He dropped the cigarette on the drive, crushed it out. “I’d have come after you, when I’d reckoned you’d had time to settle.”

“It’s not going to work. Part of me is almost sorry, because I’m beginning to think you’re one in a million. But it’s not going to work.”

“Why don’t you come over here and kiss me, Shannon?” The invitation was light, friendly, and confident. “Then tell me that nonsense again.”

“No.” She said it firmly, then a laugh bubbled out. “That kind of cockiness should irritate the hell out of me.” She tossed her hair back. “I’m going.”

“Come inside, have a cup of tea. I’ll wash up.” He stepped forward, but took care not to touch her. “Then I’ll kiss you.”

The shout of joy had him checking. Looking around, he spotted Liam scrambling up the driveway. With an effort, Murphy put desire on hold.

“Well, here’s a likely lad come to visit.” Murphy crouched down for the noisy kiss. “How’s it all going then, Liam? I’d haul you up, boy-o,” he told Liam as the child lifted his arms. “But your mother’d have my skin for it.”

“How about me?”

Liam shifted affections and climbed happily into Shannon’s arms. She settled him onto her hip as Rogan turned into the drive.

“He’s like a bullet out of a gun when he gets within ten yards of this place.” Rogan lifted a brow as he scanned the little car. “How’s this going?”

“A great deal more than slow. Shannon was just coming in for a cup of tea. Will you have a cup?”

“We wouldn’t mind that, would we, Liam?”

“Tea,” Liam said, grinning, and kissed Shannon dead on the mouth.

“It’s the idea of the cake that might go with it that makes him affectionate,” Rogan said dryly. “It’s you I was coming to see, Shannon. You’ve saved me a bit of a walk.”

“Oh.” It looked as though she were stuck now. Taking it philosophically, she carried Liam into the house.

“Go on into the kitchen,” Murphy told them. “I need to clean up.”

While Liam chattered in earnest gibberish, Shannon settled into the kitchen with Rogan. It surprised her to see him fill the kettle, measure out tea, heat the pot. She supposed it shouldn’t have, but he was so . . . smooth, she decided. His clothes might have been casual, but everything about him spoke of money, privilege, and power.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said quickly, before she could change her mind.

“Of course.”

“What is a man like you doing here?”

He smiled, so quickly, so stunningly, she had to fight to keep her mouth from dropping open. That smile, she realized, was a major weapon.

“Not an office building,” he began, “not a theater or a French restaurant in sight.”

“Exactly. Not that it’s not a beautiful spot, but I keep expecting someone to say ‘cut,’ then the screen will go blank and I’ll realize I’ve been walking through a movie.”