Since she was down at the end of the bar letting old Mr. Riley flirt with her, Brenna took the next stool, then leaned over to kiss the man's papery cheek.

"And here I find you making eyes at another woman, when time and time again, you've said you had them for none but me."

"Oh, now, darling, a man's got to look in the direction his head's pointed. But I've been waiting for you to come along and sit on my knee."

The man was so thin, and she suspected, his bones so brittle, that an attempt to sit on his knee would shatter it. "Oh, we O'Toole women are jealous creatures, dear Mr. Riley. Now I'm after taking Darcy here aside and giving her a stern piece of my mind for trying to beat my time with you."

When he cackled, she wandered to a table, gesturing for Darcy to follow. "I'm dying for a pint and a hot meal. What's Shawn got for us tonight?"

Darcy narrowed bright-blue eyes, cocked a dark brow, then fisted a hand on her hip. "Well, then, you've gone and slept with him, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Though Darcy's voice had been quiet, Brenna's head swiveled in panicked embarrassment until she was assured no one was close enough to hear.

"You think I can't look at a woman I've known since I was born and not see she's had a tumble the night before? With Shawn, you can't be sure, as he's half the time got that dreaming look in his eyes. But you, that's a different kettle."

"So what if I did?" Brenna hissed it as she sat down. "I said I was going to. And no," she said as soon as she caught the glint. "I won't be telling you about it."

"Who said I'd want to know?" But of course she did.

She sat herself, leaned close. "One thing."

"No, not even one."

"One thing-we've had one thing no matter who or what our whole lives."

"Damn it." It was true, and to break tradition now would be breaking a bond. "Four times last night."

"Four?" Eyes widened, Darcy looked toward the kitchen as if she could peer right through the door and pin her brother to the opposite wall. "Well, I have to give him a raise in my estimation. And it's hardly a wonder you're looking relaxed."

"I feel wonderful. Does it really show?"

"You have to look for it. I've customers." Reluctantly, Darcy rose. "I'll get you a pint-and I'd try the poached chicken tonight. People have been pleased with it."

"I will then, but I think I'll see if I can't have it back in the kitchen."

"Fine. Get your own pint on your way. Do you want to stay up with me tonight? I'll bet I can get a bit more out of you."

"You probably could, as you're a sneaky, nagging sort, but I need to go home early. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Braggart," Darcy said with a laugh and flounced off to take an order.

"And how are you, Brenna?" Aidan asked when she came behind the bar.

"Why? How do I look?"

He glanced over, as her response had been so sharp. "Well, you look fine to me."

"I am fine." Cursing herself under her breath, she drew a pint of Harp from the tap. "I'm a bit tired, I suppose. I thought I'd have this and a plate back in the kitchen, if it's all right with you, before I head home."

"You're welcome, as always."

"Ah, will you need an extra hand at all this week, Aidan?"

"I could use yours both Friday and Saturday nights, if you have them free."

"They are. I'll come 'round." Casually, she hoped, she moved past and pushed open the kitchen door. "Can you spare a hungry woman a hot meal?"

He turned from the sink where he had the water running hot and full. His eyes wanned as she lifted her glass to his own lips. "I think I might have something you'll like. I wondered if you'd wander my way tonight."

"I wanted to see Darcy." She laughed and sat down with her beer. "And maybe I don't mind so much seeing you as well."

He turned the water off, pulled at the cloth tucked into his waistband, and dried his hands. "And how would your system be?"

"Oh, my system's doing well, thank you. Though there does seem to be a little bit of a hitch in it still."

"Would you be wanting some help with that?"

"I wouldn't mind it."

He walked to her chair, and leaning over the back of it, sent the system under discussion churning with his teeth on her ear. "Come home with me tonight."

She shivered, couldn't help it. There was something unspeakably erotic about the voice, the suggestion, when she couldn't see his face. "I can't. You know I can't. It'd be too hard to explain to my family."

"I don't know when I can get another night off."

Her vision wavered, doubled as he did something clever with his tongue behind her ear. "How about mornings?"

"It so happens all my mornings, for the foreseeable future, are free."

"I'll come by, the first chance I get."

He straightened, then plucking off her cap, ran a hand down her hair in a way that made her want to stretch like a cat. And purr. "The door's always open."

CHAPTER Thirteen

The morning was soft. Gentle rain pattered over flowers coming awake for spring. Fog, very thin and nearly white, skimmed along the ground and would be burned away at the first ray of sun to beam through the clouds.

Faerie Hill Cottage was quiet when Brenna stepped inside. Even faeries like to sleep, she remembered. Perhaps ghosts did as well, and chose gray and rainy dawns for their dreaming times.

For herself, she was full of energy, and she knew exactly how she planned to use it.

She sat at the base of the stairs to take off her boots, then decided it was as good a place as any to dispense with her jacket and cap as well. When she hung the cap on the newel post, she tapped a finger lightly to the little faerie pin she kept hooked there. It had outlasted a number of caps.

She wondered if anyone but Shawn would have thought to give it to her, as he had years before. Most, when they gave her gifts, chose something practical. A tool or a book, warm socks or a sturdy work shirt.

That was how most saw her, after all. How she saw herself if it came to it. A practical person with little time for the foolish or the pretty.

But from Shawn it had been a little silver faerie with slanted eyes and pointed wings.

And she wondered if someone else had given it to her, would she have worn it nearly every day since, without really thinking about it.

She didn't know the answer to either, nor the meaning of either. So she shrugged, thinking that was just the way it was between them.

However it was, her pulse quickened as she climbed the stairs.

He was sleeping, all but buried under sheets and blankets, and dead center of the bed, like a man who was used to having the place to himself. The cat made a black circle on the foot of the covers, but opened his eyes, a cool, steady gleam, when Brenna stepped in.

"Guarding him, are you? Well, he'll never hear it from me. Now then, unless you're after being embarrassed, or envious, in very short order I'd take myself off somewhere else."

Bub arched his back, then, as if it was an afterthought, leaped down to wind his way through Brenna's legs. She reached to give him one long stroke. "Sorry, darling, but I've a mind to pet someone else this morning."

The man surely made use of every inch of bed. Well, he was about to share it, she thought, and unbuttoned her shirt.

If he'd bothered to build a fire the night before, it had died to ash. Kindling one now to chase the chill away might wake him. She had plans to do that by other methods altogether.

He was a quiet sleeper, she noted as she stripped down to the skin. One who appeared to nestle into dreams without a lot of rolling about. As she recalled, he slept deep as well-hadn't she heard Mrs. Gallagher shout him awake dozens of times when she'd spent the night with Darcy down the hall?

So they would soon see how much time and trouble it took to wake him by other means.

It was exciting to watch him when he didn't know, when he was defenseless, when he had no idea of what she had in mind for him. His face held both strength and beauty, and, she supposed, a kind of innocence now. But then, she'd always considered Shawn a great deal more innocent than herself.

He believed in things. Believed they would just happen along at the right time without a body having to take a hand in it, put their back into it. That's what bothered her the most about him when it came to his music. What did the man think, that someone would just wander into the cottage and buy up the tunes he had scribbled on papers?

It wasn't enough to write them. Why didn't he see that? Bone-lazy, she supposed, then shook her head. If she kept thinking of that, she'd work herself right out of the mood. And that would be a terrible waste of a morning.

Naked, she walked to the bed, slipped under the covers, and straddled him. Her mouth fit over his. She intended to start the process with a reverse on the waking of Sleeping Beauty. But she didn't intend to stop with a kiss.

He was steeped in dreams, all a blur of color and shape. A pleasant place to be. Sensation slowly weaved its way through. The warm flavor of woman that stirred the blood and roused the mind. Then the scent of her-subtle, familiar, so that the next indrawn breath thickened the pulse. And the shape of her, the feel of flesh sliding along flesh.

He lifted a hand, lost it in that wonderfully wild tangle of hair. Even as he murmured her name, she was shifting over him, surrounding him, taking him in. The first burst of lust exploded inside him while he was still half sleeping.

He thrust up into her, helpless, trapped in a web of need woven while he'd been dreaming. For the first time in memory he could do nothing to finesse control over his own body. Nothing but let himself be taken.