Reconsidering Riley (22 page)

"Only when shark fishing." He examined the
fishing pole in his own hands, then expertly cast his line into the
water. He tapped his foot. "The kind of fish we'll catch here only
require a small punch."

She gasped. "That's barbaric!"

"It's the way of the wild." A grin played
about his lips as he teased the line in the current. He shrugged.
"You'll get used to it."

"No, I won't. That's like...like luring a
person into Macy's with the promise of fifty percent off leather
pants, then bashing her with a hundred-pound mannequin when she
isn't looking!"

Riley cast her a skeptical glance. "I doubt
those mannequins weigh an entire hundred pounds. They look underfed
to me. Their plastic hip bones stick out." He shuddered. "Ugh."

She stared at him. "I'm a vegetarian now,"
Jayne repeated. "I'll eat granola bars for lunch."

"Eat two. Or three. I don't want you to look
like one of those mannequins."

He rotated his shoulders, as though
releasing some pent-up tension. All at once, cheerfulness emanated
from him—that, and competency. He capably handled his fishing rod,
confidently watched the water for signs of the fish he'd
undoubtedly catch with hardly any effort at all. She'd bet Riley
had never had second thoughts about anything in his life.

Including leaving her behind.

Unwilling to dwell on that, Jayne cast her
line again, the way Bruce had shown her. It snagged on a partly
submerged log.

Riley noticed. "Need help?"

"No." She gritted her teeth and yanked. "I
can do it."

So what if it had taken twelve tries and
twice as many swear words from Bruce to learn the technique? She
had it now. Jayne bit her lip and pulled harder.

The line came free. With a determined swing
of her arm, she tried again. Again, the line snagged—this time, on
a clump of mushy leaves trapped between two rocks. Frustrated, she
gave a mighty tug.

"Easy." Riley's hand covered hers, guiding
her into the motion required to free her line. "Save your energy
for clobbering those fish."

Her line loosened. It went slack as Jayne
watched Riley's profile, noticing that grin of his again.

"We're not really going to bash the fish,
are we?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"You're not. I think you've had enough for
one day."

She felt like clapping her hands with glee.
Instead, she arched an eyebrow. "I have?"

He nodded. Gathering up their poles, Riley
gestured for her to follow him to the outcropping of rocks where
Mack was showing Kelly and Alexis how to reel in their catch.
Further along the water's edge, Lance proficiently strung together
the fish Doris and Donna had snagged. Tellingly, none of the fish
were being clubbed. Jayne frowned.

Sometimes—especially where Riley was
concerned—she was much too gullible. Next he'd have her convinced
she and her breakup-ees really
were
going to cook their
dinners on the camp stoves by themselves tonight.

"This ought to suffice for my share—and
Jayne's," Riley told Mack, handing the redheaded guide a string of
fish Jayne hadn't noticed before. He set down the poles and bait.
"You're in charge for a while. I promised Jayne some private
tutelage in wilderness survival."

She gawped. "You did no such—"

"Oh." He feigned surprise. "Did you want to
do some more fishing first?"

Gulp
. He had her there. Mutely, she
shook her head.

"Then come on," Riley said, and took her
hand to lead her away from the water's edge.

Pine trees rose all around, interspersed
with ash and mountain oak. Dried needles crunched underfoot, mixing
with fallen leaves and soil. A peaceful breeze wended between the
thick-barked trees. It combined with the springtime Arizona
sunshine to make the day pleasantly warm.

Riley led Jayne from their fishing spot. The
sound of burbling water fell away quickly. So did the murmur of
adventure travelers' and guides' voices, replaced by bird calls and
wind song. Soon, they were alone.

Jayne turned to him, her ponytail swinging.
Her face, without its usual gloss of color and glimmer, glowed
nonetheless with fresh-scrubbed beauty. Riley loved the way she
looked, perfectly free and open. He'd almost have believed he loved
her
—all except for the conclusion he'd come to while fishing
over the past hour.

"What's this all about?" she demanded, hands
on her hips. "You know darn well I'm a hopeless case when it comes
to wilderness survival skills, so—"

"
This
is what it's about," Riley
said, and kissed her.

She jerked in surprise. Their mouths met—his
purposefully, hers in the midst of a protest he didn't want to
accept. He held her against him, one hand at her waist and another
behind her neck, silently urging her to listen to all the things he
could say only this way...only through this kiss.

Please hear me
, he thought, crazily
desperate and equally determined. And in a magical moment he knew
he'd always remember, Jayne did. Her protest gave way to
acceptance, then eagerness. Riley relaxed. A sense of rightness
filled him. He pushed further, moving them both up against the wide
trunk of a sheltering pine.

He held her hips, steadying her against the
tree at her back. With a moan, Jayne wrapped her arms around his
neck and went on kissing him, exactly as he'd dreamed. Willingly.
Passionately. Needfully. Losing himself in their joining, Riley
felt his senses reel with the wonder of holding Jayne again, here,
now. She was sweet and good and always remembered. All the most
relentless parts of him insisted he get closer.
Closer
.

He raised his arms, cupped her head with
trembling hands. Silky strands brushed past his palms. His
fingertips encountered the ponytail holder binding her hair, then
moved onward to caress her cheek. He urged her to open wider to
him, and she did. With a hungry groan, Riley bent his head to take
what Jayne offered.

Their kiss went on and on. Their wilderness
clothes clung together, forging a new relationship between Gore-Tex
and baby blue fleece. Their bodies did the same, moving to a
remembered rhythm. As the sun warmed their faces and the wind
whispered its secrets, their breathing rose in the stillness,
unified in shared need. Riley gasped as their mouths broke, came
together; he braced his legs and held Jayne close as their bodies
shook, arched as one.

This
was what he wanted, what he'd
dreamed of.
This
was what Riley had realized lay unfinished
between them, as he'd fished today with thoughts of Jayne rambling
relentlessly through his head. He'd spent the morning over the
puzzle of having disappointed her, over the possibility of having
left her lonely. In the end he'd come to only one conclusion.

A true ending was what they needed.

Not a note left on the morning of a new
assignment's departure. Not a silent good-bye as he bent over a
sleeping Jayne and memorized her features before leaving. A
real
ending, a parting as understood as it was certain—those
were the things he owed Jayne, Riley knew now. Those were the
things she needed. The things he'd give her...this time.

It was all so damned simple. So obvious. He
couldn't believe he hadn't realized it before. He'd never gotten
over her because he needed to give Jayne a good-bye. To give them
both
a good-bye.

But that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy
each other in the meantime.

Now, with Jayne in his arms and her kiss on
his lips, a new hope—a new purposefulness—filled Riley. It
energized him anew. He all but crackled with enthusiasm, and with
the relief of having solved the puzzle of his continued thoughts of
her. Now he knew how to set things right between them, once and for
all.

Reluctantly, he ended their kiss. Smiling,
he bent his knees until their foreheads gently touched. He gazed
into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jayne," he said, his voice
roughened with regret. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't
know."

Her body went rigid. She pushed away.
"
What
?"

"I didn't know I'd hurt you. But I figured
it out today—"

"Who have you been talking to?"

"What? Nobody. I've been thinking, and—"

"Thinking?" She turned in a circle, her arms
wide with apparent disbelief. "About me?"

Riley nodded.

"Ha! Don't do me any favors."

He stepped toward her, intending to take her
hand. She turned away before he could. Somehow, things had gone
awry. Again. He had to explain, before Jayne misunderstood.

Too late.

"What were you thinking, anyway?" she asked,
spinning to face him. She trod through the fallen leaves, crunching
their dried surfaces beneath her all-terrain shoes. "That you'd
haul me out here, kiss me, and make me forget all the—all the
things
that happened between us?"

"Well...sort of." Actually, that was pretty
much what
had
happened. "You didn't seem to mind."

His grin faded beneath the glare she threw
him.

"You can't say you didn't enjoy it," he
added.

She folded her arms. "I didn't enjoy
it."

"Liar. You enjoyed it as much as I did. As
far as I'm concerned, that's just more proof I'm right about
this."

"
What
?"

She kept
saying
that. "Like I said
before, I'm sorry. But I'll do better this time.
We'll
do
better. We have a second chance here. Let's use it. Together, for
as long as it lasts."

At the word
together
a haunted look
filled her eyes. Jayne gazed up at him, momentarily silent. Riley
regretted all the more having let her down. This time, this second
chance, he'd make things clearer. Was
already
making things
clearer—he hoped.

"And this is what you brought me out here to
tell me?"

He nodded.

"I already told you I'm not having a fling
with you," she warned. Her chin tilted at a determined angle. "I'm
not. You can't make me."

"Actually...I can." Riley couldn't help but
grin as he considered all the myriad ways to do so. "I can make you
forget every objection you have."

"No, you—"

"
I can
." He stepped nearer, letting
his gaze rove over her. As always, the sight of her warmed
him...everywhere. "I will. But this time, I'll do it right. I'll do
everything right, the way I should have before." He added the
ultimate incentive. "It'll be fun."

"No." She hesitated, as though weakening.
"No fling. I'd have to be crazy to—"

"I'm not talking about a fling. I'm talking
about finishing what we started, all those months ago."

Apparent disbelief widened her eyes. He
nodded, making sure she understood he was serious. About this.
About her. About giving Jayne the—hell, he couldn't believe he was
even
thinking
this—
closure
she needed.

She canted her head sideways, examining him.
"Riley, you can't do this to me. You can't. I'm over you now."

Ouch
. That hurt. He didn't believe
her, but it hurt.

"Give me this," he urged. "Let me make
everything right. I owe it to you."

"You owe it to me? Damn right, you owe it to
me, after the way you—" She broke off, drawing in a deep breath as
she visibly calmed herself. He smile was brittle. "Gee, I never
thought I'd hear you admit it. It's a miracle."

He decided to overlook her cynicism. So she
was skeptical of him. That was understandable. They'd attempted a
casual fling once before, and Riley had ended it badly. This time,
he would do everything right—including saying good-bye fairly, when
the time came.

"Please," he said. "Please let me make
things up to you. I can't promise forever—"

"You never could."

"—but I swear I want to make you happy."

Jayne wavered, biting her lip. She glanced
up at him, her lovely blue eyes uncertain.

Riley experienced a moment's uncertainty
himself. Had he made things clear enough? Had he explained
properly?

Sure, he had. He'd said "for as long as it
lasts," hadn't he? Had warned he couldn't promise her forever? That
was fair. Just to be sure, Riley clarified.

"When this trip is over with, our
relationship will be—"

"There's one thing I want," she interrupted,
as though unable to remain silent any longer. Her serious look
deepened, became even more earnest. More determined.

"Anything."

"This time," Jayne said, "
I
want to
be the one to say good-bye."

Surprise rooted him in place. That was the
last
thing he'd expected from her.

He should have been glad, Riley knew. He'd
never been good at goodbyes—not since childhood. Usually he avoided
them. He distrusted a sappy good-bye the same way he distrusted
stability. The same way he distrusted the close-knit families and
long-term friendships he'd glimpsed—but had never been a part
of—growing up as the son of globetrotting parents. Those things
didn't fit in with his experiences. They never had.

But this meant, he reminded himself, that
Jayne understood his intentions; accepted them. Relief warred with
disquiet inside him. If the truth were told, her desire to be the
one to end things between them hurt.

Riley nodded and stepped nearer. "All
right."

She flinched. "And—and this has to be a
secret between us. If my anti-heartbreak ladies find out
we're...involved again, my credibility will be destroyed."

"Understood."

"One more thing." Her chin rose another
notch. "I want to be the one to say how far this goes."

He pretended to deliberate. "That's three
things."

"Take it or leave it. Those are my
terms."