When the door clicked shut, Ryan closed his eyes against the tide of anguish and regret washing over him. He tried once again telling himself that he'd done the right thing, but being in the right was cold comfort.

The remainder of Christmas day pa.s.sed in a blur for Maggie. She managed to keep a smile on her face, but she didn't really fool anyone. She knew, because they all tiptoed around Ryan's sudden disappearance, not a one of them asking why he'd gone. Matt quietly offered Father Francis a lift back to the city, and the priest left after giving Maggie's hand a sympathetic squeeze. Obviously, not even he intended to try to explain away Ryan's abrupt departure. Of course, Maggie already knew the answer to that. He'd left because he couldn't bear to spend another minute in her company...and because she'd run at the first sign of trouble.

The fact that her call to Rory had been as pointless as every other attempt to get through to Ryan only made her heartache worse. He'd called back to confirm that Ryan had gotten home, adding nothing more, not even a glimmer of hope that Ryan's brooding state was likely to change come morning.

After several restless, sleepless nights, by the following Monday morning Maggie had convinced herself that she she ought to search for the Devaneys if Ryan wasn't going to do it. They were the key to this. ought to search for the Devaneys if Ryan wasn't going to do it. They were the key to this.

Downstairs, though, in the clear light of day, she knew that finding Ryan's family wasn't up to her. No matter how important she thought it was for Ryan to confront the past, he was the only one who could make the decision to do so.

"Maggie?" her mother said, studying her worriedly. "What's troubling you? I haven't wanted to pry, but did you and Ryan have a fight the other day? Is that why he left?"

Had it been a fight? Not really. He'd simply told her he didn't need her, that he never would. She'd walked away without a word.

"No," she said wearily, stirring sugar into the tea her mother set in front of her.

"Then what?"

"I can't talk about it, not just yet," she said.

"I saw the hair clips he gave you. They're lovely."

Maggie smiled. "Aren't they? He couldn't have picked a more perfect gift."

"Did you give him his present?"

She shook her head. "I never had the chance."

"Will you take it to him?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Because you don't want to be the one to take the first step toward mending fences? Pride's a lonely bedfellow," her mother reminded her. "If it were me, I'd take it today and resolve whatever disagreement you had so you can start the new year fresh."

Maggie sighed. It wasn't pride that had her considering staying away from the pub. It was a matter of protecting her aching heart.

But deep inside, she knew that staying away was impossible. The two most important people in Ryan's life had turned their backs on him at a critical time. She was not about to be just another person who loved him and let him down.

And she did love him. She'd accepted that weeks ago. She'd also accepted that she'd found her niche at the pub. She liked working side by side with Ryan. She loved making the customers feel welcome, loved the homey feel of the place, the impromptu singing that livened the atmosphere on many a night. Who would have thought that Father Francis would have a voice like an angel?

Maggie was not going to give up any of that without a fight. She stood up, then bent to kiss her mother's cheek. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For reminding me what's important," she said.

"Did I do that?" her mother inquired innocently.

Maggie grinned. "You and Dad do that every day, just by being who you are."

A serene smile stole across her mother's face. "If we've given you an understanding of what marriage can be at its full potential, then we've done well by you. Now run along. I have faith that you can teach Ryan the same lesson with a little patience and a lot of love."

"I hope so," Maggie said. "Because I do love him, Mom."

Her mother gave her a hug. "I know you do. I also know he probably doesn't make it easy. But if you ask me, he returns those feelings. I just don't think he recognizes it quite yet, perhaps because it's such a new experience for him."

Maggie thought about her mother's words on the drive into Boston. She held tightly to them as she braced herself, put on a sunny smile and walked into the pub as if she'd never been away. She dropped his present casually on the bar, then moved on to hang up her coat. Before she turned away she saw the surprise in Ryan's eyes and something else, possibly a hint of relief.

Determined to act as if nothing were amiss, she grabbed her ap.r.o.n and immediately went to work, grateful that the place was packed and she could delay actually speaking to Ryan.

When Maureen caught up with her, she said, "Maggie, thank G.o.d you're back."

"I can see you're swamped," Maggie said.

"It's not the crowds I can't handle, it's Ryan. He's been grouchy as a bear since Christmas. It's a wonder he hasn't driven all the customers away, to say nothing of the staff. Even Rory's giving him a wide berth."

That news gave Maggie more confidence. When she eventually pa.s.sed behind the bar, Ryan caught her hand and held her still, his blue eyes searching her face.

"I'm sorry for what happened on Christmas," he said finally. "I behaved like an idiot."

She studied his dear, familiar face and saw the genuine remorse. She touched a hand to his cheek. "I know."

"I'm glad you came back."

She permitted herself a small smile. "I know that, too."

He drew in a deep breath as if gathering his courage, then declared, "I've had nothing to do but think the past few days, and I've come to a conclusion. I want you, Maggie O'Brien, and if you say you know that, as well, I'll have to kiss you, right here in front of everyone."

Her smile spread. "I know everything about you, Ryan Devaney. Get used to it."

It was tantamount to a dare and they both knew it. Heat flared in his eyes right before his mouth covered hers. This was no coaxing, tentative kiss. It was a crushing, demanding kiss that had her blood turning to fire. The new urgency and neediness turned the kiss even more dangerous than all the others that had gone before. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and Maggie felt the world spin.

The only thing that stopped the kiss from lasting an eternity was the cheer that erupted from the entire bar. Ryan backed away from her as if he'd been burned.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice husky.

Maggie scowled at his words. "Don't you dare apologize," she said.

He grinned at the ferocity of her response. "We'll finish this later," he promised.

"The kiss or the discussion?"

"Probably both," he admitted with a rueful grin.

It was all the opening she needed. Maggie's gaze locked with his. "It could be a good night to close early," she suggested with a wink.

Ryan shook his head, suddenly all practicality and reason, as he grabbed a cloth and began polishing the bar. "Monday-night football."

She'd already learned not to let reason kick in with him. It kept him safe, not alive the way a man should be. He needed to work on his spontaneity.

She glanced around at the sea of mostly familiar faces and said loudly, "Don't any of these people have televisions at home?"

The question was greeted with laughter and a sudden flurry of activity, and the place cleared out in ten minutes flat. Even Maureen had vanished with a promise to come in early to count the receipts in the morning.

"You can sleep in," she said to Ryan with a wink.

After Maureen had gone, locking the door behind her, Ryan gazed around with a stunned expression, then faced Maggie with feigned indignation. "You trying to ruin my business?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Just trying to get your clothes off."

He swallowed hard at that, then turned out all the lights except for the neon shamrock in the window, picked up his unopened gift and grabbed her hand. "Well, then, since it looks as if I have the night off, let's go upstairs and see what we can do about that."

Maggie gave him a considering look. "What's wrong with right here?"

"You want me to strip in the middle of the pub?"

"I'm a risk taker. How about you?"

"The condoms are upstairs."

Maggie hesitated, then glanced around the room with regret. "I'm not that much of a risk taker. Upstairs it is."

"Don't look so sad," Ryan teased. "I'll make it worth your while."

She grinned at him. "I'm counting on it."

Chapter Twelve.

Ryan kept expecting to wake up from a dream. Instead, each brush of Maggie's hands over his chest, each deeply satisfying kiss, felt very real. The roar of his blood, the heat generated by each caress, the demanding need, couldn't possibly have been matched by a mere dream, no matter how sweet.

He opened his eyes, saw the flesh-and-blood Maggie be fore him and knew the greatest sense of satisfaction he'd ever felt in his life. This-she-was real. She was in his arms, just as she was in his heart.

For better or for worse.

Right now, though, he could only think of the positives, of the way the light turned her pale skin a soft gold, the way her curves fit him, the way she came alive with each touch, the way her back arched when he cupped her breast in the palm of his hand.

There was nothing halfway about Maggie. She was open and giving, and demanded as much as she gave.

Ryan lifted his head and gazed into her sea-green eyes. "You are a revelation."

"Oh?" She eyed him with sleepy sensuality. "What were you expecting?"

"Caution. Restraint. A hint of modesty, perhaps."

She laughed. "From me? I've been all but begging for this moment for weeks now. There wasn't much caution or restraint in that."

He gave her a sheepish shrug. "I honestly thought it was all talk."

"Are you disappointed that it wasn't?" she asked, a faint hint of worry in her eyes.

Ryan pressed a kiss at the base of her throat, felt the quick flash of heat beneath his lips. "Absolutely not. An eager woman can be a real turn-on, especially when it's unexpected."

She grinned at that. "Then you won't mind if I do this," she said, reaching for the snap on his jeans. "I think this break has lasted long enough."

Ryan jerked as her knuckles skimmed his abdomen. With her gaze locked with his, she lowered the zipper on his jeans, then slid them down his legs. He kicked them aside.

"Anything else you're anxious to strip off me?" he inquired in a lazy tone, curious to see what she'd do next.

"Those shorts have to go sooner or later," she said with a considering look that sent his temperature soaring. She lifted her gaze to his, a half smile on her lips. "But not just yet."

Ryan couldn't breathe. "Oh?"

"Don't think I don't know the fine art of building antic.i.p.ation, Ryan Devaney. Haven't I been patient for weeks now, while you've been making up your mind? Hasn't it almost driven me to distraction?"

"Really?" he asked, pleased beyond measure that she'd been as anxious as he for this moment. "You've had your revenge, though. You've done your best to torment me every minute."

"Well, of course I have," she said smugly. "Isn't that the point? How else was I to make you want me so desperately you'd forget all your silly reservations?"

His mood sobered at once at the teasing question. "They weren't silly, Maggie. And I still have a slew of them."

She shook her head. "Not tonight, you don't. And tonight is all that matters. One night, Ryan." She grinned. "And then possibly another."

It was the give-an-inch-take-a-mile att.i.tude with which he'd become increasingly familiar, and which had made him increasingly wary.

"I can't promise tomorrow," he said, needing to be clear about that even though he'd begun dreaming of weeks and months from now.

"Have I asked you to?" she inquired lightly.

"No," he admitted. "But you deserve all the promises of tomorrow a man can make."

"If it's right, they'll come in time," she said readily. "For now, I think it's best if we concentrate on the moment."

She lifted her sweater over her head, then shimmied out of her jeans, revealing all the fancy, delicate lace he'd fantasized about. She might tend toward an unremarkable wardrobe of sedate jeans and sweaters, but beneath she clearly indulged her feminine side.

Her body was perfect with its narrow hips, long, long legs and b.r.e.a.s.t.s that filled the cups of her bra to overflowing. He could have stared at her forever, but she was having none of that. She moved closer, looped her arms around his neck and hooked one leg around his, bringing all that satiny skin and heat in contact with his own suddenly burning flesh.

"Make love to me, Ryan," she whispered against his lips. "Now."

He pushed aside the last nagging cautions, lifted her up and settled her on his bed. Then he stripped off his shorts and joined her, making quick work of getting rid of those remaining sc.r.a.ps of lace. For the moment he was content to explore every inch of her with lingering caresses, discovering the secrets of her body, his gaze locked on her expressive face as her arousal grew and her movements turned restless.