The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

senseless. A man could start believing himself delusional and that she’d never sat across from him at his own kitchen table and suggested they have a romp in bed.
    But she had done both of those things. He knew it because every time he came within a foot of her the muscles in his belly knotted.
    Shawn didn’t care for it, not a bit. No more than he cared for how easy and bloody normal she was acting as they fell into the Saturday night routine at the pub. Every time he came out of the kitchen for one reason or another, she’d shoot him that look of hers that was caught somewhere between a sneer and a smile.
    It made him wonder why he’d ever enjoyed seeing that selfsame expression on her face in the past.
    Brenna worked the set of taps at one end of the long chestnut bar while Aidan manned those at the other end. She talked with the customers, laughed with old Mr. Riley, who was in the habit of asking every pretty young thing to be his bride. If the musicians played a tune she was fond of, she joined in the chorus.
    She did everything, Shawn noted, that she’d done on a hundred other Saturday nights when the pub was crowded and the music was fine.
    It should have been a relief—he told himself it was— that the two of them appeared to be back on even and familiar ground again.
    It irritated the living hell out of him.
    She wore jeans and a baggy sweater. He’d probably seen that same sweater on her twenty times or more. So why was it that it had never made him think of the trim little body under it until now? The kind of body that was quick and agile and strong, with breasts small and firm as peaches just before they ripen.
    Distracted, he burned his fingers on the hot oil as he scooped out chips, and cursed himself for thinking, even for a minute, of sliding his hands up and over that body, those breasts.
    That had been her plan, he decided. The devious witch. She’d planted the seed in his brain, stirred up his loins, as he was only a man, after all, and now she could torment him just by being in the same vicinity.
    Well, two could play this game.
    Rather than waiting for Darcy to pick up the orders, he carried them out himself. Just to show Brenna O’Toole that she didn’t trouble him in the least.
    The perverse creature didn’t even glance his way as he swung into the pub and wound his way through the crowd to the tables. No, just to annoy him, he was sure, she pulled taps and continued a conversation with a couple of tourists as if they were all the best of mates and this was their Saturday night reunion.
    She wore her hair down, tied back with a bit of black ribbon. In the muted light it burned like fire.
    He wished he could keep his mind off her hair. He wished he had his hands in it.
    “Hello, Shawn.” Mary Kate caught up with him just as he was serving the Clooney family their basket of chips. She angled as close as she dared, hoping he would like the new scent she was trying out. “Busy tonight.”
    “The music’s lively. I think we’ve the whole of your tour group here.”
    “They’re having a wonderful time of it.” She pitched her voice over the music, struggling to keep it sexy as the band kicked into a rousing rendition of “Maloney Wants a Drink.” “But I’d rather hear you play.”
    He flashed her a grin as he tucked the empty tray under his arm. “You can hear that for free anytime you like. These Galway lads have a spark to them.” He glanced toward the front booth, admired the way the fiddler handled his bow. “Are you here with your family, then?”
    Mary Kate’s ego took a nosedive. Why did he always think of her as one of the O’Toole girls? She was a grown woman now. “No, I’m not with anyone.” It wasn’t a lie, she assured herself. She may have come in with her parents and Alice Mae, but she wasn’t with them.
    “That’s fine playing,” he murmured, forgetting her in his pleasure with the music. “Quick and clever and bright. It’s no wonder they’ve made a name for themselves. The tenor’s the strongest voice, but he knows how to blend in without overpowering his bandmates.”
    He wondered what they would do with one of his own ballads and was brought back to the moment only when Mary Kate touched his arm. “You could make a name for yourself, too.” Her eyes were full of dreams when they met his. “A bigger one. A brighter one.”
    He avoided answering, or thinking too deeply on the possibilities by giving her a light kiss on the cheek.