She rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “In your dreams, O’Malley.”
His eyes darkened, and Gwen felt a corresponding pull. She sucked in a breath, but before she could overanalyze that reaction, he said quickly, “Describe what sort of things you’d like to do with me.”
The thoughts that command inspired made her go thermonuclear red.
“Are you flirting with me, O’Malley?” she managed, trying to lighten her tone.
He gave her a satisfied smile. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know. Pull your head out of the gutter, lass, and tell me what you’d like to do with me on this vacation of yours.”
“Well, it’ll be a staycation, unless you want to travel.”
“Staycation is fine with me. What do you plan to start with?”
She thought for a moment. Clubbing would be fun, maybe, if he wouldn’t glower at everyone who wanted to dance. And dinner out was always a good time. But she needed something unexpected, something that he would never do on his own.
Her eyes drifted over the kitchen before landing on the ancient stove, and the idea took root in her mind. “Baking!”
He stared at her for a full minute. “Have you gone mad? You’ve never baked a damn thing in your life!”
She shrugged, deciding it was actually a very good idea. “No time like the present to try something new, right?”
He gaped at her, but after a moment, he shrugged good-naturedly. “If it’s baking you want, it’s baking we’ll do. But I’ll be the first to tell you, your idea of fun doesn’t quite match up with mine.”
“What would you do, then?” she challenged.
His eyes darkened again, and immediately, Gwen’s body temperature rose a few degrees.
When it came right down to it, she was helpless not to play this game with Reilly. If she lost, she knew she’d never recover. But if she won…
Her heartbeat tripled.
First things first: She needed to determine if this game had only one player, or two.
• • •
Three hours later, Reilly looked at the assortment of “baking needs” on his counter, a dubious expression on his face. Aside from the expected flour, eggs, and butter, there was now a hand mixer, a baking sheet, and flimsy plastic mats that the saleswoman promised would “evenly distribute the heat,” whatever that meant.
Gwen had bought everything the saleswoman recommended, determined to make these cookies. Reilly had told her once that Colin’s mom made the best chocolate chip cookies in the world. Evelyn O’Rourke didn’t follow a recipe; she just knew how much of what went in where. Gwen desperately wanted to be like that, but alas, she didn’t understand the difference between baking soda and baking powder, so she resolved herself to baby steps.
Cookies seemed simple enough. The online recipe she found called it “easy” and the one on the back of the chocolate chip package looked to be exactly the same one, so rationally, it seemed easy as well.
“So how do we turn all of this into cookies?” he asked.
She held up the crinkly package. “It says we need to mix the dry ingredients in one bowl, and the wet ingredients in another.”
“Sounds like a waste of a bowl to me,” Reilly grunted.
Gwen shrugged. “Me too. It’s all going to end up mixed together, so why don’t we just add it all in now?”
“That sounds reasonable.” As Reilly dutifully measured “dry ingredients” as instructed, Gwen dumped in the sticks of butter, eggs, and vanilla flavoring on top of his large pile of flour and some other ingredients that she already forgotten about. She plugged in the hand mixer, turned it on, and stuck it into the bowl.
It took a few seconds for the cloud of white to settle around them.
“Was there too much flour, you think?” she asked in a small voice.
Amused, he glanced down at his previously clean shirt. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, you have egg all over you!” she gasped. She choked back a laugh. “Oh, Ry, your hair! It’s white!”
He reached out and snagged her ponytail, which was liberally streaked with flour. “You didn’t escape it either, I’m afraid.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Hmm. Maybe I should put the mixer into the bowl first, then turn it on.”
Wisely, he took a step back. “Perhaps. Or we could head to Letty’s Bakery—”
“No way! We’ve already come this far. Let’s finish it out.” Determined, she put the mixer back into what was left in the bowl and turned the power on to low. Nothing flew out of the bowl this time, so Reilly cautiously looked in.
“It doesn’t look like cookie dough,” he noted, watching the stick of butter clunk around the bowl.
Gwen set her jaw. “Well that’s because it hasn’t mixed up yet. Give it a minute. Wait a second, why is the butter stick not mixing in? It’s all hard.”
Reilly leaned forward to see, sending a jolt of pure lust zinging through her veins. She accidentally hit the speed on the hand mixer.
Flour-covered butter pieces splattered onto his cheek, and the rest joined the egg on his shirt. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to contain both her mirth and her horror.
Reilly heaved an enormous, weary sigh, then reached down and, in one fluid motion, whipped the flannel over his head. He was left in just a tight-fitting black tee shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide his biceps.
Her mouth suddenly dry, Gwen snapped her gaze on the bowl in front of her. Reilly in tight-fitting clothes always had the same effect on her as it did every other woman in a twenty-five-mile vicinity. She felt hot, off-balance, and more than a little light-headed.
“Sorry again. Um, so…” She fumbled for the bag, desperate to focus on anything other than Reilly’s arms, which were the largest she’d ever seen. Or his trim waist. Or his flat stomach, or…“Once this is all mixed together, we have to preheat the oven to 190 degrees. Oh, wait, that’s Celsius. Is your oven set for Celsius or Fahrenheit?”
“Celsius?”
“Oh my God, we are so bad at this,” she laughed. She shoved him out of the way and glanced at the dials. “This oven is really old. It works, right?”
The appliance looked like something out of a bygone era. It was a cream-colored wall oven with a panel of colored circles that seemed to have no purpose other than decoration. The knob on the left had numbers on it, though they were faded almost to the point of unreadability.
“Aye, it works.” He reached around her and turned the knob to, hopefully, 190. “It’ll take a few minutes to heat up. In the meantime, we can start cleaning, aye?”
She looked around them and wrinkled her nose. Flour dusted everything, there was a square of butter on the ceiling, and the egg also hit the refrigerator.
“I didn’t think of cleanup,” she admitted.
He laughed. “Nor did I.” He handed her a sponge. “Letty’s would’ve been an easier bet.”
“But not as much fun?”
He rolled his eyes. “You and your ideas of fun.” But he was smiling when he said it.
• • •
As Gwen profoundly thanked the firemen once more, Reilly was struck anew with how absurd her idea of “fun” might be.
The firemen hopped in their truck and drove off, giving a friendly honk of their horn on their way down the driveway.
“Well, that was an adventure!” she sighed.
He glanced back at his cottage, which luckily had very little damage from their grease fire. Which, as one of the firemen pointed out, seemed strange, as they were baking, and cookies rarely used any form of grease.
“Oh, aye. A blast,” he muttered.
“Blast. I get it. Funny. Ha ha. Stop, I’m dying from the laughter,” she replied dryly as they reentered the house, the smell of smoke still prevalent. They headed to the kitchen to scope out the damage. Reilly’s stove was completely out of commission. The charred wall directly behind the stove would need a cleanup and a fresh coat of paint, and his cabinets could use a bit of love, too.
“I’m glad it didn’t reach the second floor,” Gwen added, staring at the ceiling.
His eyes traveled up, and he sighed at its blackened condition. “Looks like I’ll have to do that kitchen remodel sooner than I’d planned.”
She brightened. “When were you planning to do that?”
“Never.”
She looked suddenly crestfallen. “Oh, Ry, I’m so sorry. I truly am. I’ll help pay for it. I’ll pay for all of it, if you want. I didn’t mean to light your house on fire.”
She looked so earnest, with flour dusting her forehead and shirt. Her hair was loosely held back, curls escaping and caressing her cheeks. He bumped her shoulder with his arm.
“Don’t worry yourself over it, lass. I’m teasing. Colin’s been after me for years to do something with this room. His kitchen is something out of a movie, with all its gadgets. I’ll remodel it to look exactly the same as it was. It’ll make him insane.”
She smiled a little, but it was a half-hearted effort. He needed to make her happy again, but how? Seeing her without a smile was crushing him. She looked close to tears, and as he’d already had enough of those the night prior, he readily admitted to doing anything to avoid them again.
“Let’s stay somewhere else tonight. Let the house air out a bit,” he suggested. “Go pack an overnight bag and we’ll drive.”
“Where?”
He herded her toward the staircase, pushing her up a couple of steps. “Does it matter?”
She turned around, still not eye level with him, but closer to it. Her eyes were filled with regret. “This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry, Reilly.”
He gently cradled her face in his hand, and for a moment, she buried her cheek into it. He momentarily lost his breath, mesmerized by the sight and feel of her. “’Twas not a stupid idea, Gwendolyn. I had fun, mostly. And I very much look forward to the next adventure.”
She smiled tremulously. “Really?”
“Aye, really. But this one is my turn. I’ll show you my kind of fun.”
“Does it involve weapons?” she asked cautiously.
He laughed. “Nay, not this time. But don’t disparage it until you’ve tried it.”
“I love your laugh,” she whispered. Her eyes widened, and she yanked her head back.
His heart leapt, though he strove to keep his reaction relaxed. “’Tis easy to laugh when I’m with you. Now. Go pack a bag, and I’ll see what I can do to secure us some smoke-free lodgings this evening.”
She nodded once, then bolted up the stairs, leaving him to watch her hasty retreat.
So, she loved his laugh. It was a small thing, Reilly knew. Perhaps a slip of the tongue, or just a compliment to a friend.
But it definitely didn’t feel like she meant it as a friend. Something was shifting between them, and though he initiated it at the dress shop a few days ago, she couldn’t seem to help her response.
That was very, very good for him.
If he fully turned on his charm, would she be able to resist him? Would she want to resist him? He had much to atone for, with his past actions. And she would need much convincing, as well, to believe him to be sincere. And, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t sure of his charm anymore. While he’d never had a problem with women before, this time it was different.
This time, it was Gwendolyn.
This feeling of uncertainty would be the death of him. He headed to his room to throw together his own overnight bag and texted James.
Weird message on Gwen’s phone last night after a fight with the boyfriend.
James texted back almost immediately.
Creepy that you’re looking at her messages. Don’t do that.
He snorted. He wasn’t a complete idiot.
It wasn’t intentional!
Sure. So what was the weird message?
Reilly shoved some things into his backpack and thought about how much he should tell James. He passed his phone from hand to hand, stalling. Finally, he typed:
Said he wouldn’t stop loving her and that maybe someday it’d be enough.
That was the general message, though when he looked at it now, it seemed a bit overdramatic. He couldn’t abide dramatics. Was he now being dramatic by texting James? Thankfully, James’s response popped in, stopping Reilly from further traveling down that road of thought.
Ouch. And this was after a fight? Did they break up and call off the wedding?
Unsure.
Well? Are you going to ask her if she did?
Reilly snorted. As though he would ask such a question the morning after she said she didn’t want to talk about it!
Last night she said she didn’t want to talk about it, so nay.
James responded almost immediately.
That was last night. This is today. You need to know where she stands. Ask her if she’s in love with the guy.
A sense of panic built in Reilly’s chest.
What if she says aye?
She won’t say aye, she’s American. She’d say yes instead.
Reilly smiled at that.
Wise arse
The smile died from his face, though, as he read the next text.
So, what *if* she says aye?
Reilly stared at the screen. That was the question, wasn’t it? He didn’t know. He was in fully uncharted territory. Women had never been particularly difficult to get into his bed, and he’d never had a pressing need to keep them in his heart. Gwen had always been different, though. She was special.
But he couldn’t write that to James, else the teasing would be torturous. He texted back.
That’s why I’m texting you, though I can see it was a mistake.
Get your panties out of a bunch. Seriously, I think the bigger question you’re asking is, what if she says nay?
He let out a frustrated sigh. Aye, that was the question, wasn’t it? It was easier to know what he’d do if Gwen didn’t want a life with him, knowing what he was, what his life was like. If she didn’t, he could ensure she got whatever it was she wanted, and try to be happy that she was happy.
He clenched his jaw at his lack of confidence. The feeling was unsettled and, if he were to be fully honest, he was beginning to annoy himself.
Aye. I’ve never done this before.
Woo a woman???
Reilly grit his teeth. The next time they were in the lists, James would pay dearly for his teasing. But at the moment, he really needed James’s advice, so he texted:
Woo *the* woman.
After a few moments of radio silence, the incoming text notification sounded, and Reilly swallowed hard.
Then it’s time to prepare for battle. Winner takes all.
He shoved his toothbrush into the bag and zipped it before replying.
I’ve yet to lose a battle.
James took his time with his final reply.
Probably true. But you’ve never battled for something this important, so tread carefully, and keep your wits about you. The rules change daily, if not hourly, so don’t even try to figure them out. Good luck, cousin. Let me know if I can help further.
Reilly groaned. If that was James’s definition of help, the man needed a new dictionary.
Chapter Eight
Reilly was nervous.
It was a new feeling he was unaccustomed to, and he found that he didn’t much care for it. The changes in his mind were, he knew, driven by something he couldn’t control. He suspected ’twas love, but he thought he was rather above all that. This was Gwen, not some medieval maiden who desired flowers and ribbons and courtly gestures. Gwen made it plain early on that all she required was him.
Why was that enough to make his palms sweat?
As he strapped the last dirk about his calf, Reilly glanced about his bedroom. It was tidy, though smaller than the ones his family members called their own. Colin’s was an entire floor of his home in Boston; Aidan’s was most of a floor in his cottage by the Irish Sea. Even James’s room in his new house in
the States was at least twice the size of the one in which Reilly now sat.
Reilly loved his house. He’d lived with much more and much less, yet the humble, daub-and-wattle cottage he’d restored over years was perfect. He ensured every detail wasn’t too modern, for the comfort (and sanity) of his time-traveling visitors. So many lost souls had wandered into his garden over the years, sent to him from the Fates for various reasons. Reilly knew what could be accepted and what could not, and he took that knowledge into consideration from the placement of his light switches to the width of his stairs.
If he managed to win Gwen’s love, he’d give it all up for whatever she wanted. Gwen too had lived with much less and much more. She grew up in a life of luxury, but she had remained the most down-to-earth person he’d known. Oh, she loved her fine things—he knew she owned not a single piece of costume jewelry, and her clothes were high quality, though she never cared for labels much. But there were days when her nails were dirty from digging in the soil, or her hair was wild from sweating in the sun while working outside. She could swear like she’d been born a king’s warrior, and weep with the gentleness of a finely bred lady.
And she could read him unlike any other. Even Colin couldn’t tell Reilly’s thoughts when he didn’t want him to, but Gwen could. She knew him almost better than he knew himself.
Well…she used to. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Ready to go?” Gwen asked, appearing in his doorframe.
He glanced up, taking in her appearance. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
“It’s just an overnight trip,” she pointed out.
Aye, it could be. But the hair on the back of his neck had lifted ever so slightly, and he knew to take care when that happened. Hence the myriad of weaponry currently attached to his limbs. He glanced longingly at his sword, but knew he couldn’t safely carry that around modern-day Ireland. He just hoped the Fates would give him what he needed, should he need it.
He flashed her a smile and tucked the phone into his back pocket. “Aye, you’re right, of course. Let’s see where the road leads us.”
• • •
Reilly had four vehicles.
Gwen didn’t begrudge him his toys, but to her, four did seem a bit excessive for a single guy living in the woods north of Dublin.
Falling Through Time Page 14
