by Tami Hoag
Jayne leaned over the tank and crumbled in some homemade spider food, smiling as Harry scrambled over a rock to get to the treat. She turned an angelic look up to Reilly. “What else could I have done with him?”
For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He couldn’t name one other woman of his acquaintance who would have kept a tarantula.
“I voted we sent it to that big roach motel in the sky,” Candi said. “That thing gives me the creeps. No offense intended, Reilly.”
“None taken,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“And you shouldn’t let that ugly thing keep you from asking Jayne out. She’s not that attached to it.”
Jayne reached over the back of the couch to pluck the magazine from Candi’s hands. “This doesn’t even remotely resemble an algebra book.”
Candi ignored the hint. Struggling into a sitting position she kept her eyes on Reilly, who had wandered off to inspect a Chinese screen. “Jayne, do you have any idea who he is?” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. She snapped a finger against the magazine cover. “He’s the sexiest man in the universe. You’ve got the sexiest man in the universe in your living room, and you’re showing him your pet spider. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. Are there any helpful articles in this magazine? Like one that advises people to mind their own business?” Jayne asked pointedly. It hadn’t occurred to her that Candi would want her to pursue Reilly. She had thought the girl would act as a buffer, just like her younger sisters always had when she’d been a teenager bringing boyfriends around.
“No,” Candi said, “but there’s plenty in here about what a stud this guy is.”
Jayne scowled, not appreciating the reminder in the least. If it was at all possible, she was going to try to think of Reilly in asexual terms for the time being. She would try to think of him as a fellow life force in her circle of existence, a spiritual energy, a hunk and a half. Oh, fudge, she thought, grinding her teeth.
“Don’t let the glitter get in your eyes, sugar,” she advised Candi sagely as she handed her the magazine. “He’s just a man.”
Candi gave her a long-suffering look that suggested she thought Jayne a bit dim. “Jayne, my uncle Fred who sells orthopedic shoes is just a man. That fat guy that comes to read the meter is just a man. Pat Reilly is awesome.”
She was right, Jayne thought with a sinking heart as she stared across the room, meeting Reilly’s smoldering gaze. Everything inside her turned to warm honey. There were men and then there was Reilly. There was definitely something about him that set him apart—an inner fire, a blazing sexuality, a bod to die for. And she now had to accompany that something to a bedroom.
Offering a fervent little prayer to every deity she could think of, she crossed the room and motioned for him to follow her. The trip up the winding open staircase to the second floor seemed to last an eternity. She could feel Reilly’s gaze on her derriere every step of the way. She was so aware of it, it was like a tangible caress. By the time they gained the second-story landing, her breathing was labored and her knees were weak.
Practicality had dictated there be at least a few walls in this part of the house. There were four spacious guest rooms, and Jayne’s own large suite, which was set apart from the other bedrooms by a lofted den. She flung open the door to Reilly’s room and turned to him with a skittish smile.
“Here you go. All the comforts of home. You even have your own bath.” She sidled toward the steps, shooing him toward the room with an airy wave of her hand. “Go on ahead. Settle in. Settle away. I’ll just—”
Reilly took a step backward and propped himself against the wall, effectively cutting off Jayne’s escape route. A lazy smile twitched his lips. “Aren’t you gonna give me the grand tour, Jaynie? What kind of a hostess are you?”
Jayne’s brows drew together in annoyance, and she crossed her arms tightly against her chest, not realizing that she was plumping her breasts up practically under Reilly’s nose. Her black eyes sparkled. “It’s a bedroom, Reilly. I hardly think you, of all people, need a map.”
That was an argument best left alone, Reilly decided. His love life had been blown out of all proportion by the Hollywood press, but he did certainly know his way around a bedroom. To his way of thinking, a man didn’t discuss such things, particularly with a lady and most especially not with a lady who had qualms about becoming just another notch on his belt.
“Come on, Jaynie,” he said in his most persuasive tone. He gave her a little-boy’s smile that was designed to melt the coldest female heart. “How are we supposed to get to know each other if you keep running away from me?”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she took a deep breath in preparation for delivering a scathing retort, but Reilly cut her off. He pried one of her arms free and tugged her into the bedroom after him. “You can keep me company while I settle in. We’ll have a nice chat.”
Three feet into the room she dug her heels into the plush slate-gray carpet, and Reilly reluctantly let her go. She chose to stand next to the large oak bureau, well away from the king size bed. Just seeing Reilly standing by the thing was suggestive enough to make her pulse race.
“I like your house,” he said. He plopped his duffel bag down on the ruby-red woven bedspread. With efficient movements he unzipped the bag and began unpacking, laying his things out in neat stacks—shirts, jeans, socks, underwear. “It’s kinda strange, but it suits you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jayne said dryly.
Her gaze wandered over his belongings, lingering on his briefs. They were plain, serviceable white cotton. No fancy designer labels for Reilly. The sudden image of him in nothing but a pair of white skivvies seemed to Jayne like one of the sexiest scenes ever to cross her imagination. Heat swept over her. Unfortunately, none of it came from her left wrist, where she was compulsively twisting her bracelet around and around in hopes of some kind of a message.
“Any other surprises I should know about?” he asked, shooting her a glance over his shoulder.
“Surprises?” she parroted absently, her attention riveted on the wayward strands of golden hair falling across his forehead. Her fingers itched to brush them back.
“A pregnant teenager, a herd of llamas, a tarantula in the livin’ room. These are not things the ordinary person has around, luv. Anything else come to mind?”
“I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”
“Now, that’s a comfort.” He chuckled to himself.
“Oh, except Bryan.”
Reilly went utterly still. Every muscle in his body tensed. He stood at rigid attention, his intense gaze pinning Jayne to the spot. His voice was deceptively, dangerously soft. “Bryan? Bryan who?”
“Bryan Hennessy.”
A dozen thoughts rushed through Reilly’s head. He was too late. Some bugger named Bryan had snuck in and snatched Jayne out from under his nose. He would beat the blighter to a bloody pulp. Then he’d give Jayne a good shaking because she’d known he was coming back. He’d promised, and Pat Reilly never broke a promise; everyone who knew him at all knew that.
Jayne could sense the jealousy in him. She could see it seething in the depths of his fathomless blue eyes. She could feel the negative energy radiating from him. A little shiver of primitive excitement went through her. He’d never looked bigger or more aggressively male than he did at this instant, and Jayne couldn’t control her instinctive response. She didn’t like it, but she understood it. On the most basic male-female level, she wanted to be Pat Reilly’s woman. It was hardly a comforting thought.
“He’s staying in the old dairy parlor,” she said. “He’s a friend.”
Reilly closed the distance between them with two slow strides. He looked down at Jayne but resisted the urge to touch her. “Like I’m a friend?’
“No.” It occurred to Jayne that she could have been stubborn about this. Reilly had no legal claim on her. He had no right to act possessive and get all macho and jealo
us. But it seemed important to clarify this point right now. These were two men who were very important to her for very different reasons. She didn’t want any misunderstandings about that. “Bryan recently lost his wife. He’s staying here because he needs to be near his friends right now. He’s like a brother to me.”
Some of the tension eased out of Reilly’s broad shoulders. He wouldn’t feel entirely at ease until he’d met this Bryan character for himself, but he believed Jayne had no romantic designs on the fellow. She wasn’t the type to lie, nor was she the type to try to make a man jealous. Jayne would never indulge in catty little games. She didn’t possess that kind of female guile.
He gave her a sheepish smile, embarrassed at the way he’d behaved. He was coming on with all the finesse of a steamroller. “Like a brother, eh? Well, that’s okay then, I guess. I don’t reckon we’ll step on each other’s toes, seein’ how what I feel for you ain’t brotherly in the least.”
Jayne tried to ignore the wave of warmth that swept down her body along with Reilly’s heated gaze. “Oh, thanks for your permission, Reilly,” she said sardonically. “You can’t know what it means to me.”
He chuckled at the feisty look she was giving him. Damn, but she was cute. “You’re welcome, luv,” he said with a grin, dimple flashing. “Ask for it any time you like.”
Jayne nearly choked on the urge to scream and laugh at him at once. She shook a tiny fist under his nose instead, unsuccessfully fighting back a grin. “Darn you, Reilly. You tempt me to say a very naughty word.”
“Really?” he questioned, one golden brow sketching upward. There was a thoroughly wicked gleam in his eye as his hand closed around her slender wrist. “You tempt me to act out five or six I can think of.”
He knew he shouldn’t do it, but when he got this close to Jayne, when he touched her, what little caution he possessed vanished. When he touched her, desire flared through him unchecked. All he could think of was wanting her and having her and how damn good it was going to be. Control was like a word from a foreign language, and discretion sounded even stranger.
“Lord, you do tempt me, Jaynie,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning the soft skin of her hand as he raised it to his lips.
Keeping her gaze locked with his, he slowly brushed his lips across her knuckles. Pure male satisfaction thrummed through him as he gauged her response. Her eyes darkened to purest black. Her ripe, moist lips parted slightly, invitingly, and he doubted she was even aware of the small sound of yearning that escaped them. He was very aware of it; it pierced his chest and burned a path to his groin.
Feeling reckless, he drew his mouth across her knuckles again, this time letting his tongue ride slowly over each ridge and valley. Jayne went pale. Beneath her purple T-shirt her small firm breasts rose and fell, nipples straining against the fabric.
“Stop it,” she whispered, nearly incapable of speech. Fear rippled through her. What was she going to do? She was losing herself. She could feel Reilly’s awesome power taking her over. That he could wield so much control over her with so simple an act was terrifying. She couldn’t handle this kind of intensity.
Reilly could feel her pulling away from him emotionally. He could sense her fear. He was in danger of crossing a line he had promised Jayne he wouldn’t cross. No matter how badly he wanted to, he wouldn’t take the seduction any further. That final step would have to be hers, or he would lose her. That prospect was not acceptable.
Immediately he toned down his overwhelming sexuality, leashed his desire. He gave Jayne a gentle smile. Turning her hand over, he pressed a sweet kiss to the fragile skin of her wrist and nuzzled the unusual gold bracelet she wore.
“What’s this, Jaynie?” he asked, fingering the delicate charm that dangled from the chain, wondering dimly why it seemed to turn so warm against his skin. “The key to your heart?”
Something like that, Jayne thought. Reilly, whose psyche was well grounded in mundane reality, wasn’t liable to understand about the bracelet. She decided not even to try to explain the power that small piece of gold held. The only person who truly understood it was the person who had given it to her—Bryan.
“Maybe it’s the key to my heart,” Reilly murmured. The sincerity in his gaze made her breath catch. She didn’t resist as he drew her hand to his chest and flattened her palm over his heart. Even through his khaki shirt she could feel his warmth, the hardness of his pectoral muscles, the steady thud of his heart.
“Thanks for lettin’ me stay, Jaynie,” he said softly. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
He leaned down, intending to drop a quick kiss on her lips, but froze when Candi appeared in the doorway with a knowing smile on her face.
“A—hem,” she said.
Jayne bolted back away from Reilly, blushing guiltily. Pat just grinned and chuckled, utterly unrepentant.
Candi snickered. “Pardon me, Jayne, but your palmist is here.”
“Oh. Fine.” Jayne rubbed her hand against her belly as if trying to erase the incriminating evidence of Reilly’s touch. She didn’t even attempt to meet his eyes as she scooted toward the door. “I’ll let you get settled in then, Reilly.”
“Right,” he said, eyes twinkling as he winked at the teenager.
In the hall Jayne shot a stern look at Candi’s smug expression. “There wasn’t anything going on, you hear?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Candi laughed sarcastically. “Jayne, it’s okay if you’ve got the hots for the guy. I mean, you’re thirty-something, and he’s the sexiest man in the universe. Go for it.”
“He’s just a friend.”
The girl rolled her kohl-ringed eyes and nodded, her black-and-orange spikes bobbing. “Uh-huh.”
Reilly lounged in the doorway to his room, his broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled to himself as he watched Jayne and her pregnant punk descend the stairs.
“Just a friend?” he murmured. “We’ll see about that, Jaynie.”
FIVE
“PAT REILLY’S HERE. He came, just like he said he would,” Jayne said. She nibbled on her thumbnail and looked to the one friend she had confided in about her attraction to Reilly, the one friend she had always confided in.
Bryan Hennessy sat on a stack of hay bales in the llama barn, his brow furrowed in concentration as he held a dollar bill out in front of him. His big hands moving with surprising grace, he made the bill disappear, then tried to bring it back. What appeared in his hand was a dilapidated silk daisy with a bent stem. He frowned.
“That’s eleven dollars I’ve lost. I’m going to go broke on that trick,” he muttered to himself.
“Bryan, did you hear me?” Jayne asked, losing her patience.
“What? Who?” Bryan pushed his glasses up on his nose and regarded Jayne with solemn, serious eyes as he tucked the daisy into his shirt pocket. “Reilly’s here, did you say? Hmm…. Do you want him here?”
The word no teetered on the tip of her tongue, but didn’t quite spill out. It wouldn’t have been the absolute truth, and Bryan would have known that. Even in his current state of emotional pain, he could read her with uncanny ease. Jayne had long ago accepted the fact that she and Bryan were kin on a spiritual plane that transcended ordinary relationships. She seldom questioned or fought against anything highly spiritual. There was no point to it. A person’s karma was a person’s karma, after all.
“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, almost wincing as conflicting emotions clashed inside her.
She bit her lip and wound her bracelet around her wrist. Bryan leaned his back against a thick post. She often found him in the barn trying to regain his lost talent for magic tricks or just sitting and staring at the llamas. He seemed to have lost all interest in his work as a psychic investigator, even though he was in demand all over the world as a renowned expert on ghosts and other such phenomena. It tore Jayne’s heart out to see him suffering, but she knew from experience he needed time to grieve over his wife’s d
eath.
Bryan had come to Anastasia from Scotland two months after his wife Serena’s death, needing the support of his friends. They had given it to him without question or reserve over the past few weeks. Jayne had given him use of her dairy parlor, which she had converted into a guest house, so he would have privacy but be near enough for her to keep an eye on. It seemed ironic that now she was coming to him for advice and support.
She had slipped out of the house as soon as her palmist, Wanda Styles, had gone. Wanda had been no help at all, pointing out a winding, wobbly love line on her hand and predicting she would need to invest in an exotic, scented, edible body lotion. And Candi, whom Jayne had planned to use as a buffer to keep Reilly at bay, had been suggesting all kinds of ways for Jayne to snag the man. It had been downright unnerving to hear the girl’s schemes—especially once she realized her brain was giving them a certain amount of consideration.
Jayne braced her arms on the rail of the stall before her and stared unseeing at Mascara, a black-and-white female llama with unbelievably long lashes fringing her gentle brown eyes. The llama reached her long neck over the stall, begging for a scratching, which Jayne provided automatically as her thoughts turned back to her friends.
The Fearsome Foursome had ended up in Anastasia, just as they’d planned all those years ago. Each had gone off to chase a rainbow, a rainbow that had shattered or lead down the wrong road or simply faded away. Now here they were, all living in the town they had chosen as a refuge of sorts. Faith and Alaina had found new lives here. Each had achieved her ultimate dream of fulfillment. Bryan was simply hanging on, trying to survive a family tragedy. And Jayne, Jayne mused, Jayne had been in a holding pattern … waiting for Reilly’s return.
As if her imagination had conjured him up, he walked into the barn, stopping just inside the door. His face was an unreadable mask as his gaze drifted from Jayne to the man sitting on the hay. “Am I interrupting?”
