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 inneat 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 gazepinning 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 havebeen stubborn about this. Reilly had no legal claim on her. He had no right to act possessive and get all macho and jealous. 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
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 inneat 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 gazepinning 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 havebeen stubborn about this. Reilly had no legal claim on her. He had no right to act possessive and get all macho and jealous. 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
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