“Why do you think I’m a fairy?” she asked. “I don’t have wings. Or a wand.”
“Not all fairies look like Tinkerbell. And you wouldn’t. You’re the kind of fairy that uses all her trickery to lure me in.” He pointed to an illustration. “There you are.
She examined the illustration carefully. “She has wavy dark hair. That’s about it.”
“There’s more,” he said.
“She’s naked and I’m fully clothed. And she has wings. And really big boobs.”
Danny playfully tugged at the back of her shirt. “You have lovely breasts. And I think I’ve seen wings in here somewhere. Why don’t we just take a closer look?”
“You need to keep your mind on business,” she warned, wagging her finger at him.
“And you need to stop distracting me. Fairy magic is a powerful thing and you don’t know how powerful you are.”
“If I’m so powerful,” Jordan said, “why can’t I get rid of the brownies in the house?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Fairies and brownies exist in separate worlds.” He handed her the book. “Here. You can read all about it. I’ll buy it for you,
“We’re here to look for big sets of books with nice leather bindings. And, of course, they should be interesting. I have a lot of shelves to fill.”
“So aesthetics are more important than content?”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know. It all depends. We should get a full set of Shakespeare. Why don’t we look for that first?”
“Buying books for their looks is like buying art because it matches the paint on the wall.” Danny reached out and plucked a book off the shelf and held it up to her. “You should start with an Irish poet.”
“Who is that?”
“W. B. Yeats.” Danny leaned back against the bookshelf and closed his eyes. “‘When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.’” He opened his eyes to find her staring at him.
“That’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“I would still love you when you were old and gray,” he murmured. It was an impulsive statement that startled him, as it was based on the assumption that he loved her now-or would in the future. Was that even a possibility in his subconscious? And if it was, what would that mean to her?
Her gaze softened, as if she were searching for the truth in his words. Danny held his breath, hoping that she might return the favor and provide a clue to the depth of her own feelings. Was she falling in love with him? Did she think about a future together?
“You have to have Yeats,” Danny finally said, handing her the book.
She drew in a sharp breath and nodded. “Yes. Good.”
Danny forced a smile. He’d given her an opening and she hadn’t stepped through it. “And you’ll need collections of Swift and Goldsmith. And Wilde and Joyce.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Jordan asked.
“I’m Irish. We take great pride in our literary heroes. Bram Stoker and Samuel Beckett were Irish, too. And C. S. Lewis. Sister Mary Frances, my high-school English teacher, was a tyrant when it came to homegrown talent. I can still recite ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree.’ It was my favorite poem.”
“Say it for me,” Jordan said.
Danny cleared his throat and stood up straight.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
“That’s beautiful,” she murmured.
Chuckling, Danny dropped a kiss on her lips. “That’s not the end of it. Maybe I’ll finish it tonight, when we’re in bed.”
“Thank you, Sister Mary Frances.”
“I used to think that’s what I wanted. To escape my family, my brothers mostly, and find a place to be alone, in a bee-loud glade. But I’m starting to realize that life alone wouldn’t be much fun.”
“Not even in a cabin of clay and waddle? What is waddle?”
“Wattle,” Danny said, emphasizing the
“You know a lot of trivial things,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“What do you know?” Danny asked. “Recite a poem for me.”
“No.” Jordan laughed. “Outside of nursery rhymes, I’m not sure I know a single poem by memory. Not that I didn’t at one time. Things just seem to come and go from my mind if I don’t really think about them.”
He leaned into her. “So you’ll forget all about me soon enough?”
She slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever forget you.”
Danny cupped her face in his hands and captured her mouth with his. He loved to kiss Jordan. She was always so sweet and willing, her fingers clutching at his shirt. When he lingered over her lips, she moaned softly and Danny slipped his hand beneath her shirt to caress her breast.
His thoughts returned to the lines of Yeats he’d recited, the words drifting through his head. For the first time in his life, he could imagine spending the rest of his days with one woman. Jordan fascinated him with all her foibles and quirks. At once she was steely, yet vulnerable, serious, yet silly. With every contrast he discovered, he became more and more intrigued. Was this really the woman who could keep him interested for a lifetime?
And then there was their physical compatibility. He’d always enjoyed sex, but sex with Jordan was so much more than the simple satisfying of a need. It was how they communicated, how they conveyed the feelings that they hadn’t yet put into words. Did he love her? He wasn’t sure. But was he falling in love with her? There was a very good possibility he was.
“Books,” she murmured when he finally drew away. “You have to stop distracting me.”
“All right,” he whispered. “Let’s get your books. We’ll continue this later.”
As Danny followed her around the bookstore, pointing out volumes that belonged in her library, he thought about the time they had left together. He had at least another two weeks of work to do and he could maybe stretch it into three. But her work in Ireland would eventually end.
He tried to imagine how that would look, how it would feel. Would they just kiss each other goodbye and end it? Or would they make plans to see each other again? Though he’d always been one to make a break up clean and simple, somehow he knew it wouldn’t be simple with Jordan. He was already thinking of ways they could be together, of trips to New York.
He needed time. Or he’d have to make better use of the time he had. Riley had only been given a couple of weeks with Nan. How had he managed it? Maybe it was time to find out.
5
THEY’D PACKED THE CAR with boxes of books, the scent of old leather filling Jordan’s station wagon. More books would be delivered to the house tomorrow and the shopkeeper had found additional sets in Dublin and Galway that he’d ordered for Jordan and send on through a delivery service.
As they drove along the coast, the sun disappeared, replaced by steely-gray clouds and a soft drizzle. Jordan stared out the window as she listened to the gentle rhythm of the wipers.
Even on such a dreary afternoon, the countryside still looked so green and magical. Until Danny had come into her life, she’d been immune to its charms. But now, caught in an affair with a sexy Irishman, she could appreciate the place that had made him.
There was something about the light, how it shimmered over the landscape, intensifying the colors and the contrasts: soft green moss growing on weathered gray rock, white clouds blowing above the deep blue of the
