The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

misunderstood.”
    “Fine.” Leaving it at that, he walked over to push open the door and call out his good nights. When he turned back, she looked so frustrated and unhappy he nearly relented. But a man had to finish what he started. He spoke coolly, with just enough bite to let her know she had more making up to do. “Would you prefer staying over with Darcy?”
    “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
    “All right, then.” He crossed to the back door, opened it, waited. She got her cap and jacket from the hook by the door, then bundled them under her arm and stepped out into the chill.
    They didn’t speak as they got into opposite sides of his car. She brooded out the window while he drove out of the village and up the road toward the cottage.
    She told herself she’d had a perfectly normal reaction. And shifting in her seat, she told him the same. When he didn’t answer, she had to struggle not to squirm. “Can we agree this is new territory for both of us?”
    Ah, he thought, just the direction he’d hoped for. He sent her one quiet look, then nodded.
    “And we never, I suppose you could say, discussed the boundaries of it.”
    “You wanted sex. You’re getting it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. Perfect.
    “That’s true. That’s true,” she repeated in a mutter when he pulled up to his cottage. She was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach. “But I . . . it’s only that I—” She cursed and had to scramble out of the car to keep up with him. “Damn it, you can at least hear me out.”
    “I’m listening to you. Do you want tea?” he asked, viciously polite as he walked inside.
    “No, I don’t want tea. And take that stick out of your arse for one bloody minute. If you don’t have the sense to see that woman wanted to jump you, you’re blind as six bats and twice as dim.”
    “More to the point would be what I wanted—and intended.” He started up the steps.
    “She’s beautiful.”
    “So are you. What does that have to do with it?”
    As her mouth was hanging open, it took a minute to get her feet moving. In all the years she’d known the man, he’d never told her she was beautiful. It threw her off her stride. She could feel her mind trip as she tried to keep it on track.
    “You don’t think of me that way, and that’s all right. It’s not what I’m trying to get to, anyway.”
    He’d make sure they came back to it, but for now, he emptied the contents of his pockets onto his dresser. “What are you trying to get to, Brenna?”
    “I know when we started this—when I started this—I never said what I expected.” Wishing she had his clever way with words, she dragged a hand through her hair. “What I mean is, that while we’re together this way, until one of us or both of us decide this has run its course, I wouldn’t consider being with another man.”
    He sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed to take off his boots. “You’re meaning that this area of our relationship should be an exclusive one? That neither of us sees anyone else? Is that the way of it?”
    “Aye, that’s my feeling on it.”
    They would be exclusive to each other, and it was her idea—even demand. A strong first step, he thought, to where he wanted her to lead him. He took his time, letting her believe he was considering. “That fits in with my feeling on it as well. But . . .”
    “But?”
    How do we know, and who decides when that changes, Brenna?”
    “I don’t have an answer to that. I never expected this to be complicated. I didn’t know it was until I saw that singer hanging all over you. I didn’t like it.”
    “While I’m touching you, I’m touching no one else. You’ll have to trust me.”
    “I can trust you, Shawn.” Easier now, she stepped toward him. “It’s the big-breasted blondes I have trouble with.”
    “Recently, my taste is running strong for well-packed redheads.”
    Because she was relieved that the chill had gone out of his eyes, she laughed. “Well-packed, my ass. Have we made up, then?”
    “It’s a beginning.” He patted the space beside him. “Let’s have your boots off and we’ll make up some more.”
    Happy to oblige, she sat, tugged on the laces. “I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry for that.”
    “I don’t mind spatting with you, Mary Brenna.” He stroked a hand over her hair. “But I don’t like you thinking that I’d think of another woman in that way when I’m with you.”
    “Then I won’t think it.” After