When he didn’t leave his room, he would always find a tray outside his door. And when he did, there was a meal and some new company in the parlor. Most stayed only a night, which suited him. Gray had always preferred quick, uncomplicated contacts.

But one afternoon he came down, stomach rumbling, and tracked Brianna to the front garden.

“Are we empty?”

She glanced up from under the brim of her garden hat. “For a day or two, yes. Are you ready for a meal?”

“It can wait until you’re finished. What are you doing there?”

“Planting. I want pansies here. Their faces always look so arrogant and smug.” She sat back on her heels. “Have you heard the cuckoo calling, Grayson?”

“A clock?”

“No.” She laughed and patted earth tenderly around roots. “I heard the cuckoo call when I walked with Con early this morning, so we’re in for fine weather. And there were two magpies chattering, which means prosperity will follow.” She bent back to her work. “So, perhaps another guest will find his way here.”

“Superstitious, Brianna. You surprise me.”

“I don’t see why. Ah, there’s the phone now. A reservation.”

“I’ll get it.” As he was already on his feet, he beat her to the parlor phone. “Blackthorn Cottage. Arlene? Yeah, it’s me. How’s it going, beautiful?”

With a faint frown around her mouth, Brianna stood in the doorway and wiped her hands on the rag she’d tucked in her waistband.

“Any place I hang my hat,” he said in response to her question of whether he was feeling at home in Ireland. When he saw Brianna start to step back and fade from the room, he held out a hand in invitation. “What’s it like in New York?” He watched Brianna hesitate, step forward. Gray linked his fingers with hers and began to nuzzle her knuckles. “No, I haven’t forgotten that was coming up. I haven’t given it much thought. If the spirit moves me, sweetheart.”

Though Brianna tugged on her hand and frowned, he only grinned and kept his grip firm.

“I’m glad to hear that. What’s the deal?” He paused, listening and smiling into Brianna’s eyes. “That’s generous, Arlene, but you know how I feel about long-term commitments. I want it one at a time, just like always.”

As he listened, he made little sounds of agreement, hums of interest, and nipped his way down to Brianna’s wrist. It didn’t do his ego any harm to feel her pulse scrambling.

“It sounds more than fine to me. Sure, push the Brits a bit further if you think you can. No, I haven’t seen the London Times. Really? Well, that’s handy, isn’t it? No, I’m not being a smartass. It’s great. Thanks. I—what? A fax? Here?” He snickered, leaned forward, and gave Brianna a quick, friendly kiss on the mouth. “Bless you, Arlene. No, just send it through the mail, my ego can wait. Right back at you, beautiful. I’ll be in touch.”

He said his good-byes and hung up with Brianna’s hand still clutched in his.

When she spoke, the chill in her voice lowered the temperature of the room by ten degrees. “Don’t you think it’s rude to be flirting with one woman on the phone and kissing another?”

His already pleased expression brightened. “Jealous, darling?”

“Certainly not.”

“Just a little.” He caught her other hand before she could evade and brought both to his lips. “Now that’s progress. I almost hate to tell you that was my agent. My very married agent, who though dear to my heart and my bankbook is twenty years older than I and the proud grandmother of three.”

“Oh.” She hated to feel foolish almost as much as she hated to feel jealous. “I suppose you want that meal now.”

“For once, food’s the last thing on my mind.” What was on it was very clear in his eyes as he tugged her closer. “You look really cute in that hat.”

She turned her head just in time to avoid his mouth. His lips merely skimmed over her cheek. “Was it good news then, her calling?”

“Very good. My publisher liked the sample chapters I sent them a couple weeks ago and made an offer.”

“That’s nice.” He seemed hungry enough to her, the way he was nibbling at her ear. “I suppose I thought you sold books before you wrote them, like a contract.”

“I don’t do multiples. Makes me feel caged in.” So much so that he had just turned down a spectacular offer for three projected novels. “We deal one at a time, and with Arlene in my corner, we deal nicely.”

A warmth was spreading in her stomach as he worked his way leisurely down her neck. “Five million you told me. I can’t imagine so much.”

“Not this time.” He cruised up her jaw. “Arlene strong-armed them up to six point five.”

Stunned, she jerked back. “Million? American dollars?”

“Sounds like Monopoly money, doesn’t it?” He chuckled. “She’s not satisfied with the British offer—and since my current book is steady at number one on the London Times, she’s squeezing them a bit.” Absently he nipped her by the waist, pressed his lips to her brow, her temple. “Sticking Point opens in New York next month.”

“Opens?”

“Mmm. The movie. Arlene thought I might like to go to the premiere.”

“Of your own movie. You must.”

“There’s no musts. Seems like old news. Flashback’s now.”

His lips teased the corner of her mouth and her breath began to hitch. “Flashback?”

“The book I’m working on. It’s the only one that matters.” His eyes narrowed, lost focus. “He has to find the book. Shit, how could I have missed that? It’s the whole thing.” He jerked back, dragged a hand through his hair. “Once he finds it, he won’t have any choice, will he? That’s what makes it personal.”

Every nerve ending in her body was humming from the imprint of his lips. “What are you talking about? What book?”

“Deliah’s diary. That’s what links past and present. There’ll be no walking away after he reads it. He’ll have to—” Gray shook his head, like a man coming out, or moving into a trance. “I’ve got to get to work.”

He was halfway up the stairs, and Brianna’s heart was still thudding dully. “Grayson?”