He shrugged. "Hard not to be."
"And your other brother?"
"Ah, Liam. Father Liam." Aidan looked down at her, then lifted one hand to tuck a long strand of silky blond hair behind her ear. "Every Irish woman's dream is to be able to say, 'my son the priest.' Liam's church, St. Sebastian's, is here in town, too, so Mom lucked out. For a while anyway. Until one of us is transferred out."
"Even apart, though, you'll still have each other." He studied her and noticed the shadows were back, haunting her eyes. Something inside him wanted to reassure her. To wipe away the shadows and make her smile.
And that worried the hell out of him.
* * *
Four
« ^ »
By late afternoon, the wind had picked up, the sky was crowded with clouds and Terry was still trying to convince herself that Aidan wasn't getting to her.
But he was.
"Damn it."
She closed the shop, locked the door behind her and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Tilting her head back, she watched the slate-gray clouds colliding into each other like bumper cars gone amuck.
"Storm coming." A soft voice, female, with just a touch of humor in it.
Terry turned, smiling, to face Selma Wyatt. At least seventy years old, Selma's blue eyes sparkled with a kind of vitality that Terry envied. The woman's long, silver hair hung in one thick, neat braid, across the shoulder of her gauzy, pale yellow, ankle skimming dress. The toes of her purple sneakers peeked from beneath the hem.
"Yeah," Terry said with another quick look skyward. "Sure looks like it."
Selma shook her head until that thick braid swung out like a pendulum. "Not the storm I'm talking about, honey."
"Ah…" Terry nodded sagely and didn't bother to hide her smile. "See something interesting in your cards?"
The older woman ran the spirit shop/palm reader emporium next door. And though Terry had never been one to believe in the whole "mystic" thing, she figured Selma must be good at what she did, because there was an almost constant stream of customers coming and going from the Spirit Shop all day long.
In the few days Terry had been in town, Selma had pretty much adopted her. She'd taken her out to lunch, introduced her to the noontime crowd at Delilah's diner and pretty much elected herself friend and watchdog. She'd even offered to give Terry a "reading," but she'd declined, since, if her future was anything like her past … Terry really didn't want to know.
"Heck no, honey," Selma said. "Didn't need the cards for this one. It's in the air. Can't you feel it?"
A slight chill danced up Terry's spine before she shook it off, telling herself that Selma'd been staring into her crystal ball too long. "The only storm I feel is the one blowing in off the ocean."
Selma smiled patiently—the same kind of smile an adult gave a two-year-old who insists on tying his own shoe even though he can't quite manage it. "Of course, dear. Pay no attention to me." Then she paused, cocked her head and said, "Oh. There it is. Wait for it."
A little impatient now and feeling just a bit uneasy, Terry inhaled sharply and asked, "Wait for what?"
Then she heard it.
A low rumble of sound.
Like distant thunder, it growled and roared as it came closer. The fine hairs at the back of Terry's neck lifted and she turned her head toward the sound.
Overhead, lightning shimmered behind the clouds, just a warning. A hint of bigger things to come.
But she forgot all about the storm as she watched a huge motorcycle slink to the curb and stop. In the dim light of dusk, the spotless chrome sparkled and shone and the black paint gleamed like fresh sin.
And speaking of sin…
Aidan Reilly sat astride the motorcycle and dropped both booted feet to the ground to steady the bike while he looked at her.
"Now that's a storm, honey," Selma murmured. "A big one."
Terry hardly heard her. Her breath came fast and short. Her heartbeat jittered unsteadily and every cell in her body caught fire at once.
He wore faded jeans and the battered cowboy boots he'd had on the first day she met him. His black T-shirt was strained across his chest, looking about two sizes too small—not that she was complaining. He wore dark glasses that hid his eyes from her, but no helmet and he looked … dangerous.
Her stomach fisted and she swallowed hard against the gigantic knot of something hot and needy lodged in her throat.
Then he smiled and Terry felt her toes curl.
Oh, this couldn't be good.
"Evening, Ms. Wyatt," he said, his voice as low and nimbly as the engine of the machine vibrating beneath him.
"Aidan," Selma said with a nod and a smile. "Come to have your fortune read?"
He grinned, "Now, Ms. Wyatt, you know I like surprises."
"Then I'll leave you to them," she said and headed off down the sidewalk.
Terry barely registered the fact that the woman was gone. All she could think was, it just wasn't fair for a man to look that good.
And why did he have to have a motorcycle?
"Terry!"
She blinked her way out of a very interesting daydream and realized that he must have been calling her name for a couple of minutes. How embarrassing was that?
Burying her own jittery reaction to him under a snarl of much more comfortable indignation, she snapped, "What're you doing here, Aidan?"
He glanced at the sky just as a grumble of thunder rolled out, long and low, and filled with the promise of coming rain. Then he glanced back at her. "Just thought maybe you could use a ride back to Donna's house."
"I can walk," she said, turning to put action to the words. The faster she got some distance between she and Aidan, the better, all the way around. "Thanks anyway."
He kept pace with her, rolling the bike and walking it down the side of the street with his long legs. "Gonna rain any time now," he pointed out.
"Then I'd better hurry," she countered, telling herself to put one foot in front of the other. To keep moving. To for heaven's sake, don't look at him.
He chuckled. "You're so stubborn you'd rather get wet than accept a ride from me?"
She chanced a quick glance at him. "Hello? On a motorcycle, I'd get wet anyway."
"Yeah," he pointed out with a quick grin that showed off the dimple she'd been spending too much time thinking about, "but you'd be moving faster. Having more fun."
"Slow can be fun, too," she said tightly and wondered why she suddenly sounded like a ninety-year-old librarian.
"I grant you. In some things, slow is way better."
She stumbled when the images that remark blossomed in full, glorious color in her brain. Oh, God. Did his voice just drop another notch, or was she simply going deaf from the pounding of her own heartbeat? Swallowing hard, she demanded, "Don't you have to be somewhere?"
"I'm right where I want to be."
"And what about the bet?" she asked hotly, stopping short to face him.
He lifted one eyebrow, took off his dark glasses and hooked them in the collar of his shirt. "Babe. I asked you to ride the motorcycle—didn't ask you to ride me."
A quick rush of heat swamped Terry and she wondered if everyone was seeing those little black dots now fluttering in her vision—or if it was just her. Probably just her. Which couldn't be a good sign.
Taking a deep breath, she got a good tight hold on suddenly rampaging hormones and told herself to get over it. She wasn't looking for a fling and if she were, she wouldn't be looking at Aidan Reilly. The man had sworn off the very thing she was suddenly hungry for. So what point was there in getting herself whipped up into a frenzy?
None.
So okay, she could do this. She could be a grownup. And besides … a fat, solitary raindrop splattered on top of her head. He had a point. If he took her home on that rolling sex machine, then she'd be in out of the rain a lot faster than she would be if she was stubborn and insisted on walking. This was purely an act of necessity.
Nothing out
of the ordinary to accept a ride from a friend of a friend.
He was just doing her a favor.
Not the favor she secretly wanted, but he didn't have to know that.
"Okay," she said, trying to shut up the internal argument she was having with herself. "I'll take the ride. Thanks."
He gave her a slow smile that set fire to the soles of her feet, but she refused to feel the flames. As the rain spattered around her, she walked to the bike. He reached back and unstrapped a shiny black helmet from the tall, chrome backrest bar.
"Good," he said, handing it to her. "Put this on."
"Why do I have to wear a helmet and you don't?" she asked, taking the darn thing.
"Because my head's a lot harder than yours."
"Don't bet on it," she muttered, but yanked the helmet on and fixed the strap under her chin.
"Looks good on you."
"Oh, I'm sure," she said and swung her left leg over the seat as she climbed aboard. Good thing she'd worn linen shorts to work today instead of a skirt.
He half turned to look at her. "Grab hold of my waist and hang on."
Oh, boy.
Beneath her, the powerful engine throbbed and purred as he gunned the motor. The resulting vibrations of the bike set up a series of trembling quivers inside her that took her to the brink of something really interesting.
And she hadn't even touched him yet.
"Are you going to hang on or what?"
She gritted her teeth and grabbed hold of his waist. She didn't have to wrap her arms around him or anything. A simple handhold would be enough, she told herself and fought the rush of something hot and dark and sweet as he revved the engine again and eased the bike onto the street.
The stoplight at the corner was red, so they didn't go far.
She heard the smile in his voice as he glanced back over his shoulder and said, "You're gonna have to get a better grip on me than that."
"I'm fine," she insisted, trying not to think about her thighs aligned along his or the powerful engine vibrating beneath her.
"What's wrong, babe? I worry you?"
"Not at all. Why don't you just take care of driving and I'll take care of me."
"Your call." He shrugged, turned his face forward again and when the light blinked to green, he took off like the hounds of hell were right behind them.
"Hey!" She shrieked and instinctively wrapped both arms around his middle.
He chuckled and she felt his body shake with silent laughter.
Let him laugh, she thought. She was more interested in keeping her perch on the bike than she was in pretending to be aloof.
He steered the bike down Main street, threading between the cars chugging lazily along the road. As they picked up speed, the wind slapped at her, raindrops pelted her like tiny bullets of ice and Terry relaxed enough to smile, enjoying the rush of air, the sense of freedom and the small, tingling sensation of danger.
It had been so long.
Before her life had become one charitable function after another, she had sought out things like this. Motorcycles, paragliding, deep sea dives, rock climbing.
She hadn't always been adventurous—but when her world collapsed, Terry had stopped caring. She'd gone out of her way to live every moment. She'd sought out the most exciting, the most heart pounding, risky activities she could find and then lost herself—and her pain—in the adrenaline rush.
Until five years ago.
When she'd awakened in a hospital one morning, to find herself lying there with a broken arm and leg. And she'd finally realized that chasing death wasn't living. That burying her pain didn't make it disappear. And that the only way to make that pain livable was to help people however she could.
Since that morning, she'd become a champion of causes. Terry Evans became the "go to" girl for most charitable foundations in and around Manhattan. She arranged flashy fund-raisers, was able to browbeat bazillionaires into contributions they'd never had any intention of making and could turn a celebrity auction into the event of the year. And she did it all with a calm, cool smile that managed to hide the real Terry from almost everyone.
She had legions of acquaintances, but very few friends. And the friends she did have, were more her family than those she was related to by blood.
Which was how she'd ended up in Baywater, South Carolina, sitting behind a hunk in jeans, riding a motorcycle in the rain.
Because of Donna.
Since that awful moment twelve years ago, when Terry's world dropped out from under her, Donna had been there for her. She'd cried with her, hugged her and supported her when Terry had taken her stand against her family. Donna Fletcher was the one link to her past that Terry treasured.
"How you doin' back there?"
Aidan's shout cut into her thoughts and Terry inhaled sharply, reminding herself that the past was long gone. "I'm fine," she called back, to be heard over the roar of the engine.
Rain still spattered, as if the storm just couldn't work up the energy to get serious. As they roared along the road, streetlights winked into life and the few raindrops falling were spotlighted in the glow.
A car whizzed past, its radio blaring, tires spitting up water in its wake. Terry ducked her head behind Aidan's shoulder and stared out to one side as the storefronts gave way to houses and those to trees lining the coast road.
The throb of the engine beneath her, the rush of wind all around her, her arms around Aidan's hard middle and the cool splat of rain against her skin, was mesmerizing. Which was why it took her an extra minute or two to notice something.
"Hey!" she shouted, lifting her head. "You missed the turn to Donna's street."
"No, I didn't."
"You passed it."
"Yes, but I didn't miss it."
She squeezed her arms tight around him and he grunted. "What're you up to?"
"Can't you just enjoy the ride?" he asked.
"Not until you tell me what's going on." Damn it. She'd relaxed her guard. She never should have taken this ride from him. She'd known it was a mistake the minute she climbed onto the bike. But what red-blooded woman would have been able to say "no" to a Marine cowboy biker? "Aidan…"
"Relax, babe—"
"Stop calling me babe."
He laughed. She felt it shake through him and it made her grit her teeth even harder. The minute he stopped this bike, she was jumping off and walking if she had to, back to Donna's house.
The magic of the ride was gone as she simmered quietly in a temper that flashed and flared inside her. By the time he finally did stop the bike, Terry didn't even pause to see where they were before she leapt off her perch, snatched off her helmet and glared at him.
"You really are nuts, aren't you?"
He grinned at her and she realized that sexy or not, that smile could get really irritating.
"Thought you might like to take a little sightseeing tour."
"In the rain?"
He held out one hand palm up and shrugged. "We drove out of the rain a few minutes ago."
Frowning, Terry lifted her face to the sky and saw that he was right. They'd driven far enough out of Baywater that they'd left the brief summer storm behind them. Now, she took a minute and glanced around. She stood on a cliff road, the ocean far below them. The road behind them was nearly deserted and lined by towering trees that dipped and swayed in the wind as if dancing to a tune only they could hear.
When she finally turned to look at Aidan again, she found him standing beside her, staring out over the black water. Moonlight peeked out from behind the clouds, darting in and out of shadows, like a child playing hide-and-seek.
"Worth the ride?" he asked.
She shifted her gaze to the view and had to admit, it was gorgeous. Moonlight danced on the water, then winked out of existence when the clouds scudded across the surface of the moon. Whitecaps dazzled with phosphorescence that looked ghostly in the darkness.
"It's beautiful."
"One of my favorite spo
ts," he said, walking closer to the edge of the cliff, until he could curl his hands around the top bar of the iron guard rail. "I come up here when I need to get away from people for a while."
She joined him, taking slow, almost reluctant steps. "Then you really shouldn't bring people with you."
He glanced at her and shrugged. "Usually don't."
Idly she swung the helmet in her left hand, slapping it gently against her thigh. "So why me?"
"Interesting question."
"That's not an answer."
He turned his back on the view and faced her, leaning against the railing and crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't have one," he admitted after a long moment.
His blue eyes fixed on her, Terry had to force herself to stand still beneath his steady regard. She didn't want to think about the subtle licks of warmth invading the pit of her stomach. She did want to hold onto her temper, but it was already fading.
"I just wanted to see you again."
"Why?"
He laughed shortly. "Beats the hell outta me."
"Aidan," she said on a sigh, "this isn't a good idea."
"Which idea is that?"
"This," she said, waving one arm even as she gripped the helmet in one tight fist. "Us. You. Me."
"Well that about covers everything," he said, still smiling, "except for what I feel when I'm around you."
"Aidan…"
"You feel it, too."
Oh, boy howdy.
But that wasn't the point.
"Doesn't really matter what we feel, does it?" She tipped her chin up and stared at him, unwilling to let him know just how close she was to losing control.
"Why not?"
"Because whatever it is, it's based on hormones."
"And your problem with that is…?"
"For heaven's sake, Aidan, we're not high school kids."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Think, she told herself. But all the urging in the world wasn't quite enough to kick-start her brain when her body was obviously in charge, here.
Shaking his head, Aidan spoke again. "There's something here, Terry. Between us."
"There can't be," she said.
He laughed and the low, throaty sound rolled over her with a warmth that dispelled the chill wind. "Why the hell not?"
THE LAST REILLY STANDING Page 4
