Heart Of The Sea

CHAPTER Nine

The hums and grumbles and thuds outside her window drove Darcy out of bed early every morning. Whenever she thought about it going on for nearly another year, she was tempted to bury her head under the pillow and smother herself.

Since suicide wasn't in her makeup, though, she tried to make the best of it. She could turn up her music loud, or just lie there and pretend she was in a big, noisy city.

New York, Chicago. All that noise was really traffic, and people bustling under her lovely, lofty penthouse flat.

Most of the time that worked. When it didn't, she got up and spent quite a bit of time in the shower cursing.

Otherwise, if she was in the mood, she'd wander over to look down and watch the work for a while. And look for Trevor. She didn't allow herself to do it daily-or allow herself to be seen daily.

That would be predictable.

She liked looking at him, seeing what he was up to that morning. Some days he was standing on the edge of things, his hair blowing in the wind, discussing something or other with Brenna or Mick O'Toole in the way men did, with thumbs tucked into pockets and wise, sober expressions on their faces.

And others-and she liked the others best-he was in the middle of the thing, hammering or hauling or drilling, stripped down to his shirtsleeves, and if the angle was right she could watch a ripple of muscle.

It was odd. Not that she hadn't always enjoyed taking a good, long look at men, but she couldn't remember ever being so interested in the look of one man before. Or being so fascinated by studying him as he went about manual labor.

He had a fine build, she mused as she stood framed in the window. That was part of it. A woman who didn't appreciate a long and wiry build on a man, well, she had a problem, as far as Darcy was concerned. It was the way he moved, too. Light on his feet, confident and in control.

She imagined, and why wouldn't she imagine, that he would be just as confident and in control with a female in bed. Control would make a man thorough, and a thorough loving was no small matter to a woman.

Still, she had to wonder what it would take to snap that control. A loving wild and fierce was no small matter either.

It concerned her in a mild sort of way that she thought of him as often as she did. Looked for him as often as she did. In the mornings like this, at midday, in the evening.

Sometimes he came into the pub. Sometimes he didn't. She was certain it was purposeful on his part. That lack of predictability. They were gaming with each other, and both knew it perfectly well.

And damn, but didn't she like that about him! The man was every bit as arrogant as she was herself.

She hadn't arranged for a night off. That was purposeful on her part. It was true enough that she liked keeping him waiting. But she was keeping herself waiting as well, with a delicious sort of tension inside her. She understood that when they spent the evening together, it wouldn't be just a matter of having dinner.

Dinner wasn't what either of them wanted.

It had been a long time since she'd had an urge for a man. A particular man. She missed the feel of one against her, that was true. The strength and the heat, that flash of fire in the belly that came just before release.

She was a woman who enjoyed sex, Darcy admitted, the problem being there'd been no one to tempt her for more than a year.

Sure and she was tempted now, she thought when Trevor looked up and their eyes met. She enjoyed, absorbed, the edgy little thrill that whipped down her spine. The man tempted her in all manner of ways. So- it was time to arrange for that night off.

She smiled down at him, slow and sly, then deliberately stepped back. Let him do some thinking about that, she decided.

Restless, not ready to face the long day, or even dress for it as yet, she wandered her rooms. She put on the kettle for tea more out of habit than desire. The rooms, such as they were, were the first she'd had all to herself in all of her life. It had been a shocking surprise to realize she missed the company of her brothers. Even their untidiness.

She'd always liked things just so, and her rooms reflected it. She'd painted the walls a quiet rose. Well, she'd browbeaten Shawn into doing most of the work, but the results were pleasing to her. From her bedroom at home, she'd taken her favorite framed posters. Monet's water lilies and a forest scene she'd found in a bookshop. She liked the dreaminess of them.

She'd made the curtains herself, as she had a fine hand with a needle when she wanted to. The pillows she piled on the ancient sofa were from her hand as well. A practical woman who preferred nice things understood it was cheaper by far to buy a length of satin or velvet and put in the time than to plunk down the cost for ready-made.

And it left more spending money for shoes or earrings.

Standing on a table was her wish jar, full of coins that came from tips. And one day, she thought, one fine day, there would be enough for her to take the next trip. An extravagant trip next time, to anywhere.

A tropical island, maybe. Where she could wear an excuse for a bikini and drink something foolish and fruity out of a coconut shell. Or Italy, to sit on some sunbaked terrace and look out over red-tiled roofs and grand cathedrals.

Or New York, where she would stroll along Fifth Avenue and gaze at all the treasures behind the forest of shop windows and pick out what was waiting just for her.

One day, she thought, and wished whenever she imagined it that she didn't see herself alone.

It didn't matter. She had enjoyed her week in Paris alone, so she would enjoy the others, in their time. Meanwhile, she was here, and so was the work.

She brewed the tea first, and told herself that since she was up early she'd lounge on the sofa, page through one of her glossy magazines and enjoy a quiet morning.

Before she settled in, her gaze landed on the violin she kept on a stand, more for decoration than convenience. Frowning, she set her cup aside and picked up the instrument. It was old, but had a clear voice. Would it be this, she wondered? Would it be the music that had always been part of her life that finally opened the doors for her, that took her into those places she dreamed of and rolled out the red carpet she was dying to walk on?

"Wouldn't that be odd," she murmured. "Something you never think twice about because it's always been there."

Idly, she rosined the bow, tucked the violin under her chin, and played what came first to mind.

He'd expected her to come down. Trevor left the site, slipped into the kitchen with the excuse of making a phone call. But she wasn't there.

He heard the music, the aching, romantic notes of a violin. The kind of music, he thought, that belonged to moonlight.

He followed it.

Her door was at the head of the stairs, and the music seemed to swell against it, rising up like hope, sliding down like tears.

He didn't even think to knock.

He saw her, half turned away, eyes closed. Lost. Her hair was loose, still tumbled from sleep to rain down the back of a long blue robe. One narrow bare foot tapped the time.

The look of her clogged his lungs. The music she made had his throat burning. She played for herself, and the quiet pleasure of it glowed on that remarkable face.

Everything he wanted, had planned for, dreamed of, seemed to melt together in that one woman, that one moment. And left him shaken to the bone.

The music soared, note echoing against note, then slid away to silence.

Still drifting, she sighed, opened her eyes. And saw him. Her heart stuttered, an almost painful sensation. Before she could recover, before she could slip on the mask of a knowing smile, he crossed to her.

She felt her breath catch, as if someone had squeezed a hand over her throat. Or her heart. Then his mouth was on hers, hot, fierce. Glorious.

Her arms fell weakly to her sides, as if the fiddle and bow had taken on great weight. His hands were on her face, in her hair, and need pumped like heat from his body into hers. She took, had no choice but to take, that hard slap of desire.

She gave, finally; he felt her give. That slow, somehow liquid surrender of the female that made every man feel like a king. Because she did, because it brought the ache inside him toward something like a tremble, he gentled-lips, hands-cruising now, caressing. Savoring.

When he drew away, she fought off a shudder, forced a smile to her lips. "Well, now, good morning to you."

"Just shut up a minute." He pulled her back, but this time simply rested his cheek on top of her head.

She wanted to step back. This embrace was more intimate than the kiss, and just as stirring. Just, she realized as she relaxed against him, as irresistible.

"Trevor."

"Ssh."

For some reason, that made her laugh. "Aren't you the bossy one!"

The tension he'd worried would blow off the top of his head faded away. "I don't know why I bother. You don't listen anyway."

"Why should I?"

He held her another moment, steady enough now to appreciate that her robe was very thin. "Do you ever lock that door?"

"Why should I?" Now she did step back. "No one comes in and stays in unless I want them to."

"I'll remember that." He lifted a hand, brushed at her hair. "I didn't know you could play."

"Oh, music is the Gallagher way." She gestured with the violin, then set it back on its stand. "I was in the mood for some, that's all."

"What was it you were playing?"

"One of Shawn's tunes. There aren't any words to it."

"It doesn't need any." He saw it, the way her eyes warmed with pride. "Play something else."

She only moved her shoulders, laid the bow aside. "I'm not in the mood now." She picked up her tea, and now her eyes were sharp with both humor and calculation. "And I'm thinking I might start saving my songs for those who pay."

"Would you sign a recording contract? Solo?"

She nearly jolted, but recovered neatly. "Why, that would depend on the terms."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I want this and that. And all of the other things." She walked to the sofa, sat, crossed her legs. "I'm a selfish and greedy creature, Magee. I want lavish luxury and pampering and slavish admiration. I don't quibble about working for them, but I want them at the end of the day."

Considering her, he sat on the arm of the couch beside her and, testing, trailed a fingertip over her collarbone, paused just above the rise of her breast. "I can get them for you."

Her eyes went cold, shot out a blast of air so frigid it could have frozen blood. "I've no doubt you can." With one sharp move, she knocked his hand aside. "But that's not the sort of work I have in mind."

"Good. Then we keep one separate from the other."

Ice turned to fire in the blink of an eye. "Was that a little experiment, then? And what would you have done if I'd laid back for you?"

"Can't say." He took her cup and helped himself to her tea. "You're a delectable package, Darcy. But you'd have disappointed me." He placed a hand on her shoulder when she started to spring up, felt the temper vibrating like a plucked bow string. "I'll apologize for it."

"I don't trade myself for profit."

"I didn't think you did." But there had been other women who'd offered. It had, and did, leave a nasty taste in his mouth. "I want you on two levels, one as a business, one as a man. I'd like you to understand the first has nothing to do with the second."

She eased back, struggling with the temper she knew could be an ugly thing. "And you'd like reassurance of the same from me."

"I just got it."

"You could have done so with more style."

"Agreed." It had been cold, calculated-something, he thought, that his grandfather might have done. "I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.

"And which level would that apology come from?"

"Touch‚", he thought. "One from each, as each was out of line."

She took her tea back from him. "Then I'll accept each."

"Let's put the business aside for now. I need to go to London for a couple of days." He'd intended to put it off, but- she wanted things, why not give her a taste? "Come with me."

She'd clicked her temper back to simmer, but this sudden twist blanked it out and left her puzzled. Wary. "You want me to go to London with you? Why?"

"First, because I want to take you to bed." He took the mug back again, thinking as he did that the tea had become a kind of prop between them.

"That we've established already. There are beds in Ardmore."

"Our schedules haven't been meshing in Ardmore. And second, I enjoy your company. Have you been to London?"

"No."

"You'll like it."

"Most probably I would." She took the mug when he held it out, sipped the tea to give herself time to think. He was offering her something she'd always wanted. To travel in style. To see London, and not to see it alone.

He would expect sex, naturally. But then, so would she. What point was there pretending to be coy about something they both knew was bound to happen anyway?

"When do you go?"

"I'm flexible."

She let out a short laugh. "No, that you are not. But if your schedule is, I might be able to work it out. I need to speak with Aidan and arrange for a replacement. He won't be pleased with me, but I can get 'round him."

"I'm sure you can. Let me know what days work for you, and I'll take care of the rest."

That practiced feline smile was back. "Oh, I like that. Having a man take care of the rest. You run along now." She rose, then deliberately trailed her fingers over his jaw. "I'll get back to you when I can."

He caught her wrist, his grip just hard enough to show her he was serious. "You won't play me, Darcy. I'm not like the others."

She stood where she was as he released her, as he walked out and shut the door. Yes, indeed, she could agree with that. He wasn't anything like anyone she'd known. And wasn't it going to be interesting to find out just what and who he was?

"You've had your holiday."

She'd wanted to catch Aidan at home rather than wait for him to come into the pub. She'd had to rush to manage it, and was pleased to find him finishing up his breakfast. His first response was exactly what she'd expected and didn't discourage her in the least.

"I know, and a lovely one it was." All cheer, she topped off his tea. Then snuck Finn a corner of toast under the table. "Just as I know it's a lot to ask of you so soon after, but this is an opportunity I don't want to miss. You've traveled, Aidan."

She kept her voice soft and sweet. It was the tack she'd decided on. Just as effective would have been demands, curses, and tempers, but she was certain that this tone would work more quickly.

"You've already seen so much and been so many places. You know what it is to yearn for that. It's in our blood."

"So's the pub, and high season's starting." He added more jam to his bread. Finn, knowing the routine, shifted so Aidan could sneak him a bite in turn. "I can't have Jude filling in for you now when she's only weeks till term."

"I wouldn't think of it. If I see her carrying a tray I'll knock you upside the head with it."

Because he knew the sentiment, and the threat, were completely sincere, Aidan sighed. "Darcy, I count on you to keep the service running smooth."

"I know, and that's what I do, day in and day out. I've worked with Sinead, though there were times I wanted to bash the girl's brains on the bar. She's improved considerable over the last couple weeks."

"She has." But Aidan continued to brood over his breakfast.

"I was going to ask Betsy Clooney if she'd do me the favor of covering for me, for the two days. She's worked the pub before, and she knows the routine."

"Christ, Darcy, Betsy's got herself a brood of kids now. She hasn't worked the pub for ten years."

"It hasn't changed overmuch, and I'll wager Betsy'd enjoy it. She's reliable, Aidan, as you know."

"She is, but-"

"And there's another thing I wanted to put to you. Young Alice Mae could use a summer job."

"Alice Mae?" Aidan stopped brooding to goggle. "She's barely fifteen."

"And all three of us were working before that, without harm. Brenna mentioned her baby sister wanted to earn some spending money. I'd like to give her a chance. She's a bright girl, and being an O'Toole she'll work hard. I'd start her on the one shift, the midday. Today, so I can have her trained before I leave for London."

"Christ, she was in nappies yesterday."

"Getting old, aren't you?" She rose just long enough to kiss his cheek. "I want to go, Aidan, and I'll see the service is handled smooth while I'm gone."

"Was a time only Gallaghers worked Gallagher's. But for Brenna now and again, but that was practically the same thing."

"We can't stay with that." And because she understood some of the sentiment, even a twinge of the regret, she rose again and standing behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck. "We've already made the changes. I guess we started when Ma and Dad moved to Boston. We'll be bigger now, but we'll still be Gallagher's."

"Aye, and it's what I want for us. Still, there are moments I remember and wonder if I've done right."

"You're the worrier, and bless you for it. Of course you've done right. Well and right, Aidan, by Gallagher's and all of us. I'm proud of you."

He lifted a hand, patted hers, sliding a bit of bacon to Finn with the other. "Now you're trying to get 'round me that way."

"I would if I'd thought of it." She gave him a last squeeze. "I need to go. I need to see."

He knew how it was, precisely. The deep, churning need to go and to see. He'd taken five years to work it out of his system. She was asking for two days.

But-

"I'm going to say it out plain. I don't care for the notion of you going off with Magee."

Darcy rounded her eyes, pursed her lips. When Jude came in at that moment, she decided it was perfect timing and turned to her sister-in-law. "Did you hear that?"

"No, I'm sorry. What?"

"Aidan's taken a sudden and avid interest in my sex life."

"I've not. Damn it." He wasn't easily fuddled, but she'd managed it. "I didn't say anything about sex." He hissed out a breath when Darcy only stared at him. "I implied it," he said with some dignity.

"Oh, implied, is it?"

"I think I'll go back upstairs," Jude began.

"No, you don't." Darcy waved her to a chair. Finn immediately bellied over, prepared for the next covert treat. "Sit down, for this should be interesting. Your husband here, my darling brother, is implying that he disapproves of my having sex with Magee."

"Christ Jesus." Aidan put his head in his hands. "I'll go upstairs."

"That you won't. Would you like some tea, Jude, darling?" Without waiting for an answer, Darcy got a cup and poured out. "First we should establish whether your husband, my brother, objects to me having sex altogether or just in this particular case." She sat again, and her smile was sugar-sweet. "And which would it be, Aidan, my dear?"

"You're pissing me off."

"Oh, now, temper, temper."

"I didn't say anything about sex. I said I didn't care for the idea of you going off to London with him."

"You're going to London?" Jude asked and decided to relax and have some toast.

"Trevor asked me to accompany him on a short business trip. But it appears Aidan would prefer I had sex with Trevor here rather than there. Is that correct?"

"I don't want you having sex with him at all, as it's a tangle." Frustration pumped through him, causing him to roar it as both women sat quietly staring at him. "And I don't want to know about it one way or the other."

"Then I'll be sure to spare you the details." She spoke coolly now, which only rattled the sabers of his own temper.

"Mind your step."

"Mind your own," she shot back. "My personal life, particularly this area of it, is no one's business but mine. Trevor and I understand the tangle you've referred to and, as sensible people, will be careful enough not to trip up in it."

Eyes still frosty, she rose. "I'm going to ring up Brenna's mother and ask about Alice Mae. And I'll talk to Betsy Clooney as well. The details will be seen to before I go. Good day to you, Jude," she added, and kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek before she flounced out.

The air hummed in the Gallagher kitchen for several moments, as Jude casually nibbled her toast.

"Well, what have you to say about it?" Aidan demanded.

"Not a thing."

"Hah." He stewed, drummed his fingers, scowled. "But you're thinking of saying something about it."

She decided to try the jam. "Not really. I think Darcy covered it all."

"There!" He jabbed an accusing finger. "You're on her side."

"Of course." She smiled now. "So are you."

He shoved back from the table and began to pace. In sympathy, Finn came out from under the table to pace with him. "She thinks she can handle this, handle him. The girl sees herself as sophisticated and worldly. Christ, Jude, she's been sheltered all her life. She hasn't had the time or opportunities to know."

Jude set her toast aside. "Aidan, some are born knowing."

"Be that as it may, she's never come up against a man like Magee. He's a slick one. I think he's a good man, an honest one, but slick all the same. I don't want him using my sister."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I can't see it, and that's the problem. But I know he's handsome and he's rich and however much Darcy's always joked about landing herself just that, he could dazzle her. And dazzled, how can she see where she's going?"

"Aidan," Jude said softly, "how can you?"

"I don't want her hurt."

"I do."

Shock simply robbed him of speech. He stared at his wife, laid a hand on the back of his chair, and managed to find his voice. "How could you say such a thing? How could you want Darcy hurt?"

"If he can hurt her, he matters. Aidan, no man's ever really mattered to her. They've been, well, toys, amusements, diversions. Don't you want her to find someone who matters?"

"Of course I do. But I can't see it being Magee." Annoyed, he began to pace again. "Not when both of them are thinking with their glands." He shook his head. "Trips to London. Barely know each other and it's trips to London."

"I walked into a smoky pub on a rainy night, and there you were. My life changed, and I didn't even know who you were."

He stopped pacing. Love too huge to measure swelled in his heart. "A one in a million for us." He sat, reached across the table for her hands. "And fate played a part."

"Maybe it's playing one now."

His eyes narrowed. "You're thinking this has something to do with the legend? The last part of it?"

"I think there's one Gallagher left. One heart not yet touched or offered or given. And I think it's interesting-no, it's fascinating-that Trevor Magee is in Ardmore. As a writer-" She paused a moment, because it was still thrilling to know she was a writer. "I'd have trouble believing it's just coincidence. The old family connection, Darcy's a Fitzgerald on your mother's side, and cousin to Maude. Trevor's great-uncle was Maude's one and only love. They lost each other, just as Gwen and Carrick lost each other."

"That's just your imagination, and your romantic side taking over, Jude Frances."

"Is it?" She shrugged. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

She wasn't waiting for anything. Alice Mae was already on her way in, and Betsy had been delighted at the offer of two days' work. Pleased with herself, Darcy breezed through the kitchen and straight out the back door.

It was a bit of a shock to step out and into the solid gray block walls and lumber bones of the breezeway that would connect the two structures. Already, she thought, there was some form to it, recognizable even to her untutored eye. Men stood on scaffolding, hammering or drilling or riveting. How could she tell through all the noise?

Someone, a very optimistic someone, to her mind, was playing a radio. All she could hear from it was a tinkle and squawk that might have been music.

She saw the way the roof would curve in a kind of arch, the rafters thick to echo the feel of those that had held the pub for generations.

Unexpectedly, she felt a twinge, and recognized it as pride. Gallagher's was the root, and the theater a branch on the tree.

She walked through, mindful of the cables and cords that snaked over the subflooring. She'd already spotted Trevor, up on the scaffolding platform at the far end where the breezeway widened. His tool belt was slung at his waist, and there was some clever power tool buzzing in his hand. He wore tinted glasses, as much for protection from flying wood and concrete dust, she supposed, as a shield against the mild sunlight.

He looked rough and ready and exactly right for her mood.

She stopped beneath him, waiting, aware that many of the men were looking at her rather than going safely about their business. Mick O'Toole sauntered by, a bundle of rebar balanced over his shoulder.

"You're distracting our crew, pretty Darcy."

"I won't be but a minute. How's it all going, then, Mr. O'Toole?"

"Himself knows what he wants and how he wants it. As I'm in agreement with him, it couldn't be going better."

"Will it be wonderful?"

"It will. A credit to Ardmore. Watch your step here now, darling. Lots to trip over hereabouts."

"I've thought of that," she murmured. There was a great deal to trip over when it came to Trevor Magee.

When Mick headed off, she looked back up and saw it was Trevor who waited now. That was more like it.

"A word with you, Mr. Magee?" she shouted up.

"What can I do for you, Miss Gallagher?"

So, he wouldn't trouble to come down. That was fine.

She skimmed her hair back from her shoulder. "I need today and tomorrow to train a new part-time waitress. But I'm at your disposal come Thursday if that suits you."

Anticipation curled in his gut, but he merely nodded. "We'll leave Thursday morning, then. I'll pick you up at six."

"That's a very early start."

"Why waste time?"

For a beat, they only watched each other. "Why, indeed?"

She turned, strolled back into the kitchen. And when the door was closed did a quick victory dance.