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 again, 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
