"No, now you'll say something kind and sweet, and I'm too much in the mood for it. We've both work to do."

"I think about you in a way I didn't," he said, his voice soft and quiet as she turned to go. "And I think about you often."

She felt her heart shiver, and took a breath to steady herself. "Well, it's a fine time you pick to bring up the subject. But then, you've never had the gift of timing except for your music."

"I think about you often," he repeated. He walked toward her, pleased when her eyes went wary.

"What are you about?" She was flustered, and she was never flustered by a man. Certainly not by Shawn. She could handle him, of course. She always had, always would. But she couldn't seem to make her legs move.

Now wasn't this interesting? he mused as he closed in. She looked nervous, and color was rising in her cheeks. "I never used to think about doing this." He slid a long-fingered hand around to cup the back of her neck, eased her a step closer, all the while watching her eyes. "Now I'm thinking about it all the time."

He played his mouth over hers. A teasing, whispering, devastating slide of lips.

She should have known he would kiss like this if he set his mind to it. Slow, soft, sexy, so a woman could barely keep a thought in her head. The hand at her neck squeezed and released, squeezed and released, and sent pulses dancing. Warmth washed into her, filling her throat, her breasts, her belly, loosening her knees until she felt herself begin to sway into him, into the seductive rhythm of her own pulse that he set with no more than his mouth.

She trembled. He absorbed the first glorious sensation of having Brenna O'Toole tremble against him. Then immediately wanted to feel it again.

But he gave way when she braced a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"You took me by surprise when you kissed me last week," he told her while her eyes gradually cleared. "I seem to have done the same to you now."

Pull yourself together, girl, she ordered herself. This wasn't the way to handle the man. "Then we're in the way of being even."

His eyes narrowed in speculation. "So is it a contest then, Brenna?"

More at ease with the faint irritation in his voice than she'd been with the smooth, seductive tone, she nodded. "I've always thought of it so. But, in the fortunate way of sexual matters, we can both win. I've customers to serve."

Her lips still tingled from his as she walked out of the kitchen.

"Maybe we'll both win," he murmured, "but I don't think I'll be playing this your way, Brenna, my darling."

Pleased with himself, he went back to his stove to make the German tourists happy.

The sun decided to shine on Sunday, and the sky was clear and blue. The smudge of gray far away to the east told him the storm hovering over England would likely put in an appearance by nightfall. But for now it was a fine, fresh day for walking the hills.

He thought if he happened to wander over to the O'Tooles' he'd get himself invited in for some tea and biscuits. And he'd enjoy seeing how Brenna would react to having him sitting in her kitchen after what had passed between them the night before.

He thought he understood what was in her head. She was a woman who liked to get things done-her way. Step by step and at a smart pace. For some reason she'd set her sights on him, and he was starting to like the idea. Quite a little bit, if it came to that.

But he had his own way of getting things done. One step might not follow the other in such a straight line, and he preferred a meandering pace. After all, marching head-on you missed the little things that happened all around you.

He was one for treasuring the little things. Like the clear call of the magpie, or the shine of the sun on a particular blade of grass. And there, the way the cliffs stood strong against the incessant beat of the sea.

He could wander for hours, and did when he forgot himself. He was well aware that most people thought he got nothing done during his dreaming time, and they smiled indulgently. But in truth he got everything done. The thinking, the restoring, the watching.

And because he was watching, he didn't see Mary Kate until she hailed him and ran in his direction.

"It's a fine day for walking." To be on the safe side, he tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Warmer than it's been in days." She smoothed her hair in case her little dash had mussed it. "I was just thinking I might walk down to your cottage, then here you are."

"My cottage?" She'd changed out of her Sunday dress, he noted, but she wore what looked to be a new sweater, and she had on earrings, scent, fresh lipstick. All the little lures women use.

He was suddenly sure that Brenna had been right about the situation. And it terrified him.

"I was hoping to take you up on what you said last night."

"Last night?"

"About how I could listen to your music anytime. I love hearing you play your tunes."

"Ah- I was just coming over to your own house, to speak with Brenna about a matter."

"She's not home." Deciding he needed a little encouragement, Mary Kate slid her arm through his. "Something needed to be fixed at Maureen's, so off she went, and Ma and Patty with her."

"A word with your father, then-"

"He's not at home either. He took Alice Mae down to the beach to look for shells. But you're welcome to come."

Knowing it was bold, she let her hand run up and down his arm as they walked. The feel of muscle-a man's arm, not a boy's-had her pulse dancing. "I'll be happy to fix you some tea, and a bite to eat."

"That's kind of you." He was a dead man. He caught sight of the O'Toole house as they topped the hill.

Though thin smoke plumed from the chimney, it had the general air of being empty.

Brenna's lorry wasn't parked in the street. The dog was nowhere to be seen. Apparently even Betty had deserted him in his hour of need.

The only choice left was a quick and cowardly retreat.

"What was I thinking?" He stopped short and clapped a hand to his forehead. "I'm supposed to be helping Aidan- at the house. Slipped my mind." As quickly as he could manage, he untangled his arm, gently nudging her hand away, as he might a puppy who was inclined to nip. Down, girl. "Things are always slipping my mind, so I don't suppose he'll be surprised that I'm late."

"Well, but if you're already late-" She leaned toward him, nearly into him, in a gesture that even a distracted coward such as himself recognized as an invitation.

"He'll be looking for me." This time he patted her on the head, as he might a child, and saw from the pout beginning to form that she'd taken it as he'd meant it. "I'll stop in for tea sometime soon. Give my best to your family, now, won't you?"

He was twenty strides away before he let out a relieved breath. And what, he wondered, was this with the O'Toole girls all of a sudden? Now instead of a quiet walk, perhaps a cup of tea in a friendly kitchen, and a little time alone in the cottage working on his music, he was honor-bound to go into the village and find something to do at Aidan's.

"What are you doing here?" Aidan asked him,

"It's a long and complicated story." Shawn glanced around cautiously as he stepped inside. "Is Jude at home?"

"She's upstairs with Darcy. Our sister's having some trouble deciding what to wear to drive this Dubliner she's seeing crazy."

"That should be keeping them busy for a while. Good. I've had enough of women lately," he explained when Aidan looked at him questioningly. "Now there's the handsome dog." He bent down to give Finn's head a scratch. "Growing into his feet, this one is, and fast."

"He is that, and good-natured with it, aren't you, lad?"

Finn turned adoring eyes on Aidan, and his tail swished with such enthusiasm that it drummed from Shawn's knees to the table by the door. "He grows much more, he'll be knocking lamps off the table with that whip of his. Can you spare a beer?"

"I can spare two, one for each of us. Women," Aidan continued as they made their way into the kitchen, "as we were on the subject, are always going to be giving you grief of one sort or another. It's that pretty face of yours."

Amused, Shawn sat at the table while Aidan got two bottles of Harp and opened them. He laid a hand absentmindedly on Finn's head when the dog bumped under it. "You did fair in the lady department yourself, as I recall. And you're not nearly so pretty as I am."

"But I'm smarter." With a grin, Aidan passed his brother the bottle. "I held out for the best of them."

"I can't argue with that." After tapping his bottle to Aidan's, Shawn took a long, appreciative swallow. "Well, then, it wasn't to talk about women that I came by, but to get away from them for a time."

"If you've a mind to discuss business, I've some of that." He got down a tin of crisps, set it between them before he sat. "I had a call from Dad this morning. He and Ma send their love. He was going to ring you as well."

"I was out walking. I suppose I missed them."

"Well, the immediate news is he's off to New York next week to meet with the Magee." Since his dog was looking at him hopefully, and Jude wasn't around to disapprove, he tossed Finn a crisp. "He wants a feel for the man before we go any further on this deal."

"No one sizes a man up quicker and more true than Dad."

"Aye. And in the meantime, Magee is sending his man here, to do some sizing up of his own. His name is Finkle, and he'll be staying at the cliff hotel. Dad and I agree we won't discuss hard monetary terms with Finkle until we've got a better handle on this Magee."

"You and Dad would know best about such matters. But-"

"But?"

"It seems to me that one of the handles we're looking to grip would be what we'll make out of the deal. In pounds, yes, but also in how this project of Magee's will enhance the pub."