairs in search of coffee and Rory’s company.

  The cook glanced up when he walked in. “I thought I heard you moving about upstairs,” he said, and gestured toward a pot of coffee. “The coffee’s fresh and strong.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, pouring himself a cup.

  Rory gave him a sly look. “Of course, I also thought I heard another set of footsteps and a lovely feminine voice. Those wouldn’t belong to our Maggie, would they? Have you finally come to your senses where she’s concerned?”

  “I never lost my senses, which is why I’m down here and she’s up there,” Ryan retorted.

  Rory regarded him with disappointment. “You’re breaking my heart, lad. You’re a disgrace to all the males of Ireland.”

  Ryan thought of what Maggie was offering him, of everything he was fighting so hard to resist. He weighed that against a lifetime of noble restraint that had earned him nothing but loneliness. He sighed heavily.

  “It’s entirely possible that you’re right,” Ryan conceded.

  “Then do something about it.”

  That image of a naked Maggie sliding beneath his sheets slammed into Ryan’s head again. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he needed to resist.

  “One of these days, maybe I will,” he said, a note of wistfulness creeping into his voice.

  “No time like the present,” Rory reminded him.

  Ryan shook his head. “Some things can’t be rushed.”

  “Would Maggie view you coming back upstairs as rushing her?”

  “No,” he admitted ruefully. “I’m the one who’s slowed the pace of things. I can’t afford a mistake.”

  “What sort of mistake?” Rory asked, clearly bewildered.

  Ryan didn’t answer. How could he explain to a man who made a habit of loving and leaving women that once Ryan allowed Maggie to touch him, she’d be a part of his soul?

  And that would give her the power to destroy him if she were ever to walk away.

  Maggie was relieved to hear the answering machine when she called home to let her family know the outcome of Lamar’s surgery and to tell them she was still in town. She wasn’t quite ready to try to explain Ryan’s continued reticence to come to dinner. Knowing her mother, Maggie suspected Nell wasn’t going to take the refusal lightly. When it came to self-proclaimed missions, Nell O’Brien was even quicker to rush in than her daughter. Maggie had a feeling that would be more pressure than Ryan could handle.

  She thought of his reaction to her guess that the rocker had reminded him of his mother. He’d obviously been dismayed that she’d hit on the truth. Clearly he didn’t like the fact that she was chipping away at that protective wall he’d erected around himself and could see into his heart. Maggie recognized that she needed to be careful, especially since her preference would be to take a sledgehammer to what was left of that wall. Rather than poking and prodding about the Devaneys, she was going to fill Ryan’s head with stories of the O’Briens until he grew comfortable with the idea of her family, even if he couldn’t deal with his own.

  Sighing, she snuggled more securely around the pillow that still held Ryan’s faint, masculine scent. For now, this was the only way she was likely to get close to him, but that would change eventually. Maggie could be patient when she had to be…especially now that she thought she knew how to break down that wall.

  It was afternoon when she woke. Sun was streaming in the bedroom window. Maggie yawned and stretched, then listened for some sound to indicate that Ryan had returned to the apartment. All she heard were street sounds and the distant clatter of pots and pans, coming no doubt from the pub kitchen downstairs.

  Wrapping herself in one of Ryan’s shirts that she found hanging on the back of the door, she slipped across the hall to the bathroom and showered, then dressed. Using his hair dryer, she did what she could to coax some waves into her hair, then ventured downstairs, where she found the pub empty.

  The sound of voices in the kitchen drew her. Poking her head around the door, she scanned the room for Ryan, but saw no sign of him. Rory, however, was chopping the vegetables for Irish stew, while Rosita sat nearby, her feet up.

  “Taking a break?” Maggie asked with a grin.

  “Señor Rory not let me help,” Rosita responded, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “I can chop, sí? That is not so difficult.”

  “You need to stay off your feet,” Rory countered.

  Rosita rolled her eyes. “He is worse than Juan.”

  “Does Ryan realize he’s paying her to rest?” Maggie inquired.

  “I’m in charge of the kitchen,” Rory claimed defensively. “I see no need to tell himself how I’m running it or who’s doing what. As long as there’s food for the customers, he’s got no cause to complain.”

  Maggie chuckled. “You’re an angel, Rory.”

  “You’d best be keeping that to yourself, Maggie. I have a reputation as a tyrant to protect.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t give away your secret. Where is your boss, by the way?”

  “In the pub.”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “Check the booth in the back corner. He was asleep on the bench last time I checked.”

  “Why on earth would he sleep down here when there was a perfectly good sofa upstairs?” she asked. “To say nothing of half a bed.”

  Rory’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now that’s a question you should be asking him, but I think you can figure it out if you put your mind to it.”

  “It’s because I was in the other half of that bed, wasn’t it?” she asked, astonished that her presence had actually scared the man out of his own home.

  “You never heard me say such a thing, now did you?” Rory replied, a grin splitting his face.

  “He doesn’t trust himself around me,” she concluded with a sense of wonder. She’d suspected it, but the confirmation was music to her ears.

  “That would be my impression,” Rory agreed. He studied her intently. “What do you intend to do about this power you have over him?”

  Rather than replying, she met his gaze. “Any suggestions?”

  “Now if a woman affected me the way you affect our Ryan, I wouldn’t mind if she were to make an outright pass at me,” the Irish cook said, then sighed heavily. “But sadly, Ryan is a better man than I. I think a subtler approach is called for.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Persistence and patience,” he recommended. “Whatever you’ve done to rattle him, do that and more of it.” An unrepentant grin suddenly crossed his face. “Ah, here is the very man in question, looking oddly unrefreshed from his nap.”

  “Go to hell,” Ryan muttered as he crossed to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. Only then did he glance at Maggie. “Want some?”

  “I’d love a cup,” she said, noting that Ryan’s gaze fell on Rosita as he poured the coffee. He hesitated, then gave a resigned shake of his head before handing Maggie her coffee.

  “Okay,” Rory declared, “there are too many people in my kitchen. You two, out. I’ll fix you an omelette and bring it out, or would you prefer a sandwich since we’re well into afternoon now?”

  “An omelette sounds lovely,” Maggie said.

  “Perhaps Rosita could fix it,” Ryan suggested.

  “She’s on a break,” Rory retorted emphatically.

  “Come on,” Maggie encouraged before Ryan could debate the topic.

  “I knew hiring that woman was a mistake the instant I saw she was pregnant,” he complained as they went to a booth. “If nothing else, Rory is gallant. I knew he’d never let her do a lick of work.”

  “If it’s any consolati
on, I think Rosita is as frustrated as you are.”

  “That doesn’t actually help. I hired her because Rory claimed to need help.”

  “And now he’s satisfied. Maybe all he really needed was company.”

  “I am not paying someone to sit in there and chat with him. Besides, she doesn’t know enough English to carry on a conversation.”

  “Oh, I think she knows enough,” Maggie said, then captured and held his gaze. “So, Rory tells me you slept down here. Mind telling me why?”

  “I sat down for a minute and fell asleep,” he said defensively. “There’s nothing more to it.”

  “But why were you down here in the first place? You were as exhausted as I was. I thought you were going straight to sleep on the sofa upstairs.”

  He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  “I hope it wasn’t because of me.”

  He didn’t look away as she’d anticipated. Instead, he turned the challenge around.

  “Now why would you have anything to do with it?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said with an offhand shrug. “Maybe because you were tempted to crawl into your bed with me.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said.

  Maggie laughed at the too-quick response. “Liar, but I’m going to let that pass this time.”

  “How gracious of you,” he said sourly. “Did you explain to your mother that I couldn’t come to dinner?”

  “She wasn’t home. I left her a message to that effect. Just to prepare you, though, don’t be surprised if she comes in here to demand an explanation.”

  He frowned at that. “Can’t anyone in your family take a simple no for an answer?”

  “Not usually,” she said cheerfully. “You should probably try to get used to it.”

  “Why? Eventually you’ll go back to Maine, and that will be that. I’ll probably never see you or any of your family again.”

  Maggie shook her head at the note of resignation in his voice. “That’s not how it works with us. Face it, Devaney, we’re here to stay.”

  “What about Maine?” he asked, a faint note of desperation in his voice. Apparently, he’d been clinging to the notion that she would be leaving after the holidays so he could let himself off the hook and never have to deal with his all-too-apparent feelings for her.

  “I’ve decided not to go back,” she announced, making the decision on the spot. Whatever happened between her and Ryan, she wanted to remain in Boston. And, if she had her way, she would work right here, by his side. Eventually maybe he’d even let her get her hands on his accounting system so she could bring him into the twenty-first century.

  His gaze narrowed. “Why not?”

  “There’s nothing for me there,” she said.

  “And here?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Ryan sighed heavily at her response, but Maggie was almost certain there was a slight flicker of relief in his eyes. It wasn’t much, but she was going to cling to that with everything she had.

  A week later, with Christmas only days away, Ryan was still cursing the fact that he hadn’t done everything he could to persuade Maggie that she belonged in Maine. The only trouble would have been that he didn’t believe it. It was more and more evident to him that she belonged right here, making him laugh with her stories about her family.

  Making him yearn.

  Even so, he caught himself before he allowed her to weave a spell around him that couldn’t be broken. Though the invitations to join the O’Briens for dinner came almost daily, he determinedly turned down every single one. He was pretty sure he was finally getting through to Maggie that what they had now was as far as he was going to allow things to go.

  Of course, just when he was feeling confident, he looked up and spotted her mother coming through the pub’s door with a determined glint in her eyes. Maggie had warned him about precisely this, but as the days had gone by, he’d put the possibility of a direct confrontation with Nell O’Brien from his mind. Now, on Christmas Eve, she was standing squarely in front of him, hands on hips and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

  “I am going to pretend that you haven’t rudely turned down every single invitation Maggie’s offered,” she said, eyes flashing. “I will not allow you to say no to having Christmas dinner with us tomorrow. Father Francis is invited, as well.”

  “The shelter—” Ryan began, only to have his words cut off.

  “Dinner at the shelter is at noon. I checked,” she told him. “We’ll eat at five. That should give you both plenty of time to get there.” She tilted her head in a way that reminded him of Maggie. “Any questions?”

  Ryan knew when he was beaten. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, thank you. Can I bring anything?”

  “Just Father Francis and a pleasant attitude,” she said, then kissed his cheek. “And a small token for Maggie, perhaps. I know she has a little something for you.”

  Ryan sighed. He’d already seen the perfect gift for Maggie, but he’d kept himself from buying it. He’d told himself that any present at all would carry implications of a connection he was trying not to encourage. He should have known it was another bad decision on his part, should have realized that she would have no such reticence about buying him something.

  “Maureen, watch the bar,” he called to his waitress. “I have an errand to run.”

  “We’re filled to overflowing and you want to run an errand?” she asked, regarding him with astonishment.

  “Last-minute Christmas shopping,” he said.

  A grin spread across her face. “And if I’m not mistaken, that was Maggie O’Brien’s mother who just came breezing through here. Does that mean you’re going to buy something special for Maggie?”

  “You can jump to whatever conclusions you want,” he said, “as long as I can get out of here before the stores close.”

  “Go,” Maureen said. “Besides, I imagine Maggie will be along any minute now to help out. Shall I tell her you’re out shopping for her?”

  He scowled. “You’ll do no such thing, or your bonus for this year will turn out to be ashes and switches.”

  Maureen laughed at the empty threat. “You gave me my bonus last week.”

  He sighed. “Next year, then.”

  As if the holidays weren’t stressful enough for him, why was it that every female he knew had suddenly decided this was the perfect season to drive him crazy?

  Chapter Eleven

  “It’s a good thing you’re doing,” Father Francis assured Ryan as they drove to Maggie’s house on Christmas afternoon after a busy morning at the shelter during which Ryan had played Santa to dozens of children. “It’s about time you spent a holiday with a real family, rather than just the lost souls at the shelter or the strays who wander into the pub.”

  “This from a man who is usually among those strays,” Ryan retorted.

  “Only because I worry about you,” the priest responded. “And because Rory is the only man I know who can make a decent Christmas pudding.”

  “Then why are you so agreeable to missing it this year?” Ryan asked.

  “Because we’ve had a better offer. Christmas pudding is not the most important part of the holiday, after all.”

  “Besides which, I’m sure Rory agreed to save you some,” Ryan guessed.

  “Aye, that he did,” the priest agreed unrepentantly.

  A few minutes later Ryan found a parking space half a block from the O’Brien home. Judging from the number of cars in front of the house and lining the driveway, there was a full house. Even though he was likely to know almost everyone there, Ryan suffered a moment of panic at the prospect of facing them. However, one look from Father Francis had him cutting the engine and climbing out.

  At the door Maggie greeted them warmly, reserving a smug grin for Ryan. “They’ve been taking bets inside on whether you’d show up,” she told him. “I believe my haul should be more than twen
ty dollars. Mother gets the other half.”

  “Do you all bet on everything?” he asked as Father Francis laughed.

  “Just about,” she said, standing on tiptoe to give Ryan a slow, deliberate kiss that made his head spin.

  Before he could gather his wits, Ryan heard Father Francis mutter, “About time.” Then the priest disappeared in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy.

  Ryan felt Maggie’s lips curve into a slow smile against his. When he pulled away, there was amusement dancing in her eyes. “What?” he demanded crankily.

  “Nothing,” she insisted. “Did you hear me say a word?”

  Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction. “Keep it that way. This situation is not amusing, Maggie. I can’t seem to make myself stay away from you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. I’m the wrong man for you.”

  She surveyed him so thoroughly he almost squirmed, then shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

  “See what?”

  “You being wrong for me.” Her gaze lit on the small gift bag in his hand. “Is that for me?”

  With a sigh, he handed it to her. A part of him wanted her to open the present right then, but a part of him dreaded it. He didn’t have a lot of practice picking out gifts, but this one had seemed so right. If she hated it, he was going to feel like an idiot.

  Maggie had no such hesitations. She was pulling tissue from the bag with the excitement of a child. Her eyes lit up when she saw the small, square box. For a moment she fumbled with the lid, then impatiently handed it to him. “I’m all thumbs. You open it.”

  “It’s your present,” he protested.

  “Please.”

  Ryan took the box, slit the tape holding it closed, then lifted the lid just enough to make opening it the rest of the way easy for her. “Okay, all yours,” he said, anxious to be rid of it. Even so, he couldn’t tear his gaze away as he awaited her reaction.

  Maggie carefully unfolded the tissue in the box, then sighed. “Oh, my,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “Ryan, they’re beautiful.” She removed the antique marcasite hair clips from the box with a look of reverence. The clips were made in the shape of shamrocks, and each had a tiny emerald chip in the center that was the exact color of Maggie’s eyes. “I have to put them on.”