Heart of the Sea

  “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.

  TEN

  AFTER CONSIDERABLE DEBATE and weighing of the pros and cons, Darcy decided to be on time. Her reasons for breaking precedent were purely selfish, and she didn’t mind admitting it. She wanted to enjoy every minute of her two days off.

  She’d packed light, which hadn’t been an easy feat for her, and because of it the chore had taken her hours. Planning, debating, discarding. She’d raided her wish jar, something she did only for the most important of events. But she needed to buy something wonderful to commemorate the trip, didn’t she?

  For two days she’d worked like a mule to be certain her responsibilities at the pub were well covered. In lieu of sleep she’d given herself a manicure, a pedicure, and a facial to make certain she presented as polished an image as she could manage.

  She’d selected her lingerie with the canniness and foresight of a general preparing for battle.

  Trevor Magee wouldn’t know what hit him—once she allowed him to seduce her.

  The idea had odd little nerves fluttering in her stomach. And she wanted to be, had to be, calm, cool, cosmopolitan. She had no intention of playing the culchie — country bumpkin—in London or in bed. Part of the problem was Trevor was exactly as Aidan had described him.

  Slick.

  It didn’t matter if he dressed in work clothes and sweated along with his crew or waded through the mud hauling supplies. Still, beneath the sweat and dirt was a gloss that came from privilege, education, and wealth.

  She’d met other men from privilege. The fact was, she’d honed the skill of recognizing, and separating from the pack, those trust fund babies on tour or holiday.

  But, a trust fund babe Trevor was not, and she thought never had been. With all his wealth he worked, and the power of both the rewards and the labor sat well on him. That earned her respect, and Darcy gave her respect sparingly.

  She’d never known anyone quite like him. And while that intrigued her, it also made her wary.

  Added to it all, layered through the observations and the interest, was the not so simple fact that she wanted him. She’d never wanted a man with quite so much focus and intensity. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on hers. His body on hers.

  In the few hours she’d slept the night before, she’d dreamed of him. Strange, confused dreams. In them he’d come to her on a white winged horse, and together they’d flown over a sea as blue as sapphire, over the damp green fields of home, through pearly light toward a silver palace where trees had dripped with golden apples and silver pears, and the music that rose into the air was enough to break the heart.

  In the dream, for that short, misty time, she was in love. In a way she’d never thought she could be, had never been certain she wanted to be. So completely, blindly, joyfully in love that nothing seemed to matter but those moments with him.

  He’d said only one thing to her as they’d flown through sunlight, moonlight, faerie light.

  Everything. And more.

  All she could say, all she could feel as she turned her body to his, laid her cheek upon his was, You. You’re everything, and more.

  She’d meant it, with everything she had inside her, all she would ever have, would ever be. And waking, she’d wished she could feel that a
gain, so much power of emotion. But she’d lost it in dreams and could only smile at her own fancies.

  Neither she nor Trevor wanted fancies.

  At six on the dot, she carried her bag downstairs, and her heart thumped with anticipation. What would she see and do and taste over the next forty-eight hours?

  Everything . The thought elated her. And more.

  She took one last scan of the pub, tidy and scrubbed. Sinead, Betsy, and Alice Mae should surely be able to handle what she often did alone. She’d drummed the routine into their heads and had left a written list as a backup. Satisfied, she let herself out and promised not to give the pub a single thought until she stepped foot in it again.

  It was the dot of six.

  It pleased her to see Trevor pull up to the curb as she walked out. They were of a mind, then, she thought. Things would go smoother because of it.

  It surprised her to see he was wearing a suit. Italian, she imagined when he got out of the car to take her luggage. Blisteringly pricey, she was sure, but not a bit flashy. The stone gray matched his eyes well, and the shirt and tie were all of a hue, so the look was smartly European.

  Power, she thought again. Yes, he wore it very well.

  “Well, now, look at you.” Deliberately she fingered his sleeve as he loaded her luggage into the boot. “Aren’t you pretty this morning?”

  “I have a meeting.” He closed the boot, then went around to open her door. “The timing’s a little tight.” He got a whiff of her as she slid past him and wished the meeting and all its participants straight to hell.

  She waited until he was in the driver’s seat. “I’d think a man in your position could call his own time.”

  “You do that and you bring one more thing into a meeting that usually bogs things up. Ego.”

  “But I’ve noticed you’ve got one.”

  He swung away from the curb. “The trick’s recognizing it. I’ve arranged for a car and driver to meet us at Heathrow. He’ll take you to the house so you can settle in. He’ll be at your disposal through the day if you want to sightsee or shop.”

  “Will he?” Imagine that. “Well, that’s considerate of you.”

  “I’ll have more free time tomorrow, but today’s packed.” He glanced at her. “I should be done by six this evening. We have dinner reservations at eight. Does that suit you?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good. My assistant faxed over several points of interest. I have the file in my briefcase. You can take a look during the flight to help you plan what you’d like to do today.”

  “That’s a lovely thought, and I’ll do just that. But you needn’t worry that I’ll have trouble entertaining myself.”

  He glanced over. She wore a trim jacket and slacks of slate blue, and had matched them with a soft, faintly shimmering blouse the color of roses drenched in cream. The choice was more than stylish. It was cleverly, completely female.

  “No, I don’t imagine you will.”

  Inexplicably miffed that she wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly, missing him, waiting for him, he fell into silence.

  More like a business arrangement than a . . . what the hell was it, anyway? An assignation? He didn’t care for the word. But he didn’t suppose “romance” fit the situation either. Neither of them was the starry-eyed type. They wanted what they wanted. Better to be up front and systematic about it.

  But it irritated him nonetheless.

  They arrived at Waterford’s airport on schedule. And it was there Darcy got her first taste of what a man who walked in wealth could command. Their luggage was whisked away, and they were guided through security with a great deal of “This way, Mr. Magee” and “I hope you enjoy your trip, Mr. Magee.”

  Remembering the hassles and glitches in her recent travel to Paris, Darcy reaffirmed her determination to travel first class or not to travel at all. But even her imagining of top drawer took a bump when Trevor led her out on the tarmac toward a sleek little plane.

  “Is this yours?”

  “The company’s,” he told her, taking her arm for the short trip up the steps. “I do a lot of traveling, so it’s more convenient to have my own transportation.”

  She stepped inside and had to struggle not to gasp. “I bet it is.”

  The seats were done in rich navy leather and were sized generously. Crystal vases were tucked into silver holders on the cream-colored walls between the windows. Each held a dewy bouquet of fresh yellow rosebuds. Her feet sank into the carpet.

  A uniformed flight attendant with a polite smile and flawless skin greeted her by name, then asked if she would care for a mimosa before takeoff.

  Champagne for breakfast, she thought. Just imagine that. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  “Coffee for me, Monica. Want a tour?” he asked Darcy.

  “I would, yes.” Hoping she wasn’t gawking, Darcy set down her purse.

  “Galley’s through here.”

  She peeked in and saw that the efficient Monica already had coffee brewing and was popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. The small space seemed to use every inch resourcefully, and stainless-steel surfaces gleamed.

  “Cockpit.” Trevor gestured through the already open door. The man sitting at a panel of complicated-looking controls swiveled in his chair. “Ready when you are, Mr.Magee. Good morning, Miss Gallagher. You can look forward to a short but smooth flight into Heathrow.”

  “Thank you. Do you fly this plane all by yourself? With no copilot?”

  “It’s a one-man operation,” he told her. “But I don’t need a copilot when Mr. Magee’s on board.”

  “Is that so? Do you fly, then, Trevor?”

  “Occasionally. Give us ten minutes, Donald, then clear with the tower.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We have a lot of interests in Europe,” Trevor began as he led Darcy back through the main cabin. “We use this equipment primarily for the short-range flights over here.”

  “And for the longer flights?”

  “We have larger equipment.” He opened a door. Inside was an office complete with what looked to be a trim antique desk, a computer console, a wall screen for viewing videos, and a bed. She caught a glimpse of the bath through a side door. Everything gleamed.

  “All the creature comforts and the business ones as well.”

  “You do better with the second if you have the first. Celtic’s relatively young at six years, but it’s growing, and it’s profitable.”

  “Ah, so the London business has to do with Celtic Records, then.”

  “For the most part, yes. If you need something and don’t see it, just ask.”

  She turned back to him. “I see everything I need.”

  He lifted a hand to toy with the ends of her hair. “Good. Let’s get started.”

  “Haven’t we already?” she murmured as they walked back to their seats.

  Darcy settled in, accepted the glinting flute holding her mimosa, and prepared to have the time of her life.

  The pilot was a man of his word. The flight was short and smooth. As far as Darcy was concerned, she could have flown for hours and been thrilled. She’d made casual small talk until she’d realized Trevor was distracted. About his upcoming meetings, she imagined, and left him to his planning while she looked over the list of suggestions from his assistant.

  God, yes, she wanted to see it. All of it. Hyde Park and Harrods, Buckingham Palace and Chelsea. She wanted to experience the wild traffic of the streets and the grand shade of the great parks.

  The trip through Heathrow was hardly more complex than the airport at home. Money paves the way, she thought as they slid through customs. Still, she hadn’t expected the car and driver he’d arranged for her to be a limo and a chauffeur. Words stuttered into her throat and were ruthlessly swallowed down again until she could smile up at Trevor easily.

  “Are we dropping you at your meeting, then?”

  “No, opposite directions. I’ll see you this evening.”

&n
bsp; “Good luck with your work.” She started to take the driver’s offered hand, to slip into the limo as she’d practiced doing in her mind. Smoothly, gracefully, as if she’d done it all her life.

  But Trevor took her arm, said her name, and had her looking back up at him, lips just curved.

  Then she was yanked up on her toes, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance, her mouth gloriously assaulted. The swift change of mood from coolheaded businessman to hot-blooded lover was so swift, so complete, so erotic.

  Before the moan could slither from heart to throat to lips, he released her. After one smoldering look, he nodded in what might have been satisfaction.

  “Enjoy your day,” he told her, and left her standing, nearly swaying, beside the discreetly blank-eyed driver and the open limo door.

  She managed to slide in. The fact was, her bones were so loose it felt as though she was pouring herself into the rarefied air inside the limo, scented with roses and leather.

  It took every ounce of will to click herself back, to absorb and appreciate her first ride in a long, quiet car. She trailed her fingers along the seat. Butter-smooth and the color of storm clouds. Like his eyes just moments before, she thought.

  The driver seemed to be a full block away behind the smoked-glass privacy screen. Determined to remember every detail, Darcy noted the television, the crystal glasses, the shimmer of lights along the roof, and the window in it. She relaxed to the romantic sweep of classical music already playing over the stereo. And as she started to stretch out her legs and purr, she finally spotted the slim box on the seat beside her.

  It was wrapped in gold with a silver ribbon. She snatched at it, then, wincing, glanced toward the driver.A woman of the world would hardly dive into a gift. She’d be so used to them as to nearly be bored.

  Chuckling to herself, Darcy opened the small envelope.

  Welcome to London. Trev.

  “Doesn’t miss a trick, does he?” Darcy said to herself. “Well, good for me.” Assured that the driver wasn’t paying attention, she picked at the tape with her fingernail. She didn’t want to tear the paper. Wallowing in anticipation, she tucked both the ribbon and the gift wrap, carefully folded, into her purse, then took a breath, held it.

  Opened the long velvet box.

  “Oh, Mother of God.” She yelped it, forgot about the driver, about sophistication. About everything but the outrageous sparkle currently dazzling her eyes.

  Gaping, she held the bracelet up, letting the glinting stones stream down like water. It was slim, and might have been delicate if not for all those bold colors. Surely that was emerald and ruby and sapphire and all framed by diamonds as brilliant as the sun.

  Never in her life had she touched anything so beautiful, so fine, so ridiculously expensive. She really shouldn’t accept it. She’d only just try it on. See how it looked. How it felt.

  It looked gorgeous and felt even better.

  As she turned her wrist, watched it wink, felt that almost liquid slide of gold over her skin, she decided she’d rather cut off her hand than give the bracelet back.

  Her conscience would just have to adjust.

  She spent so much time admiring the bracelet she nearly missed the thrill of the drive through London.When she snapped back she had to struggle with the urge to roll down the window and lean out. To take in everything all at once.

  What to see first, she wondered, what to do? It was all so much to squeeze