Jewels of the Sun

CHAPTER Thirteen

I'm having a love affair.

Jude Frances Murray is having a passionate affair with a gorgeous, charming, sexy Irishman.

I just love writing that.

I can barely resist behaving like a schoolgirl and writing his name over and over again in a notebook.

Aidan Gallagher. What a marvelous name.

He's so handsome. I know it's completely shallow to dwell on someone's physical appearance, but- Well, if I can't be shallow in the pages of my own journal, where can I be?

His hair is a deep, rich chestnut, and the sunlight teases out the red in it. He has wonderful eyes, a dark and brilliant blue, and when he turns them on me, just looks at me as he often does, everything inside me goes hot and soft. His is a strong face. Good bones, as Granny would say. His mouth smiles slow and easy, and there's just the slightest of clefts in his chin.

His body- I can hardly believe I've had it over mine, under mine. It's so hard and firm, with muscles like iron. Powerful, I suppose is the word.

My lover has a very powerful build.

I suppose that's enough wallowing in the superficial.

All right- done.

His other qualities are just as impressive. He's very kind and has a lively sense of humor. He listens. That's a skill in danger of being lost, and Aidan's is well honed.

His family ties are deep and strong, his work ethic admirable. I find his mind fascinating, and his skill in storytelling entertaining. The truth is, I could listen to him for hours.

He's traveled extensively, seen places I've only dreamed of seeing. Now that his parents have settled in Boston, he's taken over the family business and slipped into the role of head of the family with a calm and rather casual authority.

I know I shouldn't be in love. What Aidan and I have is a satisfying physical relationship, and a lovely and affectionate friendship. Both are precious, and should be more than enough for anyone.

But I can't help being in love with him.

I've come to realize that everything ever written about falling in love is absolutely true. The air's sweeter, the sun brighter. I don't think my feet have touched the ground in days.

It's terrifying. And it's wonderful.

Nothing I've ever experienced is like this. I had no idea I had such feelings inside me. Passionate and giddy and absolutely foolish feelings.

I know I'm the same person. I can look in the mirror and it's still me looking back. Yet somehow there seems to be more of me. It's as if pieces that were hidden or unacknowledged have suddenly tumbled into place.

I realize the physical and emotional stimuli, the charge of endorphins and- oh, the hell with that. This doesn't need to be analyzed and slotted. It just has to be.

It's so outrageously romantic, the way he walks to my cottage at night. Coming through the gloom or the moonlight to knock at my door. He brings me wildflowers or seashells or pretty stones.

He does things to my body I've only read about. Oh, God, reading has definitely taken second place.

I feel wanton. I have to laugh at myself. Jude Frances Murray has a sex drive. And it shows no signs of abating.

I've never had so much fun in my entire life.

I had no idea romance could be fun. Why didn't someone tell me?

When I look in the mirror, I feel beautiful. Imagine that. I feel beautiful.

Today I'm picking Darcy up and we're going to Dublin to shop. I'm going to buy extravagant things for no reason at all.

The Gallagher house was old and lovely and sat on the edge of the village, up a steep little hill and facing the sea. If Jude had asked, she would have been told that Shamus's son, another Aidan, had built the house there the same year he married.

The Gallaghers didn't make their living on the sea, but they enjoyed the look of it.

Other generations had added bits and pieces to the house over the years, as money and time had allowed. And now that there were many rooms, most of them had a view to the sea.

The house itself was dark wood and sand-colored stone that seemed to be cobbled together in no particular style. Jude found it intriguing and unique. It was two stories, with a wide front porch that needed a coat of paint and a narrow stone walk worn by traffic. Its windows were in diamond-shaped panes she imagined were the devil to keep clean.

She thought it was caught somewhere between grand and quaint, with just enough of both. And with the light morning fog just burning off around it, it held a bit of mystery as well.

She wondered what it had been like for Aidan to grow up there, in the big, rambling house, a stone's throw from the beach and cozy enough to the village to have swarms of friends.

The gardens needed work, to Jude's newly experienced eye, but they had a nice, wild way about them.

A lean black cat stretched out on the walkway gave Jude a steely stare out of golden eyes as she approached. Hoping he wouldn't take a swipe at her, she crouched down tentatively to scratch between his ears.

He rewarded the attention by narrowing those eyes and letting out a purr that rumbled like a freight train.

"That's Bub." Shawn stood in the front doorway and shot Jude a grin. "Short for Beelzebub, as he's a devil of a cat by nature. Come in and have some tea, Jude, for if you're expecting Darcy to be ready on time, you don't know her."

"There's no hurry."

"That's a good thing, as she'll primp an hour just to run out for a quart of milk. God knows how long she'll be admiring herself for a trip to Dublin."

He stepped back to let Jude in, then tossed a shout over his shoulder toward the stairs. "Jude's here, Darcy, and she says to get your vain ass moving if you expect a ride to Dublin City."

"Oh, but I didn't," Jude burst out, flustered, and had Shawn laughing as he drew her firmly inside.

"She won't pay any mind. Can I get you some tea, then?"

"I'm fine, really." She glanced around, noting that the living room spilling off the little foyer was cluttered and comfortable.

Home, she thought again. It said home and family. And welcome.

"Aidan's down the pub seeing to deliveries." Shawn took her hand in a friendly manner and tugged her into the living room. He'd been wanting to have some time with her, to take stock of the woman who had his brother so enchanted. "So you'll have to make do with me."

"Oh. Well, that doesn't sound like a hardship."

When he laughed again she realized she'd never have flirted so easily, so harmlessly with a man a few months before. Certainly not one with a face like a wicked angel.

"My brother hasn't given me opportunity to have more than a word with you up to now." Shawn's eyes twinkled. "Keeping you to himself as he is."

"You're always in the kitchen when I come into the pub."

"Where they keep me chained. But we can make up for it now."

He was flirting right back with her, she realized, just as harmlessly. It didn't make her nervous. It didn't give her those odd and lovely liquid pulls that flirting with Aidan did. It just made her comfortable.

"Then I'll start by saying you have a lovely house."

"We're happy with it." He led her to a chair, and when she sat, made himself comfortable on the arm of it. "Darcy and I rattle about well enough."

"It's made for more people. A big family, lots of children."

"It's held that more often than it hasn't. Our father was one of ten."

"Ten? Good God!"

"We've uncles and aunts and cousins scattered all over and back again-Gallaghers and Fitzgeralds. You being one of them," he added with a grin. "I remember as a boy having packs of them coming in and out of the house from time to time, so I was always sharing me bed with some lad who was my cousin from Wicklow or Boston or Devonshire."

"Do they still come back?"

"Now and then. You did, cousin Jude." He liked the way she smiled at that, sweet and a little shy. "But it's Darcy and me in the house most times now. And will be until the first of the three of us decides to marry and start a family. The house'll go to the one who does."

"Won't the other two mind?"

"No. That's the Gallagher way."

"And you'll know you'll always be welcome here, that it'll still be home."

"That's right." He said it quietly because he read tones and nuances well, and could see she was yearning for a home of her own. "Do you have a house in Chicago?"

"No. It's a condo like a glorified flat," she added, then suddenly restless, rose. Flat, she thought again, was precisely how it seemed to her now. "This is a wonderful spot. You can watch the sea."

She started to walk to a window, then stopped by a battered old piano. The keys were yellowed, and several of them chipped, and over the scarred wood sheet music was scattered. "Who plays?"

"All of us." Shawn came up beside her, put his long fingers over the keys and played a quick series of chords.

Battered the instrument might have been, but its notes rang sweet and true. "Do you play as well?"

"A little. Not very well." She blew out a breath, reminding herself not to be such a moron. "Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Yes, I play."

"Well, then, let's hear it." He gave her a nudge, hip against hip, that surprised her into sitting down on the bench.

"I haven't played in months," she began, but he was already riffling through the sheet music, setting a piece in front of her before joining her on the bench.

"Try this one."

Because she only intended to play a few chords, she didn't bother digging her reading glasses out of her purse. Without them, she had to lean closer and squint a little. She felt the skitter of nerves, wiped damp palms on her thighs, and told herself it wasn't one of the childhood recitals that had scared her into desperate nausea.

Still, she had to take two deep breaths, which made Shawn's lips twitch before she began to play.

"Oh!" She flowed from the first bar into the second. "Oh, this is lovely." She forgot her nerves in sheer pleasure as the notes drifted out dreamily, as her throat began to ache from it. "It's heartbreaking."

"It's meant to be." He cocked his head, listening to the music as he studied her. He could see easily why she'd caught his brother's eye. The pretty face, the quiet manner, and those surprising expressive and misty eyes.

Yes, Shawn mused, the combination would draw Aidan's interest, then wind around his heart. As for her heart, it was a yearning one. That he understood well.

"You play very well indeed, Jude Frances. Why did you say you didn't?"

"I'm used to saying I don't do things well, because I usually don't." She answered absently, losing herself in the music. "Anyone could play this well. It's wonderful. What's it called?"

"I haven't named it yet."

"You wrote it?" She stopped playing to stare at him. Artists of all kinds, any kind, left her awestruck. "Really? Shawn, it's gorgeous."

"Oh, don't start flattering the man. He's irritating enough." Brenna strode into the room and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans.

"The O'Toole here has no appreciation for music unless it's a rebel song and she's drinking a pint."

"When you write one, I'll lift a glass to you as well."

They sneered companionably at each other.

"What are you doing here? There's nothing broken that I know of."

"Do you see my toolbox in my hand?" Would he never just look at her? she wondered. The bloody bat-blind moron. "I'm going to Dublin with Jude and Darcy." Brenna lifted a shoulder. "I got weary of Darcy badgering me about it, so I've surrendered." She turned and shouted up the stairs, "Darcy, for sweet Jesus' sake, what's taking you so bloody long? I've been waiting an hour."

"Now you'll have to confess that lie to Father Clooney," Shawn told her, "as you just walked in the house."

"It's only venial, and it may get her down here before next week." She dropped into a chair. "Why aren't you down to the pub helping Aidan? It's delivery day."

"Because, Mother, he asked me to stay and see to Jude until Darcy made her entrance. But since you're here, I'll be off. You'll come back and play again, Jude Frances." He smiled as he rose. "It's a pleasure to hear my tunes played by someone who appreciates music."

He started out, pausing by Brenna's chair long enough to tug the bill of her cap over her eyes. She yanked it back up as the front door slammed behind him.

"He acts as if I were still ten and kicking his ass at football." Then she gave a twinkling grin. "It's a fine ass, too, isn't it?"

Jude laughed and rose to straighten the sheet music. "The rest of him isn't bad, either. And he writes wonderful music."

"Aye, he's a rare talent in him."

Jude turned, lifted her eyebrows. "You didn't seem to think so a minute ago."

"Well, if I told him, he'd just get all puffed up about it and be more unbearable than usual."

"I suppose you've known him forever."

"Forever and a day, it seems," Brenna agreed. "There's four years between us, and he came along first."

"And you've been in this house too many times to count. You can walk into it as though it's your own, because that's the kind of house it is."

Jude rose to wander, to look at family photographs scattered here and there in frames that didn't match, an old pitcher with a chipped lip that held a brilliant array of spring flowers. The wallpaper was faded, the rug worn.

"I suppose I've run as tame here as Darcy and her brothers have in my own house," Brenna told her. "Sure, Mrs. Gallagher's laid the flat of her hand across my bottom with as much enthusiasm as she did her own children."

Jude marveled a little at that. No one had ever laid the flat of their hand across her bottom. Reason was always employed in discipline, and passive-aggressive guilt laid. "It would have been wonderful, don't you think, to grow up here, surrounded by music."

She circled the room, noting the comfortably faded cushions and old wood, the clutter and the patterns of light through the windows. It could use some sprucing, without a doubt, she mused. But it was all here. Home, family, continuity.

Yes, this was the place for family, for children, the way her cottage was the place for solitude and contemplation.

She imagined the walls in this house held the echoes of too many voices raised in temper, in joy, to ever be truly quiet.

The clatter on the stairs had her turning to see Darcy race down them, her hair billowing out. "Are you just going to laze around all day?" Darcy demanded. "Or are we off to Dublin?"

It was a much different trip to Dublin than it had been from. The car was full of chatter, leaving Jude barely any room for nerves. Darcy was full of village gossip. It seemed young Douglas O'Brian had gotten Maggie Brennan in trouble and there was to be a wedding the minute the banns were called. And James Brennan had been so outraged by the idea of his daughter sneaking out to wrestle with Douglas, he'd gotten drunk as three princes and spent the night sleeping in the dooryard, as his wife locked him out of the house.

"I heard that Mr. Brennan went hunting for young Douglas, and the lad hid out in his father's hayloft-where the smart wagers are the deed was first done-until the crisis passed." Brenna stretched out like a lazy cat in the backseat, with the bill of her cap over her eyes. "Maggie's going to have second thoughts soon enough, when she finds her belly swelled and that feckless Douglas with his boots under the bed."

"The pair of them not yet twenty," Darcy added with a shake of her head. "It's a sorry way to start a life."

"Why do they have to get married?" Jude wanted to know. "They're too young."

Darcy just stared at her. "Well, they're having a baby, so what else is to be done?"

Jude opened her mouth, shut it before she could logically point out the variety of alternatives. This, she reminded herself, was Ireland. Instead, she tried another route. "Is that what you'd do?" she asked Darcy. "If you found yourself pregnant?"

"First, I'd be careful not to have sex with someone I wasn't prepared to live with should the need arise. And second," she said after some thought, "I'm twenty-four and employed, and not afraid of village gossip so much that I wouldn't raise the child on my own if I'd made a blunder."

She turned her head then, lifted a brow at Jude. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No!" Jude nearly swerved off the road before she recovered. "No, of course not."

"Why 'of course not' when you've been sleeping with Aidan every night for the past week? Protection's all well and good, but it's not infallible, is it?"

"No, but-"

"Ah, stop scaring her, Darcy. You know you're just jealous because she's having regular sex and you're not."

Darcy tossed a sneering look toward the backseat. "And neither are you, my girl."

"And more's the pity." Brenna shifted, came forward to prop her arms on the back of the front seats. "So tell us poor deprived women about sex with Aidan. There's a pal, Jude."

"No." She said it with a laugh.

"Oh, don't be a prude." Brenna poked her shoulder.

"Tell me, does he take his sweet time about it, or is he a member of the Irish Foreplay Club?"

"The Irish Foreplay Club?"

"Ah, you've not heard of it," Brenna said soberly as Darcy snickered. "Their battle cry is 'Brace yourself, Bridget.' Then they're in and out before their lager's gone warm."

Surprising herself, Jude all but screamed with laughter. "He doesn't call me Bridget unless I call him Shamus."

"She's made a joke." Darcy wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "Our Jude. What a proud moment this is."

"And a fine one," Brenna agreed. "But tell us, Jude, does he take his time with it, sort of sliding around and nibbling in the right places, or is it all hot and fast and over with before you can call out you've seen God?"

"I can't talk about sex with Aidan with his sister in the car."

"Well, then, let's dump her out so you can tell me."

"Why can't you talk of it?" Darcy demanded, with barely a pause for a glare at Brenna. "I know he has sex. The bastard. But if it troubles you, don't think of me as his sister for the moment, but as your friend."

Exasperated, Jude blew out a breath. "All right, I'll just say it's the best I've ever had. Although with William it was like- a precise military march," she decided, shocking herself again. "And before him there was only Charles."

"Charles, was it? Brenna, our Jude has a past."

"And who was Charles?" Brenna prompted.

"He was in finance."

"So he was rich." Darcy pounced eagerly on the magic word.

"His family was. We met during my last year of college. I suppose the physical relationship with him was- Well, let's say that when it was done all the figures added up, but it was a rather tedious process. Aidan's romantic."

Her companions made oohing noises that had her giggling helplessly. "Oh, stop. I'm not saying another word about it."

"What a bitch to tease us that way." Brenna tugged on Jude's hair. "Sure you can give us just one little example of his romantic side as relates to good sex."

"One?"

"Just one and we'll be satisfied, won't we, Darcy?"

"Why, of course. We wouldn't pry into her personal life, would we?"

"All right. The first time, he picked me up right off the floor at the cottage and carried me upstairs. All the way upstairs to the bedroom."

"Like Rhett carried Scarlett?" Darcy asked. "Or over the shoulder like you were a sack of potatoes?''

"Like Rhett and Scarlett."

"That's a good one." Brenna pillowed her cheek on her arms. "He gets high marks for that."

"He treats me like I'm special."

"Why shouldn't he?" Darcy demanded.

"No one ever has. And, well, since we're on the subject, and it's not exactly a secret what's going on, I don't have anything- well, pretty, sexy. Lingerie and that kind of thing. I thought maybe you could help me pick some out."

"I know just the place for it." Darcy all but rubbed her hands together.

"I spent two thousand pounds on underwear."

Dazed, Jude walked down bustling Grafton Street. There were people everywhere, swarming. Shoppers, tourists, packs of teenagers, and every few feet, it seemed, musicians playing for coins. It was dazzling, the noise and colors and shapes. But nothing was more dazzling than what she'd just done.

"Two thousand. On underwear."

"And worth every penny," Darcy said briskly. "He'll be a slave to you."

They were loaded with shopping bags, and though Jude had gone into the foray determined to buy recklessly, her idea of reckless was Darcy's notion of conservative. Somehow, within two hours she accumulated what seemed like an entire wardrobe, with accessories, all at Darcy's ruthless instigation.

"I can't carry anything else."

"Here." Stopping, Darcy snatched some of the bags from Jude and shoved them at Brenna.

"I didn't buy anything."

"So you have free hands, then, don't you? Oh! Look at those shoes." Darcy barreled through the crowd gathered around a trio of fiddlers, homing in on target. "They're darling."

"I want my tea," Brenna muttered, then scowled at the strappy black shoes with four-inch heels that Darcy was drooling over. "You'd have blisters and calf cramps before you'd walked a kilometer in those things."

"They're not for walking, you idiot. I'm having them." Darcy breezed through the door of the shop.

"I'll never get my tea," Brenna complained. "I'll die of starvation and dehydration and the pair of you won't even notice as I'll be buried under a mountain of shopping sacks, in which, I'll add, is not a single thing of my own."

"We'll have tea as soon as I try on the shoes. Here, Jude, these are for you."

"I don't need any more shoes." But she was weak and collapsed in a chair and found herself studying the pretty bronze-toned pumps. "They're lovely, but then I'd need a bag to go with them."

"A bag. Jesus." Brenna rolled her eyes back in her head and slid out of the chair in a heap.

She bought the shoes and a bag, then a wonderful jacket from the shop just down the street. Then there was a silly straw hat that she simply had to have for gardening. Because they were so overloaded, they took a vote and with Brenna the only nay hauled their purchases back to the car to lock them in the trunk before hunting up a place for a meal.

"Thank Mary and all the saints." Brenna sprawled in a booth in a tiny Italian restaurant that smelled gloriously of garlic. "I'm faint with hunger. I'll have a pint of Harp," she ordered the second the waiter shuffled over, "and a pizza with everything on it but your kitchen sink."

"No, you won't." Darcy flipped out her napkin and shot the waiter a smile that had him tumbling directly into love. "We'll get a pizza and we each pick two of the toppings. I'll have a Harps as well, but just a glass."

"Well, then, I want mushrooms and sausage for my picks."

"Fine." Darcy nodded across the booth at Brenna. "And I'll have black olives and green peppers. Jude?"

"Ah, mineral water and-" She caught Brenna's eye, kept her face sober as her friend desperately mouthed pepperoni and capers. "Pepperoni and capers," she ordered dutifully.

She sighed, sat back and took inventory. Her feet hurt miserably, she couldn't remember half of what she'd just bought, she had a vague headache from lack of food and presence of constant conversation, and she was joyously happy about all of it.

"It's the first day I've spent in Dublin," Jude began. "I haven't been to one museum or gallery, or taken a single picture. I didn't walk St. Stephen's Green or go to Trinity College to see the library or the Book of Kells. It's shameful."

"Why? Dublin's not going anywhere." Darcy pulled herself away from her flirtation with the waiter. "You can come back and do all that whenever you like."

"I suppose I can. It's just that normally, that's what I would have done. And I'd have planned it all out, pored over the guidebooks and made up an itinerary and a schedule, and while I would have figured in some shopping time for mementoes, that would have been at the bottom of the list."

"So you just turned the list around, didn't you?" Darcy offered the waiter another beaming smile when he served their drinks.

"Everything's turned around. Wait." She gripped Brenna's wrist before she could lift her pint.

"Jude, my throat's dry as an eighty-year-old virgin. Have pity."

"I just want to say that I've never had friends like you."

"Sure and there aren't any the likes of us." Brenna winked, then rolled her eyes as Jude held her wrist down.

"No, I mean- I've never had any really close women friends that I could have ridiculous conversations about sex with, or share pizza with, or who help me pick out black lace underwear."

"Oh, God, don't go misty now, there's a good girl, Jude." A little desperate, Brenna turned her hand over to pat Jude's. "I have sympathetic tear ducts, and no control over them."

"Sorry." But it was too late. Her eyes were already filled and shimmering. "I'm just so happy."

"There now." Sniffling herself, Darcy passed out paper napkins. "We're happy, too. To friendship, then."

"Yes, to friendship." Jude let out an unsteady sigh as glasses clinked. "Slainte."

She saw some of Dublin after all as they walked off the pizza. Jude finally dug out her camera and delighted herself with shots of the graceful arch of bridges over the grand River Liffey, and the charm of the shady greens, the lush baskets of flowers decking the pubs.

She watched a street artist paint a sunrise over the sea, then on impulse bought it for Aidan.

She had Brenna and Darcy pose a dozen times and bribed them with clairs from a sweet shop to explore just a bit longer.

Even when they trudged back to the car park, her energy level was high. She thought she could go on endlessly. When they drove away from Dublin the western sky was splashed with the colors of sunset that seemed to last forever in the long spring evening.

And the moon rose as they approached Ardmore, to sprinkle the fields with light and to spread white swords over the sea.

Even after she'd dropped her friends at home and helped Darcy cart in her packages, she wasn't tired. She almost danced into her cottage and, hauling her own bags upstairs, called out cheerfully.

"I'm back, and I had a wonderful time."

She wasn't planning on having it end. Her toughest decision, she thought, would be to choose just what to wear under her new silk blouse.

She was going to extend the evening with a visit to Gallagher's before closing. To flirt openly and outrageously with Aidan.