"How?"
She smiled and he felt the powerful slam of it hit him like a sledgehammer.
"Why, First Sergeant Reilly, if some gorgeous woman shows up, I'll just throw myself on you like you were a live grenade."
He looked her up and down slowly, completely. Then he shook his head. "Terry Evans … that kind of help and I'm a dead man."
* * *
Two
« ^ »
Summer in South Carolina could bring a grown man—even a Marine—to his knees weeping.
And September, though technically the beginning of fall, was actually summer's last chance to drum every citizen of the South into the dirt. Today, summer was doing a hell of a job of it.
Aidan paused, tipped his head back and stared up at the sweeping expanse of blue sky, looking for a cloud. Any cloud. But there was nothing to blot the heat of the sun and no shade nearby in the alley behind the bookstore.
He could have worked inside, but being out in the heat, away from Terry Evans made him feel just a little safer. Not that he was generally a man who ran for cover. Actually he was just the opposite. He liked the thrill of a risk. The punch of adrenaline when it raced through him. The sensation of balancing on the fine edge between life and death.
And he was smart enough to know that it wasn't adrenaline he felt when he looked at Donna's friend Terry. It was heat, pure and simple. The kind of heat he had to avoid for three more long, agonizing weeks.
"Donna," he muttered, "what in the hell were you thinking?"
He got no answer, of course, so he focused instead on the pile of wooden planks in front of him. "Just do the job, idiot."
Aidan had learned early the importance of focusing on the task at hand, despite the distractions around him. In the Corps, that focus could mean the difference between life and death.
And God knew, Terry Evans was a distraction.
The woman's laugh rang out a little too often. And her voice, when she spoke to the kids streaming in and out of the specialty bookstore, was soft and dreamy. Just the kind of voice a man liked to hear coming from the pillow beside his.
"Yeah. Concentrating." Aidan muttered the words as he slammed a hammer down onto a nail head. The solid slam against the wood jolted up his arm and hopefully, would shake thoughts of Terry out of his mind.
He couldn't believe his miserable luck. He'd thought riding out the last three weeks of this bet would be easy, as long as he was here, in the bookstore. Actually he'd thought for sure that Donna would be closing the place while she was gone. Giving him a peaceful place to work and keep his head down until the bet was over.
But, no. Instead of peace and quiet, he got a Dolly Parton lookalike. Good thing he preferred brunettes—or he'd be a dead man already.
"How's it going?"
Her voice, from too close by, startled him, and Aidan slammed the hammer down onto his thumb. Pain streaked through him and stars danced in front of his closed eyes as he grabbed his injured thumb and squeezed. He clenched his jaw, trapping every cuss word he'd ever learned—and there were many of them—locked inside him.
Shifting a look at her, he nearly groaned again. Not from pain, this time. But from the absolute misery of having to look at a gorgeous woman and realize that he couldn't do what he'd normally do. Which was, offer to buy her a drink. Turn on the Reilly charm. Work his magic until he had her right where he wanted her.
In the dark.
In his bed.
Naked.
Oh, yeah, Aidan thought, his gaze locking on her sharp green eyes. The next three weeks were going to be a nightmare.
His thumb throbbed in time with the steady thud of his heart. While he stared at her, she cocked her hip, folded her arms beneath her truly impressive breasts and watched him with a benign look that told him she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.
"You know," she said finally, shaking her hair back from her face as a soft sea wind darted down the alley. "If you keep looking at women like that, you'll never last another three weeks."
He grinned and the pain in his thumb eased up a little. "Yeah? Irresistible, am I?"
She moved to the next step down from the porch, then sat down, her skirt hiking up, giving Aidan a better glimpse of her legs.
"Oh, I think I'll be able to restrain myself."
"Good to know."
"Besides," she pointed out, "you're not really interested in me."
"I'm not?" Intrigued, he forgot about his aching thumb. Hooking the claw tip of his hammer through a belt loop on his jeans, he planted one hand on the back wall of the bookstore, crossed one foot over the other and looked down at her.
"Nope." She smoothed her palms over her dark green skirt and demurely slid both legs to the side, crossing her feet neatly at the ankles.
A demure Dolly Parton.
Great.
"Face it, Aidan—I can call you Aidan, right?"
"That's my name."
"Well, face it, Aidan, you're a starving man and I'm a hamburger."
He snorted, looked her up and down thoroughly, then lifted his gaze back to hers. "Darlin', you're no hamburger. You're a steak."
She smiled. "Well, thanks. But like I said, you're a starving man. A man like you? No sex for nine weeks?" She shook her head slowly, still smiling. "I'm thinking that even hamburger would start looking like filet mignon."
"You have looked into a mirror lately, right?"
"Every day."
"And you see hamburger."
"I see eyes that are too big, a mouth that's too wide, a nose that turns up at the end, a scar on my eyebrow and a chin that has a stupid dent in it."
Amazing, Aidan thought. He'd been with enough women to know when one of them was fishing for compliments. And to be honest, most of them never had to fish around him. He was always the first to compliment a woman on her hair, her shoes, her smile … but this woman wasn't fishing.
"You know what I see?" He pushed away from the wall, hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans and looked down at her with a critical eye.
"Steak?"
"Grass-green eyes, a wide, luscious mouth, a pixie nose, an intriguing little blip in a perfectly curved eyebrow and a lickable dimple in a softly rounded chin."
She tipped her head to one side, studied him for a long moment, then blew out a breath. "Oh, you're very good."
"Yeah. And you're quite the filet yourself."
She held out one hand to him and Aidan took it. His fingers closed around hers and he could have sworn he felt the zing of something hot and lusty shoot straight from her fingertips to the area of his body most neglected lately.
When she was standing, Terry let go of his hand and rubbed her fingers together to dissipate the lingering heat she felt on her skin. "You know, it's a wonder you've lasted nine weeks," she said.
"Is that right?"
Forcing a laugh she didn't quite feel, she pointed out, "Hello? You just made a move on the woman who's supposed to be helping you win the stupid bet."
He scowled a bit.
"Seriously. You just can't help yourself, can you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Flirting." She absently brushed off the seat of her skirt with both hands, then stepped up onto the porch again. Grabbing hold of the doorknob, she gave it a twist, then turned to look at Aidan Reilly again. "Flirting is like breathing to you. You do it without even thinking about it."
"I wasn't flirting," he argued, grabbing the hammer off his belt loop.
"Please. 'Grass-green eyes? Lickable dimple?'"
"I was just—"
"Making a move," she finished for him and shook her head slowly. "And really? It was so blatant. Not subtle at all."
"Is that right?"
"Oh, yeah," Terry said and opened the door. "Does that kind of thing usually work for you? I mean, are women really that gullible? That easy to maneuver?"
He frowned up at her and Terry smiled inwardly. The man had more than enough confidence. She hadn't shattered him any
. Maybe a couple of dings in a healthy ego, but she was pretty sure he could take it. Besides, if he ever found out how his words had hit her—about the fires still licking at her insides—well, let's just say, he wouldn't be winning any bets.
And Terry wasn't here for the scenery. She wasn't here to get lucky with a Marine, either. She was here to help out her dearest friend. Then she'd be going back home.
"I don't 'maneuver' women," he said tightly.
"Sure you do," Terry quipped. "You just don't usually get caught doing it."
"You're not an easy woman, are you?"
"Depends on what you mean by easy."
"Not what you think I mean," he countered.
"I guess we'll see, won't we? In the next few weeks, that is."
He inhaled sharply, deeply and his scowl went just a little darker. "Exactly why did you come out here, anyway? Just to get a few digs in?"
"Actually," she said, pushing the door open, "I came to see if you wanted some iced tea."
"Oh." He balanced the hammer in one palm and slapped it rhythmically against his hand. "Well then, that'd be great. Thanks."
"It's in the fridge. Help yourself whenever you want it." She took a step inside, then stopped when he spoke up again.
"You're not going to bring it out here?"
Shaking her head again, Terry smiled. "Apparently you're used to women who fetch and carry. Sorry to disappoint you."
He gave her a slow smile. "I'll let you know when I'm disappointed, darlin'."
Terry sucked in a gulp of air, squared her shoulders and stepped into the air-conditioned haven of the small kitchen at the back of the store. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it and stared up at the ceiling. "Damn it, Donna. What have you gotten me into?"
* * *
The next couple of days were … interesting. If Terry could have looked at them objectively, she might have considered them an excellent exercise in self-control.
Instead she was just a little on edge and wondering how she was going to get through the next three weeks. Not only was Aidan Reilly an incredibly sexy man, but he was also a sexually starved man. As for Terry … she couldn't remember her last orgasm.
She'd done her share of dating—God, she hated that word—in the last few years. But being willing to go to dinner and a play with a man was a far cry from wanting him in her bed. She was picky, and she was the first to admit it. She didn't do one-night stands, and she couldn't bring herself to invest in a long-term relationship, so that pretty much left her out of the bedroom Olympics.
Which didn't really bother her most of the time. She kept busy. She was on more charitable boards than she could count, her fund-raising abilities were legendary and because of her gift with numbers, she'd been handed the reins of her family's financial empire three years ago.
This was the first "vacation" she'd had in years. Most people wouldn't consider working in a small-town bookstore a holiday. But for Terry, it was a treat.
Well, except for Aidan Reilly.
This whole situation just went to prove that Fate had a sense of humor. Putting a woman who'd been too long without sex in the position of keeping the world's sexiest man from having sex, had to be a cosmic joke.
Aidan cringed as he stepped into the blissfully cool store and stopped in the open doorway leading from the kitchen to the main shop. Kids cried and shouted and laughed. Their mothers chitchatted, oblivious to the racket and he stood there, silently wishing he were out at sea.
He'd never really understood the draw of having children. To him, they looked like tiny anchors on long, heavy chains, designed to drag a man down. Besides, they were too damn loud.
He'd only come inside because he had the main structure of the reading castle finished and needed Terry to take a look at it. He laughed inwardly. Hell, he didn't really need her opinion. He'd gone over the plans and the basic idea with Donna, who'd already approved the whole thing.
What he really wanted was another look at the woman whose face had been invading his dreams for the last couple of nights. Self-preservation instincts told him to keep his distance—but the instinct that continuously prodded him to volunteer for dangerous missions was stronger. Which explained why he was now knee-deep in kids, waiting for a glimpse of Terry Evans.
Then there she was, moving through the sea of children like a sleek sailboat through choppy seas. Dipping and swaying with an instinctive elegance, she had a smile for each of the noisy kids and seemed completely unflustered by the racket.
She took a seat in a splash of afternoon sunlight, as the children gathered on the floor in front of her. They quieted down slowly, giggles and grumbles fading into silence as Terry picked up a book and began to read. Her voice lifted and fell with the rhythm of the story, and Aidan, like the kids, couldn't take his gaze off her.
Terry held the colorful book up every now and then, to show the pictures and the kids laughed along with her as she acted out the different voices of the characters.
She was really something, Aidan thought. Even while a part of him really appreciated the picture she made—a larger part of him was shouting out warning!
If he had any sense he'd leave. He'd made it through nine long weeks of temptation and he wasn't about to lose the bet now, just because of a curvy blonde with hypnotic eyes.
He snorted. "Hypnotic?"
Man. He was in bad shape.
The kids laughed at something in the story and with an effort, he shook himself out of the stupor he'd slipped into. Screw having her check over his work. Screw hanging around this magnet for kiddies. He'd just go back outside, move the skeleton of the castle into the storage shed and get the hell outta Dodge.
He'd no sooner planned his escape than the cell phone he kept jammed in his jeans pocket let out a muffled ring. Digging for it, he checked the number, flipped the phone open and answered it while he headed for the back door.
"Get your butt back here, boy. We gotta move." J.T., the chopper pilot Aidan worked with, spoke fast. "Sport boat capsized about five miles out."
"On my way." Instantly, every thought but work raced out of his mind.
Aidan snapped the phone closed, jammed it into his pocket and headed out. He glanced back over his shoulder as he hit the doorway leading to the kitchen and the back door beyond. Terry's gaze slammed into his and he read a question in her eyes.
Just one more good reason to keep his distance, he told himself as he turned and stalked out. He wasn't a man who liked having to explain himself.
Having no one but himself to answer to kept life simple.
If he was lonely sometimes, that could be solved with friends or with a willing woman who knew not to expect any tomorrows out of him.
Terry Evans was not that kind of woman.
She had tomorrows written all over her.
Which should be enough to keep Aidan the hell away from her.
* * *
Three
« ^ »
The sea swallowed him.
In that one instant, when his head slipped below the cold water, Aidan wondered, as he always did, with just a small corner of his mind, if this might be the time the sea would keep him. Hold him, drag him down to the darkest water, where sunlight never touched. Where fish never swam. Where the cold was as deep as the darkness.
And just as quickly as it came, that thought disappeared, pushed aside so that he could do the job he'd trained for. He gave a couple of hard, powerful kicks, tipped his head back and breached the surface of the water. Cloud-dappled sunlight welcomed him, and he took a moment to find his bearings. Glancing to his left, he spotted the capsized sport boat about ten feet away, then shifted his gaze to the helicopter, hovering loudly about ten feet over head. The blades whipped the air, churning the already choppy water into a white foamed froth. The noise was tremendous. He lifted one arm, waved to Monk, hanging out the side of the chopper, then struck out swimming toward the boat and the two men perched on top of the upended hull.
"Ma
n," the older one of the two shouted as he got nearer, "are we glad to see you guys."
Aidan grinned. Grabbing hold of the boat, he looked up at the men. They looked like father and son. The younger of the two couldn't have been more than seventeen. He looked scared and cold. Couldn't hardly blame him. Couldn't be easy to have your boat flip over on you.
He slapped the side of the boat. "You two need a ride?"
The helicopter came closer, dragging the orange steel cage basket through the water, skimming the surface, splashing through the whitecaps.
"Hell, yes," the older man shouted and slapped his son on the back. "Take Danny first."
Aidan shook his head as the basket came closer. Grabbing hold of it, he kept kicking, keeping his head above water and spitting out mouthfuls of it as it slapped him in the face. "No need. Basket's big enough. We all go."
The kid looked a little dubious and who could blame him? But to give him his due, he bit back on his own fears and slid down the side of the hull into the water. Aidan was ready for him, grabbing one arm with his free hand and tugging him closer. Over his radio, he heard Monk muttering.
"Move it along, will you, Reilly?"
"I'm getting there. Hold your horses."
"Who you talking to?" The kid shouted as he scrambled, with Aidan's help, into the basket and then inched to one side of it, with a two fisted, white knuckle grip on the rail.
"Them!" Aidan shouted and pointed skyward toward the hovering chopper. Then turning his gaze on the older man, he yelled, "Let's go!"
The man slid down and got into the basket with less trouble than his son had had. Then Aidan climbed in, and shouted, "Take us home, J.T."
While the chopper pilot moved off, the basket swung lazily into the air, like some amusement park ride. Monk operated the winch, raising the basket to the open door of the chopper, then when it was close enough, he grabbed hold and pulled it aboard.
"Everybody okay?" he shouted to be heard over the roar of the helicopter's engine.
"Fine." The older man climbed out, then reached a hand to his son, to help him into the belly of the chopper. "Thanks for dropping by."
THE LAST REILLY STANDING Page 2
