Tears of the Moon by Nora Roberts

think far too much of yourself, Shawn Gallagher. If I want to be with a man, with him I’ll be. You’ve nothing to say about it. It may come as a shock to you, but I’ve had sex before, and I like it. I’ll have it again when I please.”
    She might as well have plowed the business end of a sledgehammer into his gut. “You—who . . .”
    â€œThat’s a matter of my concern,” she interrupted with a smug look in her eye. “And none of yours. Now let go of me. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
    â€œWell, I’ve plenty more to say to you.” But he couldn’t think of a thing, not with images of Brenna wrapped around some faceless man burning into his brain.
    She tossed back her head, and her eyes burned once more into his. “Do you want to have sex with me or not?”
    Truth or lie? He was suddenly certain that either answer would send him straight to hell. But he thought the lie safer. “No.”
    â€œThen that’s the end of it.” Humiliated, furious, she shoved away. Then—perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was just need, but she acted before she thought.
    In one easy leap, she was in his arms, her legs locked around his waist, her mouth fused to his. She thought she heard Betty bark—once, twice, three times in rapid succession, almost like a laugh. She clung like a bur when Shawn staggered, then bit, not so lightly, his bottom lip. Someone moaned, she didn’t know or care who, and she poured everything she had into that fierce and hot mating of lips.
    She’d caught him by surprise. That was why he didn’t shake her loose. Of course it was. It was simply an instinctive reaction to grip that wonderfully tight bottom in his hands, then to let them slide up her back and get lost in her hair.
    And that quick intake of breath had been shock. It wasn’t his fault that the scent and flavor of her assaulted him and because of it, made his head spin.
    He had to stop. For her sake, he had to stop this now . . . in just a moment. Sooner or later.
    The wind spun around them in chilly ribbons. The sun buried itself behind clouds, shimmering out fragile light as a soft, soft rain began to fall. He all but felt the blood draining downward out of his head, leaving it empty but for the image of carrying her back inside and up the stairs so he could tumble her into bed and have more.
    Then she was shoving him again, jumping down. Through the lust clouding his vision, he saw her sharp sneer. “I thought you should have a sample of what you’ve turned away.”
    While he stood there, aroused beyond speech, she brushed off the sleeve of her shirt. “I’ll have a look at your car when I have a bit of time to spare. You’d best get down to the village. You’re running late for work.”
    He didn’t speak when she strolled away, and was still standing in the quiet rain when she and the yellow dog disappeared over the rise.

“You’re late,” Aidan said the minute Shawn came in the kitchen door of the pub.
    â€œThen fire me or get out of my way.”
    At the unusually surly response Aidan lifted his eyebrows, watching as Shawn wrenched open the refrigerator and started pulling out eggs and milk and meat. “It’s hard to fire a man who owns as much of the business as I do myself.”
    Shawn banged a pot onto the stove. “Then buy me out, why don’t you?”
    When Darcy pushed into the kitchen, Aidan held up a hand, shook his head, and motioned her back. She didn’t look pleased about it, but she stepped back out again.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œNothing’s the matter. I’ve things on my mind and work to do.”
    â€œI’ve never known you not to be able to work and run your mouth at the same time.”
    â€œI’ve nothing to say, and meat pies to make. What the hell’s with women, anyway?” he demanded, spinning away from the