proper, all businesslike, putting pieces of the story that charmed you into little compartments.'
'That's precisely the point. And I wasn't dreamy-eyed.'
'I'd know better about that, wouldn't I, as I was the one looking at you.' His voice warmed again, flowed over her. 'You've sea goddess eyes, Jude Frances. Big and misty green. I've been seeing them in my mind even when you're not around. What do you think of that?'
'I think you have a clever tongue.' She got up, without a clue what she intended to do. For lack of anything else, she carried the teapot back to the stove. 'Which is why you tell a very entertaining story. I'd like to hear more, to coordinate them with those from my grandmother and others.'
She turned back around, jolted when she realized he was standing just behind her. 'What are you doing?'
'Nothing at the moment.' Ah, boxed you in now, haven't I? he thought, but kept his voice easy. 'I'm happy enough to tell you tales.' Smoothly, he rested his hands on the edge of the stove on either side of her. 'And if you've a mind to, you can come into the pub on a quiet night and find others who'll do the same.'
'Yes.' Panic was beating bat wings in her stomach. 'That's a good idea. I should-'
'Did you enjoy yourself last night? The music?'
'Mmmm.' He smelled of rain, and of man. She didn't know what to do with her hands. 'Yes. The music was wonderful.'
'Is it that you don't know the tunes?' He was close now, very close, and could see a thin ring of amber between the silky black of her pupils and the misty green of the iris.
'Ah, I know some of them. Do you want more tea?'
'I wouldn't mind it. Why didn't you sing then?'
'Sing?' Her throat was bone-dry, a desert of nerves.
'I had my eye on you, most of the time. You never sang along, chorus or verse.'
'Oh, well. No.' He really had to move. He was taking all her air. 'I don't sing, except when I'm nervous.'
'Is that the truth, then?' Watching her face, he moved in, sliding his body into an amazing fit against hers.
She knew what to do with her hands now. They lifted quickly to brace against his chest. 'What are you doing?'
'I've a mind to hear you sing, so I'm making you nervous.'
She managed a stuttering laugh, but when she tried to shift she only succeeded in pressing more firmly against him. 'Aidan-'
'Just a little nervous,' he murmured and lowered his mouth to nip gently at her jaw. 'You're trembling.' Another nip, teasing and light. 'Easy now, I'm after stirring you up, not frightening you to death.'
He was doing both. Her heart was rapping against her ribs, ringing in her ears. While he slowly nibbled his way over her jaw, her hands were trapped against the solid wall of his chest. And she felt marvelously weak and female.
'Aidan, you're- This is- I don't think-'
'That's fine, then, a fine idea. Let's neither of us think for just a minute here.'
He caught her bottom lip-the wide, soft wonder of it-between his teeth. She moaned, quiet; her eyes clouded, dark. A spear of pure and reckless lust shot straight to his loins.
'Jesus, you're a sweet one.' His hand lifted from the stove, fingers skimming over her collarbone. As he held her where he wanted her, he took her mouth. Sampling, then savoring, then wallowing in the taste of her.
Even as she slid toward surrender, he used his teeth to make her gasp. And went deeper than he'd intended.
Still she trembled, putting him in mind of a volcano poised to erupt, a storm ready to strike. Her hands remained trapped between them, but her fingers gripped his shirt now and held fast.
She heard him murmur something, a whisper against the wall of sound that was her blood raging. His mouth, so hot, so skilled, his body, so hard, so strong. And his hands, light as moth wings on her face. She could do nothing but give, and give, even as some shocking, unrecognizable part of her urged her to take.
And when he drew away it was as if her world tilted and spilled her out.
He kept his hands on her face, waited for her eyes to open, focus. He'd intended only to taste, to enjoy the moment. To see. But it had gone beyond intentions into something just out of his control. 'Will you let me have you?'
Her eyes were huge, glazed with confusion and pleasure. And nearly brought him to his knees. He didn't particularly care for the sensation.
'I- what?'
'Come upstairs and lie with me.'
Shock came a bare instant before she simply nodded her head. 'I can't. No. This is completely irresponsible.'
'Is there someone in America who has a hold on you?'
'A hold?' Why wouldn't her brain function? 'Oh. No, I'm not involved with anyone.' The sudden gleam in Aidan's eyes had her straining back. 'That doesn't mean I'm going to just- I don't sleep with men I barely know.'
'At the moment, I feel we know each other pretty well.'
'That's a physical reaction.'
'You're damn right.' He kissed her again, hard and hot.
'I can't breathe.'
'I'm having a bit of trouble with that myself.' It was against his natural instincts, but he stepped away. 'Well, what do we do about this, then, Jude Frances? Analyze it on an intellectual level?'
His voice might have carried the musical lilt of Ireland, but it could still slash. Because she wanted to wince, she straightened her shoulders. 'I'm not going to apologize for not jumping into bed with you. And if I prefer to function on an intellectual level, it's my business.'
He closed his mouth before the snarl escaped, then jammed his hands in his pockets and paced up and down the tiny room. 'Do you always have to be reasonable?'
'Yes.'
He stopped, eyed her narrowly, then to her complete confusion, threw back his head and laughed. 'Damn it, Jude, if you'd shout or throw something, we could have a nice bloody fight and end it wrestling on the kitchen floor. And, speaking for myself, I'd feel a hell of a lot more satisfied.'
She allowed herself a quiet breath. 'I don't shout or throw things or wrestle.'
He lifted a brow. 'Ever?'
'Ever.'
His grin came fast this time, a flash of humor and challenge. 'I bet I can change that.' He stepped toward her, shaking his head when she backed away. He caught a loose strand of her hair and tugged. 'Will you wager on it?''
'No.' She tried a hesitant smile. 'I don't gamble either.'
'You walk around with a name like Murray, then tell me you don't gamble. It's a disgrace you are to your blood.'
'I'm a testament to my breeding.'
'I'll put my money on the blood every time.' He rocked back on his heels, considering her. 'Well, I'd best start back. A walk in the rain'll clear my head.'
She steadied herself as he took his jacket from the hook. 'You're not angry?'
'Why would I be?' His gaze whipped to hers, bright and intense. 'You've a right to say no, haven't you?'
'Yes, of course.' She cleared her throat. 'Yes, but I imagine a number of men would still be angry.'
'I'm not a number of men, then, am I? And, added to that, I mean to have you, and I will. It doesn't have to be today.'
He flashed her another grin when her mouth fell open, then walked to the door. 'Think of that, and of me, Jude Frances, until I get my hands on you again.'
When the door closed behind him, she stood exactly where she was. And though she did think of that, and of him, and of all the pithy, lowering, brilliant responses she should have made, she thought a great deal more of what it had been like to be held against him.
