She was right about that, he supposed, though he’d never thought about it. He’d had far too few people to care about in his life, and even fewer to care about him. He was sensitive to the bond of love, cherished it for the special and unique gift it was, and knew how critical the loss of it truly could be.
He had no earthly idea how he’d come to that moment, that conversation, that topic. But there he was. It was just as surprising as the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing to forward his personal agenda with her—getting her on his side of the Hamilton project.
He supposed exposing himself, talking about things he’d rather leave unspoken, might have been seen as a tactical maneuver to gain her sympathy and her trust.
But even he wasn’t cold enough, calculating enough, to mine his own past for gain. He’d go to many other lengths before trying that one. Hell, he might even accept defeat first.
“I know what it’s like to have, and to have lost,” he told her. “I’ve seen my share of it. Experienced it. It’s never a good thing.” It was the first lie he’d told her. Not all loss was for the worse. “Not for those left behind, anyway.” That was a half truth, at best.
She stopped rolling out what looked like a slab of rose-colored modeling clay and turned to face him fully. Her gaze was direct, probing, and highly disconcerting. No one ever looked at him like that. “Is that why you do what you do? To help people gain rather than lose?”
It was a valid question. Stunning, because she very well might have a point. But he’d never put it together like that. Mostly because he didn’t spend much time analyzing his past, or himself. “I have a knack for figuring out ways to make things, places, more attractive. When things are eye-catching, they attract attention. It’s a simple law of nature. And it’s…I don’t know. I guess it always seemed quite obvious to me. How to improve things, how to make them more successful. But no one else seemed to see it. I could never figure out why.”
“So it’s like a puzzle to be solved for you.”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”
“Did you do that for your family? Help make the restaurant a success? Is that what launched you in that direction?”
He snorted before he could stop himself. “Hardly. Although it was certainly where I’d first noticed what could be done.”
“So…why not help them?”
“For the very same reason you don’t want my help,” he said, with a dry smile. “They like things just as they are.”
To her credit, she looked at least a little abashed, and nodded to concede the point. “But they are still doing well.”
“On their own scale of measure, I suppose, aye.”
“But not yours.”
He didn’t respond to that, simply held her gaze steadily. She knew the answer to her question.
“So, do you ever think their logic might apply here? That we’re fine the way we are?”
“Cork, and my family’s business there, or, more to the point, all of the family businesses, are doing fine without my help. Aye, that is the truth of it. I’d thought to take all of our independent restaurants and pubs and unify them.”
“You mean, like making a chain out of them?”
“As you term it here, something like that, yes. The Gallaghers could have doubled their successes and provided more security for their countless offspring. Were any of them truly visionary, they could have taken it far, far beyond that.”
“But they didn’t want to. And, maybe more to the point, they didn’t want you doing it for them.”
“Correct on both scores.” He purposely broke the intimate link their connected gazes seemed to have forged and turned his attention to the rolling cart. “Now, what can I do to help?” he asked, blatantly changing the subject.
“I’m sorry if my questions trespassed on territory you’d rather leave untouched.”
“’Tis all right. But perhaps we’ve wasted enough time and should be seein’ to getting these wee cakes frosted. I used to be a fair hand in the kitchen when I was a boy, so if you give me a bit of direction, I imagine I can do a passable job.”
She didn’t respond right away, and he could feel her gaze on him. It should have felt awkward or uncomfortable. But it was neither. He realized he felt comfortable with her in a way he’d never felt with anyone else. He wasn’t entirely sure why. She was hardly nonthreatening, certainly not naïve. She was clever, smart, and very likely to poke and prod at things he’d rather she didn’t. She would not be easily steered and definitely not readily controlled.
Yet, he’d never found himself so drawn to a woman, so swiftly and easily smitten. Maybe it was because of the challenge she presented. Not just from a business perspective, but also from the personal one. He never let anyone in. Not ever. No exceptions. Yet, he was falling all over himself to spill out each and every one of his deepest, darkest secrets. And he had more than the average share.
Perhaps it was because her interest was sincere; she truly wanted to understand him. He didn’t feel judged when he offered up an answer. Instead, he simply felt more clearly understood. That was…well, quite an intoxicating thing. Something he hadn’t realized he even wanted for himself. He’d never much cared what anyone thought of him, only of his ability to meet their business needs.
It led him to wonder what her needs were…and if there was any chance in hell he could be the one to meet them.
6
They’d been working practically side by side for several hours. She had a rolling rack full of cheerful, frosted cupcakes to show for their efforts, each decorated with a festive holiday touch. It was past midnight, and there was still an hour or two of work left, providing he stayed. Melody wondered why he had. But she hadn’t asked. In fact, from the time he’d so abruptly changed the subject to the work at hand, that had been the only thing they’d talked about. Most of the time, they’d worked in total silence.
It should have been awkward. It had been a very…unusual evening between them. But it hadn’t been awkward at all. Far from it. She wouldn’t go so far as to say it had been comfortable; his nearness was far too disconcerting for that. But they’d found a good working rhythm almost effortlessly. He’d been right about having a natural sense for working with his hands, working with food.
She’d noticed that despite the strength in his big, scarred, callused hands, he could be quite gentle, precise even. As the night wore on, she’d given him more of the intricate work, short of the actual details he simply wouldn’t know how to do without a great deal of practice. He’d turned out to be far more help than she’d expected him to be.
Still, as distractions went, he was a mammoth one. Not in terms of getting work done…but certainly in terms of his effect on her.
Griffin Gallagher wasn’t someone who could traipse into, then back out of, her life without leaving an indelible mark. Even after one night spent together, she’d remember him in exquisite, unforgettable detail. Eyes like his could haunt, that accent would certainly resonate inside her thoughts and memories…and his kiss—she couldn’t think about it if she had any hope of completing the highly stylized decorating she was attempting.
The man she’d begun to know, the few layers she’d peeled back, had been tantalizing to her. There was depth, and thoughtfulness, and a great sense of purpose. And a background he was clearly ill at ease talking about. There was a roughness and a refinement to him. She’d bet the former had come first, which meant he’d had to work hard to achieve the latter. He was complicated and complex, and he intrigued the hell out of her. The chemistry