Ryan's Place Part 15

The cook glanced up when he walked in. "I thought I heard you moving about upstairs," he said, and gestured toward a pot of coffee. "The coffee's fresh and strong."

"Thanks," Ryan said, pouring himself a cup.

Rory gave him a sly look. "Of course, I also thought I heard another set of footsteps and a lovely feminine voice. Those wouldn't belong to our Maggie, would they? Have you finally come to your senses where she's concerned?"

"I never lost my senses, which is why I'm down here and she's up there," Ryan retorted.

Rory regarded him with disappointment. "You're breaking my heart, lad. You're a disgrace to all the males of Ireland."

Ryan thought of what Maggie was offering him, of everything he was fighting so hard to resist. He weighed that against a lifetime of n.o.ble restraint that had earned him nothing but loneliness. He sighed heavily.

"It's entirely possible that you're right," Ryan conceded.

"Then do something about it."

That image of a naked Maggie sliding beneath his sheets slammed into Ryan's head again. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he needed to resist.

"One of these days, maybe I will," he said, a note of wistfulness creeping into his voice.

"No time like the present," Rory reminded him.

Ryan shook his head. "Some things can't be rushed."

"Would Maggie view you coming back upstairs as rus.h.i.+ng her?"

"No," he admitted ruefully. "I'm the one who's slowed the pace of things. I can't afford a mistake."

"What sort of mistake?" Rory asked, clearly bewildered.

Ryan didn't answer. How could he explain to a man who made a habit of loving and leaving women that once Ryan allowed Maggie to touch him, she'd be a part of his soul?

And that would give her the power to destroy him if she were ever to walk away.

Maggie was relieved to hear the answering machine when she called home to let her family know the outcome of Lamar's surgery and to tell them she was still in town. She wasn't quite ready to try to explain Ryan's continued reticence to come to dinner. Knowing her mother, Maggie suspected Nell wasn't going to take the refusal lightly. When it came to self-proclaimed missions, Nell O'Brien was even quicker to rush in than her daughter. Maggie had a feeling that would be more pressure than Ryan could handle.

She thought of his reaction to her guess that the rocker had reminded him of his mother. He'd obviously been dismayed that she'd hit on the truth. Clearly he didn't like the fact that she was chipping away at that protective wall he'd erected around himself and could see into his heart. Maggie recognized that she needed to be careful, especially since her preference would be to take a sledgehammer to what was left of that wall. Rather than poking and prodding about the Devaneys, she was going to fill Ryan's head with stories of the O'Briens until he grew comfortable with the idea of her her family, even if he couldn't deal with his own. family, even if he couldn't deal with his own.

Sighing, she snuggled more securely around the pillow that still held Ryan's faint, masculine scent. For now, this was the only way she was likely to get close to him, but that would change eventually. Maggie could be patient when she had to be...especially now that she thought she knew how to break down that wall.

It was afternoon when she woke. Sun was streaming in the bedroom window. Maggie yawned and stretched, then listened for some sound to indicate that Ryan had returned to the apartment. All she heard were street sounds and the distant clatter of pots and pans, coming no doubt from the pub kitchen downstairs.

Wrapping herself in one of Ryan's s.h.i.+rts that she found hanging on the back of the door, she slipped across the hall to the bathroom and showered, then dressed. Using his hair dryer, she did what she could to coax some waves into her hair, then ventured downstairs, where she found the pub empty.

The sound of voices in the kitchen drew her. Poking her head around the door, she scanned the room for Ryan, but saw no sign of him. Rory, however, was chopping the vegetables for Irish stew, while Rosita sat nearby, her feet up.

"Taking a break?" Maggie asked with a grin.

"Senor Rory not let me help," Rosita responded, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "I can chop, si? si? That is not so difficult." That is not so difficult."

"You need to stay off your feet," Rory countered.

Rosita rolled her eyes. "He is worse than Juan."

"Does Ryan realize he's paying her to rest?" Maggie inquired.

"I'm in charge of the kitchen," Rory claimed defensively. "I see no need to tell himself how I'm running it or who's doing what. As long as there's food for the customers, he's got no cause to complain."

Maggie chuckled. "You're an angel, Rory."

"You'd best be keeping that to yourself, Maggie. I have a reputation as a tyrant to protect."

"Don't worry. I won't give away your secret. Where is is your boss, by the way?" your boss, by the way?"

"In the pub."

"I didn't see him."

"Check the booth in the back corner. He was asleep on the bench last time I checked."

"Why on earth would he sleep down here when there was a perfectly good sofa upstairs?" she asked. "To say nothing of half a bed."

Rory's eyes sparkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Now that's a question you should be asking him, but I think you can figure it out if you put your mind to it."

"It's because I was in the other half of that bed, wasn't it?" she asked, astonished that her presence had actually scared the man out of his own home.

"You never heard me say such a thing, now did you?" Rory replied, a grin splitting his face.

"He doesn't trust himself around me," she concluded with a sense of wonder. She'd suspected it, but the confirmation was music to her ears.

"That would be my impression," Rory agreed. He studied her intently. "What do you intend to do about this power you have over him?"

Rather than replying, she met his gaze. "Any suggestions?"

"Now if a woman affected me the way you affect our Ryan, I wouldn't mind if she were to make an outright pa.s.s at me," the Irish cook said, then sighed heavily. "But sadly, Ryan is a better man than I. I think a subtler approach is called for."

"Meaning?"

"Persistence and patience," he recommended. "Whatever you've done to rattle him, do that and more of it." An unrepentant grin suddenly crossed his face. "Ah, here is the very man in question, looking oddly unrefreshed from his nap."

"Go to h.e.l.l," Ryan muttered as he crossed to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. Only then did he glance at Maggie. "Want some?"

"I'd love a cup," she said, noting that Ryan's gaze fell on Rosita as he poured the coffee. He hesitated, then gave a resigned shake of his head before handing Maggie her coffee.

"Okay," Rory declared, "there are too many people in my kitchen. You two, out. I'll fix you an omelette and bring it out, or would you prefer a sandwich since we're well into afternoon now?"

"An omelette sounds lovely," Maggie said.

"Perhaps Rosita could fix it," Ryan suggested.

"She's on a break," Rory retorted emphatically.

"Come on," Maggie encouraged before Ryan could debate the topic.

"I knew hiring that woman was a mistake the instant I saw she was pregnant," he complained as they went to a booth. "If nothing else, Rory is gallant. I knew he'd never let her do a lick of work."

"If it's any consolation, I think Rosita is as frustrated as you are."

"That doesn't actually help. I hired her because Rory claimed to need help."

"And now he's satisfied. Maybe all he really needed was company."

"I am not paying someone to sit in there and chat with him. Besides, she doesn't know enough English to carry on a conversation."

"Oh, I think she knows enough," Maggie said, then captured and held his gaze. "So, Rory tells me you slept down here. Mind telling me why?"

"I sat down for a minute and fell asleep," he said defensively. "There's nothing more to it."

"But why were you down here in the first place? You were as exhausted as I was. I thought you were going straight to sleep on the sofa upstairs."

He shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"I hope it wasn't because of me."

He didn't look away as she'd antic.i.p.ated. Instead, he turned the challenge around.

"Now why would you have anything to do with it?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with an offhand shrug. "Maybe because you were tempted to crawl into your bed with me."

"Absolutely not," he said.

Maggie laughed at the too-quick response. "Liar, but I'm going to let that pa.s.s this time."

"How gracious of you," he said sourly. "Did you explain to your mother that I couldn't come to dinner?"

"She wasn't home. I left her a message to that effect. Just to prepare you, though, don't be surprised if she comes in here to demand an explanation."

He frowned at that. "Can't anyone in your family take a simple no for an answer?"

"Not usually," she said cheerfully. "You should probably try to get used to it."

"Why? Eventually you'll go back to Maine, and that will be that. I'll probably never see you or any of your family again."

Maggie shook her head at the note of resignation in his voice. "That's not how it works with us. Face it, Devaney, we're here to stay."

"What about Maine?" he asked, a faint note of desperation in his voice. Apparently, he'd been clinging to the notion that she would be leaving after the holidays so he could let himself off the hook and never have to deal with his all-too-apparent feelings for her.

"I've decided not to go back," she announced, making the decision on the spot. Whatever happened between her and Ryan, she wanted to remain in Boston. And, if she had her way, she would work right here, by his side. Eventually maybe he'd even let her get her hands on his accounting system so she could bring him into the twenty-first century.

His gaze narrowed. "Why not?"

"There's nothing for me there," she said.

"And here?"

"That remains to be seen."

Ryan sighed heavily at her response, but Maggie was almost certain there was a slight flicker of relief in his eyes. It wasn't much, but she was going to cling to that with everything she had.

A week later, with Christmas only days away, Ryan was still cursing the fact that he hadn't done everything he could to persuade Maggie that she belonged in Maine. The only trouble would have been that he didn't believe it. It was more and more evident to him that she belonged right here, making him laugh with her stories about her family.

Making him yearn.

Even so, he caught himself before he allowed her to weave a spell around him that couldn't be broken. Though the invitations to join the O'Briens for dinner came almost daily, he determinedly turned down every single one. He was pretty sure he was finally getting through to Maggie that what they had now was as far as he was going to allow things to go.

Of course, just when he was feeling confident, he looked up and spotted her mother coming through the pub's door with a determined glint in her eyes. Maggie had warned him about precisely this, but as the days had gone by, he'd put the possibility of a direct confrontation with Nell O'Brien from his mind. Now, on Christmas Eve, she was standing squarely in front of him, hands on hips and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

"I am going to pretend that you haven't rudely turned down every single invitation Maggie's offered," she said, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "I will not allow you to say no to having Christmas dinner with us tomorrow. Father Francis is invited, as well."

"The shelter-" Ryan began, only to have his words cut off.

"Dinner at the shelter is at noon. I checked," she told him. "We'll eat at five. That should give you both plenty of time to get there." She tilted her head in a way that reminded him of Maggie. "Any questions?"

Ryan knew when he was beaten. "No, ma'am."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, thank you. Can I bring anything?"

"Just Father Francis and a pleasant att.i.tude," she said, then kissed his cheek. "And a small token for Maggie, perhaps. I know she has a little something for you."

Ryan sighed. He'd already seen the perfect gift for Maggie, but he'd kept himself from buying it. He'd told himself that any present at all would carry implications of a connection he was trying not to encourage. He should have known it was another bad decision on his part, should have realized that she would have no such reticence about buying him something.

"Maureen, watch the bar," he called to his waitress. "I have an errand to run."

"We're filled to overflowing and you want to run an errand?" she asked, regarding him with astonishment.

"Last-minute Christmas shopping," he said.

A grin spread across her face. "And if I'm not mistaken, that was Maggie O'Brien's mother who just came breezing through here. Does that mean you're going to buy something special for Maggie?"