The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

something that makes it impossible for us to deal with one another again.”
    “Deal?” She was a cool one, wasn’t she? Cool and composed while he wanted to rage. “There’s always the deal, isn’t there? Contracts and payments and benefits. You keep your eyes on the prize.”
    She went white, her eyes a blazing blue in contrast. “Get out. Get out of my house. I don’t take a man to my bed who looks at me and sees a whore.”
    Her words slapped him back, to sense and to shame. “I never meant that. I never thought that.”
    “Didn’t you? Get out, you bastard.” She began to shake. “And before you go I’ll tell you this: Jude painted that for me, for my birthday.”
    She whirled around, strode into the bedroom.
    “Darcy, wait!” He managed to block the door before it slammed in his face. “I’m sorry. Listen—” That was as far as he got before whatever she threw shattered against the door an inch from his face. “Jesus!”
    “I said get out of my house.”
    She wasn’t pale now. She was flushed with rage and already grabbing for a pretty china trinket box. He had an instant to decide—advance or retreat. An instant too long, as the box bounced smartly off his shoulder before he could reach her.
    “I’m sorry,” he said again, gripping her arms before she could select the next missile. “I was out of line, completely wrong. No excuse. Please, listen to me.”
    “Let go of me, Trevor.”
    “Throw anything you want. But then listen to me. Please.”
    She was vibrating like a bow sharply plucked. “Why should I?”
    “No reason. Listen anyway.”
    “All right, but let me go, and step back. I don’t want you touching me now.”
    His hands flexed on her arms, a jerk of reaction. Then he nodded, released her. He’d deserved that, he told himself. That and worse. Because he was afraid she intended to give him worse, to turn him out of her life, he was prepared to beg.
    “I’ve never been jealous before. Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. It’s contemptible.”
    “You’ve had women before me. Do I throw them in your face and cheapen you that way?”
    “No.” He’d cut deep, he realized, and they were both bleeding. “I had no right, and no reason. I wasn’t thinking about the painting, really. My feelings for you are out of control. So I’m out of control.” Her eyes, shocked, stared back at his when he stroked her hair. “They make me stupid.”
    Her heart began to thud. “I’ve thought of no man but you since we met. Is that enough for you?”
    “It should be.” He dropped his hand. “But it’s not.” He paced away, back, away. Plans and schedules were out of the picture now, he decided. It was time to act. “I need something more than that from you, and I’m willing to give you whatever you want.”
    The rapid beating of her heart skipped in a quick stab of pain. “What do you mean?”
    “I want, let’s say, exclusive rights. For that, for you,” he added, turning back to her. “You can name it. I’ve got an apartment in New York. If it doesn’t suit you, we’ll find another. Personally, and through the company, I have several homes in a number of countries. If you like, I can buy property here, build a house to your specifications. Whatever traveling’s required between us, I assume you’d want a base here.”
    “I see.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes lowered. “That’s considerate of you. And would I also have access to bank accounts, credit cards, that sort of thing?”
    His hands went back in his pockets, balled into fists. “Of course.”
    “And for all this.” She traced a finger over the bracelet she’d worn since he’d first clasped it on her wrist. That she’d loved first for its beauty, and then simply because he’d given it to her. “I would, in turn, keep myself only for you.”
    “That’s one way of putting it. But I—”
    He never saw it coming. The little Belleek vase smacked dead between his eyes. Through the stars wheeling in front of him, he saw her face. Pale again, rigid with outrage.
    “You low-lying son-of-a-toad! What’s the difference between a whore and a mistress but the type of payment?”
    “Mistress?” With shock, he touched his forehead, stared at the blood on his fingers. Then he was dodging crockery. “Who said—cut it out!”
    “You miserable worm. You badger!” She sent all the pretty things she’d collected over the years crashing. “I wouldn’t have you on the silver platter