'Now I'm surprised. Intrigued. A man in your position knowing his way around a kitchen.'
'I make a world-famous cheddar-and-mushroom omelet.'
'I'll be the judge of that-and I'm very- particular about my tastes.' She walked back toward the kitchen and left him blowing out one long, appreciative breath before he followed.
She sat at the little table in the center of the room, draping her arm over the back of her chair and looking very much like a woman accustomed to being served. Though his system no longer needed a jump-start, Trevor made coffee first.
'While I'm sitting here watching you deal with some homey chores,' Darcy began, 'why don't you tell me why you let me babble on yesterday about your family and ancestors and seemed so interested in information that would be already familiar to you.'
'Because it wasn't familiar to me.'
She'd suspected that, after she'd calmed down. He didn't strike her as a man who'd waste time asking questions when he already had the answers. 'Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?'
He would mind. Usually. But he felt he owed her an explanation. 'My grandfather had very little to say about his family here, or Ardmore. Or Ireland, for that matter.'
While he waited for the coffee to brew-please, God, soon-he got out what he needed for the omelet. 'He was a difficult man, with a very hard shell. My impression was that whatever he'd left here made him bitter. So it wasn't discussed.'
'I see.' Not clearly, Darcy mused, as it was hard to understand a family that didn't discuss everything. At
Trevor's eyebrows lifted, but he turned back for flatware. 'A generous sort.'
'I don't know about that, but the pearl was given to him by Carrick at Old Maude's grave, and now it's Brenna's. The first offered was diamonds. Jewels of the sun. Ask Jude about that if you have an interest. The third and last he offered were sapphires. From the heart of the sea.'
'The heart of the sea.' His dream came back to him, fast and clear so that he once again stared down at his own hand.
'A pretty story, you're thinking, and so I would myself if those I know hadn't become part of it. There's one more step that has to be taken, one more pair of hearts that have to meet and promise to each other.' She sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim. 'The others who lived here in this cottage since Old Maude passed were step one and step two.'
He said nothing for a moment, just retrieved the toast that had popped up. 'Are you warning me that I've been selected as step three?'
'It follows smoothly, doesn't it? Now, however practical-minded a man you might be, Magee, you've Irish blood in your veins, and you share that blood with a man who once loved the woman who lived in the place. As candidates go for the breaking of spells, you'd be my pick.'
Considering, he took out the butter and jam. 'And a practical-minded woman like you believes in spells.'
'Believe in them?' She leaned toward him as he sat. 'Darling, I cast them.'
The way she looked at the moment, her eyes hot and bright, her smile just the other side of wicked, he'd have believed her a witch without hesitation. 'Setting aside your considerable powers, are you going to tell me you believe this story, and all its parts, as reality?'
'I do, yes.' She picked up her fork. 'And if I were you, and living here, I'd take great care with my heart.' She lifted a forkful of creamy egg and cheese, slid it between her lips. 'There are those who also believe if one loses that heart here, it's forever pledged.'
'Like Maude's.' The idea of it worried him more than he wanted to admit. 'Why are you telling me this?'
'Well, I wondered if you'd ask. You're an attractive man, and I like the look of you. Added to that-and I'm not ashamed to say it's a big 'added to that' to me-you're rich. I think there's a good possibility I might enjoy your company as well.'
'Are you proposing?'
She shot a grin at him, wide and gorgeous. 'Not quite yet. I'm telling you this because I've the impression you're a man who sees through pretenses as easy as a knife slides through butter.'
She picked up her own knife and demonstrated on the stick he'd taken from the refrigerator. 'I'm not a woman who falls in love. I've tried,' she said, and for a moment the light in her eyes clouded. Then she shrugged and spread the butter on a slice of toast. 'It's just not in me. And it may be that we're not what destiny has in store for each other, but if we are, I think we might come to an arrangement that pleases both of us.'
Under the circumstances, he decided, another refill of coffee couldn't hurt. He got up to top off the cups. 'I've met a lot of people in my business, sampled a lot of cultures, and I have to say this is the strangest breakfast conversation I've ever had.'
'I believe in fate, Trevor, in the meeting of like minds, in comfort and in honesty when it serves its purpose.' She took another bite of omelet. 'Do you?'
'I believe in like minds, comfort and honesty when it serves its purpose. As to fate, that's a different matter.'
'There's too much Irish in your blood for you not to be a fatalist,' she told him.
'Is that the nature of the beast?'
'Of course. And at the same time, we manage to be optimistically sentimental and full of dark and exciting superstition. As for honesty.' Her eyes twinkled at him. 'Now that's a matter of degrees and viewpoints, for what's better, all in all, than a well-told tale embroidered with colorful exaggerations? However, honesty is something I think you appreciate, so what's wrong with letting you know that if you fall in love with me, I'll likely let you?'
He enjoyed the rest of his coffee. And her. 'I've tried to fall in love. It didn't take for me, either.'
For the first time sympathy moved over her face, and she reached out to touch his hand. 'It's as painful not being able to stumble, I think, as the fall would be.'
He looked down at their joined hands. 'What a sad pair we are, Darcy.'
'Best, isn't it, to know yourself, and your limitations? It could be that some pretty young woman will catch your eye and your heart will pop right out of your chest and plop at her feet.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'But meanwhile, I wouldn't mind having you spend some of your time, and your not inconsiderable funds, on me.'
'Mercenary, are we?'
'Yes, I am.' She gave his hand a friendly pat, then went back to her breakfast. 'You've never had to count your pennies, have you?'
'Got me there.'
'But if you ever have to earn a few extra, you make a very fine omelet.' She rose, taking both of the plates to the sink. 'I appreciate a decent cook, as it's not a skill I have, nor one I care to develop.'
He came up behind her, ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arms and back again in one long stroke. 'Going to wash my dishes?'
'No.' She wanted to stretch like a satisfied cat, but thought it wiser not to. 'But I might be persuaded to dry them for you.'
She let him turn her around, kept her eyes on his as he lowered his head. Then, with not a little regret, placed her fingers on his lips before they touched hers. 'Here's what I'm thinking. Either of us could seduce the other with considerable style if not much effort.'
'Okay. Let me go first.'
Her laugh was low and smooth. 'And however satisfied we might be after, it's early days yet. Let's keep that adventure for another time.'
He gathered her a little closer. 'Why wait? You're the fatalist.'
'Clever. But we'll wait because I've a mind to. I've a very strong mind.' She tapped his lips with her finger once, then drew back.
'Me, too.' Deliberately, he lifted her hand to his lips again, brushed them over her palm, then her knuckles.
'I like that. I might just come back for more, another time. And as things are, I believe I'll leave the dishes to you after all. Now, will you walk me out like a proper gentleman?'
'Tell me,' he said as they started out of the kitchen, 'how many men have you wrapped around your finger to date?'
'Oh, I've lost count. But none of them seemed to mind it.' She glanced back as the phone began to ring. 'Do
