The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

simply nodded her head. “I can’t. No. This is completely irresponsible.”
    “Is there someone in America who has a hold on you?”
    “A hold?” Why wouldn’t her brain function? “Oh. No, I’m not involved with anyone.” The sudden gleam inAidan’s eyes had her straining back. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to just . . . I don’t sleep with men I barely know.”
    “At the moment, I feel we know each other pretty well.”
    “That’s a physical reaction.”
    “You’re damn right.” He kissed her again, hard and hot.
    “I can’t breathe.”
    “I’m having a bit of trouble with that myself.” It was against his natural instincts, but he stepped away. “Well, what do we do about this, then, Jude Frances? Analyze it on an intellectual level?”
    His voice might have carried the musical lilt of Ireland, but it could still slash. Because she wanted to wince, she straightened her shoulders. “I’m not going to apologize for not jumping into bed with you. And if I prefer to function on an intellectual level, it’s my business.”
    He closed his mouth before the snarl escaped, then jammed his hands in his pockets and paced up and down the tiny room. “Do you always have to be reasonable?”
    “Yes.”
    He stopped, eyed her narrowly, then to her complete confusion, threw back his head and laughed. “Damn it, Jude, if you’d shout or throw something, we could have a nice bloody fight and end it wrestling on the kitchen floor. And, speaking for myself, I’d feel a hell of a lot more satisfied.”
    She allowed herself a quiet breath. “I don’t shout or throw things or wrestle.”
    He lifted a brow. “Ever?”
    “Ever.”
    His grin came fast this time, a flash of humor and challenge. “I bet I can change that.” He stepped toward her, shaking his head when she backed away. He caught a loose strand of her hair and tugged. “Will you wager on it?”
    “No.” She tried a hesitant smile. “I don’t gamble either.”
    “You walk around with a name like Murray, then tell me you don’t gamble. It’s a disgrace you are to your blood.”
    “I’m a testament to my breeding.”
    “I’ll put my money on the blood every time.” He rocked back on his heels, considering her. “Well, I’d best start back. A walk in the rain’ll clear my head.”
    She steadied herself as he took his jacket from the hook. “You’re not angry?”
    “Why would I be?” His gaze whipped to hers, bright and intense. “You’ve a right to say no, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, but I imagine a number of men would still be angry.”
    “I’m not a number of men, then, am I? And, added to that, I mean to have you, and I will. It doesn’t have to be today.”
    He flashed her another grin when her mouth fell open, then walked to the door. “Think of that, and of me, Jude Frances, until I get my hands on you again.”
    When the door closed behind him, she stood exactly where she was. And though she did think of that, and of him, and of all the pithy, lowering, brilliant responses she should have made, she thought a great deal more of what it had been like to be held against him.

SEVEN
    I ’M COMPILING STORIES , Jude wrote in her journal, and find the project even more interesting than I’d expected. The tapes my grandmother sent bring her here. While I’m listening to them, it’s almost as if she’s sitting across from me. Or, sweeter somehow, as if I were a child again and she had come by to tell me a bedtime story.
    She prefaces her telling of the Lady Gwen tale by stating she’d never told me this story. She must be mistaken, as portions of it were very familiar to me while Aidan was relating it to me.
    Logically, I dreamed of it because the memory of the story was in my subconscious and being in the cottage tripped it free.
     
    Jude stopped typing, pushed back, drummed her fingers. Yes, of course, that was it. She felt better now that she’d written it down. It was exactly the exercise she always gaveto her first-year students. Write down your thoughts on a certain problem or indecision, in conversational style, without filters. Then sit back, read, and explore the answers you’ve found.
    So why hadn’t she documented her encounter with Aidan in her journal? She’d written nothing about the way he’d caged her between the stove and his body, the way he’d nibbled on her as she were something tasty. Nothing about how she felt or what she