A Woman's Heart (19 page)

“I'd never lie to you, Nora. I meant every word.” He stroked her shoulders in a gesture meant to soothe, even as the touch of her silken skin aroused the hell out of him. “You were incredible. Better than incredible.” And because nothing had changed and he was still eventually going to hurt her, Quinn decided he owed her the absolute truth. “I've never before felt the way I felt last night.”

“I've never felt that way, either.” The color he'd grown far too fond of stained her cheeks. Cheeks that bore the faint
marks of beard burn. “I never knew I could fly, but you showed me I could.” Her smile spread slowly, gathering him into a silver snare as she brushed a light kiss against his mouth. “And it was a glorious feeling.”

Her body was morning warm and Nora soft. “Talk about your glorious feelings.” He rolled her onto her back, covered that inviting body with his.

Laughing with feminine delight, she combed her fingers through his hair and began to move beneath him in a way designed to kindle smoldering sparks.

How did she do it? He was already burning up. Quinn was debating whether they had time to do this right, when the shrill demand of the phone acted like a splash of icy water.

Nora froze beneath him. “What if it's the hospital?” Her voice, sultry and musical only moments earlier, was a ragged thread of sound.

“It's probably just your father checking on what time we're meeting for breakfast.” Biting back a curse, he reached out and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah… Hi, Brady.” He slanted Nora an I-told-you-so look. “Nora? Why would you be asking if I know where Nora is?”

Quinn experienced a twinge of pride at his newfound talent for answering a direct question in the roundabout Irish fashion, which was, of course, no answer at all. He was also amused by the way Nora's face was suffused with embarrassed color.

“She's probably in the shower,” he suggested. “That's undoubtedly why she didn't hear the phone… Sure, I'll give her a few minutes and ring her myself. Then we'll meet you in the restaurant downstairs in thirty minutes.”

That settled, he hung up and grinned at her. “Good thing videophones are still a thing of the future.”

“Don't you be teasing me, Quinn Gallagher.” Nora slid
out from under him, reaching at the same time for the blanket that had slid to the floor sometime during their energetic night. “My heart nearly stopped at the idea of you talking so casually to my father while lying on top of me naked as the day you were born.”

“That bothered you?” He arched a brow, enjoying the way she was trying to wrap the blanket around herself as she stood beside the bed. As if he hadn't already seen—and tasted—every inch of her luscious body. “Fine. Next time you can be the one on top.”

She laughed at that, an explosive sound of released tension that pleased him for having been the cause. “Sure, and you're a bad man, Quinn Gallagher.”

Her words, meant in jest, struck a bit too close to home. “I believe that's what I've been trying to tell you.”

The humor left her face and her eyes. “Quinn…”

“Don't be fooled by pretty words said in the heat of passion, Nora. There's still nothing pretty inside me.”

She met his warning look with a calm one of her own. “You said you wouldn't lie to me, Quinn. But that's the biggest lie of all.” She paused, seemed on the verge of saying something else, then apparently changed her mind. “I'd best be getting into that shower you told my da I was taking, if I'm to be ready for breakfast in thirty minutes.”

With that she surprised him by dropping the blanket. Then walked out of his bedroom with an amazing amount of dignity for someone wearing only her pride.

This time, instead of a Celtic goddess, Nora reminded Quinn of an Irish queen from the olden days when the Joyce clan ruled over parts of the West. In fact, just before she closed the connecting door between the rooms, he almost imagined he could see a bejeweled crown perched atop her regal head.

Last Night's Fun

C
oncerned as she was about her grandmother, Nora didn't quibble when Quinn dropped her off at the hospital with the excuse that he had some business to attend to and would pick her and her grandmother up in an hour or so. In truth, she was a bit relieved he wasn't coming to Fionna's room with her. She feared that were her grandmother to see them together so soon after their passion-filled night, she'd know that they'd been together in that intimate way.

She needed time away from him. Time to think about what she was feeling. And just as important, time to figure out what to do about what Quinn was feeling. She knew he'd come to care for her; although he might not be ready to say the words, the tenderness underlying his passion had assured her she was not the only one experiencing something unique. Something special. Something that felt remarkably, wonderfully, like love.

That thought warmed the very cockles of her heart as she chatted with Fionna, who had, predictably, been telling the
entire staff about Sister Bernadette saving so many lives—and Mrs. Murphy, who was more than pleased to have a new audience to hear tales of her six grandchildren.

If Nora had been concerned about making idle conversation with Quinn on the trip back to Castlelough after sharing such passion, she needn't have worried. Fionna and Brady talked all the way to the Derry airport, on the flight to Galway and back to the farm in Quinn's Mercedes.

Listening to Nora's grandmother relate the adventure of her near-death experience at the hands of the bombers, Quinn realized Brady had inherited his talent for storytelling. Fionna may have married into the Joyce family, but she was quite a
seanachie
herself. When that thought got him thinking about his own Gallagher roots, the familiar pall come over his heart. But strangely, this time it didn't feel quite as dark. Or as cold.

After they reached the farm, Fionna insisted that she didn't want any special attention paid to her. Nevertheless it was apparent that she was definitely in her element as she sat propped against the pillows in her oak frame bed, telling the tales again to John, Mary, Kate and the younger children. Nora's brother Michael was there, too, having returned home from Kerry as soon as Kate had contacted him about the bombing.

“It's too bad school is nearly over,” Rory complained.

“And why is that, darling?” Fionna inquired.

“Because it would be neat if you could come tell the story to my class.”

“Ah, now don't they have more important tales to be hearing than those from an old lady?” Fionna said with the blatant false modesty that reminded Quinn yet again of her son.

“It's a fine tale, Mam,” Brady assured her on cue.
“You'll be wanting to tell it at The Rose as soon as you're back on your feet.”

“Which will be tomorrow,” Fionna insisted with a toss of her chin that this time reminded Quinn of both her son and granddaughter. “I'll not be staying in this bed like some elderly invalid.”

“You'll be staying in bed until Dr. Flannery says it's all right for you to leave it,” Nora insisted firmly.

“You're a darling girl, Nora. But I'm more than half a century older than you. So you've no cause to be telling me what I can and cannot do.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down. The air had thickened with the aura of impending battle.

Blithely ignoring the contest of wills taking place in the cozy crowded bedroom, Brady turned to Quinn, who was standing in the doorway. Quinn had been watching the scene from a distance, as if through a plate-glass window, which was the position he'd assumed most of his life.

“Why don't you go out to your automobile and retrieve those packages you bought?” Brady suggested.

“Good idea.” By the time Quinn returned, followed by Maeve, who'd come down to the car with him, the tension in the bedroom had been replaced by anticipation.

“You bought us gifts?” John asked, his eyes widening at the shopping bags of gaily wrapped packages.

“These are for the others,” Quinn said. “Yours is still in the car, John. I didn't want to cart the box all the way up here only to have to take it back down again for unpacking.”

Nora was looking at him as if he were a stranger. “This is what your alleged business was this morning?”

She'd seen him moving packages from the trunk of the limousine into the Mercedes, but at the time she'd been so busy tending to Fionna she hadn't paid any real attention.
And when she had mentioned them on the drive home, he'd merely shrugged and said something about computer supplies.

“Aye.” He grinned at her and handed her the first package. “I started out to replace your blazer that got ruined in the blast. Then, well, I just got a little carried away.”

“I should say so,” Fionna said dryly as her wren-bright eyes swept over the bags and boxes. “I doubt if Father Christmas has ever shown up at this house with so many gifts.”

“Oh, it's so soft!” Nora had opened her package and was running her palm over the lovely emerald green blazer. She was wearing a prim white blouse and a gray tweed skirt; Quinn watched her slip into the blazer and decided he'd been right. Jewel-tone colors definitely suited her.

“It's cashmere. There's something else in the pocket.” Quinn told himself that he shouldn't be so gratified by her expression of pleasure. But dammit, he was.

Nora drew a sharp breath as she found the small square gray velvet box. Surely he wouldn't be buying her a ring? Only a foolishly romantic woman would be expecting such a gesture of eternal commitment after one single night of pleasure.

Unfortunately, since Quinn's arrival in Castlelough, she'd discovered she was, indeed, a foolishly romantic woman. Her heart was pounding like an Orangeman's drum. Positive everyone else in the room could hear it, especially given the way they all seemed to be holding their breaths, she slowly opened the lid.

“Oh, they're pearls!” Mary exclaimed as she viewed the pair of earrings over her sister's shoulder.

“They're lovely.” Exquisite, actually. But at the same time, not too flamboyant to wear to town or even to church. Nora looked up at Quinn. “And surely far too dear.”

He shrugged. “They weren't that expensive. Besides, they reminded me of you.” For discretion's sake, considering that nearly her entire family was packed into the small bedroom, Quinn didn't mention that the pearls had made him think of the way her skin had looked in the silvery moonlight.

“Thank you.” Her warm gaze promised a more personal expression of her gratitude later.

Quinn handed out the rest of the gifts he'd had such a surprisingly enjoyable time buying. Despite the excited buzz of conversation around him, he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his mind off the idea of Nora wearing only those pearls in her earlobes and her new scent all over the rest of her, in his bed.

Reassured that Fionna was, indeed, not gravely injured, the family gradually drifted from the room. As Quinn left, as well, intending to take Nora out for a drive to some distant secluded glen, Michael stopped him outside in the hallway.

“I should be thanking you for taking care of my grandmother and sister,” he said.

If he hadn't been introduced earlier, Quinn never would have guessed that this huge man with the weathered face and large work-roughened hands was Brady's son. Only his hair—unruly curls that were black as night as opposed to Nora's and Fionna's bright red ones—suggested his family roots.

“It was my pleasure. And I didn't do that much.”

“More than any of us could have done,” Michael said, looking at Quinn in a measuring way that he suspected big brothers had been directing toward their kid sisters' lovers since the beginning of time. “It eased Nora's heart to have someone to take care of things for a change. And for that I'm grateful.”

“Again, it wasn't that big a deal.” Uncomfortable talking about the woman he was planning to get naked with as soon as possible, Quinn opted to change the subject. “She said you have a farm not far from here.”

“Aye. About sixty acres split into sections scattered here and thereabouts. I grow mostly oats and barley for feed, with potatoes for sale and for the family. Kerr's Pinks, which, unlike the more usual Golden Wonders, don't break up after a good boil and bring a better price at the market.” He tacked on this last with obvious pride. “This year I put in sugar beets, as well. And of course, there's the peat.”

“I've seen the peat bogs. And the stacks beside the cottages and stores. I was hoping I'd have an opportunity to see it cut.”

“As it happens, I'll be doing that this week. If you'd like to come by on Wednesday, you can observe the process. Then afterward, perhaps we can have ourselves a pint and a chat.”

About Nora. The man didn't say the words out loud, but he didn't need to.

“I'd like that,” Quinn said, not quite truthfully. The novelist who considered everything grist for the writing mill was looking forward to seeing the Irishman engaged in a centuries-old task. The man who was sleeping with this muscular giant's younger sister was not at all eager to get into a discussion about intentions. “But I insist on helping.”

“Fine. We begin work about dawn. Nora will be able to give you directions.” He put on his wool cap, tugged it almost to his calm blue eyes, turned away and headed toward the stairs. Quinn watched him leave, then deciding to face this latest little problem on Wednesday, headed down the hall to Nora's room.

Quinn wasn't surprised when, despite the gruff way he'd treated her this morning, she immediately accepted his in
vitation for a drive. After all, as Kate had pointed out and he himself had witnessed firsthand on more than one occasion, she was not one to hold a grudge.

“That was very sweet of you to buy everyone all those gifts,” she murmured as they drove down a winding narrow dirt lane lined on either side with gray stone walls. “Mary's going to look like a fairy-tale princess in that lovely dress.”

It was white tulle, studded with seed pearls and crystals that should prove a stunning foil for her pale skin and dark hair. “She seemed to like it well enough,” he said, enjoying the memory of the teenager's stunned look as she'd opened the white box with the gold script from one of Northern Ireland's most exclusive stores.

“She adores it. And I truly believed she was going to faint when you told her that you'd arranged for Parker Kendall to escort her to the May dance.”

Parker was an actor, a current teenage heartthrob who was playing the part of a university student who joins forces with Shannon McGuire to rescue the Lady's baby.

“However did you get him to agree to such a thing?” Nora asked.

“It wasn't that difficult. I just promised him my tickets to the Lakers' home games.”

“The Lakers?”

“A Los Angeles basketball team. Since I moved up the coast, I'm not using them, anyway, so it wasn't any great sacrifice.”

“I see.” Nora wasn't certain, but she suspected that very little in Los Angeles came cheaply. “It was a remarkably kind thing to do.”

“Actually I like the idea of that jerk Jack getting his comeuppance,” Quinn countered. “I almost wish I could be there to see it.”

“The sisters sent home a note asking for volunteer chaperons. If you really mean that—”

“No way.” Belatedly realizing she was only teasing, Quinn chuckled. “I've never claimed to be bucking for sainthood, sweetheart. And agreeing to chaperon a bunch of hormone-crazed teenagers has got to earn bonus martyr points.”

She laughed with him. Then sobered. “I do have one little worry.”

Her father was right. Her concern for everyone she loved was both blessing and curse.

“What's that?”

“What if Parker Kendall proves even more dishonorable than Jack? After all, he is a handsome young man, and coming from California…”

She made his adopted state sound like a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. Which, compared to the still-strict moral tenets of rural western Ireland, it probably was.

“Don't worry. I took care of that.”

“Oh?”

“I warned him that I'd rip off a vital part of his anatomy if he so much as touched anything he shouldn't.”

“Surely he didn't believe that?” She glanced over at him, viewed his glowering countenance and managed a faint smile. “I suppose he might, after all.”

“Absolutely.” Quinn's wicked grin wiped away the scowl and had Nora smiling back.

“Rory and Jamie were wild about the outer-space toy figures. I fear we'll be battling aliens around the house for weeks. And Celia's been wanting Bridal Barbie for ages, but I had to keep telling her we couldn't afford it.”

“I figured it might replace the martyred Saint Joan.”

“You knew about that?”

“Rory told me. Actually I found it rather inspired.”

“You would. Since burning saints at the stake is probably something you might put in one of your books,” she countered easily. “And of course Maeve looks dashing in her new collar.” If she hadn't already fallen in love with him, this gift alone would have made Nora tumble.

It was Kelly green plaid with a shamrock-shaped brass tab engraved with the dog's name. A foolish gesture, perhaps, but Quinn couldn't imagine not taking something home for the huge wolfhound who'd become his shadow.

“She probably would have preferred a new bone,” he said. “But there weren't any butcher counters at Austin's Department Store.”

“It was a lovely thought just the same.” Nora smiled, then slanted him a serious look. “You realize I should make John return his gift.”

“Why?”

“Because it's far too much. People will talk.”

Quinn shrugged. “So let them.”