by Nora Roberts
curved. “I have to say, Shawn, you’re better at the entire business than I figured on.”
He opened his eyes. The blue of them was dreamy again. “Well, I’ll admit to having some practice over the years.”
“I won’t complain about that, but there’s a problem just the same.”
“Is there?” He picked up a lock of her hair, twined the curl of it around his finger. “And what would it be?”
“Well, my idea, originally, was that we’d have sex.”
“I recall you mentioning it.” He let the curl unwind, then fall, then chose another. “And I have to admit, a fine idea it was.”
“That was the first part. I mentioned as well that I was looking to do that in order to get this urge I had for you out of my system.”
“I recall that as well. An itch, you said.” He ran his nails lightly down her back. “I’ve done my best to scratch it for you.”
“You did, and I’d never deny it. But that’s the problem part.” Watching him, she trailed a finger along his collarbone, up the side of his neck. And watched his lashes flutter until his eyes were a slit of blue behind them.
“Well, what’s your problem, then, O’Toole?”
“You see, it hasn’t appeared to work, as yet. It seems I’ve still got this itch. So we’ll just have to have sex again.”
“If we must, we must.” He sat up, taking her with him. “Let’s have a shower and a meal first, then we’ll see what can be done.”
Chuckling, she laid her hands on his cheeks. “We’re still friends, too, aren’t we?”
“We’re still friends.” He cuddled her closer, and intended for the kiss to be light and affectionate. But he sank into her.
Her mind was going fuzzy when he turned to lay her back on the bed. Her arms were reaching up for him as she said, “What about the shower and the meal?”
“Later.”
It was later, and a great deal later, and they both ate like starving wolves. Here it was easy to fall back into friendship, to be two people who’d shared meals hundreds of times before. Did you know Betsy Clooney’s whole brood’s down with the chicken pox?
Have you noticed Jack Brennan’s eyeing Theresa Fitzgerald now that she and Colin Riley have broken things off?
Between bites she told him of her sister Patty’s latest flood of tears over whether to have pink or yellow roses in her bridal bouquet. And they lifted a glass to toast the closure of the deal with Magee.
“Are you thinking he’ll send a man out to get the lay of the land and design the theater?” Brenna got up to let Bub in when he came scratching at the door.
“If that’s his plan, it hasn’t come down to me as yet.” He watched the cat slink over to Brenna to rub against her leg.
“Sure, it’s the only way it can be done correctly.” She considered another serving, then decided if she gave in to greed on that, she’d suffer. With a little regret, she pushed her plate away. “He can’t be sitting up in his lofty office in New York City and design what should be here in Ardmore.”
“And how do you know he has a lofty office?”
“The rich are fond of lofty.” Grinning, she kicked back in her chair. “Ask Darcy if lofty isn’t an aim when she finds the rich man she’s hunting for. In any case, they have to see what we are and what we have before they set in their minds what we’ll be.”
“I’ll agree with that.” He rose to clear the table. “I liked your design. Maybe you could draw it up a little more formally. We could give Aidan a look at it. If he likes it as I do, there’s nothing stopping us from passing it onto the Magee for his consideration.”
For a moment she simply sat. “You’d do that?”
He glanced over his shoulder as he ran hot water and soap into the sink. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It would mean a great deal. Even if Magee laughs it off and tosses it aside, it would matter to me. I’m not an architect or engineer or anything that . . . lofty,” she decided as she got to her feet. “But I’ve always had a yen to have a hand in the designing and the building of something, from the ground up.”
“You get a picture in your head,” he said. “An empty field or lot and what you’d put on it right down to the fancy work.”
“That’s right, yes. How did you know?”
“It’s not so different from building a song.”
Thinking of it, she frowned at his back. Never once had she considered that they had anything in common in that area. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll draw it up for you as best I can. Whether the Magee takes a look at it or not, I’m grateful to you for thinking of it.”
She helped him clean up, then as it was nearing midnight, said she had to go.
He walked her out, and they’d made it nearly to the front door before he changed his mind. He settled it by simply plucking her up, hauling her over his shoulder and carting her up to bed once again.
As a result it was half-one when she crept into her house. Creeping was about all she had the energy for. Who would have thought the man could near to wear her out?
She switched off the light her mother had left on for her. Even in the dark she knew which boards, which part of the steps, would creak underfoot. She made it upstairs and into her room without a sound.
And since she wasn’t a mother, she was comfortably unaware that her own had heard her despite the precautions.
Once she slipped into bed, she let out a long sigh, shut her eyes, and fell instantly asleep.
And in sleep dreamed of a silver palace beneath a green hill. Around it grew flowers and grand trees that stood out like paintings in the gilded light. A ribbon of river ran through them, with little diamonds sparkling on its surface in a flash here and there that shocked the eye.
A bridge arched over it, its stones marble-white. As she crossed it, she heard the click of her own boots, the bubble of the water below, and the quick skip of her own heart that wasn’t fear but excitement.
The trees, she saw, were heavy with golden apples,silver pears. For an instant she was tempted to pluck one, to bite into that rich flesh and taste. But even in dreams, she knew that if you visited a fearie raft, you could eat nothing, and drink only water, or you were bound there for a hundred years.
So she only watched the jeweled fruit glint.
And the path leading under them, from the white bridge to the great silver door of the palace, was red as rubies.
As she approached the door, it opened, and out of it spilled the music of pipes and flutes.
She stepped inside, into the music and into perfumed air where torches as tall as men lined the walls with flames that shot as high and true as arrows.
The hall was wide and filled with flowers. There were chairs, with curvy arms and deep cushions, all the color of precious gems. But she saw no one.
Following the music, she climbed the stairs, trailing her hand along a banister that was smooth as silk and glinted like a long, slender sapphire.
Still there was no sound but the music, no movement but her own.
At the top of the stairs there was another long corridor, as wide as the space two grown men would make were they laid head to foot. To her left as she traveled along the corridor was a door of topaz, and to the right, one of emerald. Straight ahead was a third that glowed white as pearls.
And it was from there that the music came.
She opened the white door and stepped inside.
Flowers twined and tangled up the walls. Tables the size of lakes groaned under the weight of platters filled with food. The scents were sensuous.
The floor was a mosaic, a symphony of jewels placed in random patterns.
There were chairs and cushions and plush sofas, but all were empty. All but the throne at the room’s head. There, lounging in the grandeur, was a man in a silver doublet.
“You never hesitated,” he said. “There’s courage in that. Not once did you think of turning around. You just walked straight into what’s unknown to you.”
&nbs
p; He offered her a smile, and with a wave of his hand, the gold apple that appeared in it. “You may have a taste for this.”
“I may, but I haven’t a century to spare you.”
He laughed, and flicking his fingers, vanished the apple. “I wouldn’t have let you, as I’ve more use for you above than here.”
Curious, she turned in a circle. “Are you alone, then?”
“Not alone, no. Even faeries like to sleep. The light was to guide you. It’s night here, as it is in your world. I wanted to speak with you, and preferred to do so alone.”
“Well, then.” She lifted her arms, let them fall. “I’m here.”
“I’ve a question for you, Mary Brenna O’Toole.”
“I’ll try to answer it, Carrick, Prince of Faeries.”
His lips twitched again with amused approval, but his eyes were intense and sober as he leaned toward her. “Would you take a pearl from a lover?”
An odd question indeed, she thought. But after all, it was a dream, and she’d had stranger ones. “I would, if it was given freely.”
With a sigh, he tapped his hand on the wide arm of his throne. The ring he wore flashed silver and blue. “Why is it there are always strings attached to answers when dealing with mortals?”
“Why is it faeries are never satisfied with an honest answer?”
Humor brightened his eyes. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? It’s a fortunate thing I’ve a fondness for mortals.”
“I know you have.” She walked closer now. “I’ve seen your lady. She pines for you. I don’t know if that heavies your heart or lightens it, but it’s what I know.”
Resting his chin on his feet, he brooded. “I know her heart, now that it’s too late for me to do much more than wait. Must there be pain in love before there’s fulfillment?”
“I haven’t the answer.”
“You’ve part of it,” he muttered, and straightened again. “You are part of the answer. Tell me now, what’s in your heart for Shawn Gallagher.” Before she could speak, he lifted a hand in warning. He’d seen the temper flash over her face. “Before you speak, mind this. You’re in my world here, and it’s the simplest of matters for me to make you speak truth. Only truth. We both prefer you answer of your own will.”
“I don’t know what’s in my heart. You’ll have to take that as your truth, for I’ve nothing more.”
“Then it’s time you looked, and time you knew, isn’t it?” He sighed again, not troubling to hide his disgust. “But you won’t till you’re ready. Go on to sleep, then.”
With a sweep of his arm, he was alone with his thoughts in the jeweled light. And Brenna slept, dreamlessly now, in her bed.
She got no more than four hours’ sleep, but went through the day fueled with energy. Most often a late night followed by an early morning left her out of sorts and cross most of the day. But in this case, she was so cheerful that her father commented on her bright mood more than once.
She didn’t feel she could tell him what she told herself. It was good, healthy sex that had her whistling through her work. As close as they were, and as much as she loved him, she doubted her father would want to know how she’d spent her evening.
She remembered the dream, remembered it so clearly, so precisely, that she wondered if she was filling in some blanks without meaning to. But it wasn’t anything she was going to muddle over for long.
“That’s about all for the day, wouldn’t you say, Brenna darling?” Mick straightened up, stretched his back, then glanced over to where his daughter was squatted down painting the floor molding. His lips pursed when he noted she was painting the same six inches over and over with lazy swipes of the brush.
“Brenna?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you think you might have just about enough paint on that space of wood by this time?”
“What? Oh.” She dipped the brush again, then made sure to hit the fresh wood. “My mind must’ve wandered.”
“It’s time to call it a day.”
Already?”
With a shake of his head, he gathered up brushes, rollers, and pans. “What was it your mother put in your oatmeal this morning to give you such pep? And why didn’t I have any?”
“The day went by fast, that’s all.” She got to her feet, looked around. With some surprise she noted just how much had been done. She’d gone through the day on automatic pilot, she supposed. “We’ve nearly finished in here.”
“By tomorrow, it’ll be on to the next. We deserve big portions of that roast your mother promised for tonight.”
“You’re tired, Dad. I’ll clean this up.” That, at least, would soften some of the guilt she was going to feel. “And you know, I was thinking I’d go on into the pub and see Darcy. Would you tell Ma I’ll be grabbing a sandwich there?”
He looked pained when she took the brushes from him. “You’re after deserting me, when you know sure as you’re born your mother and Patty will be into the wedding plans and buzzing around me ears.”
Brenna shot him a grin. She’d forgotten about that and the more genuine excuse not to go straight home. “Want to come to the pub with me?”
“You know I would, but then your mother’d have my head on her best china platter. At least give me your word that when your time comes ’round you won’t ask me if I like the lace or the silk best, then burst into tears when I pick the wrong one.”
“A solemn promise.” She kissed his cheek to seal it. “
“I’m holding you to it, girl.” He shrugged his jacket on. “And if things get over sticky at home, you may see me down at Gallagher’s after all.”
“I’ll buy you a pint.”
When he was gone, Brenna put more time and effort into the cleaning than she had to. It made her feel a little less guilty, though truth to tell, she would be seeing Darcy when she went to the village. If she saw Shawn as well, how could she help it. He worked there, didn’t he?
Despite the rationalization, Brenna made a point of seeking Darcy out the minute she walked into the pub.Since she was down at the end of the bar letting old Mr. Riley flirt with her, Brenna took the next stool, then leaned over to kiss the man’s papery cheek.
“And here I find you making eyes at another woman, when time and time again, you’ve said you had them for none but me.”
“Oh, now, darling, a man’s got to look in the direction his head’s pointed. But I’ve been waiting for you to come along and sit on my knee.”
The man was so thin, and she suspected, his bones so brittle, that an attempt to sit on his knee would shatter it. “Oh, we O’Toole women are jealous creatures, dear Mr. Riley. Now I’m after taking Darcy here aside and giving her a stern piece of my mind for trying to beat my time with you.”
When he cackled, she wandered to a table, gesturing for Darcy to follow. “I’m dying for a pint and a hot meal. What’s Shawn got for us tonight?”
Darcy narrowed bright-blue eyes, cocked a dark brow, then fisted a hand on her hip. “Well, then, you’ve gone and slept with him, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” Though Darcy’s voice had been quiet, Brenna’s head swiveled in panicked embarrassment until she was assured no one was close enough to hear.
“You think I can’t look at a woman I’ve known since I was born and not see she’s had a tumble the night before? With Shawn, you can’t be sure, as he’s half the time got that dreaming look in his eyes. But you, that’s a different kettle.”
“So what if I did?” Brenna hissed it as she sat down. “I said I was going to. And no,” she said as soon as she caught the glint. “I won’t be telling you about it.”
“Who said I’d want to know?” But of course she did.She sat herself, leaned close. “One thing.”
“No, not even one.”
“One thing—we’ve had one thing no matter who or what our whole lives.”
“Damn it.” It was true, and to break tradition now would be breaking a bond. “Four times last night.�
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“Four?” Eyes widened, Darcy looked toward the kitchen as if she could peer right through the door and pin her brother to the opposite wall. “Well, I have to give him a raise in my estimation. And it’s hardly a wonder you’re looking relaxed.”
“I feel wonderful. Does it really show?”
“You have to look for it. I’ve customers.” Reluctantly, Darcy rose. “I’ll get you a pint—and I’d try the poached chicken tonight. People have been pleased with it.”
“I will then, but I think I’ll see if I can’t have it back in the kitchen.”
“Fine. Get your own pint on your way. Do you want to stay up with me tonight? I’ll bet I can get a bit more out of you.”
“You probably could, as you’re a sneaky, nagging sort, but I need to go home early. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Braggart,” Darcy said with a laugh and flounced off to take an order.
“And how are you, Brenna?” Aidan asked when she came behind the bar.
“Why? How do I look?”
He glanced over, as her response had been so sharp. “Well, you look fine to me.”
“I am fine.” Cursing herself under her breath, she drew a pint of Harp from the tap. “I’m a bit tired, I suppose. I thought I’d have this and a plate back in the kitchen, if it’s all right with you, before I head home.”
“You’re welcome, as always.”
“Ah, will you need an extra hand at all this week, Aidan?”
“I could use yours both Friday and Saturday nights, if you have them free.”
“They are. I’ll come ’round.” Casually, she hoped, she moved past and pushed open the kitchen door. “Can you spare a hungry woman a hot meal?”
He turned from the sink where he had the water running hot and full. His eyes warmed as she lifted her glass to his own lips. “I think I might have something you’ll like. I wondered if you’d wander my way tonight.”
“I wanted to see Darcy.” She laughed and sat down with her beer. “And maybe I don’t mind so much seeing you as well.”
He turned the water off, pulled at the cloth tucked into his waistband, and dried his hands. “And how would your system be?”
“Oh, my system’s doing well, thank you. Though there does seem to be a little bit of a hitch in it still.”
“Would you be wanting some help with that?”
I wouldn’t mind it.”
He walked to her chair, and leaning over the back of it, sent the system under discussion churning with his teeth on her ear. “Come home with me tonight.”
She shivered, couldn’t help it. There was something unspeakably erotic about the voice, the suggestion, when she couldn’t see his face. “I can’t. You know I can’t. It’d be too hard to explain to my family.”
“I don’t know when I can get another night off.”
Her vision wavered, doubled as he did something clever with his tongue behind her ear. “How about mornings?”
“It so happens all my mornings, for the foreseeable future, are free.”
“I’ll come by, the first chance I get.”
He straightened, then plucking off her cap, ran a hand down her hair in a way that made her want to stretch like a cat. And purr. “The door’s always open.”
THIRTEEN
THE MORNING WAS soft. Gentle rain pattered over flowers coming awake for spring. Fog, very thin and nearly white, skimmed along the ground and would be burned away at the first ray of sun to beam through the clouds. Faerie Hill Cottage was quiet when Brenna stepped inside. Even faeries like to sleep, she remembered. Perhaps ghosts did as well, and chose gray and rainy dawns for their