Reilly's Return (21 page)

Once he’d gotten his breath back, he took up his stance in front of her again, planting his battered boots and squaring his broad shoulders, digging in for the duration of the fight. “I promise you I’ll come back, Jaynie,” he said. “I always keep my promises. You, of all people, should know that.”

“I do.” But she couldn’t shake the fear that their relationship was in imminent danger, and that fear was more than apparent in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“You trust this bloody bracelet more than you trust me,” Reilly murmured, opening his fist to stare in wonder at the dull gold links. He shook his head as he returned his attention to Jayne. “That’s not the way it works, Jaynie. You love, you trust me. It’s as simple as that.”

Oh, she loved him. But there wasn’t anything simple about it, Jayne thought. She longed for peace and contentment. Reilly was a whirlwind of burning intensity. She had been a challenge to him. He had conquered the challenge. She couldn’t quite overcome the fear that he would now turn his intensity elsewhere. She had seen it happen time and again. She had had it happen.

How many times before she’d met Mac had she been courted by an actor only to be left when she couldn’t pay homage to his ego? Now Reilly was heading back to Hollywood for the premiere of a movie she was almost certain to detest. She couldn’t help but think this would be the crossroads where the paths of their lives would go in separate directions.

“You’re afraid to really love me,” Reilly said. “It was easy with Mac, wasn’t it? His whole world revolved around you. It can’t be hard to love someone who worships you. Don’t get me wrong—I love you, Jaynie, but I’m not some tame old horse you can lead around by the nose. I’ve got responsibilities outside our relationship, whether you like it or not. But there’s one thing you can always be sure of: I’ll always come back.”

Tangling his fist in her hair, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. His other arm banded around her and lifted her. Her body bent against his like a willow to an oak. For just an instant, Jayne tried to keep her spirit from yielding as well, but the attempt was futile. She could no more deny him this than she could deny the sun’s rising. And, in truth, she didn’t want to deny him. She wanted to drink in every drop of attention she could get from him. She wanted to bask in the burning flame
of Reilly’s desire, because she knew from experience how cold and alone she would be once he left.

So she gave him the kiss he demanded. She ran her hands back through the golden silk of his wind-tossed hair and over the smooth, soft leather of his old jacket. She pressed her palms to his cheeks and memorized the planes and angles of his lean face. She kissed him with all the love in her heart and sent up a prayer to the deities that, for once, the premonition the key had given her would prove false.

“Take a look at this,” Candi said indignantly the instant Reilly and Jayne stepped into the house. She snapped a purple fingernail against the banner headline on the
Weekly Globe Report
. It read “Critic and Casanova: Match Made in Hollywood Heaven?”

“You guys made lead story with your vanishing act. You beat out ‘I’m Having Elvis’s Love Child.’”

Jayne did a double take, studying the small photo under the second, less prominent, headline as she took a seat at the kitchen table. She scowled at her young charge. “Candi, this is you!”

The teenager patted a hand to her newly dyed burgundy spiked hair and batted her black eyelids.
“Nice picture, huh? I look like Tracey Ullman, don’t you think?”

Reilly checked the photo and shrugged. “Kind of.”

Jayne smacked his arm and swiveled her ornery look from him back across the table to Candi. “Elvis’s love child?”

“And it didn’t make the headline,” the girl complained, deliberately ignoring Jayne’s point. She picked up a Fig Newton and nibbled at one corner. “People got no respect for the King anymore.”

“Oh, my Lord!” Jayne exclaimed as her attention was captured by the sentence beneath the banner headline. Her blood ran cold as she read it out loud. “‘Reilly woos reviews as
Deadly Intent
is released.’”

It was one of her worst fears typed out in bold italics for all the gossip-mongering world to see. As much as she didn’t want to believe it possible, she had been wooed for reviews before. And the fact remained, Reilly had deliberately avoided talking to her about the film—a classic misdirection maneuver designed to soften her up.

Her heart didn’t want to believe he was the kind of man to stoop to such a trick, but her head kept reminding her of others who had been, and
then there was the matter of her bracelet. Something terrible was going to happen.

Reilly made a rude sound and dismissed the article with a wave of his hand as if he were a king dismissing a declaration of war made against him by some puny principality. “Bloody rubbish. I wouldn’t insult a parrot by linin’ his cage with that rag. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to sue the buggers before they leave me alone.”

“It’s a good picture of you,” Candi commented.

Jayne made a face as she studied the photo. It was of Reilly in a tux, looking devastating. He had his arm around a voluptuous female body in a skintight, black lace evening gown. Jayne’s own face stared up at him, her head tilted at a weird angle.

Her jaw dropped open in outrage. “They stuck my head on Anna Jonsen’s body!”

“Yeah,” Candi said, cracking her gum. “You never dress that nice.”

“This is terrible!” Jayne ranted. “My credibility could be destroyed by an article like this!”

“What credibility?” Reilly questioned sarcastically as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator and popped the top. “You’re a critic.”

“Go ahead, make jokes, Casanova,” Jayne snapped, swatting at him with the paper. “I happen to take my job seriously.”

“Bloody waste of time and talent,” he said crossly, his temper rising.

Jayne rolled her eyes. “That’s a good one. Take a look in the mirror the next time you say that. Ooooh,” she moaned to herself, her brow knitting as she looked at the headline once more. “I knew something bad was going to happen. I just knew it.”

Reilly swore, slamming his beer can down on the table. “This has nothing to do with that blasted bracelet.”

“Before this gets really ugly, can I give you your messages?” Candi asked.

Reilly and Jayne turned on her simultaneously. “What?”

“Jeez,” Candi muttered, wincing. “I think I was safer living on the streets.” She picked up a notepad and cleared her throat. “Reilly, your publicist called and said you’re supposed to be at the premiere tomorrow by seven. He’s already arranged for a limo to pick you up at your place. Jayne, you’re supposed to be in San Francisco tonight for a special screening of
Deadly Intent
.” She bobbed her eyebrows and forced a toothy smile. “Nice timing, huh?”

“I’ll drive down with you,” Reilly said, his gaze riveted on Jayne.

It was not a suggestion. It was a dictate. Jayne shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples where a sudden headache was drumming out a reggae beat. This was it. This was going to be the big one, the disaster her charm had foretold.

“You can’t go to the screening with me, Reilly.”

“I don’t want to go to the screenin’ with you. I said I’d drive down with you. You can drop me at the airport. I’ll catch an evenin’ flight to L.A.”

Jayne didn’t know what to think. Reilly’s expression was inscrutable. There was definitely tension between them—it was almost palpable—but what it meant, she couldn’t begin to guess. Was he really going to try to sway her opinion of the movie? Or was he angry with her for thinking he might do something so unethical?

Out of habit she ran the fingers of her right hand over her left wrist, but it was bare. The bracelet she had counted on to guide her so many times in the past was gone. She was flying blind, and she had the terrible feeling she was going to crash-land.

It was the longest two-hour drive in the history of motor travel. Reilly insisted on driving, which left Jayne with nothing to do but hang on to her hat, a green straw number with pink braid trim. She clamped it to her head with a gloved hand as Reilly sent the MG screaming down Highway 1.

“I didn’t come courtin’ you for reviews,” he said above the whine of the engine. A muscle worked convulsively in his granite jaw.

“I didn’t say you did,” Jayne shouted. She checked her seat belt and tugged down the lace scarf that trimmed the neck of her English garden print dress, tucking it beneath her shoulder harness so it wouldn’t catch in a wheel spoke and strangle her.

“You thought it,” he said accusingly, narrowing his eyes at the way his pride stung.

Jayne stared out the windshield, hoping she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. “You’re a mind reader now? I didn’t think you believed in ESP.”

“I don’t. It was written all over your face when you read that stupid article.”

He down-shifted for a hairpin turn, holding back the rest of the conversation until they were back on a relatively straight stretch of road. He chanced a glance at her then and gave her a sardonic version of his famous grin. “Never mind that I did the film to help out a friend. Never mind that I put my best into it. I’d do more good beatin’ my head against a brick wall than tryin’ to get a good review from you.”

“Don’t you dare say I don’t like your acting,” Jayne said, taking her hand off her hat just long
enough to shake a finger at him. “We’ve been all over that. I think you’re wonderful. The movies you’ve chosen to appear in are a different matter altogether.”

“We’ve been over that, too,” Reilly reminded her. “I had my reasons for making those movies, and they’re good reasons. That’s more than you can say.”

“About what?”

“About why you gave up your dream of writing and directing. You’re damn good, Jaynie. If you would have stuck it out, you would have made it. But you took an easy out instead. Life’s a lot safer when you’re watching from the sidelines, ain’t it? It’s easier to pick apart other people’s hard work and dreams than it is to build your own.”

Jayne pressed herself back into the seat, feeling as if Reilly had reached over and cuffed her one. She gasped. “I resent that.”

“Yeah?” He flashed her a burning look. “Do you deny it?”

Jayne glared at him, then turned away and began to chant. “Oooommm … oooommm … oooommm …”

“Bloody hell,” Reilly muttered, dragging a hand back through his wind-tossed hair. “Am I
gonna have to listen to this caterwaulin’ all the way?”

“I am attempting to right myself on my spiritual axis and find the center of the universe,” Jayne explained primly, lifting her nose in the air only to be hit in the face with a bug. She turned and scowled at Reilly. “I should know better than to try with you around. You’re a disruptive force in my field of life energy.”

“Yeah. I oughta get a medal for that,” he said.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Jayne sat staring out at the scenery, not really seeing the rugged coastline or the golden hills as the winding highway took them into Marin County. Her feelings had certainly taken a trampling today, she thought, allowing herself the luxury of self-pity for a few moments.

Life with Reilly. He didn’t believe in any of the things she believed in. He bullied her at every opportunity. He hated what she did for a living, and he thought she was a coward. What a guy.

But she loved him, Jayne thought with a depressed sigh. She loved him for his tenderness, for his boyish charm, for his loyalty to the people he cared about. He wouldn’t have been arguing with her about the choices she’d made if he didn’t care
about her. In his own rough way, he was as earnest in his convictions as she was in hers.

That thought provoked memories of her own ideals, memories of how determined she had been to succeed when she’d left Notre Dame and headed west. She’d been so enthusiastic when she’d set out to chase that rainbow. What had happened to that enthusiasm? What had happened to that dream?

The rainbow had faded. Her priorities had changed. Or had she let them go?

They entered the hubbub of the airport in silence, encased in a grim bubble of stillness amid the noisy confusion of passengers departing and arriving. Jayne stood by and guarded Reilly’s duffel bag as he bought his ticket. She walked beside him in silence to his gate, where passengers were already boarding the plane.

She hated airports. They were such public places to express private good-byes. Good-byes that always had the potential of being final. Her last good-bye to Mac had been at an airport. She’d kissed him at the gate and waved as he’d disappeared down the tunnel to board a plane that had never brought him back.

She’d known a vague sense of dread that day. It
hung over her today as well, a black shroud of depression that threatened to smother her.

Reilly was leaving. He was going back to Hollywood where he was adored by nearly everyone. And she was staying behind to write what would undoubtedly be a scathing review of the movie he had worked so hard on. She couldn’t escape the feeling that he wouldn’t be coming back except to collect his dog and his Jeep.

“I’ve got to board, luv,” he said softly, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

His heart ached at the thought of leaving. It ached at the expression on Jayne’s face and the tears pooling in her eyes. He hated leaving her, especially this way, when they’d been fighting. That stupid bracelet of hers had her convinced something terrible was going to happen, and no doubt she thought he wouldn’t be coming back. His heart wanted to give her some positive proof that his love for her was true, but it also wanted her blind trust.

Two fat tears slipped over the barrier of Jayne’s dark lashes as she looked up at him.

“I’m sorry we had to fight,” she whispered, more tears choking her voice. She and Mac had never fought. They had existed on a plane of spiritual harmony. She and Reilly fought all the time.
This was probably just another sign that they didn’t belong together, she thought, her heart sinking lower still.

Reilly brushed one crystal drop from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “A fight ain’t the end of the world, Jaynie. We’re friends, remember?”