Tears of the Moon (17 page)

“Please do come back, won't you?” Darcy called out and had the satisfaction of seeing Finkle flush a little as he glanced back her way. “I'd love to sing for you.”

She waited until they were safely out and away. “The man from London,” she said, snickering. “That was inspired.”

“Just came to me. And I'll wager a pound to a pence that the minute he gets back to a phone he's ringing Magee in New York to tell him we're playing two lines.”

“It could backfire, you know, Shawn, and have this Magee looking elsewhere.”

“Or it could pay off.” He reached over to tug her hair, surprised at how much fun he'd had playing the game. “Life's a gamble, isn't it?”

He looked up as Brenna and her father came in for their lunch hour. “And that's half the fun of living. A good day to you, Mr. O'Toole,” he said when Mick strolled to the bar. “Mary Brenna. And what can we do for you?”

“I've a thirst, Shawn.” Mick sent Darcy a wink.

“We can help you there.” Knowing his man's preferences, Shawn slid a pint glass under the tap and began the process of building a Guinness. “And for you, Brenna?”

“I'm more interested in that soup I see on your menu.” She nodded toward the daily board. “But there's no hurry.”

“None at all,” Mick confirmed as he slid onto a stool. “We're all but finished at your brother's house this morning. My Brenna here will tidy it up by day's end, then we'll be back to renovating rooms at the hotel. Sure, and I'll miss coming in here for your cooking, Shawn. Not that the hotel doesn't serve a good meal, but no one has your touch.”

“Will you have some soup today, and a sandwich as well, Mr. O'Toole?” Darcy slipped behind the bar to pour the tea she assumed Brenna wanted. “A man works as hard as you, he needs his fuel.”

“Well, I will at that, Darcy darling. You'll make some fortunate man the best of wives one day, as you'll know how to tend to him.”

With a quick and wicked laugh, Darcy slid the tea across to Brenna. “I'm looking for one who'll tend to me—and lavishly. Speaking of it, has Daniel rung you up, Brenna?”

“Daniel?” She caught Shawn's raised brow and fought not to squirm. “He did, yes.”

“That's fine, that. Matthew said he would. That's a fine-looking and well-set-up young man has his eye on your daughter, Mr. O'Toole.”

“And why shouldn't he? She's a pretty thing.”

“All right, Dad.”

“Well, you are, and what's wrong with saying so?” The slap on the shoulder he gave her was one most men would have given a son. “A man'd be fortunate indeed to snap up a lass like my Brenna, as she's fair of face and a good worker too. A bit of a temper, maybe, but that only adds the spice. A man doesn't go looking for a bland sort of woman, does he, Shawn?”

Shawn laid the next level of Guinness in the glass. “That would depend on the man.”

“Well, a smart one doesn't, for he'd be bored brainless within a year. Not that I'm in a rush to see my Brenna here off and married. My chicks are leaving the nest quick enough now, with Maureen already wed and Patty looking to be a bride in a few months.” He sighed. “I don't know what I'll do without my Brenna when the time comes.”

“You won't have to do without me, time or not. We're partners. I'll just go back and get the soup, since you're shorthanded here.”

It was as good an excuse as any to get out of the spotlight and away from uncomfortable topics. She was behind the bar and through the kitchen door as quickly as she could manage without letting on she was in a hurry. When the door was behind her, she rolled her eyes heavenward and blew out a breath.

Her father was getting powerfully sentimental lately, and while she found it touching most times, this wasn't one of them. She got down bowls and tried not to wince when she heard the door open again. She didn't have to turn to know it was Shawn.

“I can get this. You're busy.”

“And Darcy can man the bar as well as me—or anyone. Besides, your father wants a sandwich. You don't build as well with bread and meat as you do with wood and nails.”

Because he wanted to, and because he knew it would fluster her, he came up behind, took her hips in his hands and bent down to nip at the back of her neck.

Heat flashed straight down to her toes. “What are you about? You're to be working.”

“You're work enough.” He turned her, then slid his hands up her sides.

“I've only time to get a bite to eat. I have to get back to the house and finish up.”

“I'll feed you soon enough.” With his hands hooked under her arms, he boosted her onto the counter. “You feed me first. I've an appetite for you.”

She started to protest, though her heart wouldn't have been in it, but then his mouth was nibbling on hers. “Someone could come in,” she managed, but her hands were already in his hair.

“And why would that bother you? Just put your mind to this for a minute.” He framed her face, tilted his head. And took her under.

He'd promised to drive her crazy, and she was forced to admit he was a man of his word. For days he'd kept her on a shaky sexual edge that was both frustrating and wonderful. It was never more than a kiss, long and slow and deep or fast and hard and hot. The bare, teasing brush of hand or fingertips. The quiet look that could send her pulse scrambling without a word spoken.

An appetite for her, he'd said. It must have been true, as he was sampling and savoring and consuming her in lazy, lingering bites. When she began to tremble he only made a sound of satisfied approval.

“Shawn.” The man made her light in the head and wild in the belly. “I can't go on like this much longer.”

“I can.” He was dreaming in her. “I could go on like this for years.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

He chuckled, then drew back, pleased by the clouds of desire in her eyes. “What did you say to this Daniel?”

“Daniel who?”

His grin flashed, and her mind cleared. Swearing, she gave him a shove and jumped off the counter. “Damn you, Shawn, that's what this was about. Just softening me up and fogging up my brain so I'd boost your ego a notch.”

“That was just a side benefit.” He got out the makings for a sandwich. “But the fact is, Brenna, I've an interest in knowing if you're going out with the Dubliner again just now.”

“I ought to, just to slap at you.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “That's what Darcy would do.”

“Ah, but you're not Darcy, are you, darling?”

“No, I'm not, and I haven't the talent or the energy to juggle men like apples. I told the Dubliner I was seeing someone.”

Shawn glanced over, met her eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“What I'd like to know is when I'm going to be sleeping with someone.”

He added the spiced mustard he knew Mick O'Toole favored, and kept his brows lifted. “In all the years I've known you, never did I realize you had such an obsession with sex.”

“I wouldn't be obsessed with sex if I was
having
sex.”

“Well, now, how can you be sure of that, as you've never had it with me?”

She wanted to pull her hair, decided to laugh instead. “Christ Jesus, Shawn, you're enough to drive a woman to drink.”

“Go out and have Darcy pull you a pint on me,” he began, then his head came up again as he heard the sound of voices through the back door. “No, wait. Follow along here.”

“Follow what?”

“Ladle the soup.” He gave a wag of his hand toward the bowls. “And just follow along.”

The back door opened, and Aidan stepped back to let Finkle go through. “The kitchen's Shawn's territory, as you can see. We've added this and that as he's felt a need for it. Oh, hello, Brenna. This is our friend and occasional employee, Brenna O'Toole. Brenna, Mr.Finkle from New York.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Clueless, Brenna put on a company smile and ladled the soup.

“Mr. Finkle's here about adding a restaurant to the pub,” Shawn began.

“A theater,” Aidan said in a tone so sharp that Brenna nearly bobbled the bowl in surprise. “The theater, Shawn. You're confused again.”

“Oh, aye, the theater. Sure and I can't keep business dealings straight in my mind for five minutes at a run.”

“But you make a lovely soup.” Brenna gave him an encouraging look, one she might have sent to a slightly slow twelve-year-old. And hoped that was what he'd had in mind. “Would you care for a bowl of it now, Mr. Finkle, or have you eaten already?”

“No, I haven't.” The kitchen smelled like someone's devoted grandmother's kitchen, and it had his mouth watering. “It's very aromatic.”

“And tastes better, I can promise you. What kind of theater are you thinking of?”

“A small, tasteful entertainment arena. My employer wants something traditional.”

“People like to eat and lift a glass or two before or after the theater, don't they?” Shawn dressed the sandwich with a bit of parsley and radish.

“As a rule.” Finkle scanned the room, the shining pots, the scrubbed counters, the tidy workstation. The stove was enormous and looked older than Zeus, but it appeared to be in good working order.

It might do, he thought. He would make a note of it in his report.

“Well, then, they couldn't do better than Gallagher's for that,” Brenna assured him. “Would you like to sit here in the kitchen, sir, or would you prefer a table?”

“A table, if you don't mind,” he told Brenna. The better to observe the business flow.

“I'll get you settled.” Smoothly Aidan gestured toward the door. “You just tell our Darcy what you'd enjoy for your lunch. On the house, of course.”

Aidan shot one triumphant look over his shoulder as he led Finkle out.

“What's this about a theater? And why were you acting as though you'd misplaced a few brain cells since you woke up this morning?”

“Well, I'll tell you. Go on and get your father his lunch, then come back and have your soup here, and I'll give you the full story.”

“Do you?”

“Well, not personal like, but I know of him. Them, actually. Father and son, they are, but the son is more in the way of doing the running of things now.”

“A family business,” Shawn mused. “Well, that's something I can appreciate.”

“A well-established one at that. He builds beautiful things, does Magee. Mostly theaters and arenas and such. He's very big in America, and in England too, I'm thinking. My mother's cousin's nephew Brian Cagney went to work for one of his construction teams in New York. He wrote me a year or two ago and said if I were to come over, I'd have a job in a wink, as Magee doesn't look at how a carpenter's skin is stretched when he hires on.”

“Are you thinking of going to New York?” It was such a shock, even the possibility of it, that he had to work to keep his tone level and casual.

“No.” Her mind already elsewhere, Brenna answered absently. “I work with Dad, and we work here. But Brian writes me now and again. He says Magee treats his people well, pays top of the scale, and has been known to swing a hammer himself when the mood strikes. But doesn't suffer fools, and if you fuck up, you're out and gone. I'll write to Brian, see what he knows of this or can find out.”

Then her eyes sharpened, latched on to Shawn's. “Is he bringing in his own crews or hiring local for this?”

“I wouldn't know about it.”

“Well, he should hire local. That's how it should be. You want to build in Ireland, then you use Irish hands. You build in Ardmore, you hire from the village and Old Parish. Dad and I could use a piece of this.”

“Where are you going?” Shawn demanded when she got up.

“To talk to Mr. Finkle.”

“Wait, wait. God, woman, you never let a fly land on your nose, do you? Now's not the time.”

“Why isn't it if I want to get in on the ground floor of it?”

“Let Aidan set the deal first.” He caught her hand. “It's still in delicate stages. Once we have it as we want it, then you can move on into who should have the building of it.”

She hated to wait, hated that she saw the sense of what Shawn was saying. “I need to know the minute the deal's done, then.”

“That I can promise.”

“I'll show you how it should be.” She pulled a pencil out of her pocket and would have sketched right on the wall if he hadn't grabbed her and shoved a pad of paper under her nose. “This is your north wall. You open that up, an oversized doorway.” She drew quickly, all lines and angles. “And you put a breezeway sort of thing here, for people to move from the pub to the theater and back again. You keep it as much the same as the pub as you can, the same wood, the same flooring, so you have a— what is it—a symmetry that leads to the lobby part. Better if the breezeway fans out, spreads as it goes so that the lobby becomes part of the pub, as on the other way, the pub would become part of the lobby.”

She nodded, glanced up. And narrowed her eyes. “And what might you be grinning at?”

“It's just such an education watching you work.”

“If I have my way, you'll be watching me work for months down the line, and Dad can slip into the pub daily for his lunch and pint. I've got to get on.”

“Can you take an hour later?” He caught her hand before she could turn to go.

“I suppose I could. It shouldn't take longer than that for me to get your clothes off and finish with you.”

“I had something else in mind. As for the other, I don't want timetables and deadlines.” He brought her hand to his lips, rubbed them over her knuckles. “Have a walk with me on the beach.”