by Tami Hoag
“Okay,” she admitted as she edged backward toward the wings, stage right. “Maybe I do want you. But I’m not interested in being just another in a long line of your paramours, Reilly,” she said, shaking her dripping sponge at him. “I’m not interested in having you suck up my whole life like some kind of a human tornado and turn it all inside out and upside down. I’m settled here. I’ve found a certain amount of existential bliss. I know where the center of the earth is. I don’t need you barging in and knocking me off my spiritual axis.”
Reilly shook his head as he followed her offstage and into the cluttered area beyond. There she went, spouting off all that metaphysical garbage again. The woman knew more senseless double-talk than any ten politicians. Whether she realized it or not, she used it like a shield to ward off people. Only the very patient or the very weird were willing to try to get past it. He was neither, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her fend him off with it.
“You can stay on your bloody axis if you like,” he said as they went out into the hall backstage. In one graceful move he turned and corralled Jayne against the yellow wall with an arm braced on either side of her. “But I’m not going anywhere, luv. I’ve lived with wantin’ you for too long to call it quits now.”
“Ah, so that’s it. I’m a challenge to you,” Jayne said, trying for some of Alaina’s dry sarcasm. The slight quiver of hurt in her voice ruined the effect. She wished she could melt through the rough plaster wall behind her. Hard little nodules bit into her scalp and her back as she pressed against it. “Heaven help me, that’s got to be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Well, you can’t have me, Pat Reilly. So there!”
He caught her slender arm as she ducked under his and started to stomp away from him. “Dammit, Jayne, that’s not it and you know it.”
She glared up at him, her dark eyes gleaming. “I don’t know it,” she snapped, losing control of some of the anger she had stored up inside her long ago, anger at being attracted to Reilly, anger at having him be attracted to her. “I was your best friend’s wife. What better challenge could there be?”
Reilly swore long and colorfully, fighting for control of his temper. His hand tightened convulsively on Jayne’s arm. “I loved Mac like a brother. I never woulda done anythin’ to hurt him. But he’s dead, goddammit, and we’re not. How long are you gonna go on lettin’ him protect you, Jaynie? You’ve got a life to live.”
His words went straight to Jayne’s heart and stuck there like needle-nosed darts. She pried his fingers from her upper arm one by one and carefully straightened the sleeve of her oversized coat, while struggling to force the tears out of her throat. She needed to get away from him. She couldn’t think at all when Reilly was around. His intensity disrupted her spiritual oneness with her intellectual self. The man was a gosh darned nuisance.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she whispered, her head bent so she wouldn’t get caught in the glow of his eyes again. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”
What was she going to do, she wondered as she sat on the chipped Formica counter with her knees drawn up and her chin planted on them. Her whole body burned with want of that man. And her soul trembled with fear of him. Was he right? Was she using Mac’s ghost as a cloak to protect her from getting on with her life? Or was she just being sensibly cautious?
Reilly’s motives were a mystery to her. He’d made it plain that he wanted a relationship, but he hadn’t explained why. He’d denied her charge that she was a challenge to him, but she knew she was. He had wanted her when she’d been Mac’s wife, but his friendship with Mac had prevented him from pursuing it. Now she was denying him. She was forbidden fruit, which was traditionally more tempting than the kind that could be easily acquired.
There were other possibilities for his persistence as well. Maybe he’d been plagued by the same kind of guilt as she had, and he saw this as his chance to get her out of his system, to exorcise the guilt he’d felt for wanting his best friend’s wife.
Oh, fudge, she thought, a long sigh seeping out of her, life could be so complicated. She leaned back into the corner, forcibly forgetting her problems for a moment and letting her eyes roam around the ladies’ room.
The walls were a moldy green color. Or was that real mold over green paint? Yuk. This place needed a real cleaning. Cobwebs hung like dirty lace from the heat ducts in the ceiling. The door on one of the stalls was hanging by one hinge. Another door was missing completely.
It was a shame the townspeople had let the place go like this. Now that they had a theater group, hopefully interest in the building would pick up as well as interest in the arts.
She would be partly responsible for that renewed interest, Jayne thought with a mix of pride and surprise. She’d never been one to take charge of things, but she’d made an effort to get involved when she’d moved to Anastasia. Involvement had seemed important, involvement with the town, with people … with Pat Reilly?
Shivers danced through her. She dodged the question and turned so she was on her knees on the counter facing the grubby, smudged mirror that stretched the length of the sink area. She picked her sponge out of her bucket and began methodically wiping it over the glass. Cleaning was very therapeutic. Symbolic too, she thought as she swiped a layer of dust and grime from her reflection.
If only she could wipe away her uncertainty about Reilly as easily.
There had always been something between them, something nameless, something mysterious, something almost … mystical. What if it turned out to be something wonderful? Could she really pass up the opportunity to find out?
Could she pass up the chance to let Reilly overwhelm her? Yes.
“I think you missed your callin’, luv.” His low voice snapped her to attention. “You were obviously meant to be a housekeeper—an infinitely more honorable profession than the one you hold to now, I dare say.”
“You would,” Jayne said, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. It was no secret Reilly didn’t like critics. He’d been very public in his scorn. So what was he doing here?
He had opened the door just enough to stick his head in the room. He had washed off the last of his makeup. His hair had been wetted and rubbed partially dry. The black dye was mostly gone. Now the golden strands stood up in wayward tufts like miniature shocks of wheat. He looked like he’d just come from the shower.
The thought sent molten heat through Jayne’s veins. She’d seen enough of his body on the movie screen to know he was some gorgeous example of the male of the species, all thick rippling muscle. She didn’t have to try at all to picture him stepping out of a shower stall with crystalline droplets of water clinging to his sun-bronzed skin and nestling in the tawny curls that carpeted his massive chest. She’d seen him just so in Deadly Encounter. For nights afterward she’d dreamed that she had been the one to play Michelle Favor’s role of the court reporter caught in the middle of a government sting operation headed by Reilly’s character, Jack Gibson.
Now he shoved the door open with a brawny shoulder and sauntered in, his boots ringing on the tiled floor. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and leaned back against the post of the first stall. The twinkle in his eye was pure wicked mischief. The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth was all male arrogance, daring her to throw him out.
“This is the ladies’ room, Reilly,” Jayne said, swiping more dirt off the mirror. “You’re no lady. You’re not even a gentleman.”
“That’s right, luv. I ain’t some limp-wristed dandy who’ll let you chase him away with nothin’ more than an ugly word or two.”
Lazily he pushed himself away from the support and swaggered toward the counter. His grin had a disturbing feline quality to it. Jayne suddenly felt like a very pretty little bird who was suddenly being denied the protection of her cage.
Reilly clamped his big hands on her waist and easily lifted her down from the counter, then turned her to face him. She fully expected him to press his advantage, but
he didn’t. As if he’d lowered the power with the twist of some invisible knob, his magnetism settled to a comfortably appealing level.
“See here, Jaynie? You can run, but you can’t hide,” he said teasingly. He lifted a hand to brush a strand of dark auburn hair from her cheek. His thumb strayed ever so slightly to brush the corner of her mouth, and his eyes blazed when she sucked in a surprised breath. For a second he looked tempted to kiss her, but he took a half step back from her instead.
“Look,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I can be like a bloody bull in a china shop.”
“Yep,” Jayne agreed readily, nodding. “You’re a bully.” She pointed her sponge at him and narrowed her eyes in speculation. “I’ll bet you were a first child. I’ll bet you’re an Aries. I know someone who would love to read your aura.”
A lazy smile tilted up the left corner of Reilly’s mouth. “Sounds too kinky for me.”
“It’s not kinky,” Jayne explained earnestly, “but it can be a very sensual experience.”
“Guess I wouldn’t mind havin’ you do it, then,” he murmured, scratching his head.
Jayne swallowed hard. The way he was staring at her mouth had her feeling a little faint. Talk about a sensual experience. And he wasn’t even touching her! Just the power of his gaze had tendrils of sensation unfurling inside her. Her breasts tingled. A honeyed warmth began to glow deep in her belly. Her fingers toyed nervously with the bracelet that was suddenly buzzing again against the fragile skin of her wrist.
She cleared her throat and tried to breathe in enough air to whisper. “I don’t have the proper psychic continuity to do it well.”
“What the hell,” Reilly muttered as something like warm red wine spread through his veins and pooled in his groin. “We’ll pretend. I’m good at pretendin’. It’s what I do for a living.”
And was he pretending now, Jayne wondered. He was a darn good actor. She would be hard pressed to know when he was acting and when he wasn’t. That was another reason she’d pretended she didn’t want him around. “We all do our share of it, don’t we?” she said wistfully.
“Yeah, we do. But I don’t want to pretend anymore where you’re concerned, Jaynie.” He pulled his gaze away from the lush, vulnerable curve of her mouth and focused on the uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t want either of us pretending. I want us to find out just what it is we’ve been denying all this time. What do you say? Are you game?”
“I’m scared, Reilly.”
“Scared of what? Me?”
Yes, she answered inwardly, but it didn’t seem a wise thing to admit to him, so she sought other reasons for her fears. “I don’t know if I’m ready to try another relationship yet. And I don’t want to just leap into one with you. I really hardly know you at all; you were Mac’s friend. And I just don’t believe in purely sexual relationships. The Hindus teach that sex is one of the lower chakras, down there with all the baser animal needs. I think human relationships should be on a higher spiritual plane, don’t you?”
Reilly stared at her for a long moment, his straight brows lowered over his eyes, his square chin tucked defensively. Pure sex had always sounded pretty darn good to him. Who did these Hindu buggers think they were, mucking up a man’s social life with all their mystical mumbo jumbo?
It seemed important to Jayne, though. This was a test of sorts, he figured. Could he be patient enough to sort through all that chakra crap, or was he just after a good tumble?
He wanted her, yes. He burned with want of her. He hardly trusted himself to get within an arm’s length of her for fear he’d lose control altogether. But this wasn’t about just sex. Realistically, he could get sex any time he wanted it with any number of very lovely ladies. But he didn’t want them; he wanted Jayne. He wasn’t sure where this desire would lead them, but he knew he had to find out.
“Are you saying you want to be friends first?” he asked, the word making him flinch a bit. He couldn’t honestly say he’d ever had a woman friend before. It didn’t seem natural.
Jayne nodded, then watched with interest as Reilly rubbed his chin while he mulled the idea over. She would have bet her best quartz crystal he’d never had a woman for a friend in his life. He was from the old school where a man valued his mates, his dog, and his woman—generally in that order. If he decided to try it and decided he didn’t like it, she would be well rid of him when he left. And if he decided to try it and it worked … they could have something wonderful. It seemed the safest way to proceed, though she still preferred that he simply leave.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll be friends first. Get to know each other, then let things follow their natural course.” Which would land her in his bed within the week, he reckoned. Sounded good to him, though he wasn’t keen on waiting that long.
Jayne nibbled her left thumbnail. Shoot, that had been too easy. There had to be a catch, something she hadn’t taken into account. It was at times like these she regretted being right-brain dominant.
Reilly watched her carefully. Apparently she hadn’t counted on him being so progressive-minded. She looked wary, hesitant. Maybe he should throw something in to sweeten the deal, a show of good faith, so to speak.
“I’ll help you out with the play, as well,” he blurted out before he had a chance to consider his impulsive offer.
A cold wave swept over him at the sound of the words in his own ears. Bloody hell! Had he just offered to be in a play? A play was all acting and no action. He couldn’t be in a play! There wouldn’t be a single car chase or gun battle, no explosions or brawls. He would be forced to really act.
Panic in its purest form gelled in his gut. He took a deep breath and willed it away. This was a community theater group not Broadway they were talking about. It wasn’t Macbeth they were doing, it was a little romantic comedy. The other people in the play wouldn’t be actors either—at all, he amended hastily. They would be accountants and supermarket clerks. He could handle this. No sweat. It would be a walk in the park, a piece of cake.
Jayne studied the play of strange emotions that crossed Reilly’s face, thinking back to his enigmatic explanation of why he wasn’t now in the Mojave Desert shooting Road Raider Part III. Once again she caught a glimpse of vulnerability in him, and it touched her. Darn, she had always been one to take in strays. When Reilly’s beautiful eyes took on that haunted look—however brief—she wanted to wrap him in her arms and take care of him.
What a lot of hogwash, she told herself as the moment passed and he was suddenly the same old Reilly, cocky and full of himself. She had been imagining things. Reilly needed a caretaker about as much as he needed a third eye.
“You’d really be in my play?” she questioned.
“Sure,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, as if he hadn’t been sweating bullets over the idea just a second ago.
Jayne hugged herself and sighed. She could ill afford to turn him down. Pat Reilly’s name on the marquee would mean a lot of extra money for the theater group and for the young artists. Having Reilly in the play would surely generate interest in the project. People would be eager to get involved and would hopefully stay involved on a long-term basis once they discovered how enjoyable theater was. And this was her chance, wasn’t it? This was her chance to do what she’d dreamed of doing since the first time she’d seen Reilly in a little-known Australian film in which he’d had no more than two dozen lines. This was her chance to direct him, to coax out the phenomenal talent she was sure was lurking under his handsome hide.
She nodded slowly, then tipped her chin up and treated him to a sparkling sweet smile. “All right. We’ll give it a shot.”
Reilly had to fight the sudden urge to give a whoop and do a victory dance. He hadn’t realized how important it was to him that Jayne consent to see him. The enormous sense of relief that sluiced through him left him feeling almost giddy.
He gave her a roguish grin that flashed his dimple at her. “Good girl, Jaynie. Now let’s go to your place, and I’ll get sett
led in.”
“You’ll what? Where?” Jayne asked dimly, her head swimming.
Reilly swung the bathroom door open and held it. His expression was as innocent as an altar boy’s as he looked back at her. “I can’t very well stay at a hotel. The minute word’s out I’m stayin’ in town, I won’t have a moment’s peace. Since we’re gonna be mates now, I reckoned you’d let me bunk at your place.”
“Oh, did you?”
Jayne couldn’t help but smile. The stinker! He’d no doubt had that little plan in his head all along. She tried to tell herself deviousness was not an adorable quality, but, somehow, in Reilly it was. At the moment the worst his behavior stirred in her was a deep sympathy for his mother. What that poor woman must have gone through raising Reilly!
“Well, sure,” he said, keeping his angelic look firmly in place. Boy, this was going to be good. If they were staying in the same house, there was no way they could go more than a couple of days without succumbing to the sexual attraction that sparked between them. His mouth was literally watering at the memory of the taste of her. His fingers itched to trace over her petite curves.
Jayne gave a shrug of acquiescence, picked up her bucket, and sauntered out the door. “Okay.”
Reilly felt as if she’d just smacked him between the eyes with a hammer. “Okay?” he mumbled dazedly. Had she just said okay? He rushed to catch up with her and hovered over her from behind, nearly clipping her heels with his size twelve boots. “Did you just say okay? I can stay at your place?”
“Yes.” Jayne beamed a smile up at him, thinking it was kind of fun being sneaky. Then she turned and continued down the hall toward the exit with a spring in her step.
Reilly shot a look heavenward. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, raising his hands in emphatic praise to a benevolent God. “That was almost too bloody easy.”
Jayne grinned to herself as she walked ahead of him. “You’ve got that right, mate.”
FOUR
