Irish Rose

  "Why don't I take care of that?" Rising, Erin moved over to free Brady from his high chair.

  "You're not going to start pampering me, too. I'll go mad."

  "Nothing of the kind. I just think it's time this handsome young man and I got better acquainted."

  By the time she was finished, Erin had to clean the oatmeal off herself as well. Bundled inside a cardigan and a coat, she drove with Paddy Cunnane to Burke's neighboring horse farm. The nerves were back. She could feel them tense in her fingers as she curled them together.

  It was a waste of time to be nervous about the likes of him, she told herself. What had happened on that stormy morning in the shed was over and done with. Now they were nothing more than boss and employee. He'd said he expected a day's work for a day's pay, and she intended to give it to him.

  Whatever other feelings she'd had had been born of the moment. Lust, she said firmly, telling herself she was mature enough to face that as a fact of life. Just as she would be strong enough to resist it.

  She was a bookkeeper now. Her nerves were suddenly tinged with excitement. A bookkeeper, she repeated silently, with a good job and a good wage. Within the month she could start sending money home, with enough left over to buy… Lord, she couldn't begin to think what would be first.

  Paddy turned the Jeep under an arch. The sign was large, wrought iron, strong rather than fancy with its block letters. Three Aces. Erin caught her lip between her teeth. Was that the hand he'd won it with, or the hand the former owner had lost it with?

  The snow lay here as well, but the rise of hill wasn't as gentle. She saw a willow, old and gnarled, with its leaves dulled and yellow from winter. Perhaps in the summer it would look peaceful and lovely, but for now it looked fierce. Then she saw the house. She'd thought nothing could surprise her after the Grants'. She'd been wrong.

  It had cupolas, like a castle, and the stone was dull and gray. The windows were arched, some of them with little parapets. Across from the steps and circled by the drive was an oval island that was now covered with untrampled snow.

  "Do people really live in places like this?" she said half to herself.

  "Cunningham, he'd be the owner before Logan, liked to think of himself as royalty." Paddy sniffed, but Erin wasn't entirely sure if the sound was directed at the present or the former owner. "Put more money into fancying up this place than into the stables and the stock. Got a pool right inside the house."

  "You're joking."

  "Indeed not. Right inside the house. Now you've only to call when you've finished here. I'll come fetch you, or one of the boys will."

  "I'm obliged to you." But her fingers seemed frozen on the handle.

  "Good luck to you, lass."

  "Thanks." Screwing up her courage, she pushed out of the Jeep. She was grateful it stayed parked where it was as she climbed the stone steps to the front door.

  And what a door, she thought. As big as a barn and all carved. She ran a hand over it before she pulled back the knocker. Erin counted slowly under her breath and waited. It was opened by a dark-haired woman with big eyes and a small, erect figure. Erin swallowed and kept her chin up.

  "I'm Erin McKinnon, Mr. Logan's bookkeeper."

  The woman eyed her silently, then stepped back. Erin managed to throw a smile to Paddy over her shoulder before she stepped inside.

  By the saints, she thought, tongue-tied again as she stood in the atrium. She'd never seen anything to match it, with its high ceilings and lofty windows. It seemed the sun shone in from all directions and slanted over the leaves of thick green plants. A balcony ran all the way around in one huge circle, the rail gleaming and carved as the door had been. The heels of her sensible shoes clicked on the tile floor, then stopped as she stood, uncertain what to do next.

  "I'll tell Mr. Logan you're here."

  Erin only nodded. The accent sounded Spanish, making her feel more out of place than ever. Erin wiped her hands on her skirt and thought she knew what Alice had felt like when she'd stepped through the looking glass.

  "Are you eager to work, or did you just miss me?"

  She turned, knowing she'd been caught gaping. He was in jeans and boots, and the smile was the same. The confidence she'd lost when she'd stepped inside came flooding back. It was the best defense.

  "Eager to work and earn a wage."

  The cold and excitement had heightened the color in her cheeks and darkened her eyes. As she stood in the center of the big open room, Burke thought she looked ready and able to take on the world.

  "You could have had a day or two to settle in."

  "I could, but I didn't want it. I'm used to earning my way."

  "Fine. You'll certainly earn it here." He lifted a hand and gestured her to follow. "Morita, my last bookkeeper, managed to embezzle thirty thousand before the cage shut on him. In the process, he made a mess of the records. Your first priority is to straighten them out again. While you're doing that, you're to keep up the payroll and the current invoices."

  "Of course." Of course, a little voice inside her said mockingly.

  Burke pushed a door open and led her inside. "You'll work here. Hopefully you won't have to ask me a bunch of annoying questions, but if something comes up, you can call Rosa on the intercom and she'll pass it on to me. Make a list of whatever supplies you think you'll need, and you'll have them."

  She cleared her throat and nodded. Her office was every bit as large as O'Donnelly's entire storeroom. The furniture was old and glossy, the carpet like something out of a palace. Determined not to stare again, Erin walked over to the desk. He had been right about one thing. It was a mess. For the first time since she'd approached the big stone house, she felt relief. Here was something familiar.

  Ledgers and books and papers were piled together in one heap. There was an adding machine, but it was nothing like the clunky manual one she'd used before. Besides the clutter, there was a phone, a china holder stuffed with pencils and a basket clearly marked In and Out.

  Burke moved behind the desk and began opening and closing drawers. "You've got stamps, stationery, extra work sheets, checkbooks. Since Morita, nothing goes out without my signature."

  "If you'd taken that precaution before, you'd be thirty thousand dollars richer."

  "Point taken." He didn't add that Morita had worked for him for ten years, during lean times and better. "Set your own pace, as long as it's not sluggish. Rosa will fix you lunch. You can take it in here or in the dining room. There may be times I'll join you."

  "Are you here most of the day?"

  "I'm around." He settled a hip on the corner of the desk. "You didn't sleep well."

  "No, I…" But her fingers had automatically lifted to the slight smudges under her eyes. "The time change, I guess."

  "Are you comfortable at the Grants'?"

  "Aye, they're wonderful to me. All of them."

  "They're extraordinary people. You won't find many like them."

  "You're not." She hadn't meant to say it, but told herself it was too late to be sorry she had. "You've an edge to you."

  "Then be careful you don't get too close. Edges can be sharp."

  "I've already seen that for myself." She said it lightly as she reached for the first stack of papers. He closed his hand slowly and firmly around her wrist.

  "Are you trying to provoke me, Irish?"

  "No, but I don't imagine it takes much."

  "You're right there. It might be fair to tell you that I have a short fuse, and a dangerous one."

  "I'm so warned." She looked amused, but when she tried to free her hand, his fingers only tightened.

  "One more warning, then. Since you've moved into our little community, you'll hear it from others soon enough. When I find a woman who attracts me, I find a way to have her. Fair means or foul, it doesn't mean a damn to me."

  It wasn't a warning, Erin realized. It was a threat. Beneath his fingers, her pulse was beating hard and fast, but she kept her eyes even with his. "I didn't have to be t
old to know that, nor have I any intention of attracting you."

  "Too late." He grinned but released her hand. "I find you intriguing enough to dance in the moonlight with, desirable enough to kiss in a garden shed, and passionate enough to imagine making love to."

  Her stomach knotted with fear, with longing. "Well, a woman's head could be turned clear around with such flattery, Mr. Logan. Tell me, did you bring me to America to sleep with you or to fix your books?"

  "Both," he said simply, "but we'll deal with business first."

  "Business is all we'll deal with. Now I'd like to begin."

  "Fine." But instead of leaving, he ran his hands up her arms. Erin stiffened, but didn't back away. She wouldn't play the fool and struggle. Though she braced herself for the hot passion she'd experienced before, he only brushed a kiss over her cheek.

  He'd thought of her and little else since he'd come home again. He'd thought of how she'd felt in his arms, of how his system reacted when she smiled, of how her voice flowed, warm and sweet, so that a man didn't care what the words were as long as she spoke again.

  He knew he could have her. Her response had been too quick and too encompassing before for either of them to pretend otherwise. He knew she wanted him, though it didn't sit well with her. Even now, as he kissed her lightly, avoiding her lips, her breath was beginning to tremble. He'd never known a woman whose passion was so close to the surface. Now that she was here, in his home, he knew he wouldn't rest until he had all of it.

  But she would come to him. His pride demanded it. So he teased her with his lips, knowing he stirred her. He teased her with his lips, knowing he was slowly killing himself.

  "Fair means or foul," he murmured, nipping gently at her earlobe. "I want you."

  Her eyes were closed. How was it possible to be swept away so quickly, to want so desperately what you knew you shouldn't have? She put a hand to his chest, willing it to be steady. "And you're used to taking what you want. I understand that. I won't deny you move something in me, but I'm not here for the taking, Burke."

  "Maybe not," he murmured. Some women were only there for the earning. "I can be patient, Irish. When a man's got the cards, he's got to know when to hold and when to lay them on the table." Thoughtfully he ran a finger down her braid. "We'll play out this hand sooner or later. I'll let you get started."

  Erin waited until he'd left before she let out a long breath. How was it he could be that arrogant and still make her want to smile? With a shake of her head, she sat behind the desk in a plush leather chair that made her sigh.

  Burke was right about one thing, she mused. They would play out the hand sooner or later. The problem was, Erin was afraid that even if she won, she'd lose.

  Chapter 5

  Within a week, Erin had developed a routine that pleased her. In the mornings she rose early enough to help Dee ready the children for school, then drove a borrowed car to the Three Aces to report to work by nine.

  The mess of Burke's bookkeeping had been an enormous understatement. So had her estimate of his wealth. As she tallied figures and pored over ledgers, she tried to think of it in simple, practical terms. Numbers, after all, were just numbers.

  She was rarely interrupted, and took her lunch from the silent Rosa at her desk. By the end of the first week, she'd made enough headway to feel pleased with herself. Only once or twice had she been made to feel foolish. She'd had to ask Burke for the instruction book on the adding machine. Then she'd asked him to supply her with a pencil sharpener. He'd simply picked up a cylinder with a hole in it and handed it to her.

  "And what good is this?" she'd demanded. "It doesn't even have a crank."

  He'd picked up a pencil and shoved it in the hole; then, damn him, had laughed when she'd jumped at the grinding. "Batteries," he'd said, "not magic."

  She'd gotten over that small humiliation by burying her face in the account books. Maybe she wasn't used to gadgets, but by the saints, she'd balanced his books. Now she sat at the little electric typewriter and wrote up her weekly report. After tidying her desk, Erin picked up her report and went to find Burke.

  His house was still almost completely uncharted territory to her. In the atrium, Erin hesitated. She could have called for Rosa on the intercom, but talking into the blasted thing always made her feel foolish. Instead, Erin set off in what she hoped was the general direction of the kitchen.

  The place went on forever, she thought, and found it increasingly difficult not to open doors and peek inside as she went. Hearing a hum, she turned in that direction. Dishwasher, she thought, or a washing machine. With a shrug, she decided she'd find Rosa at the end of it.

  The woman was a mystery, Erin thought as she walked. Rosa rarely spoke and always seemed to know precisely where to find Burke. Though the housekeeper referred to Burke as Mr. Logan, Erin sensed something less formal between them. She'd wondered, though it hadn't brought her any pleasure, if they were or had been lovers. Pushing the thought aside, she moved to the south end of the house.

  But it wasn't the kitchen she found, or the laundry room. As she pushed open one of a pair of double doors, Erin entered the tropics. The pool was an inviting blue, sparkling under the sun that poured through the glass roof and walls. There were trees here the likes of which she'd never seen, planted in huge pottery urns. And flowers. She stepped in farther, overwhelmed by the heady scent when she could still see the snow through the glass. There were rich red petals, brilliant orange and yellow, exotic blues. If she closed her eyes, she imagined, she'd hear the chatter of parrots. Paradise, she thought, smiling as she walked farther.

  With his eyes half-closed and his body just beginning to relax, Burke watched her. She didn't look sultry like the room, but fresh, untouched. The sun was all over her hair, drawing out the fire, licking at the layers of light. She'd pulled it back in a band as he'd seen her wear it in Ireland. And he could remember very well, too well, what it felt like to run his fingers through its mass.

  He saw her reach for a flower as if her fingers itched to pick it, then draw back her hand and bury her face in the blooms instead. Her laugh was quiet, delighted, and he knew she thought herself alone.

  So the Irish rose had a weakness for flowers, he thought, then watched her shake her head and look wonderingly, longingly around. And for money. At the latter, he shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult for someone in his position to blame her.

  He could blame her, however, for the fact that his body was no longer even close to relaxing.

  "Want a swim, Irish?"

  At the sound of his voice, she whirled around. She'd forgotten about the hum. She saw its source now, and Burke in the middle of it. Another pool—no, not a pool, she corrected. She wasn't a complete dunderhead. She'd seen pictures of spas with their jets and bubbles and steamy water. And she couldn't help, for just a moment, wondering what it felt like to lower one's body into it.

  "Want to join me?"

  Because he grinned when he said it, Erin merely shrugged. "Thank you, but I'll be leaving for home in a few minutes. I've finished for the day and brought you your first report."

  He nodded, but merely gestured to a white wicker chair beside the spa. "Have a seat."

  Biting off a sigh, Erin did as he asked. "You may be a man of leisure yourself, but I've things to do."

  Burke stretched his arms along the edge of the spa.

  He didn't mention that he'd been up and at the stables since dawn, or that he'd strained every muscle in his body overseeing the mating between a stud and a particularly high-strung mare. "You've still got a few minutes on the clock, Irish. So how are my finances?"

  "You're a rich man, Mr. Logan, though how that might be with the mess your books were in amazes me. I've done a bit of studying and come up with a new system." The truth was she'd spent two nights burning the midnight oil with books on accounting. "If you like, I'll wait until you've finished and go over it with you."

  "It'll keep."

  "Suit yourself. By the end of next w
eek I should have everything running smoothly enough."

  "That's good to know. Why don't you tell me how?"

  He stretched his shoulders. Erin watched the muscles ripple along the damp skin, then deliberately shifted her gaze above his head. This was no place for her to be, she told herself. Especially when her mind was wandering away from accounting. "It's all in this report, if you'd care to pull yourself out of the tub there and have a look at it."

  "Have it your way." Burke pushed the button that shut off the jets, then stood. Erin's limbs went weak as she saw he wore no more than he'd been born with. She was grateful color didn't rise to her cheeks, though she couldn't prevent some from leaving.

  Burke took a towel and swung it easily over his hips as he stepped from the spa.

  "You've no shame, Burke Logan."

  "None at all."

  "Well, if you'd meant to shock me, I'll have to disappoint you. I've four brothers, if you'll remember, and…" She glanced over again, prepared to look at him without interest. It was then she noticed the darkening bruise just under his left ribs. "You've hurt yourself." She was up immediately and laying gentle fingers on it. "Oh, it's a nasty one." Without thinking, she took her fingers up over his ribs, carefully checking. "You didn't break anything."

  "Not so far," he murmured. He was standing very still, the amusement he'd felt completely wiped out. Her fingers felt so cool, so tender on his skin. She touched him as if she cared. That was something he'd learned to live a long time without.

  "It'll look worse yet tomorrow," she said with a cluck of her tongue. "You should put some liniment on it." Then she realized her fingers were spread over his chest, and his chest was hard and smooth and wet. Erin snatched her hand away and stuck it behind her back. "How'd you come by it?"

  "The new colt I picked up in Ireland."

  She closed her hand into a fist. It was damp from his skin. "You'll have to give him more room next time." The shudder inside her came as no surprise and was quickly controlled.

  "I intend to. I have the highest respect for the Irish temper."

  "And so you should. If you'd look over the report now, I could answer any questions you might have before I leave."

  Burke picked up the neatly typed sheets. Erin found it necessary to clear her throat as she turned to look out through the glass, now lightly fogged from the steam of the spa. But she didn't see the snow. She could still see him—the long arms roped with muscle, the hard chest glistening with water, the narrow hips leading to taut thighs.

  A fine specimen, some would have said, herself included. And she could have murdered him for making her want.

  "It seems clear enough." She jolted a bit, then cursed herself. "You know your business, Erin, but then I wouldn't have hired you if I hadn't believed that." No, he wouldn't have, but he'd have found some other way to bring her back with him. "Got anything in mind for your first paycheck?"

  "A thing or two." She relaxed enough to smile at him, schooling her gaze to go no lower than his neck. Half the money would be on its way to Ireland in the morning. And the rest… She couldn't begin to think of it. "If you're satisfied, I'll be going home now."

  "I'm a long way from satisfied," Burke said under his breath. "Listen, did you ever think the bookkeeping would be more interesting if you knew more about the stables, the racing?"

  "No." Then she moved her shoulders as the thought he'd planted took root. "I suppose it might, though."

  "I've got a horse running tomorrow. Why don't you come along, see where the money comes from and where it goes?"

  "Go to the races?" She caught her lip between her teeth as she thought of it. "Could I bet?"

  "There's a woman after my heart. Be ready at eight. I'll take you around the stables and paddock first."

  "All right. Good day to you." She started out, then glanced over her shoulder. "I'd put some witch hazel on that bruise."

  Erin paced the living room. It was her first day off, and she was going to spend it at the races. There would be mobs of people she'd never met; she'd hear dozens of voices for the first time. She ran a hand down her hair and hoped she looked all right. Not for Burke, she thought quickly. For herself, that was all. She wanted to look nice, to feel she looked nice when she stood in the midst of all those people.

  The minute she heard Burke's car, she was racing out of the house. She hesitated on the steps, staring down at the fire-red sports car with its long, sleek hood. She made a mental note of the make so she could write home and tell Brian.

  "You're prompt," Burke commented as she climbed in beside him.

  "I'm excited." It didn't seem foolish to admit it now. "I've never been to the races before. Cullen has, and he told me the horses are beautiful and the people fascinating. Faith, look at all these dials." She studied the dash. "You'd have to be an engineer to drive it."

  "Want to try?"