Reilly's Return (23 page)

“They’re fine, Timothy,” Jayne said a bit sharply. Her own nerves were just a little too frayed to contend with a stage manager who had the disposition of a poodle.

She eyed the filmy curtains and shook her head. They had ordered heavy brocade drapes. They had received white diaphanous sheers. It was a bad omen. Once the house lights went down the audience would be able to see everything that went on while sets were being changed and actors were taking their places. The whole mood of the play would be disrupted, but there was nothing to do about it now. Sheer curtains were better than no curtains at all.

“Dim the house lights at eight sharp,” she instructed, “and bring up the spot on Desiree’s bed. The curtain goes up on my cue.”

“But Mr. Reilly isn’t here yet!” Timothy exclaimed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as if it were a cork. He fussed with the white tape holding his glasses together. “I certainly hope he gets here in time.”

“I don’t think we can count on that,” Jayne said, her heart aching as she spoke the words. She
checked her watch and blinked back tears as she felt the last of her hope slide away. “Please tell Mr. Hennessy to be ready. He’ll have to go on in Reilly’s place.”

“Oh, dear. He isn’t going to like this at all,” Timothy muttered as he scurried away.

Jayne looked around the set, finally settling herself on the ornate brass bed. She smoothed the white satin coverlet with her hands, then smoothed the skirt of her dress. The black background scattered with purple-and-blue flowers was a brilliant contrast to the spread, but she didn’t really notice. Her first production was about to begin, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. Her cast was assembled in the makeup room, awaiting a last minute pep talk from her, but all she could think of was Reilly and how their paths had intertwined only to part.

Maybe that was simply their karma, she thought with a sigh of resignation. Or maybe she was turning her back on yet another dream. Love had been easy with Mac; there had been no risks to take. Reilly was a whole other breed of cat. He was rough and rowdy and stubborn and impulsive … and she loved him. She loved every hard, rough-hewn inch of him.

Determination sparked inside her and flamed
to life. She wanted Pat Reilly in her life. This was one rainbow she wasn’t going to allow to fade away, because the treasure at the end of it was well worth fighting for. She had always longed for a place to call her own, a place where she felt safe and content. That place was in Reilly’s arms.

Reilly hit the brakes, and his rented car skidded into a parking space near the side entrance of the theater. He checked his watch and swore. Seven minutes to eight. Nothing had gone right in the three days he’d been away from Jayne. Now he was going to be late for the play as well.

Almost nothing had gone right, he amended with a grin as he thought of the meeting he’d had with Jason Shikenjanski. The reclusive producer lived in the middle of bloody nowhere with not even a telephone link to the outside world, but the man was a movie genius, and it had been worth the trip into the mountains to meet with him.

He jogged up the steps and into the building, excitement stirring in his belly as he was greeted by the sounds of the theater—the backstage hustle and the murmurs of the audience. It was going to be a great night. Hell, it was going to be a great
life, he thought, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pleated navy trousers.

The fingers of his right hand came into contact with Jayne’s bracelet, and Reilly’s smile turned wry. The crazy thing had been driving him nuts. He must have had some kind of skin allergy to the gold or something. His fingers tingled every time he touched it. It had been practically burning a hole in his pocket ever since he’d taken it away from Jayne. And the longer he’d been away, the worse it had gotten. If he’d been as superstitious as Jayne was, he might have thought the thing was trying to remind him of her. As if he could ever get her out of his mind.

“Oh, Mr. Reilly! Oh, thank heaven you’re here!” Timothy gushed, rushing toward him out of the wings. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you! Mr. Hennessy was really angry when I told him Miss Jordan wanted him to get ready to go on. I can’t even begin to tell you how unhappy he was. And all I could think of was, ‘Don’t kill the messenger—’”

“Jaynie did what?” Reilly’s temper rose fullblown. His brows pulled down low over his eyes. A flush stained his high, hard cheekbones.

Timothy gulped hard. “She said it didn’t look
as if you were going to get here in time, and so we should—”

“Bloody hell.” He growled the words as he grabbed the stage manager by the scruff of the neck and gave him a shake. “Where is she?”

The boy’s eyes bulged behind his glasses. “Oh, dear. Oh—she’s—I believe she’s on stage, Mr. Reilly, sir.”

He let the boy go with a snarl and stormed toward the stage. When he saw Jayne, his anger shattered and fell away.

She sat on the bed with her dainty hands in the lap of her flowered dress, her head bent down, her wild dark hair spread out behind her. She looked all alone in the world. The sight of her wrapped around his heart and warmth surged through him. How many times had he looked at her and denied the feelings she stirred inside him? No more. He drank in the poignantly feminine picture she made in her dress with the puffed sleeves and snug bodice.

He loved her like he’d never loved another. She made him angry enough to spit tacks, but he couldn’t imagine a future without her. She, however, had apparently been imagining a future without him.

“You haven’t much faith in me, have you, sheila?” he said as he crossed the stage with his hands in his pockets.

“Reilly!” Jayne’s head snapped up.

Her heart leaped into her throat and danced a frantic jig. She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with the heels of her hands. Everything she’d felt dying inside her sprang instantly to life, revived by the mere sight of Reilly.

He was so handsome in stylish trousers and a polo shirt that matched the incredible blue of his eyes. A narrow leather belt with a silver buckle and tip emphasized his slender waist. His golden hair was neatly combed for once, and his expression was … disturbingly unreadable.

“I told you I’d be back, Jaynie. You didn’t believe me?”

“When you didn’t come back for rehearsal …” Jayne’s words trailed off as she struggled with the explanation. “There was that picture in the paper and the review … and the stink bomb.”

She cut herself off again and regrouped, summoning some righteous anger. “Well, what was I supposed to think? You left, and then the only word I heard from you drove me out of my house. I’m not liable to get that stink out of there for weeks!”

Reilly didn’t try to fight his grin. “Yeah. That was a good one, eh? A bomb for a bomb.”

Instead of laughing with him, Jayne sobered as she looked up at him. “What
was
I supposed to think, Reilly?”

He gave a shrug, his broad shoulders straining the knit fabric of his shirt. “That I was steamed about the review. You knew I would be. And I always send you a little something as a rebuttal; it’s tradition. What did you think?”

Jayne didn’t answer aloud. Every doubt she’d had over the past three days crossed her face. She was sure it was easy reading. Hitching his hands to his hips, Reilly sighed and his eyes saddened as he looked at her.

“You were supposed to know that I love you, Jaynie. You were supposed to believe in that love, not doubt me the minute I was out of your sight.”

“But you’d accomplished what you’d come up here for—”

“Don’t hand me that. I didn’t come up here to exorcise ghosts or exact some kind of revenge or woo accolades out of a movie critic. I came up here to find out if the feelings I’d had burnin’ inside me all this time were love. They are,” he said decisively, his square chin jutting forward at an
angle of challenge. “Do you doubt me now, Jaynie? Are you gonna call me on that?”

“I was afraid,” she said, knowing it was a feeble excuse, but it was the truth. She’d been afraid of Reilly from the start, afraid of the feelings he’d awakened in her when she’d been married to Mac, afraid of his intensity, afraid of loving him, afraid of losing him.

“That’s part of being in love, sweet.” He delivered the news gently, as if to soften the blow. “I know it was different with you and Mac. I’m not Mac. I’m stubborn and ornery and I’ve a bloody bad temper.”

“Tell me about it,” Jayne said crossly. She shuddered at the memory. “You were so angry when you left here—”

“And I told you then, a fight ain’t the end of the world. We’ve had our share of them in the past and I reckon we’ll have our share in the future.” He gave her a sexy, cocky grin and reached out to tweak her nose. “Hell, half the time I pick ’em just to see how cute you are when you’re flustered.”

Jayne gasped in outrage and crossed her arms beneath her meager bosom. “You’re an absolute rascal. I don’t know why I’d want anything to do with you.”

“Because you love me,” Reilly said simply. He
held up a hand to ward off her protest. “Don’t bother denying it, luv.”

Jayne narrowed her eyes and hissed at him. “You’re an arrogant, bullheaded chauvinist.”

“That’s me,” he said with a grin.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Jayne declared, scowling at him. It was a scowl she had to work at to maintain. He was too blasted sexy, grinning at her in that thoroughly incorrigible way of his, that annoyingly cute dimple winking in his cheek. And it was difficult for her heart to ignore the fact that he had indeed returned. She reminded herself he was a day late and an explanation short. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I was in a meeting with Jason Shikenjanski, talkin’ him into backin’ a film.” Reilly said with not the least hint of remorse for worrying her. She should have trusted him and she hadn’t; worrying had been her penance as far as he could see. “The screenplay is excellent. The lead role is just the kind of thing I should have tried doing a long time ago,” he said reflectively. “It’ll take more time than I’ve ever had to give a part before, but I’ve been told by a very reliable source that I have the talent to do it—with the right director, of course, and I have the perfect one in mind. I think you might know her. I think you might be familiar
with the script, as well. It’s called
Everlasting
by Jayne Jordan.”

Jayne was silent for a long moment as she looked up at the man she loved. All this time she’d thought they had nothing in common. But they shared a dream and a love. What more could she ask? Reilly was inviting her to face the future with him, to go down a new path together, a path they had both been afraid to face alone, a path that was suddenly bright with promise.

“I love you,” she said simply.

Reilly nodded. The intensity of his gaze was focused full-power on Jayne as he asked, “And do you trust me, Jaynie? Come hell or high water?”

Reilly was a man of integrity. He was a man who made sacrifices for the people he loved. Jayne knew her own doubts had stemmed from old fears and insecurities. Now she dug down deep for the courage to put them aside and step on the roller coaster that life with Reilly would be. It would be a wild ride, but she would cherish every moment, secure in the knowledge that their love would bridge their differences.

“Yes,” she said.

“Just like that?” he asked. “Don’t you want to consult your astrologer or check with your bracelet first?”

Jayne shook her head and gave a little shrug, lifting her wrists to show they were unadorned. “Guess I just have to trust my instincts this time. You took my bracelet away, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. That reminds me.” He pulled the gold chain from his pants pocket and reached out for Jayne’s hand. “I believe this is yours,” he said, circling her wrist with the bracelet and fastening the newly repaired clasp.

Jayne smiled as a warm, wonderful feeling flowed through her. It was wonder and love and contentment and excitement. It was a feeling that emanated from the golden links around her wrist and encompassed her whole being. She suspected Reilly was feeling it as well; there was a strange light in his eyes. But she knew wild horses couldn’t have gotten him to admit it. She squeezed his fingers, loving every stubborn inch of him.

Her gaze fell to the gift Bryan had given her all those years ago, going over it link by intricate link, until she came to the dainty key. Beside it hung a new charm—a small golden heart set with a brilliant blue sapphire.

“That’s to remind you,” Reilly said, lifting her hand to his lips, tenderly kissing her knuckles, “that no matter where I go or what I do, you’ll always
have my heart, Jaynie. I’ll always come back to you. You have my word on it.”

And Jayne took what he said to heart, because she knew Pat Reilly was nothing if not a man of his word. He was making her a promise, a promise they could build a life on. It was time to put old ghosts to rest, to close the door on old fears, to turn together to chase a new rainbow.

“Marry me, Jaynie,” Reilly said, his heart in his eyes.

“I will,” Jayne answered, tears of love shining in her dark eyes.

Reilly stroked his hand back through her hair and tilted her head back as he leaned down and kissed her with all the love and tenderness his soul possessed.

And the audience, who had been watching the entire scene through the sheer white curtain, enthralled from the moment the house lights had gone down at precisely eight o’clock, rose and gave a standing ovation.