Reilly's Return (15 page)

Alaina made a face. “I’d think it would be worse if you said it did talk to you. Chatting with jewelry is just cause to have a person declared loony. Not that there’s ever been a question here,” she teased dryly, her eyes twinkling.

Bryan smiled reassuringly and tapped the tip of her nose with his pencil. “Keep the faith, sweetheart. You and Reilly will work things out.”

“I think he’s gorgeous,” Alaina commented, sitting down on a stump. She pulled off a Gucci loafer and rubbed at her swollen foot. “He’s one of my favorite actors. I can’t wait for
Deadly Intent
to come out.”

Jayne jumped as if she’d been stuck with a needle. Her heart lurched into overdrive. “What?”

“Deadly Intent
. You know, the sequel to
Deadly Weapon
and
Deadly Encounter
. It’s supposed to come out this summer, isn’t it?”

“I’d forgotten,” she murmured, a chill running through her.

It wasn’t significant, she told herself as she left her friends and headed for the llama barn. So
Deadly Intent
was about to be released. So what? Reilly hadn’t once mentioned it to her. He probably just assumed she knew it was coming out and that she was going to dislike it as much as she had disliked its predecessors, so he hadn’t brought the subject up.

Chances were she
would
dislike it. The thought made her feel uncomfortable. In view of Reilly’s current state of insecurity concerning his talent, he didn’t need bad reviews. What would happen if she had to give him one? Her stomach churned at memories of fickle actors and fragile egos.

It was a situation they were going to have to face eventually. Reilly didn’t like what she did for a living. Her profession inevitably clashed with his. They were going to have to deal with that problem as they would have to deal with their other differences.

But not today, Jayne decided as she caught sight of him in the pasture beyond the barn. Today she wanted to concentrate on the present, on the bond that had been strengthening between her and Reilly over the past week of lovemaking. Their relationship seemed to be finding footing on
firmer ground as they spent time together, discovering each other, developing their friendship.

She smiled now as she watched him standing a short distance from her llamas. He looked big and tough and handsome in his faded jeans and an old red sweatshirt. The sea breeze ruffled his golden hair, and he squinted against the brilliance of the late afternoon sun.

She was learning so much about him so quickly. She knew he preferred beer to champagne and that he ate enough fried eggs and red meat to make a dietician cringe. He valued his family and his friends, but he felt pressured by them because of his sound financial situation and their constant lack of money. He missed Australia but not vegemite. He swore like a sailor but always said grace at the dinner table.

He hadn’t offered all that information; it wasn’t in Reilly to talk about himself, which was probably why he rarely gave interviews. These were traits Jayne had observed. As a critic, she was trained to watch closely and carefully, to read body language and the subtle nuances of expression and speech. In truth, she had honed these abilities at an early age. Growing up on the wrong side of the paddock at one of Kentucky’s premier thoroughbred farms had given her the unique opportunity
to observe a completely different lifestyle from her own. She had spent much of her youth watching the goings-on at the big house from afar, taking in all the details of the lives of her father’s wealthy employers.

Now, as she let herself out of the barn and made a beeline across the pasture, she let her powers of observation take in the scene before her. Reilly stood with his hands on his hips and a grin tugging at his mouth. Rowdy stood in front of him, eyes glued on the group of llamas grazing placidly beneath a wind-twisted cypress tree. The sheepdog appeared totally engrossed in the animals even though the llamas didn’t seem the least bit interested in Rowdy.

“He thinks they’re mutant sheep,” Reilly said with a chuckle. “He can’t figure out why they won’t pay any attention to him.”

“Is he an honest-to-goodness sheepdog?” Jayne asked.

“Is he? I’ll have you know, Rowdy’s won more than his share of competitions. He was one of the best headin’ dogs in Willoughby.”

He called the dog’s name sharply and gave a series of commands, whistling signals that put the dog through his paces. Jayne watched with delight as Rowdy followed his master’s orders and
tried to herd her uncooperative llamas, dashing around them, creeping toward them as he tried to mesmerize them with his eyes.

Mascara ignored him totally. Pinafore and Petticoat trotted around in circles, their big brown eyes wide with surprise. Jodhpur, the ringleader of the group, quickly became annoyed with the game. He faced off with Rowdy, lowering his head and pinning his long ears back.

“Uh-oh,” Jayne said, nibbling at her thumbnail. “You’d better call Rowdy back. He’s about to get—Uck! Slimed!”

The llama spit, hitting the sheepdog square in the face with a gob of bilious green goo. Rowdy howled, wheeled, and headed back to his master with his short tail between his legs. Jodhpur raised his long neck and pranced around the fringe of his peer group, immensely proud of himself. The female llamas hummed at him as if in praise of his gallant efforts to defend them from the canine menace.

Reilly doubled over laughing. Jayne tried to contain her chuckling so as not to make Rowdy feel bad. After rolling in the grass to dislodge the gunk, the dog dropped to the ground at his master’s feet, planted his head on his paws, and looked woebegone.

“Poor old guy,” Reilly said, sinking to his knees in the lush grass. He scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Done in by an overgrown goat. Good thing your mates weren’t here to see it.”

Jayne went to her pets to reassure them and to scratch their long necks as each vied for her attention. Reilly joined her momentarily. Rowdy slinked away in disgrace.

“Why llamas?”

“Because llamas are wonderful.”

As if that explained everything. Reilly gave her a look and leaned back skeptically as Jodhpur reached toward him with a curious light in his eye. “They smell like wet rugs and spit in your face. I don’t see anything too bloody wonderful about that.”

“Hush,” Jayne scolded. “Llamas are very sensitive. They’ll know it if you don’t like them.”

“Yeah, well, I think they’re weird,” he said, taking another step back just in case. “What good are they?”

“They’re loyal and sweet,” she said, stroking her pets who were viewing Reilly with cool looks. “They have very nice wool—”

“Which you never harvest,” he speculated smugly.

Jayne narrowed her eyes at him, knowing he
enjoyed teasing her. There was always going to be some of the boy in Reilly, ever eager to tug a girl’s braids. “I’ll have you know that llamas are wonderful pack animals.”

He lifted a brow. “These llamas?”

She dodged his gaze and committed a minor sin of omission. “I have a full compliment of packs and camping gear for them.”

“Is that a fact?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “It is.”

“Well, I guess they’re nicer than tarantulas,” Reilly said, chuckling as he worked one of her hands free and tugged her away from her strange pets. She trailed reluctantly after him, pretending to have her nose out of joint.

“Is it time to leave for rehearsal already?” he asked.

“No.”

“Just couldn’t stay away from me, eh?” he teased, tweaking her nose.

Jayne batted his hand away but couldn’t quite keep from grinning. She plopped down on the ground beside him and arranged her full skirt around her. It was unnerving the way he made her feel like a teenager with her first boyfriend. The feeling was alternately marvelous and terrifying.
It was so very different from what she’d felt with Mac. With Mac she had felt peaceful and safe. He had been the bedrock of her existence. Reilly was more like an earthquake, rattling her to her spiritual foundation. She couldn’t stay away from him, and she still couldn’t decide if that was ultimately good or bad.

Reilly looked at Jayne and shook his head in wonder. She wore an old navy-blue Notre Dame sweatshirt, yet another of her wildly flowered skirts, and a wide-brimmed straw hat tied down with a long white silk scarf. She looked absurd, but absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t begin to explain it.

Impulsively, he reached over and tugged the scarf loose so that her hat fell off, spilling her wild mane around her shoulders in glorious disarray.

“So what brings you to the outlands, Calamity Jayne?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” she said, making an apologetic face. “Remember how you wanted your presence in Anastasia to remain essentially a secret? Well, I just got a call from a stringer for one of the tabloids asking if I knew anything about your getting involved in a play up here. I told him no, but you know how they are….”

Reilly scowled. He certainly did know how
they were. They were parasites, piranha, putrid abscesses feasting on the flesh of celebrities. His broad shoulders rose and fell on a long sigh. He didn’t relish the thought of being hounded by reporters and the fans that would follow them. These last few days of relative anonymity had been wonderful. He had been able to relax and let his guard down. He’d been able to concentrate on Jayne rather than the pressures of his career.

Jayne leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It was bound to happen, luv. I guess I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. It’s not your fault.” He flashed her a sudden brilliant grin, his dimple winking at her as he leaned close. “I wouldn’t object to your tryin’ to console me, though.”

“Oh, no,” Jayne said, leaning back. “I don’t want you smiling at me like that, Pat Reilly.”

He turned up the wattage on his famous grin yet another notch. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” Jayne said, trying to catch a decent breath, “when you smile at me like that, it gets me right here.” She pressed a hand to her tummy and shuddered. “And I get all flustered and it goes to my head and I can’t think straight.”

Reilly leaned a little closer, his brilliant blue
eyes dancing with teasing lights. “Here I thought that was your natural state.”

Jayne gave him a look, but swallowed hard as her gaze was caught in the tractor-beam of his magnetism. He reached over and covered the hand she’d pressed to her stomach with one of his own.

“You feel it right here?” he asked, his voice as seductive as black satin sheets. Slowly he slid both his hand and hers upward to cup her breast. “Are you sure you don’t feel it here?”

Her only answer was a weak moan. Beneath her own palm she could feel her nipple harden with excitement. Erotic sensations zipped through her at the speed of light. Reilly manipulated her hand with his, squeezing the soft globe of her breast, rubbing across the tightening bud of her nipple, all the while watching Jayne’s face intently. Her eyelids grew heavy. She wet her lips as she tried to gulp in a breath of air.

Leaning over her, Reilly lowered her to the lush carpet of grass and stretched out beside her, propping himself up on his free arm.

“Do you like that, luv?” he asked in his dark voice. Slowly he drew her hand down across her belly to the apex of her thighs and exerted a gentle pressure there, wringing another moan from her. “Or do you like this better?”

“Reilly,” Jayne managed, “don’t. Not here.”

“Why not?” he asked, lazily massaging her with her own hand.

“We’re right out in the open. Anyone could come along and see us.”

“That’s half the fun, sweet. Doesn’t it excite you to think someone could catch us at a crucial moment?”

It did, but Jayne couldn’t quite bring herself to admit it. Credo of sexual honesty or not, she’d still been raised a Baptist. “You’re wicked.”

“Uh-huh,” he admitted readily.

His hand found its way under her voluminous skirt and swept up her silken thigh. Regardless of her protests she opened her legs for him ever so slightly as he slipped two fingers inside the leg of her panties and began to explore her most sensitive flesh.

Jayne gasped and made an effort to squirm away from him. “Reilly, not here,” she begged. “The llamas are watching.”

He looked over to find that the shaggy creatures were indeed watching. It was a little disquieting but not enough to thwart his hormones. He wanted Jayne, and his appetite for her was strong and immediate.

“They’re just llamas, Jaynie. What do they care?”

“Well … what if they’re not just llamas? What if they’re beings in their third or fourth incarnation? That could be my Grandma Bessie watching us!”

Reilly’s hand stilled. He looked down at her in utter disbelief. “What?! Where do you get this malarkey?”

“It’s not malarkey,” she protested. Sitting up she pushed his hand out from under her skirt and primly tucked her legs beneath her. “Many of the great religions were founded on the principles of reincarnation,” she said, her dark eyes solemn. “I haven’t quite decided if I believe in it or not. I’m sort of leaning toward the pool of life energy theory. But, just in case …”

She was serious. Reilly sat up, propping his elbow on his knee and plucking his chin in his hand. He watched Jayne tie her hat back on, torn between anger, frustration, and laughing out loud. He chose the latter, laughing wearily as he rubbed a hand across his face. She was so sweet and so earnest in all her goofy convictions, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her. His body was throbbing with frustrated need, but
Jayne would ease that later, when they were in the privacy of her room.

He pushed himself to his feet and offered her a hand up.

“Aw, Jaynie, you’re one of a kind. I love you,” he said simply, as casually as if he’d said it every day of his life.

Jayne stopped dead and stared at him as he started to walk away toward the barn. He loved her. Just like that. No hoopla, no ceremony. He just loved her. No big deal.

Questions and anxieties buzzed around in her head like a swarm of angry bees. Was it a big deal, or did Reilly casually toss off declarations of love to whomever? Love wasn’t something she took lightly, but Reilly didn’t seem flustered in the least.