Stitches in Time

Chapter One

“Eight hundred, eighty-one Euros?
Did I hear you right?” Liam
Finnerty
couldn’t quite believe his ears. That tiny scrap of a tapestry—torn from a much larger work, frayed, stained with who knows what, and not much bigger than an oversized postcard—cost how much? “That’s over a thousand U.S. dollars!”

“I know. You don’t need to make such a big deal of it.” Maggie’s exasperated sigh could be heard throughout the antique store. “This is all that’s left of the castle tapestry. Look, out of the entire picture, only the lucky leprechaun is left. All I said was that was that it wasn’t a lot to pay for a piece that old.”

Liam
Finnerty
looked at the petite woman beside him and wondered for the millionth time just why he needed to bring her to Ireland with him on this trip. Liam hadn’t exactly been given much say in the matter. Maggie was the boss’s daughter and he was expected to teach her his job. But still. The woman had done little but sit in surly silence on the plane all the way across the ocean, and, since their arrival in Dublin, had done little but complain. Sure, she was
cute,
with deep brown eyes a man could fall into and never want to find his way out again. Sure, the woman had auburn hair that glinted with golden highlights, but she kept it curled tight in that damn knot. How was a man to know whether it was long or short? And sure, she had a figure that looked terrific in the tailored suits she always wore; she even managed to make low-heeled, sensible shoes look sexy. But Maggie Andrew’s alabaster skin came wrapped in an invisible shell of professionalism that, so far, Liam
Finnerty
had been unable to crack.

Maggie Andrews might be the daughter of the company president, but she prided herself on the fact that she had worked her way up through the rungs of corporate life. Her father told her she would take over the company when he retired, but that a good leader knew every single aspect of the business and learning Liam’s job had been the next rung she needed to climb. When her father told her she needed to accompany the overbearing man to the Emerald Isles, however, she almost quit right there. Yes, he was incredibly handsome, with broad, muscular shoulders hidden under his custom-made Italian suit. She noticed the jet-black hair that curled around his ears and piercing blue eyes that saw through her every trick, every shortcut she tried to make in doing the job. He was as bad as her father in that way, never letting her get away with doing anything other than her best.

“Maggie, me dear, you get paid a salary—you buy it if you want it so badly.” Liam decided he was not about to be pushed around by the boss’s daughter—no matter how cute she was. He was not in the habit of buying expensive presents for women he barely knew. And he already knew this one as much as he wanted to.

“You’re as American as I am, so you can stop affecting the Irish accent,” she shot back at him, her anger building. “I’m not asking you to buy it for me. And for your information, I do not get paid for what I do. My father is old school; believing I should live at home, learn the job, and take over the business when he’s good and ready to leave it to me.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. Truth was, if her older brother hadn’t been killed in that motorcycle accident, she would have already gone on to a career of her own choosing. Forced by her sense of familial obligation to set aside her dreams and instead learn the business, she had mastered every level in the company, while still on an allowance. Yes, it was a generous allowance, but her father insisted that she not receive a
paycheck
. That was a direct result of Thomas’ spending habits—and his death. Tom had lived hard and played hard, and had died as a result. Now his sister paid the price. On an allowance of a thousand dollars per month, Maggie could not afford such an extravagance as this wonderful piece of art.

“Never mind.”
Maggie turned and stalked away. She didn’t want Liam
Finnerty
to see her frustration and anger with her father—it wasn’t professional. Neither were the tears that threatened to fall. In another place and another time, Liam would have been someone she would have wanted to get to know in more than a professional sense. But her commitment to her father and to the company left little room for romantic entanglements. Her jaw in a hard line, she walked to the other end of the store to put as much distance as she could between herself and the man she was forced to work with.

“Now, can’t ye see the poor girl’s
hurtin
’?”

Liam turned, prepared to blast the wizened old proprietor for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, except the aisle behind him was empty. Frowning, he turned in a circle, trying to determine who had spoken.

“Sure, an’ ye can’t see what’s in front of
yer
nose.
Lookin
’ down from that great height, I suppose. Probably miss most of us little folk ‘cause
ye’re
always
lookin
’ only at what’s right in front of ye, ‘stead of
bendin
’ down to see what’s hidden in plain sight.”

Liam looked toward his shoes, half expecting a fairy he didn’t believe in to appear before his eyes. But no dwarf, real or imagined appeared to bedevil him. A loud
snort
of laughter made him peer at the tapestry again, the
colors
bright in the dim light of the antique shop. He jumped back when the cloth leprechaun waved at him.

“Fine,
strappin
’ boy ye are!” The little man took Liam’s measure even as the American stared at the impossible.

“You’re not really talking to me. I only had that one cup of Irish coffee when we got off the plane, but the whiskey in Ireland is known to be strong. That’s it, just a wee bit too much whiskey.” He rubbed his eyes. “My God, the woman was right, I
am
beginning to talk like one of them and we’ve only been in the country two hours!”

“That’s ‘cause Ireland is the country in
yer
blood, boy-o. I couldn’t talk to
ye
if it weren’t.”

“I’m going crazy, that’s what it is.
Stress.
Stress and that blasted woman!”

“Ah, yes, and a beauty
ye’ve
got there as well. But a bit of a temper, I see.” Liam watched in amazement as the leprechaun sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the bole of a tree. The leaves overhead had been ripped off when the piece was torn away; in fact, all that remained was the outside border on two sides, a rock, the tree—and the saucy-looking leprechaun.

“She’s not mine, thank you very much.” Of course, that hadn’t been for a lack of trying on his part. The woman made his fingers itch to rip off that hard shell of hers, to break the professionalism she hid behind.
That little slip
of the tongue there—about not being paid? He hadn’t known that. ‘Course it was easy to see why she’d agree to such an arrangement; the woman stood to be very rich when she inherited the company from Daddy. Still, Liam knew she maintained her own apartment outside the city; that showed an independent spirit. Still, it galled him to find out she was worse off financially than he was, president’s daughter or not.

“Ah, I see
yer
heart has moved a little. That’s a good thing, me boy-o, ‘cause that’s the girl
yer
goin
’ to marry!”

Liam’s incredulous look was partly because of the absurdity of the leprechaun’s statement and partly because he was actually carrying on a conversation with a piece of cloth. The leprechaun grinned and Liam could swear he saw a twinkle in the little man’s eyes.

“Oh, face it, man.
Ye’ve
undressed that woman so often in
yer
dreams
ye’re
half-convinced ye already know the sweetness she’s covering up.”

Liam nodded and then recovered. “Stop it. I am not about to stand here discussing my boss’s daughter with a scrap of fabric.”

“Ah, the boss’s daughter is it?
All the
better, me boy-o, all the better!” The
leprechaun crooked his finger, and before Liam could stop himself he was leaning down to hear
what the leprechaun whispered in his ear. “And ye already know I’m more than a scrap of fabric, lad. Ye find the rest of me tapestry, and I’ll get you that girl.”

“You’re serious.” Liam stared at the frayed edges; the unique Celtic knot border design would make matching it to its mate easy—if he knew where to look for it. With a start, he shook his head as if coming out of a dream.

“No. I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to a leprechaun. Leprechauns don’t exist, and neither do talking tapestries. Sorry. This is that Irish coffee talking, that’s all. I need to go now.”

He turned to leave and took a resolute step forward. Risking a glance backward at the tapestry, his relief was palpable. The small piece of cloth looked just as it had when they had first walked over to it. Quickly he walked away from it, searching for his companion. It was time to leave this place before he fancied the statues talked to him as well.

For several moments he searched the small shop; where could she have gotten? Circling around and weaving through the various items for sale, he stopped short when he finally found her. She was standing before that blasted piece of cloth again, her slender finger brushing along the frayed edges, a faraway look in her deep brown eyes. In an unguarded moment, the mask of the professional woman had slipped, revealing a creature of poetic beauty underneath. Maggie’s face had
softened,
the hard stress lines had disappeared. Sadness emanated from her very soul and Liam recognized her yearning as a longing for something out of her reach.

But even as he watched, she transformed again, her hand dropping to her side and her posture becoming ramrod straight once more. He saw the president’s daughter take a deep breath and raise her chin, although he thought he detected a slight hesitation as she did so. With a final wistful little smile at the piece of fabric, the thoroughly professional woman turned away from it, her eyes searching the store for him.

Liam bent down quickly, his heart beating hard. Could he ever hope to break that tough hide of hers that encased such a vulnerable heart? Was it something he even wanted to try? The leprechaun’s words came back to him. “You find the rest of me tapestry and I’ll get ye that girl.” Well, he still thought that coffee had been way too strong for his American system, but if she wanted that scrap of cloth, he’d buy it for her if only to see the woman inside her once more.

Maggie had wandered out of the shop in her search for Liam, obviously getting more and more frustrated with not finding him. That suited him just fine. Grabbing the tapestry from the wall, he ignored the tinkle of laughter that emanated from between his fingers and gave the cloth and his credit card to the proprietor. The sale seemed to make the man very happy; Liam briefly wondered if the old man behind the counter heard the leprechaun’s voice as well. Liam was not about to embarrass himself by asking.

Arranging to have the tapestry delivered to the hotel did not take long and then Liam sauntered out of the store, his hands in his pockets and whistling an Irish tune. He knew his nonchalance would bother her and so he took his time to make her wait for him.

Impatient, Maggie stood outside the door tapping her foot. Part of her was curious about what he had found to purchase in that place, but she was not about to ask. She never should have drawn his attention to that tapestry to begin with.

“It’s been long
enough,
our rooms should be ready at the hotel.” Not looking to see if he even followed, Maggie turned on her heel and stalked off down the street.

The trip over the ocean had been unusual in that they had landed in Dublin almost an hour ahead of schedule, which, in turn, meant their rooms at the hotel were not ready. After blistering the manager and leaving their luggage, she had resigned herself to spending more time in the company of her
traveling
companion. Among the single women in the company, she knew Liam was considered a true catch, and she could not deny the man’s attractiveness. But she had a job to do and was not about to let her own personal desires get in the way of learning what she was here to learn. Still she had been grateful for Liam’s suggestion that they spend their unexpected gift of time exploring the block rather than just sitting in the lobby waiting for their rooms.

Now, however, she just wanted a long soak in a hot bath.

Liam let her lead the way, content to walk a few steps behind her and enjoy the view. Oh, but he would love to get his hands on that fine, firm ass of hers. Even though her jacket always partially covered that delicious fullness, Liam let his mind imagine how those twin cheeks must taper to her waist. Daddy’s little girl may or may not be a virgin—she had spent several years away from home while going to college—but he doubted anyone had as yet taken that ass the way it cried out to be taken.

But his was not the only appreciative glance Maggie received. The hotel was only around the corner, yet Liam saw at least three men looking their fill at the swing in her backyard. He grinned. She might choose to ignore the sexpot inside her, but that part of her had ways of making itself known. When one of the men moved up close to Maggie, however, Liam’s protective shield locked into place without conscious thought. Lengthening his stride, he closed the distance between the two of them and put his arm around her waist.

She stopped dead in the street and he was hard pressed to push her forward. He did
not
like the look in the predator’s eye. “Just come along, dear. The hotel is right here.” He almost shoved her through the building’s quaint revolving door, turning to eyeball the man who had been about to approach Maggie. The man grinned, nodded, and continued on his way. With a glare, Liam turned and walked his half circle around to meet a very angry Maggie in the lobby.