He'd said only one thing to her as they'd flown through sunlight, moonlight, faerie light.

Everything. And more.

All she could say, all she could feel as she turned her body to his, laid her cheek upon his was, You. You're everything, and more.

She'd meant it, with everything she had inside her, all she would ever have, would ever be. And waking, she'd wished she could feel that again, so much power of emotion. But she'd lost it in dreams and could only smile at her own fancies.

Neither she nor Trevor wanted fancies.

At six on the dot, she carried her bag downstairs, and her heart thumped with anticipation. What would she see and do and taste over the next forty-eight hours?

Everything. The thought elated her. And more.

She took one last scan of the pub, tidy and scrubbed. Sinead, Betsy, and Alice Mae should surely be able to handle what she often did alone. She'd drummed the routine into their heads and had left a written list as a backup. Satisfied, she let herself out and promised not to give the pub a single thought until she stepped foot in it again.

It was the dot of six.

It pleased her to see Trevor pull up to the curb as she walked out. They were of a mind, then, she thought. Things would go smoother because of it.

It surprised her to see he was wearing a suit. Italian, she imagined when he got out of the car to take her luggage. Blisteringly pricey, she was sure, but not a bit flashy. The stone gray matched his eyes well, and the shirt and tie were all of a hue, so the look was smartly European.

Power, she thought again. Yes, he wore it very well.

"Well, now, look at you." Deliberately she fingered his sleeve as he loaded her luggage into the boot. "Aren't you pretty this morning?"

"I have a meeting." He closed the boot, then went around to open her door. "The timing's a little tight." He got a whiff of her as she slid past him and wished the meeting and all its participants straight to hell.

She waited until he was in the driver's seat. "I'd think a man in your position could call his own time."

"You do that and you bring one more thing into a meeting that usually bogs things up. Ego."

"But I've noticed you've got one."

He swung away from the curb. "The trick's recognizing it. I've arranged for a car and driver to meet us at Heathrow. He'll take you to the house so you can settle in. He'll be at your disposal through the day if you want to sightsee or shop."

"Will he?" Imagine that. "Well, that's considerate of you."

"I'll have more free time tomorrow, but today's packed." He glanced at her. "I should be done by six this evening. We have dinner reservations at eight. Does that suit you?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. My assistant faxed over several points of interest. I have the file in my briefcase. You can take a look during the flight to help you plan what you'd like to do today."

"That's a lovely thought, and I'll do just that. But you needn't worry that I'll have trouble entertaining myself."

He glanced over. She wore a trim jacket and slacks of slate blue, and had matched them with a soft, faintly shimmering blouse the color of roses drenched in cream. The choice was more than stylish. It was cleverly, completely female.

"No, I don't imagine you will."

Inexplicably miffed that she wouldn't be wandering aimlessly, missing him, waiting for him, he fell into silence.

More like a business arrangement than a- what the hell was it, anyway? An assignation? He didn't care for the word. But he didn't suppose "romance" fit the situation either. Neither of them was the starry-eyed type. They wanted what they wanted. Better to be up front and systematic about it.

But it irritated him nonetheless.

They arrived at Waterford's airport on schedule. And it was there Darcy got her first taste of what a man who walked in wealth could command. Their luggage was whisked away, and they were guided through security with a great deal of "This way, Mr. Magee" and "I hope you enjoy your trip, Mr. Magee."

Remembering the hassles and glitches in her recent travel to Paris, Darcy reaffirmed her determination to travel first class or not to travel at all. But even her imagining of top drawer took a bump when Trevor led her out on the tarmac toward a sleek little plane.

"Is this yours?"

"The company's," he told her, taking her arm for the short trip up the steps. "I do a lot of traveling, so it's more convenient to have my own transportation."

She stepped inside and had to struggle not to gasp. "I bet it is."

The seats were done in rich navy leather and were sized generously. Crystal vases were tucked into silver holders on the cream-colored walls between the windows. Each held a dewy bouquet of fresh yellow rosebuds. Her feet sank into the carpet.

A uniformed flight attendant with a polite smile and flawless skin greeted her by name, then asked if she would care for a mimosa before takeoff.

Champagne for breakfast, she thought. Just imagine that. "That would be lovely, thank you."

"Coffee for me, Monica. Want a tour?" he asked Darcy.

"I would, yes." Hoping she wasn't gawking, Darcy set down her purse.

"Galley's through here."

She peeked in and saw that the efficient Monica already had coffee brewing and was popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. The small space seemed to use every inch resourcefully, and stainless-steel surfaces gleamed.

"Cockpit." Trevor gestured through the already open door. The man sitting at a panel of complicated-looking controls swiveled in his chair. "Ready when you are, Mr. Magee. Good morning, Miss Gallagher. You can look forward to a short but smooth flight into Heathrow."

"Thank you. Do you fly this plane all by yourself? With no copilot?"

"It's a one-man operation," he told her. "But I don't need a copilot when Mr. Magee's on board."

"Is that so? Do you fly, then, Trevor?"

"Occasionally. Give us ten minutes, Donald, then clear with the tower."

"Yes, sir."

"We have a lot of interests in Europe," Trevor began as he led Darcy back through the main cabin. "We use this equipment primarily for the short-range flights over here."

"And for the longer flights?"

"We have larger equipment." He opened a door. Inside was an office complete with what looked to be a trim antique desk, a computer console, a wall screen for viewing videos, and a bed. She caught a glimpse of the bath through a side door. Everything gleamed.

"All the creature comforts and the business ones as well."

"You do better with the second if you have the first. Celtic's relatively young at six years, but it's growing, and it's profitable."

"Ah, so the London business has to do with Celtic Records, then."

"For the most part, yes. If you need something and don't see it, just ask."

She turned back to him. "I see everything I need."

He lifted a hand to toy with the ends of her hair. "Good. Let's get started."

"Haven't we already?" she murmured as they walked back to their seats.

Darcy settled in, accepted the glinting flute holding her mimosa, and prepared to have the time of her life.

The pilot was a man of his word. The flight was short and smooth. As far as Darcy was concerned, she could have flown for hours and been thrilled. She'd made casual small talk until she'd realized Trevor was distracted. About his upcoming meetings, she imagined, and left him to his planning while she looked over the list of suggestions from his assistant.

God, yes, she wanted to see it. All of it. Hyde Park and Harrods, Buckingham Palace and Chelsea. She wanted to experience the wild traffic of the streets and the grand shade of the great parks.

The trip through Heathrow was hardly more complex than the airport at home. Money paves the way, she thought as they slid through customs. Still, she hadn't expected the car and driver he'd arranged for her to be a limo and a chauffeur. Words stuttered into her throat and were ruthlessly swallowed down again until she could smile up at Trevor easily.

"Are we dropping you at your meeting, then?"

"No, opposite directions. I'll see you this evening."

"Good luck with your work." She started to take the driver's offered hand, to slip into the limo as she'd practiced doing in her mind. Smoothly, gracefully, as if she'd done it all her life.

But Trevor took her arm, said her name, and had her looking back up at him, lips just curved.

Then she was yanked up on her toes, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance, her mouth gloriously assaulted. The swift change of mood from coolheaded businessman to hot-blooded lover was so swift, so complete, so erotic.

Before the moan could slither from heart to throat to lips, he released her. After one smoldering look, he nodded in what might have been satisfaction.

"Enjoy your day," he told her, and left her standing, nearly swaying, beside the discreetly blank-eyed driver and the open limo door.

She managed to slide in. The fact was, her bones were so loose it felt as though she was pouring herself into the rarefied air inside the limo, scented with roses and leather.

It took every ounce of will to click herself back, to absorb and appreciate her first ride in a long, quiet car. She trailed her fingers along the seat. Butter-smooth and the color of storm clouds. Like his eyes just moments before, she thought.

The driver seemed to be a full block away behind the smoked-glass privacy screen. Determined to remember every detail, Darcy noted the television, the crystal glasses, the shimmer of lights along the roof, and the window in it. She relaxed to the romantic sweep of classical music already playing over the stereo. And as she started to stretch out her legs and purr, she finally spotted the slim box on the seat beside her.