"Maggie," he said again, and brushed the tousled hair from her cheek. "What a woman you are. It's hard to be sorry for trampling, or for being trampled when I—" He broke off. He'd lifted her hand as he spoke, started to kiss her fingers, when his gaze landed on the dark smudges on her arm. Appalled, he started. "I've hurt you."
"Mmm. Now that you mention it, I'm beginning to feel it." She rolled her shoulder. "I must have hit the doorway pretty hard. Now, you were about to say?"
He shifted off of her. "I'm terribly sorry," he said in an odd voice. "It's inexcusable. An apology's hardly adequate for my behavior."
Her head tilted, and she took a good long look at him. Breeding, she thought again. How else could a buck-naked man sitting on a rumpled bed appear so dignified. "Your behavior?" she repeated. "I'd say it was more our behavior, Rogan, and that it was well done on both parts." Laughing at him, she pushed herself up and locked her arms around his neck. "Do you think a few bruises will wilt me like a rose, Rogan? They won't, I promise you, especially when I earned them."
The point is—"
"The point is we tumbled each other. Now stop acting as though I'm a fragile blossom that can't admit to having enjoyed a good, hot bout of sex. Because I enjoyed it very much, and so, my fine fellow, did you."
He trailed a fingertip over the faint bruise above her wrist. "I'd rather I hadn't marked you."
"Well, it's not a brand that's permanent."
No, it wasn't. But there was something else, in his carelessness, that could be. "Maggie, I wasn't thinking before, and I certainly didn't leave Dublin today planning on ending up like this. It's a little late to be thinking of being responsible now." In frustration he dragged a hand through his hair. "Could I have gotten you pregnant?"
She blinked, sat back on her haunches. Let out a long breath. Born in fire. She remembered her father had told her she'd been born in fire. And this was what he'd meant. "No." She said it flatly, her emotions too mixed and unsteady for her to explore. "The timing's wrong. And I'm responsible for myself, Rogan."
"I should have seen to it." He reached over to rub his knuckles down her cheek. "You dazzled me, Maggie, sitting on my lap with your wildflowers. You dazzle me now."
Her smile came back, lighting her eyes first, then curving her lips. "I was coming across the fields away from my sister's and toward home. The sun was bright, Murphy was haying in his field, and there were flowers at my feet. I haven't felt so happy since my father died five years ago. Then I saw you in the kitchen, working. And it may be I was dazzled as well."
She knelt again, rested her head on his shoulder. "Must you go back to Dublin tonight, Rogan?"
All the minute and tedious details of his schedule ran like a river through his brain. Her scent, mixed with his own, settled over them like a mist. "I can rearrange some things, leave in the morning."
She leaned back, smiled. "And I'd rather not go, out to dinner."
"I'll cancel the reservations." He glanced around the room. "Don't you have a phone up here?"
Tor what? So it can ring in my ear and wake me up?"
"I can't think why I asked." He eased away to tug on the wrinkled slacks of his suit. "I'll go down, make some calls." He looked back to where she knelt in the center of the narrow, rumpled bed. "Very quick calls."
"They could wait," she shouted after him.
"I don't intend to be interrupted by anything until morning." He hurried down, sentimentally scooping up a tattered meadowsweet as he went.
Upstairs, Maggie waited five minutes, then six before climbing out of bed. She stretched, wincing a bit at the aches. She considered the robe that was tossed carelessly over a chair, then humming to herself, strolled downstairs without it. He was still on the phone, the receiver cocked on his shoulder as he made notes in his book. The light, softer now, pooled at his feet. "Reschedule that for eleven. No, eleven," he repeated. "I'll be back in the office by ten. Yes, and contact Joseph, will you, Eileen? Tell him I've having another shipment sent from Clare. Concannon's work, yes. I ..."
He heard the sound behind him, glanced back. Maggie stood like some flame-crowned goddess, all alabaster skin, sleek curves and knowing eyes. His secretary's voice buzzed in his ear like an annoying fly.
"What? The what?" His eyes, their expression dazed at first, then heated, skimmed up, then down, then up again to lock on Maggie's face. "I'll deal with it when I get back." His stomach muscles quivered when Maggie stepped forward and jerked down the zipper of his slacks. "No," he said in a strangled voice. "You can't reach me anymore today. I'm . . ." The breath hissed between his teeth when Maggie took him in her long, artist's fingers. "Sweet Jesus.
Tomorrow," he said with the last of his control. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He slapped the receiver into the cradle, where it jiggled then slipped off to crash against the counter. "I interrupted your call," she began, then laughed when he dragged her against him. It was happening again. He could almost stand outside himself and watch the animal inside take over. With one desperate yank, he pulled her head back by the hair and savaged her throat, her mouth. The need to take her was raging, some fatal drug that stabbed into his veins, speeding up his heartbeat and clouding his mind. He would hurt her again. Even knowing it, he couldn't stop. With a sound, part rage, part triumph, he pushed her back on the kitchen table. He had the dark, twisted satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in surprise. "Rogan, your papers."
He jerked her hips from the edge of the wood, raising them with his hands. His eyes were warrior bright on hers as he drove himself into her. Her hand flailed out, knocked the cup from its saucer and sent both flying to the floor. China shattered, even as the jolting table sent his open briefcase crashing to the ground. Stars seemed to explode in front of Maggie's eyes as she gave herself up to the delirium. She felt the rough wood on her back, the sweat that bloomed up to slicken her skin. And when he braced her legs higher and thrust himself deep, she could have sworn she felt him touch her heart. Then she felt nothing at all but the wild wind that tossed her up and up and over that jagged-edged peak. She gasped for air like a woman drowning, then expelled it on a long, languorous moan. Later, sometime later, when she found she could speak, she was cradled in his arms. "Did you finish your calls, then?" He laughed and carried her out of the kitchen.
It was early when he left her. A sunshower tossed wavering rainbows into the morning sky. She'd made some sleepy offer to brew him tea, then had drifted off again. So he'd gone to the kitchen alone. There'd been a miserable jar of hardening instant coffee in her cupboard. Though he'd winced, Rogan had settled for it, and for the single egg in her refrigerator. He was gathering up, and trying to sort out, his scattered papers when she stumbled into the kitchen. She was heavy-eyed and rumpled, and barely grunted at him as she headed for the kettle. So much, he thought, for loverlike farewells.
"I used what appeared to be your last clean towel."
She grunted again and scooped out tea.
"And you ran out of hot water in the middle of my shower."
This time she only yawned.
"You don't have any eggs."
She muttered something that sounded like "Murphy's hens."
He tapped his wrinkled papers together and stacked them in his briefcase. "I've left the clippings you wanted on the counter. There'll be a truck by this afternoon to pick up the shipment. You'll need to crate it before one o'clock." When she made no answer at all to this, he snapped his briefcase closed. "I have to go." Annoyed, he strode to her, took her chin firmly in hand and kissed her. "I'll miss you, too."
He was out the front door before she could gather her wits and chase after him. "Rogan! For pity's sake, hold up a moment. I've barely got my eyes open." He turned just as she launched herself at him. Off balance, he nearly tumbled them both into the flower bed. Then she was caught close and they were kissing each other breathless in the soft, luminous rain.
"I will miss you, damn it." She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathed d
eep.
"Come with me. Go throw some things in a bag and come with me."
"I can't." She drew back, surprised at how sorry she
was to have to refuse. "I've some things I need to do. And I—I can't really work in Dublin."
"No," he said after a long moment. "I don't suppose you can."
"Could you come back? Take a day or two."
"It's not possible now. In a couple of weeks, perhaps I could."
"Well, that's not so long." It seemed like eternity. "We can both get what needs to be done done, and then . . ."
"And then." He bent to kiss her. "You'll think of me, Margaret Mary."
"I will."
She watched him go, carrying his briefcase to the car, starting the engine, backing out into the road. She stood for a long time after the sound of the car had faded, until the rain stopped and the sun gilded the morning.
Chapter Thirteen
MAGGIE walked across the empty living room, took a long look out of the front window, then retraced her steps. It was the fifth house she had considered in a week, the only one not currently occupied by hopeful sellers, and the last one she intended to view. It was on the outskirts of Ennis, a bit farther away than Brianna might have liked—and not far enough to Maggie's taste. It was new, which was in its favor, a box of a house with the rooms all on one floor. Two bedrooms, Maggie mused as she walked through yet again. A bath, a kitchen with room for eating, a living area with plenty of light and tidy brick hearth. She took one last glance, set her fists on her hips. 'This is it."
"Maggie, it's certainly the right size for her." Brianna nibbled her lip as she scanned the empty room. "But shouldn't we have something closer to home?"
"Why? She hates it there in any case."
"But—"
"And this is closer to more conveniences. Food shops, the chemist, places to eat out if she's of a mind to."
"She never goes out."
"It's time she did. And since she won't have you jumping at every snap of her finger, she'll have to, won't she?"
"I don't jump." Spine stiff, Brianna walked to the window. "And the fact of the matter is, she's likely to refuse to move here in any case."
"She won't refuse." Not, Maggie thought, with the ax I hold over her head. "If you'll let go of that guilt you love wrapping about you for a moment, you'll admit this is best for everyone. She'll be happier in her own place—or as happy as a woman of her nature can be. You can give her whatever she wants out of the house if that eases your conscience, or I'll give her money to buy new. Which is what she'd rather."