Born in Shame
Page 37

“She’ll never hear it from me.” She rose, too intrigued not to take a closer look. The chicken was golden, beaded with moisture, flecked with spices, and surrounded by a browned circle of potatoes and carrots. “Now, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s Brie’s doing. She started me an herb garden years back, hounded me till I took the time to tend it.”
Shannon leaned back on the counter, eyeing him. “Weren’t you a little miffed when Gray came along and beat your time?”
He was well and truly baffled for a minute, then grinned as he transferred chicken from pan to platter. “She was never for me, nor I for her. We’ve been family too long. Tom was a father to me when mine died. And Brie and Maggie were always my sisters.” He carved off a small slice at the breast. “Not that it’s a brotherly feeling I have toward you, Shannon. I’ve waited for you long enough.”
Alarmed, she shifted, but he’d moved smoothly to box her in, back to the counter. Still, all he did was lift the bite of chicken to her lips.
And his thumb grazed lightly, seductively, over her bottom lip when she accepted his offer. “It’s good. Really.” But her chest felt thick, and alarm increased when he skimmed a hand over her hair. She made her tingling spine straighten until they were eye to eye.
“What are you doing, Murphy?”
“Well, Shannon.” He touched his lips to hers lightly, almost breezily. “I’m courting you.”
Chapter Ten
Courting? Flabbergasted, Shannon gaped at him. It was ridiculous, a foolish word that had nothing to do with her, or her lifestyle.
Yet it had certainly tripped off his Irish tongue easily. She had to make him swallow it again, and fast.
“That’s crazy. It’s absurd.”
His hands were on her face again, fingertips just skimming her jawline. “Why?”
“Well . . . because.” In defense she moved back, gestured with her glass. “In the first place, you hardly know me.”
“But I do know you.” More amused than offended at her reaction, he turned back to carve the chicken. “I knew you the minute I saw you.”
“Don’t start that Celtic mysticism with me, Murphy.” She strode back to the table, topped off her wine, and gulped it. “I’m an American, damn it. People don’t go around courting people in New York.”
“That might be part of what’s wrong with it.” He carried the platter to the table. “Sit down, Shannon. You’ll want to eat while it’s hot.”
“Eat.” She rolled her eyes before closing them in frustration. “Now I’m supposed to eat.”
“You came to eat, didn’t you?” Taking on the duties of host, he filled the plate by her chair, then his own before lighting candles. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Yes, I’m hungry.” She plopped down in her chair. After flicking her napkin onto her lap, she picked up her knife and fork.
For the next few minutes she did eat, while her options circled around in her head. “I’m going to try to be reasonable with you, Murphy.”
“All right.” He sliced into the chicken on his plate, sampled, and was pleased he’d done a good job. “Be reasonable then.”
“Number one, you’ve got to understand I’m only going to be here another week, two at the most.”
“You’ll stay longer.” He said it placidly as he ate. “You haven’t begun to resolve the problems and feelings that brought you here. You haven’t once asked about Tom Concannon.”
Her eyes went cold. “You know nothing about my feelings.”
“I think I do, but we’ll leave that for now since it makes you unhappy. But you’ll stay, Shannon, because there are things for you to face. And to forgive. You’re not a coward. There’s strength in you, and heart.”
She hated that he was seeing in her things she’d refused to admit to herself. She broke open one of the biscuits he’d brought to the table, watched the heat steam out. “Whether I stay a week or a year, it doesn’t apply to this.”
“It all applies to this,” he said mildly. “Does the meal suit you?”
“It’s terrific.”
“Did you paint more today, after I left you?”
“Yes, I—” She swallowed another bite, jabbed her fork at him. “You’re changing the subject.”
“What subject?”
“You know very well what subject, and we’re going to clear the air here and now. I don’t want to be courted—by anyone. I don’t know how things are around here, but where I come from, women are independent, equal.”
“I’ve some thoughts on that myself.” Idly he picked up his wine, considering his words as he drank. “It’s true enough that in general your Irishman has a difficult time with seeing women as equals. Now, there’s been some changes in the past generation, but it’s a slow process.” He set his wine aside and went back to his meal. “There are many I’d call mate who wouldn’t agree with me in full, but it may be because I’ve done a lot of reading over the years and thought about what I’ve read. I feel a woman has rights same as a man, to what he has, what he does.”
“That’s big of you,” Shannon muttered.
He only smiled. “It’s a step of some proportion for someone raised as I was raised. Now in truth, I don’t know just how I’d react to it if you wanted to court me.”
“I don’t.”
“There you are.” He lifted a hand, smiling still, as if she’d made his point for him. “And my courting you has nothing to do with rights or equality, doesn’t make you less or me more. It’s just that I’ve the initiative, so to speak. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. And I’ve been fortunate enough to see a great deal of beauty.”
Flummoxed by the quick spurt of pleasure, she looked down at her plate. There was a way to handle this, to handle him, she was certain. She just had to find it.
“Murphy, I’m flattered. Anyone would be.”
“You’re more than flattered when I kiss you, Shannon. We both know what happens then.”
She jabbed a piece of chicken. “All right, I’m attracted. You’re an attractive man, with some charm. But if I’d been considering taking it any further, I wouldn’t now.”