Shiver of Fear (6 page)

It had been a long, long time since a man had made her feel… alive.

Outside, the sun met her mood, threatening to break through a gray sky, underscoring a sense that she’d just breathed clean,
sweet air and wanted more. More warmth. More flirting. More… of a man like that.

After the last few years of ice and misery and daily disappointments from the man she’d married, that little shot of flirting
with a stranger was like downing a tumbler of Irish whiskey.

And it left her just as warm.

Hesitating at the curb, she looked for one of the London-type cabs she’d been using to get around Belfast. She was already
used to the hum of the city and the open-air feel of the low-rise buildings, although the Europa and the few modern buildings
in the little square were taller than most. In the past few days, she’d become familiar enough with the main streets and some
of the neighborhoods that renting a car and taking a trip seemed like a brilliant and beautiful plan.

Speaking of brilliant and beautiful… She glanced behind her through the glass doors, somehow not surprised to see the man
she’d just met doing the same thing from the front desk. Their gazes met and he zapped her with a smile again.

“Cabbie, miss?”

She was about to say yes, but then shook her head. The B and B wasn’t that far, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t
feel like hiding in the back of a cab, cornered and considering her options. She’d found Sharon, sort of; she had time and
a place to go; and she maybe had a semi-sort-of rendezvous that night.

Was it too soon to talk to a man, too close to Josh’s death to think about being with someone else? No. After four years of
marriage to one of the coldest cheaters in the world, it wasn’t too soon to at least think about having a drink with Marc
Rossi. Great name, too.

He was probably in town on business, she decided as she headed around the building toward Great Victoria Street. Lonely, looking
for company… married? Undoubtedly a charmer like that had a wife and three kids back in New York. He didn’t look too young,
mid-to-late thirties, with a sexy kind of fierceness under that charm, like he could slam you up against a wall and pin you
there—right before he kissed the living hell out of you.

She almost stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. Was that why she’d turned him down so quickly? Because what was wrong with a little
distraction? Assuming he
wasn’t
married and really was just a friendly guy from New York looking for company.

Maybe she’d have that drink with him. It couldn’t hurt, and it might feel… really good.

She paused at an intersection, orienting herself to the left-side drivers, when a dark sedan slowed down, inching over to
where she stood. She stepped back, and the window rolled down and the driver smiled at her.

Delivering the same little bolt of lightning through her blood.

“It’s a long walk up the coast, Ms. Smith.”

A cool breeze lifted her hair but did nothing to reduce the heat level of his gaze. “I’m on my way to rent a car.”

“Now, that’s just a waste of time, money, and gas. I’ve already got one, and I’m going sightseeing. My offer still stands.”

She hesitated, but not for long. Why shouldn’t she have just one afternoon of enjoyment on this mission?

Still… she wasn’t sure. She took a step closer. His right hand rested on the window, but that wasn’t the one that mattered.
The left was on the wheel, and she took a surreptitious dip to see it.

“Looking for a ring?”

So much for surreptitious. “Actually, yes, I am. I’m suspicious that way.”

He held up his bare hand. “Truth in advertising. Divorced and traveling alone, wildly attracted to honey hair and blue eyes,
and on my way to spend the day sightseeing and have no desire to do that alone. Would you care to come along?”

This wasn’t the reason she’d traveled across the ocean and traipsed all over Belfast. This wasn’t in keeping with her plan
to find Sharon, to have that personal meeting with her and warn her about the man watching her house. This wasn’t—

“If it’s that tough a decision for you, Ms. Smith, I’ll
back off.” There was nothing but sincerity in his tone, no more flirting, no more seduction. Just consideration and kindness.

And, God knows, she could use some of that, too.

“That’s not necessary,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and making yet another spontaneous decision. “I’d love to
go sightseeing with you. And, please, call me Devyn.”

He grinned like she’d given him a gift, hopping out to walk her around to the opposite side of the car, moving with grace
despite his six-foot height and nicely built muscles. As he stepped in front of her to open the door, she stole a look at
his back, lingering on the jeans that hugged his backside and narrow waist.

She was going sightseeing, all right. And the view was spectacular.

“So what brings you to Belfast?” he asked when he climbed into the driver’s seat on her right and tugged on his seat belt.
“Business or pleasure?”

“Both,” she said. “You?”

“Same, but mostly pleasure.” He threw her another toe-curling look. “Pleasure today, definitely.”

“What do you do?”

“Invest,” he said. “How about you?”

Of course there’d be questions. Many personal questions. She should have thought of that before she hopped into the car with
a sexy stranger. “What do you invest in?” she asked instead of answering.

He maneuvered through a roundabout, surprisingly comfortable with the left-side driving. A competent man, confident and easygoing.
Joshua had been that way… an easygoing liar.

“I invest in companies.”

“Like a venture capitalist?”

“Something like that, but a little more in the background. Angel investments. You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded
her. “What’s your business here in Belfast?”

“It’s personal,” she said, hoping her tone would not invite another question, but his look was expectant. So she added, “I’m
waiting for a friend from the States who gets back in a few days.”

“Back from where?”

Instead of responding, she made a show of opening the brochure she’d been holding in the hotel. “There’s a map on the back
of this. We’ve got quite a scenic route up the coast.”

He kept his gaze on her and not the road for a few seconds. “So you’re secretive as well as beautiful.”

Looking down at the brochure, she let a lock of hair fall and cover her expression. Would she have to ask him outright not
to probe with personal questions?

Stopping at a light, he reached over and lifted her hair, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, the contact surprisingly warm.
Damn near electric.

“Am I right?” he asked. “You’re secretive?”

“I’m private,” she replied, turning her head enough to escape the heat. “There’s a difference.”

“Still beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She felt a flush rise to her face as the voice of the woman who’d raised her echoed in her head.

Beauty is skin-deep.

It wasn’t until Devyn used her considerable resources to find out her real bloodline that she learned exactly why
her adopted mother loved that phrase. Because under the skin is the blood… and the blood in her veins was not Hewitt. It was
MacCauley, and there was nothing beautiful about it.

The thought reminded her of why she was here—not to sightsee with charming strangers. Still, she’d made the rash decision—that
bloodline acting again—and now she had to live with the consequences.

She pointed to a main highway. “That’s the M2, I believe, that circles Belfast. Take it a little west, then go east up to
Ballyclare.” She gave him a forced smile. “Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Have you been to Ireland before?”

“I have, but I spend most of my time in Dublin. Never been up this far.”

“Me neither.”

His smile wasn’t forced or unnatural. It was just… inviting.

“I know you don’t want a barrage of personal questions, but I have to ask one, since I don’t see a ring. Single as well?”

“I am now,” she said, looking away, out the window.

“Ah, divorced, too, then?”

She waited a beat. “No, actually, I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry. How long has it been?”

“About two…”
Months
. “Years.”

“Kids?”

“No,” she said quickly. “What about you?”

Maneuvering onto the highway stole his attention momentarily. “Not yet,” he replied, a hint of something like wistfulness
in his voice.

“But you want them?”

He glanced at her. “What was the clue?”

“The word ‘yet’ and the sound of longing in your tone.”

“Wow.” He laughed, shooting her an admiring look. “Private, beautiful, intuitive. Look how much I learned about you in just
this little bit of time.”

Reminding her that she’d better keep the conversation about him or she’d be telling him far too much. “We’re even, then. I’ve
learned you’re open, charming, and, oh, let me guess, the oldest in your family.”

“You got all that out of ‘not yet’? Amazing. But I hate to ruin your perfect record. I’m the second out of seven, not quite
the oldest.”

“
Seven?
That’s a huge family.”

“Now we’re even,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I hear longing in your voice.”

Was it that obvious? “I was a lonely only,” she admitted. “Seven kids sounds like pure heaven.”

“With moments of hell. To be fair, there were only five kids and two cousins raised with us. Plus a grandfather, Uncle Nino.”

“You call your grandfather Uncle Nino?”

“Mostly we just called him Nino, which became his de facto grandfather title, like, you know Boompa or Gramps. My cousins
came to live with us and he’s their great-uncle, so they call him Uncle Nino.”

“Sounds like a great way to grow up. Rossi, right? So this must be an Italian family. Where in New York?”

But he just shook his head. “You know, Devyn, I have only a day with you, and an overview of my huge family—and yes, we are
Italian—could take up most of
our time. Unless, of course, you promise me I can have more time until your friend gets here. What day does he arrive?”

“Thursday and… it’s a she.”

He lifted a brow, his dark eyes glittering with a tease. “Well, that’s encouraging. Not a romantic rendezvous, then.”

Damn, he was good at the conversation volley. She purposely shifted in her seat and avoided eye contact. “It’s two more miles
to the turn to Ballyclare. You know, I just like saying that, such an Irish word. Have you noticed how different the accent
is up here? More British than brogue, don’t you think?”

“You know, Devyn,” he said, gently placing his hand over hers on the console. “This will be a very long, very frustrating,
and very uncomfortable day if you refuse to tell me anything about yourself. Unless, of course, you’re on the run from the
law, in hiding from an ex-lover, or on a secret mission for the government and can’t tell me anything. In that case, I’ll
let you get away with being chatty and vague.”

She slid her hand out from under his, taking the brief moment to try and swallow. “What if I were guilty of all of the above?
Would you still want to go sightseeing with me?”

His expression shifted and softened. “More than ever.”

The last time a man believed her, he took her story and tried to sell it to the highest bidder—and it cost him his life.

“Then you better be careful, Marc Rossi,” she said quietly. “Because nothing about me is as it seems.”

He smiled, an expression so sexy and endearing it made her stomach plummet to her toes. “There’s nothing I like more in a
woman than mystery. I take solving it as a personal challenge.”

A challenge, she swore to herself, he would fail.

M
ake a wish, Marc.”

I wish she weren’t so damn perfect
. “I wish I didn’t feel like such a tourist.” He settled into the cool, mottled rocks, the particular arrangement of stones
shaped like a chair.

“Too bad, you are. And at this moment, the tourist is in the Wishing Chair.” Devyn waved the guidebook they’d picked up at
the visitor’s center, the wind whipping off the Atlantic coast and howling over the wide stretch of bizarre geology called
the Giant’s Causeway. “Whatever you wish will come true, according to legend. And if I’ve learned anything in the last few
hours, it’s that legends rule the day around here.”

“Right. I better make a good wish.” He leaned back, squinting up at the silhouette of a woman against a misty sky and gunmetal
seas, still amazed at how different she was in person than in two dimensions.

And not just her features. Yes, she was even prettier
than he’d anticipated, but he’d braced for an ice queen and got a surprising blast of heat. He’d expected a bland and bored
rich widow, maybe uptight and withdrawn, but discovered a woman with a smile that came from her heart, a laugh that sounded
like chimes, and windblown hair that was ten different shades of butterscotch and caramel.

Not to mention a lithe, lean body that moved with a magical mix of grace and sexiness.

Too perfect
.

“Come on,” she urged. “What do you want most in the whole world?”

Nothing he could wish for here and now. Nothing the legends and lore would grant him. Nothing he could ever expect to have
again in this lifetime.

“Now you’re the one who’s thinking too hard,” she said, those wind chimes ringing again as she laughed, a sound as intoxicating
as the view from the sharp, limestone cliff jutting out to the ocean behind her.

“I’m not thinking. I’m enjoying the view,” he said, looking right into eyes the color of his first Corvette. Arctic Blue,
the Chevy guys called it, a mix of glinting glaciers against azure sea.

“You have about ten seconds before the next busload of tourists forms a line. Wish.”

He closed his eyes, the outline of her curves against the milky sky still burned behind his lids. “I wish you’d have dinner
with me tonight.”

She just laughed and reached for his hand, offering help he didn’t need but certainly wanted. “You’re greedy. You’ve got my
whole day already.”