“Take your tea,” Brianna said kindly.

“Thanks.”

When Shannon left, Brianna laid a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Don’t poke at her too much, Grayson. She’s so troubled.”

“She’d feel better if she stopped holding so much inside.” With a half laugh he turned his head to press his lips to Brianna’s hand. “I ought to know.”

“She needs time, as you did.” She sighed, long and deep. “Murphy. Who would have thought it?”

Chapter
Eleven

It wasn’t as if Shannon was avoiding going out to the standing stones. She’d simply overslept. And if she’d had dreams, she thought as she picked at her late breakfast of coffee and muffins, it was hardly a surprise.

Trifle before bed and a legend by a master story spinner equaled a restless night.

Still, the clarity of them worried her. Alone, she could admit she’d felt the dream, not just envisioned it. She felt the rough blanket at her back, the prickle of grass, the heat and weight of the man’s body on hers. In hers.

She blew out a long breath, pressing a hand to her stomach where the memory of the dream brought an answering tug of longing.

She’d dreamed of making love with the man with Murphy’s face—yet not his face. They’d been in the stone circle, with the stars swimming overhead and the moon white, like a beacon. She’d heard the hoot of an owl, felt warm breath coming quickly against her cheek. Her hands knew the feel of those muscles, bunching and straining. And she’d known, even as her body had erupted in climax, that this would be the last time.

It hurt to think of it, hurt so that now, awake, aware, the tears still threatened and burned bitterly behind her eyes.

She lifted her coffee again. She was going to have to snap out of it, she warned herself, or join the ranks of her associates in the line at the therapist’s office.

The commotion at the back door had her composing her face. Whoever it was, Shannon was grateful for the diversion.

But not grateful enough to be pleased when she saw it was Maggie.

“I’m letting you in, aren’t I?” Maggie said to Con. “You needn’t push.”

The dog burst through the open door, raced under the table, then dropped down with a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m sure you’re welcome.” Maggie’s easy smile chilled several degrees when she spotted Shannon alone in the kitchen. “Morning. I’ve brought some berries by for Brie.”

“She had some errands. Gray’s working upstairs.”

“I’ll leave them.” At home, Maggie crossed to put the bag in the refrigerator. “Did you enjoy your meal with Murphy?”

“News certainly travels.” Shannon couldn’t keep the annoyance at bay. “I’m surprised you don’t know what he served.”

With a smile as thin as her own temper, Maggie turned back. “Oh, it would have been chicken. He has a hand at roasting, not that he makes a habit of cooking for women.” She took off her cap, stuffed it in her pocket. “But he’s taken with you, isn’t he?”