“Any idea when the results will be in?” Aidan asked.
“They told me we should have a preliminary report on Monday if there’s no obvious match based on blood type, but it could take longer for a detailed workup of the DNA results.”
Before Aidan could express his frustration, obviously shared by Thomas, Connie appeared and inserted herself between them. “No shoptalk,” she scolded, clearly assuming that they’d had their heads together over a far different topic.
Thomas leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Now, why would I talk shop when I have an opportunity to be out on the town with the most beautiful woman in the room?”
A blush tinted Connie’s cheeks, even as she laughed. “And that is exactly the sort of outrageous blarney that convinced me to marry this man,” she told Aidan.
Aidan couldn’t help wondering if that innate Irish charm had been directed toward his mother, as well. Had she fallen for it as readily? How could she not? As smart as she’d been, she was as susceptible to sweet talk as most women were. And at eighteen or nineteen when she and Thomas had known each other, Aidan could imagine that hint of an Irish brogue that appeared from time to time with all of the O’Brien men had seemed extraordinarily appealing.
He couldn’t help wishing he’d seen the two of them together just once, experienced the bond that had connected them and resulted in a child. Oddly, he found himself envying his friends whose parents were divorced. At least before whatever acrimony had caused the split, there must have been a few good memories they could treasure.
A glance at Thomas suggested he had some idea of what Aidan was thinking. Whatever answers he could share about the past wouldn’t be revealed tonight, though.
“Liz looks as if she’d welcome some company,” Thomas told him.
Connie elbowed him in the ribs. “Meddling is Mick’s territory, not yours.”
“It was just an observation,” Thomas told her, then winked at Aidan. “And taken in that spirit, isn’t that so?”
Aidan laughed. “Absolutely. Enjoy the party.”
He left them and headed in Liz’s direction, snagging a couple of flutes of champagne on the way. By the time he’d caught up with her, she’d reached the French doors that opened onto a terrace. He joined her outside and silently held out a glass.
“Thanks,” she said, meeting his gaze for an instant’s connection, then quickly looking away as if afraid to allow that connection to last more than a heartbeat.
“You thinking about making a run for it?” he asked, nodding toward the lawn just past the terrace. It sloped away toward the bay.
“It crossed my mind,” she admitted.
“You seemed to be successfully evading your family even indoors.”
“I can thank the O’Briens for that. Megan has my mother cornered. Shanna has taken on Danielle, and Jess is showing LeeAnn around the inn.” She grinned at him. “I sense a plot.”
“What sort of plot?”
“I’m here on a moonlit terrace alone with you, aren’t I? It was Susie’s idea that I come out here, by the way. The only thing they haven’t done is lock the terrace doors behind us.”
Aidan laughed and glanced around, noting that the doors were still wide-open. “They probably didn’t think of it.”
She lifted a brow. “Do you honestly think they leave much to chance?”
“Probably not,” he conceded, then set his glass of champagne on a white wrought-iron table and took a step closer.
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“I’d hate for all that careful planning to go to waste. How about you?” He reached for her glass and set it down.
“Didn’t you just hand that to me?” she said, her eyes following the champagne with longing.
“And now it’s in the way,” he said, stepping even closer. He stroked a finger along the curve of her jaw and felt her tremble. “I can’t imagine how I’ve waited so long to do this again.”
“Aidan.”
It was just his name, part plea, part protest, but it set his blood on fire.
“Yes, Liz,” he whispered, tilting up her chin and gazing into the depths of her eyes, watching them darken with unmistakable passion. She could deny it all she wanted—to him, to herself—but she was as desperate for another kiss as he was.
“Aidan.” This time it came out as barely more than a sigh.
He didn’t waste breath on answering, just covered her mouth with his and felt the impact of the kiss rocket through him like jet fuel that had just been ignited.
Liz clung to his shoulders and this time she was the one who moved, inching closer as if she couldn’t bear to have even a hair’s-breadth of space between them. Her lips parted, her breath turned ragged and the air around them seemed to crackle with the snap and heat of an unexpected blaze.
Aidan threaded his fingers through her thick hair, knowing that her careful topknot was toppling in a way that no one inside was likely to misconstrue. He needed to feel those silken strands, to see how they looked when wayward curls framed her face. It would be easy enough, then, to imagine how she’d look after making love, flushed and tousled and beautiful.
The sound of voices grew closer, cutting into his thoughts with the effect of ice water splashing over heated bodies. Liz stilled, but when she would have pulled away, he kept her in place, hoping whoever had thought to come outside would turn around and go away.
Sure enough, there was a knowing masculine laugh, a hurried exchange, and the voices faded. The intrusion had lasted less than a minute, but it was enough to bring them both back to reality.
“You were obviously wrong,” he said, still keeping her encircled in his embrace.
“About what?” she asked, looking up at him with a dazed expression.
“About there not being any more kisses. I warned
