Reconsidering Riley (33 page)

There'd be no more avoiding Bay Area
photojournalism assignments. No more turning away from any mention
of San Francisco. From here on out, he'd purposefully visit the
city by the bay, because that was where Jayne would be, waiting for
him.

For an instant he frowned, thinking of the
times when she
wouldn't
be waiting for him. After all, he
couldn't expect her to put her whole life on hold, just for his
occasional vagabond visits. There would be other men. But he could
handle that. He could—

"Hey!" Jayne said. "You're squeezing the
life out of that pillow!"

He blinked and saw that he had the fluffy
goose down in a fisted stranglehold. Okay, so maybe he couldn't
handle the thought of Jayne with another man as maturely as he
thought he could. He'd work on it. The future looked too bright not
to.

Riley smiled at her and released the pillow.
He made a dismissive gesture. "I was just thinking."

"About...?"

About making our future permanently
temporary
. On the verge of suggesting the arrangement he had in
mind, he reconsidered. "About intimidating that pillow into
multiplying. We need more. We've squashed all ours into
pancakes."

Jayne gave him a sassy look. "Oh, but the
way
we squashed them. What fun."

"I'll say." He smoothed her hair. Kissed the
top of her head. Gazed thoughtfully at their nude bodies, entwined
together amidst the tangled sheets. How should he broach the topic?
"In fact—"

In fact, let's get together for some more of
that fun, whenever I'm within a hundred miles of you. What do you
say?

No, he couldn't say that. He needed
something more suave. More persuasive. Riley didn't think he could
take it if she turned him down. Not now that they'd rediscovered
each other again. Not now that Jayne had learned to accept the
impermanence that was as much a part of him as his Timberlands,
tackle boxes, and photography lenses.

Curled up coquettishly beside him, Jayne ran
her hand over his chest. She slipped it over his abdomen. "'In
fact,' what?"

"In fact, I can't believe you have the
energy for that," he sidestepped, deciding to save the discussion
for later...later, when she
wasn't
touching him so
stirringly. "Wow."

"Well, you
did
feed me Twinkies and
coffee." She winked. "Blame it on the sugar and caffeine."

"It was all I could grab from the kitchen.
You made me promise not to be seen."

Remembering his disgruntlement at her
request, Riley scowled. What the hell was up with that?

"And I appreciate it, too," she purred.
"Thank you."

Her hand moved. A few seconds later, his
latest hard-on tented the sheet. He forgot all about being annoyed,
and began thinking about being Super Endurance Man...for her.

She drew away the sheet, uncovering him.
"Hmmm. Looks like you're ready for your reward."

Riley nodded, pleasure uncoiling beneath her
continued touch. Jayne could arouse him with a look, a whisper, a
breath. As near as he could tell, that was just more proof they
were meant to be together...or at least as
together
as a man
like him could manage.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Jayne said
suddenly, peering at his midsection. "What's this mean?"

Her fingers had found his tattoo. Imprinted
just above and to the right of his pelvis, it formed an ancient
black ink symbol in a place where only he would see it.

"It's a tribal language. I had it done about
two years ago."

Her gaze lifted to his.
Two years
ago
, he saw reflected there.
After we broke up
. But the
recriminations he might have expected weren't there. Jayne only
nodded and stroked his tattoo, once. "It's sexy."

He owed her the truth. The truth he'd told
no one else.

"It means 'to remember,'" Riley said. "But I
never needed it. Not the way I thought I might."

She scrunched her nose, looking
perplexed.

"I always remembered," he added. "I always
wanted
."

"Wanted?"

"You. I always wanted
you
. Remembered
you."

At his revelation, something passed over her
face, something curious and intent and almost hopeful. But then a
certain stubbornness took hold, and Jayne caressed him again.

"Well, tonight you've got me," she said
lightly. "So we'd better make the most of it."

"Anything you say." He smiled and waggled
his eyebrows teasingly. "I live to please."

And then, not long afterward, he did.

Jayne awakened in the morning with a smile
in her heart and a pounding in her head. Wincing at the sensation,
she put her hand to her brow. Maybe she had post-incredi-sex
disorder. Or a Twinkie hangover. It had been days since she'd
noshed with such abandon, after all. And even longer since she'd
loved
with such abandon.
Ahhh
.

Rolling over in bed to snuggle closer to
Riley, Jayne gave him a one-armed hug. He reciprocated sleepily.
Even conked out he remembered to be affectionate. Could he
be
any more wonderful?

His lovemaking last night—and the intimate
talks they'd shared over junk food and sugared java in between—had
surpassed everything she'd remembered. And that was saying a
lot
. She and Riley had reconnected in every way. They'd
rebuilt a trust that was rock solid. Now their relationship felt
more real and more remarkable than ever before.

Riley must have felt it too, Jayne told
herself. He must have felt things shift, must have felt their lives
fall into sync. This time,
this time
, she dared to believe,
things might actually work between them. This time they'd find a
way to be together. No matter what.

Her usual optimism returned. Here, in
Riley's sunshine-y bedroom at the lodge, Jayne felt cozy and
hopeful. Here, as her body shared heat with his and their toes
mingled beneath the sheets, she felt
right
. Happily, she
gazed at Riley's sleeping profile, delighting in the rugged slope
of his nose, the rowdy angle of his jaw, the sensual slant of his
mouth. He really was a gorgeous man. Not even another
Clooney-Vision Film Fest could have put him to shame.

Smiling, she pushed aside the bedding. His
shoulders came further into view, along with his chest and arms—one
of which cradled her close. She trailed her fingertips along the
center of his torso, then swept them lower to his exotic
tattoo.

I always remembered. I always wanted
you
.

His revelation had stunned her. Pleased her.
Most of all, it had encouraged her. Despite his leaving, he must
have fallen for her every bit as hard as Jayne had fallen for him.
Why else would Riley want to tattoo a permanent reminder of her on
his skin? For a guy who claimed to avoid all commitments, that was
a pretty telling gesture.

It could only mean one thing.

"I love you, too," she whispered, gazing
into his sleeping face. "I always have."

He shifted. Had he heard her? Breath held,
she waited for him to open his eyes. She hadn't meant to wake him,
but if she had...maybe Riley would finally say he loved her, too.
Maybe he would say he'd decided to stay.

He slept on. Disappointment nudged at her.
Oh, but she'd fallen hard this time, Jayne knew in that moment.
Harder than ever before, for Riley. But really, they were both
adults. Both willing. Both free to be together. So what was the
harm in that?

A sudden knock at the door made her remember
what the harm was in that.

A second knock made her panic.

Her breakup-ees
! They couldn't
discover her here! If they did, they'd realize Jayne was a fraud.
If they found her cavorting with her forbidden ex, they'd realize
her techniques were phony...and her "gift" was nonexistent. Which
must be true, she thought dispiritedly. Just look at her.

Picking up where she'd left off with Riley
after
her breakup-ee trip was one thing. Canoodling with him
during
the trip was something else again. The distinction
between the two was something she'd forgotten in the heat of the
post-bath moment.

Mobilized into action by a third knock, she
groped for the frothy pink nightie she'd been modeling last night
for Riley (before he'd deliciously divested her of it). Their
luggage had been delivered to the canyon lodge by Gwen and Bud, and
now Jayne had her full travel wardrobe—for all the good it did her.
Once her breakup-ees knew she was a useless broken-heart curer,
they were unlikely to be impressed by coordinating shoes and a cute
miniskirt.

"Riley! Wake up!" she whispered. "Someone's
at the door."

That someone knocked again. Jayne struggled
into her nightie, reasoning it was the best cover she'd manage on
short notice. Shoving her feet into marabou-trimmed pink bedroom
slippers, she tottered to the other side of the bed. She kicked all
their discarded clothes beneath, then shook Riley's shoulder.

He barely budged. Apparently, hot steamy
lovemaking could work to a girl's disadvantage...if it left her hot
steamy fella too exhausted to be manhandled out of his
incriminating position on the morning after. Arms fluttering, Jayne
bent over so her face was right beside his ear.

"Riley, wake up! I need—"

"I've got what you need, baby," he teased in
a sexy, drowsy voice. His arm dangled from the mattress and found
her leg. Her slid his palm up her thigh, then cracked open one eye.
"Just let me get a bowl of Wheaties and a spoonful of coffee
grounds first, and I'll make you soooo happy—"

"No! That's not what I mean."

He opened both eyes. Then widened them, as
he centered his gaze on her cleavage—revealed to advantage in her
nightie. "Hey, good morning! You wake up
real
nice."

Riley smiled broadly. Jayne preened. "You
wake up nicely, too," she said, distracted from the emergency at
hand by the sheer novelty of having a thousand-proof hunk at her
disposal. "
Really
nicely. Maybe we've still got time
for—"

Another knock—a louder one—jolted her to
attention. She grabbed his biceps and tugged. She had to get him
out of sight.

At the same moment, he quirked his eyebrows.
"Is someone at the door? I'd better go see who it is."

He disengaged himself from the tangled
sheets, then stood in glorious nudity. Sunlight glowed over his
muscles, casting them in golden perfection. Oh, but to be a ray of
sunshine, free to roam over that face, those shoulders, that
butt—
hang on, here. She was getting distracted again
.

Thump, thump, thump came from the lodge
hallway. The door rattled.

Riley started toward it. He stopped, dragged
some of the sheet around his waist, and began walking again.

"Stop!" Jayne tackled him partway there.
"I'll get it."

"Don't be silly." He wobbled, stumbling on
the trailing bedding. "It's my room."

"That's the whole point." If
he
answered the door, he might blow her cover.

Shoving, pulling, and coaxing, she urged him
away from the bedroom door and toward the room where they'd shared
their bath. She kept up a constant stream of murmured
encouragement, desperate to get Riley out of the way.

Once they were near enough, she opened the
louvered closet door. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Using her best fifty-percent-off-sale move,
she shouldered him inside the closet. Another final-clearance
heave-ho landed him all the way inside.

"Hey!" Off-balanced, he clawed at the
hanging clothes.

"I'm sorry! Just please,
stay
in
here," Jayne begged, then she shut the closet and went to answer
the door.

Frowning in the closet, Riley pushed aside a
musty blanket that had fallen on his shoulder. In retaliation,
something pungent-smelling and hard whacked him on the side of the
head.

A cedar moth-proofing block, he realized as
he squinted groggily at it in the bars of light struggling through
the louvered door. A minute and a half ago, he'd been getting
reacquainted with Jayne's silky thigh, preparing to strip off her
filmy nightie with his teeth. Now, he was getting clobbered by
Martha Stewart-ish housekeeping paraphernalia.

What the hell was going on?

Irritated, he tried the doorknob. It didn't
turn, and he boggled at it. Had Jayne actually
locked
him
in?

When a second try yielded the same results,
Riley knew she had. This perplexed him even more than the
linebacker-style maneuvers she'd used to shove him in here in the
first place. Why would Jayne want to lock him in the damned
closet?

For a bleary instant, he tried to comfort
himself. Maybe he'd pleasured her so well she couldn't bear to let
him get away. Riley brightened, standing taller as he clutched the
sheet to his naked middle. Maybe Jayne had enjoyed their
mushy-gushy reunion conversations so thoroughly she wanted to make
sure they shared more of them. He knew he did. In fact, he'd begun
reconsidering his plans for the future. All at once, settling down
didn't sound so bad. Especially with Jayne.

Then another, less cheerful thought struck
him. Maybe someone...in
particular
was at the door. Someone
Jayne didn't want to know about their rekindled affair.

But who?

Mack? Bruce? Bozo Boy, who'd inspired her
book
and
sent her to Heartbreak Camp? Riley would send him
to Broken Nose camp if he dared to try hurting Jayne again, he
vowed. If he could just get out of this closet...he was next to
useless amid the moth-eaten sweaters and forgotten hats.

"Alexis!" came Jayne's voice from across the
room—from the
non-imprisoned
side of the room. She sounded
surprised. "What are you doing here?"