“It’s entirely possible that you’re right,” Ryan conceded.
“Then do something about it.”
That image of a naked Maggie sliding beneath his sheets slammed into Ryan’s head again. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he needed to resist.
“One of these days, maybe I will,” he said, a note of wistfulness creeping into his voice.
“No time like the present,” Rory reminded him.
Ryan shook his head. “Some things can’t be rushed.”
“Would Maggie view you coming back upstairs as rushing her?”
“No,” he admitted ruefully. “I’m the one who’s slowed the pace of things. I can’t afford a mistake.”
“What sort of mistake?” Rory asked, clearly bewildered.
Ryan didn’t answer. How could he explain to a man who made a habit of loving and leaving women that once Ryan allowed Maggie to touch him, she’d be a part of his soul?
And that would give her the power to destroy him if she were ever to walk away.
Maggie was relieved to hear the answering machine when she called home to let her family know the outcome of Lamar’s surgery and to tell them she was still in town. She wasn’t quite ready to try to explain Ryan’s continued reticence to come to dinner. Knowing her mother, Maggie suspected Nell wasn’t going to take the refusal lightly. When it came to self-proclaimed missions, Nell O’Brien was even quicker to rush in than her daughter. Maggie had a feeling that would be more pressure than Ryan could handle.
She thought of his reaction to her guess that the rocker had reminded him of his mother. He’d obviously been dismayed that she’d hit on the truth. Clearly he didn’t like the fact that she was chipping away at that protective wall he’d erected around himself and could see into his heart. Maggie recognized that she needed to be careful, especially since her preference would be to take a sledgehammer to what was left of that wall. Rather than poking and prodding about the Devaneys, she was going to fill Ryan’s head with stories of the O’Briens until he grew comfortable with the idea of her family, even if he couldn’t deal with his own.
Sighing, she snuggled more securely around the pillow that still held Ryan’s faint, masculine scent. For now, this was the only way she was likely to get close to him, but that would change eventually. Maggie could be patient when she had to be…especially now that she thought she knew how to break down that wall.
It was afternoon when she woke. Sun was streaming in the bedroom window. Maggie yawned and stretched, then listened for some sound to indicate that Ryan had returned to the apartment. All she heard were street sounds and the distant clatter of pots and pans, coming no doubt from the pub kitchen downstairs.
Wrapping herself in one of Ryan’s shirts that she found hanging on the back of the door, she slipped across the hall to the bathroom and showered, then dressed. Using his hair dryer, she did what she could to coax some waves into her hair, then ventured downstairs, where she found the pub empty.
The sound of voices in the kitchen drew her. Poking her head around the door, she scanned the room for Ryan, but saw no sign of him. Rory, however, was chopping the vegetables for Irish stew, while Rosita sat nearby, her feet up.
“Taking a break?” Maggie asked with a grin.
“Señor Rory not let me help,” Rosita responded, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “I can chop, sí? That is not so difficult.”
“You need to stay off your feet,” Rory countered.
Rosita rolled her eyes. “He is worse than Juan.”
“Does Ryan realize he’s paying her to rest?” Maggie inquired.
“I’m in charge of the kitchen,” Rory claimed defensively. “I see no need to tell himself how I’m running it or who’s doing what. As long as there’s food for the customers, he’s got no cause to complain.”
Maggie chuckled. “You’re an angel, Rory.”
“You’d best be keeping that to yourself, Maggie. I have a reputation as a tyrant to protect.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t give away your secret. Where is your boss, by the way?”
“In the pub.”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Check the booth in the back corner. He was asleep on the bench last time I checked.”
“Why on earth would he sleep down here when there was a perfectly good sofa upstairs?” she asked. “To say nothing of half a bed.”
Rory’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now that’s a question you should be asking him, but I think you can figure it out if you put your mind to it.”
“It’s because I was in the other half of that bed, wasn’t it?” she asked, astonished that her presence had actually scared the man out of his own home.
“You never heard me say such a thing, now did you?” Rory replied, a grin splitting his face.
“He doesn’t trust himself around me,” she concluded with a sense of wonder. She’d suspected it, but the confirmation was music to her ears.
“That would be my impression,” Rory agreed. He studied her intently. “What do you intend to do about this power you have over him?”
Rather than replying, she met his gaze. “Any suggestions?”
“Now if a woman affected me the way you affect our Ryan, I wouldn’t mind if she were to make an outright pass at me,” the Irish cook said, then sighed heavily. “But sadly, Ryan is a better man than I. I think a subtler approach is called for.”
“Meaning?”
“Persistence and patience,” he recommended. “Whatever you’ve done to rattle him, do that and more of it.” An unrepentant grin suddenly crossed his face. “Ah, here is the very man in question, looking oddly unrefreshed from his nap.”
“Go to hell,” Ryan muttered as he crossed to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. Only then did he glance at Maggie. “Want some?”
“I’d love a cup,” she said, noting that Ryan’s gaze fell on
