if he enjoyed watching the scene play out in front of him.
She laughed at something one of them said and Brady’s insides fisted at the sound. She let her head fall back, and all that amazing hair of hers seemed to flow down her back like a molten river. She reached out and laid one hand on a programmer’s shoulder as she leaned in to see what he wanted to show her on the screen, and Brady’s frown deepened. Jealous of a friendly touch? No, he assured himself. The idea was ridiculous. But for completely unrelated reasons, he ended the visit to the programming room and steered Aine back into the hall.
“It’s all very impressive,” she said, “though I’ll admit I don’t understand half of what it is you do here.”
“That’s all right,” he said, guiding her down the stairs to the main hall. “I wouldn’t know how to manage a castle, would I?”
She sent him a long look. “I’ve a feeling that you’d find a way to excel at it.”
“I would,” he agreed, leading her along the hall and toward the French doors that led to the patio and backyard. “But since you’re already an expert, I don’t need to be.”
She stepped outside and walked into a patch of sunlight that dappled through the surrounding elms. A soft ocean breeze rustled the leaves and lifted her hair from her shoulders. Turning to face him, she said, “And as your manager, I’ll be in charge of seeing the changes made to the castle.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ll give me a list, I suppose.”
“More than that,” he said and gestured to a table and chairs. They took seats beside each other and Brady said, “Over the next three weeks, you and I will be working on the plans for the castle—”
“Three weeks?”
Her surprise sounded in her voice even if he hadn’t seen it in her eyes. Brady paid no attention and continued, “I’ll want your input on some of the changes to the bedrooms, the furnishings, the setup to the new kitchens. There we want the medieval look and feel but naturally all modern appliances...”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “Did you say three weeks?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her. “Is that a problem?”
“I never thought I’d be here that long.”
Brady watched her and could almost see the wheels of her brain turning. She chewed at her bottom lip, and the action tugged at something inside him. Her face was an open book, he thought. There was no artifice there, no poker face. She obviously wasn’t as used to schooling her features as he was.
But then, he’d spent a lifetime hiding what he was feeling from the rest of the world.
And over the years that had become easier because Brady had simply avoided feeling anything at all. Friendship was one thing. He couldn’t stop caring for the Ryan brothers because they were the only family he’d ever known. Cutting them out of his life would be impossible even if he wanted to. It hadn’t been easy, lowering his defenses enough to let them in, but Mike and Sean had simply refused to be shut out of Brady’s life. They’d steamrolled over his objections and had drawn him into a circle of friendship he’d never known before them.
They were the only people who saw Brady’s laughter or anger or fears. They were the only people he trusted that much. And he had no intention of risking anyone else getting that close. Especially a woman who worked for him.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the rush of desire that came out of nowhere to knock his legs out from under him.
“Three weeks,” she repeated, more to herself than to him.
“Is there a problem?” He heard the stiffness in his own voice and didn’t bother to soften it. She worked for Celtic Knot, whether she was in Ireland or America.
She responded to his tone and he watched as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Why those subtle movements would affect him as much as a more sensual move would have was beyond him.
“Three weeks is a long time when you’re not prepared for it,” she said, then she became thoughtful. “I can call home, let the staff know I won’t be about, and then call my mother...”
Now she surprised him. “Your mother?”
“She’d worry otherwise, wouldn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Brady said simply. How the hell would he know what mothers were like? His own had dropped him off at Child Services when he was six years old, with the promise to come back by the end of the week. He’d never seen her again. As for the Ryan brothers, whenever they went home to visit with their folks, Brady stayed away. He’d gone with them once, during college. And though their parents had made every effort, Brady had spent that incredibly long weekend too uncomfortable to accept their open hospitality. He had no idea how to deal with the threads of family and he told himself it was too damn late now to try to understand it. Not that he wanted to.
Aine looked at him in confusion, but that expression quickly faded. “I’m happy to stay, of course,” she said a little too tightly to be believable. “I’ll help in any way I can, obviously.”
“Good.” He nodded shortly and refused to acknowledge the fact that the next three weeks with Aine Donovan were going to be a test of the self-control he’d always prided himself on. Hell, even sitting here beside her in the sunlight was making him burn. Watching her eyes narrow on him kindled those slow-moving flames inside him until his skin buzzed with expectation. She was unexpected, but damned if he could regret having her drop into his lap—so to speak.
Maybe he would regret it later. But for right now, that quickening fire was all he could think about.
* * *
For the next week, Aine felt as if she was living in a tornado—the Brady Finn Tornado. It seemed he was tireless. They roamed through countless antiques stores—and Brady kept insisting that old furniture was the same, whether European or American. She’d fought him on several tables, chairs and even a bed or two, and to give the man his due, he was willing to be nudged away from his first decision when offered a better choice. But he was monopolizing her time. They were together every day and talked of what still needed to be done over dinner.
And every day it became just a little bit harder to ignore the heat she felt just being around him.
Ridiculous, and she knew it, to feel this way, but it appeared she had no control over her body’s reaction to a man she had no business getting dizzy over. He was autocratic, opinionated, and he tended to speak to her as if he were expecting her to pull a steno tablet from her bag and start taking notes.
If anything, she should be infuriated at his domineering attitude. Yes, he was her employer, but he wasn’t the Prince of Wales, was he? And even if he were, Aine admitted, an Irishwoman wouldn’t be bowing down to him.
But instead of this very rational reaction to being ordered about on a daily basis, Aine spent entirely too much time watching his mouth as he spoke, wondering what his lips would feel like. Taste like. And it wasn’t as if she could escape these thoughts when she slept, because her dreams were full of him, as well.
Because, she acknowledged, bossy and controlling
