Read Online Reconsidering Riley by Lisa Plumley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Plumley
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nearness turned her
inside out.
But Jayne did. And she couldn't afford to
succumb to it.
All around her, the workshop attendees waved
their arms, eager to volunteer for the duty she dreaded: having
Riley's hands all over her.
One of those hands loomed in her vision as
he held it toward her, palm up in invitation. Predictably, she
automatically leaned nearer. It seemed her body remembered the feel
of those hands—big, strong, nimble-fingered and surprisingly
gentle—and had none of the reservations her mind did.
Jayne jerked herself back. She shook her
head, scrambling for an excuse. "I, um, haven't even tried wearing
a backpack before. Surely Kelly's Camp Weehawken experience makes
her more qualified for your demonstration. I'm a rank
beginner!"
"You're perfect ," Riley said in that
rumbly voice of his.
A moment later, Jayne found herself pulled
to her feet, to the applause of the group. At her side, Mr.
Charming Smile gave her a reassuring pat.
"This won't hurt a bit," he said.
That's what he thought . He wasn't the
one who'd have to endure the now-impersonal touch of someone who'd
once caressed her tenderly...someone who'd once kissed her
sweetly...someone who'd once— whoa . Jayne started as Riley's
hands lowered to her shoulders and his fingertips grazed the bare
skin near her neckline. That wasn't so impersonal .
"Wearing a pack comfortably starts with what
you're wearing beneath it," Riley said. "You want to avoid seams,
tears, areas that might chafe. Pure cotton rubs when wet, but
silk—" His palms skimmed her shoulders. "—is a fine choice, as are
breathable poly-blends that wick moisture from the skin."
Jayne gawped at him. She'd have sworn there
wasn't a man alive who knew the difference between silk, cotton,
and rayon—much less what a "poly-blend" was. And Riley could
identify those fabrics by touch, while advising on their proper
use. Unbelievable. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that his
expertise was probably not limited to breaking hearts while
appearing unceasingly happy-go-lucky.
The pack settled onto her back, its weight
unfamiliar.
"This is an external frame pack," Riley
explained as he helped steady it. "Empty, it weighs about six
pounds."
"Couldn't I just carry my purse?" Jayne
squirmed beneath the awkward load. "It's lighter. And more
stylish. This feels like a gigantic fanny pack."
The women made faces, nodding in sympathy.
Jayne felt vindicated. Nothing was more unflattering than a
fanny pack. Unless it was two fanny packs.
Riley shook his head. "Can you fit a
sleeping bag, several days' worth of food, supplies, and extra
clothes in your purse?"
Jayne thought about it. If only she'd
brought her Sak drawstring hobo instead of a handbag....
Doris held up her purse. "I think I can."
"Nonsense. I can." Donna raised her
tote. "I once fit a nineteen pound Thanksgiving turkey in here,"
she said proudly.
They all murmured appreciatively at this
accomplishment.
"I saw the cutest Kate Spade bag in a
magazine last month," Carla said. "It was, like, to die for."
"Who's Kate Spade?" Mitzi asked. Pop .
Kelly looked dreamy. "Does anybody else
think David Spade is cute? Because ever since "Just Shoot Me" came
on TV, I—"
The conversation took on a momentum of its
own. Amid its topic changes and laughter, Jayne was stranded with
Riley right behind her. And she did mean right behind her .
His warmth touched her all over. His breath tickled her ear as he
spoke.
"How long do you think this will go on?" he
asked.
She shrugged. Which was a mistake, because
it brought her shoulders more firmly against his palms again. An
inadvisable sizzle zipped through her at the contact. "I dunno.
Until we've covered Fendi, Prada, about six other actors, and,
quite possibly, gardening spades as recommended by Martha
Stewart."
He whistled again. Everyone quieted.
"Or," Jayne amended, "until you stop it,
probably."
Riley squeezed her shoulders gently. The
camaraderie they'd shared awakened at the
inside out.
But Jayne did. And she couldn't afford to
succumb to it.
All around her, the workshop attendees waved
their arms, eager to volunteer for the duty she dreaded: having
Riley's hands all over her.
One of those hands loomed in her vision as
he held it toward her, palm up in invitation. Predictably, she
automatically leaned nearer. It seemed her body remembered the feel
of those hands—big, strong, nimble-fingered and surprisingly
gentle—and had none of the reservations her mind did.
Jayne jerked herself back. She shook her
head, scrambling for an excuse. "I, um, haven't even tried wearing
a backpack before. Surely Kelly's Camp Weehawken experience makes
her more qualified for your demonstration. I'm a rank
beginner!"
"You're perfect ," Riley said in that
rumbly voice of his.
A moment later, Jayne found herself pulled
to her feet, to the applause of the group. At her side, Mr.
Charming Smile gave her a reassuring pat.
"This won't hurt a bit," he said.
That's what he thought . He wasn't the
one who'd have to endure the now-impersonal touch of someone who'd
once caressed her tenderly...someone who'd once kissed her
sweetly...someone who'd once— whoa . Jayne started as Riley's
hands lowered to her shoulders and his fingertips grazed the bare
skin near her neckline. That wasn't so impersonal .
"Wearing a pack comfortably starts with what
you're wearing beneath it," Riley said. "You want to avoid seams,
tears, areas that might chafe. Pure cotton rubs when wet, but
silk—" His palms skimmed her shoulders. "—is a fine choice, as are
breathable poly-blends that wick moisture from the skin."
Jayne gawped at him. She'd have sworn there
wasn't a man alive who knew the difference between silk, cotton,
and rayon—much less what a "poly-blend" was. And Riley could
identify those fabrics by touch, while advising on their proper
use. Unbelievable. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that his
expertise was probably not limited to breaking hearts while
appearing unceasingly happy-go-lucky.
The pack settled onto her back, its weight
unfamiliar.
"This is an external frame pack," Riley
explained as he helped steady it. "Empty, it weighs about six
pounds."
"Couldn't I just carry my purse?" Jayne
squirmed beneath the awkward load. "It's lighter. And more
stylish. This feels like a gigantic fanny pack."
The women made faces, nodding in sympathy.
Jayne felt vindicated. Nothing was more unflattering than a
fanny pack. Unless it was two fanny packs.
Riley shook his head. "Can you fit a
sleeping bag, several days' worth of food, supplies, and extra
clothes in your purse?"
Jayne thought about it. If only she'd
brought her Sak drawstring hobo instead of a handbag....
Doris held up her purse. "I think I can."
"Nonsense. I can." Donna raised her
tote. "I once fit a nineteen pound Thanksgiving turkey in here,"
she said proudly.
They all murmured appreciatively at this
accomplishment.
"I saw the cutest Kate Spade bag in a
magazine last month," Carla said. "It was, like, to die for."
"Who's Kate Spade?" Mitzi asked. Pop .
Kelly looked dreamy. "Does anybody else
think David Spade is cute? Because ever since "Just Shoot Me" came
on TV, I—"
The conversation took on a momentum of its
own. Amid its topic changes and laughter, Jayne was stranded with
Riley right behind her. And she did mean right behind her .
His warmth touched her all over. His breath tickled her ear as he
spoke.
"How long do you think this will go on?" he
asked.
She shrugged. Which was a mistake, because
it brought her shoulders more firmly against his palms again. An
inadvisable sizzle zipped through her at the contact. "I dunno.
Until we've covered Fendi, Prada, about six other actors, and,
quite possibly, gardening spades as recommended by Martha
Stewart."
He whistled again. Everyone quieted.
"Or," Jayne amended, "until you stop it,
probably."
Riley squeezed her shoulders gently. The
camaraderie they'd shared awakened at the
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