“Fly safe.” Brianna jiggled the baby, watching the car until it was out of sight.

It was a short trip to the airport under leaden skies and drizzling rain. Shannon thought back to the day she had landed at the airport that shared her name.

She’d been all nerves and repressed anger. Most of the anger had faded, she realized. But the nerves were still there, jumping now as she considered what this short trip would change in her life.

There was little fuss on their arrival. Shannon decided Rogan was a man who tolerated none when it came to business. In short order they were seated on his private plane with Liam bouncing at the window, pointing out every truck or cart that came into view.

“He’s a traveling man, is Liam.” Maggie settled back, hoping they’d be airborne soon so that she could have a cup of tea. She’d been suffering a great deal more morning queasiness with this pregnancy than she had with her first. And she didn’t care for it.

“It’s wonderful he can have the experience,” Shannon commented. “I always appreciated it.”

“You did a lot of traveling with your parents.” Rogan slipped a hand over Maggie’s, wishing every bit as strongly as she that the morning sickness would run its course.

“My father’s favorite hobby. One of my earliest memories is of arriving at the airport in Rome. The rush and the voices, and the color of it. I guess I was about five.”

The plane began to taxi, and Liam hooted with delight.

“He likes this part best.” Maggie kept a smile glued to her face as the takeoff roiled her stomach. Damn, damn, damn, she thought. She would not throw up the pitiful dry toast she’d choked down for breakfast.

“Me, too.” Shannon leaned over, pressing her cheek to Liam’s so they could share the excitement together. “There it goes, Liam. We’re up with the birds.”

“Birds! Bye. Bye-bye.”

Bye. Shannon sighed a little. Murphy was down there. They hadn’t had their full night together as they’d hoped. Between the trip and the rain and a horse with a split hoof, they’d barely had an hour alone.

And time was running out. She was going to have to think of that very soon. New York wouldn’t wait forever.

“Bloody hell.”

As Shannon looked back, surprised, Maggie tore off her seat belt and bolted out of the cabin. The lavatory door slammed behind her.

“Bloody hell,” Liam repeated, diction for once nearly perfect.

“Is she airsick?” Shannon reached for her own belt, wondering what, if anything, she should do.

“Morning sick.” Rogan cast a troubled look toward the closed door. “It’s plaguing her this time.”

“Should I go see if I can help, or anything?”

“It only makes her madder when you try.” Feeling helpless, Rogan moved his shoulders. “With Liam she had a couple days of queasiness, and that was the end of it. She’s more insulted than anything else that she’s not sailing so easily through this one.”

“I suppose every pregnancy is different.”

“So we’re discovering. She’ll want tea,” he said and started to rise.

“I’ll make it. Really.” She got up quickly, touched a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

“She likes it brutally strong.”

“I know.”

Shannon went into the narrow galley. The plane was very much like its owner, she decided. Sleek, efficient, elegant, and organized. She found several different types of tea and, considering Maggie’s condition, went for the chamomile.

She stopped what she was doing to look around when the door to the lavoratory opened.

“Steadier?”

“Aye.” But Maggie’s voice was grim, somewhat like a warrior who’d just survived another bloody battle. “That ought to do it for today.”

“Go sit down,” Shannon ordered. “You’re still white.”

“A sight better than green.” Maggie sniffed, eyed the pot. “You’re making flowers.”

“It’s good for you. Here.” She handed Maggie a box of crackers she’d found in a cabinet. “Go sit down, Margaret Mary, and nibble on these.”

Too weak to argue, Maggie went back to her seat.

“I’m sorry,” Rogan murmured, slipping an arm around her.

“Don’t expect me to say it’s not your fault.” But she snuggled her head against him and smiled over at Liam, who was busy deciding whether he would draw with or eat the crayon his father had given him. “Do you know what I’m thinking, Rogan?”

“What are you thinking, Margaret Mary?”

“That I strolled through the world’s easiest pregnancy with that little demon there.” She aimed a steely look when Liam lifted the crayon toward his mouth. He grinned and began to attack the coloring book with it instead. “Could be this one’s a bit less comfortable because we’re going to have a sweet-tempered, biddable child who’ll never cause mischief.”

“Hmmm.” He eyed his son, and managed to grab the fat crayon before Liam could draw on the wall of the plane. The boy howled in protest and shoved the coloring book to the floor. “Is that what you’d like?”

Maggie laughed as Liam’s temper rolled through the cabin. “Not on your life.”

Brianna had spoken no less than the truth. The Dublin house was lovely. Tucked behind graceful trees and gardens, it had a beautiful view of the green. The furnishings were old, with both the distinction and the elegance wealth could buy. Chandeliers dripped, floors gleamed, and servants moved with quick and silent efficiency.

Shannon was given a room with a welcoming four-poster bed, a muted Aubusson, and a stunning O’Keefe. She’d no more than freshened up in the bath before a maid had tidily unpacked her bag and set her toiletries on the Chippendale bureau.

She found Maggie waiting for her in the main parlor downstairs. “They’ll be bringing a light meal in,” Maggie told her. “I tend to be starving this time of day after my morning bout.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. God.” Shannon’s eyes widened as they fixed on the sculpture dominating one side of the room. Mesmerized, she walked toward it, her fingers unable to resist one long stroke of the glass.

It was magnificent, erotic, and nearly human in its sinuous limbs and melting features. She could almost see the man and woman, fused together in absolute fulfillment.