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.'
