Shiver of Fear (7 page)

“Not greedy. I just like to plan for the future.” Still holding her hand, he brushed her lower lip with his thumb,
because it was the next best thing to pressing his mouth there. “And dinner isn’t exactly a lifetime commitment. You’ve got
to eat. Why do it alone?”

She gave him that don’t-ask-me look she’d laid on him mercilessly in the car, until he backed off and kept the conversation
impersonal and light.

Once he’d done that, she’d relaxed and the day had unfolded from his well-orchestrated “accidental” meeting to something that
felt very much like a first date. He couldn’t think of a better way to get her off course than good old-fashioned seduction,
but nothing about this effort felt forced.

“Let’s go to the edge,” he said, keeping their hands locked as he closed his arm around her back.

She hesitated, a little off balance on the slabs of slippery rock. “I don’t think so.”

“You afraid of heights?” he asked.

She nodded, her color deepening with the admission. “They make me dizzy.”

He tightened his grip and lowered his face to her ear. “I’ll hold you,” he said softly, his words caught in the wind. “Then
I’ll
make you dizzy.”

“Wow.” Easing away but still holding his hand, she shook her head, stepping gingerly over one of the thousands of flat-topped
rocks that formed the unique shoreline. “You’re scary good at flirting, you know that?”

“Come on, how can you not be a little romantic? It’s Ireland, for God’s sake, and this whole thing”—he gestured to nature’s
spectacle around them—“was created by a lovesick giant.”

“Or an erupting volcano, depending on whether you believe lore or fact.”

He laughed, slowing her steps with a gentle tug. “I guess I’ll add pragmatic to the list of things I’m discovering about you.”

“And I’ll add world-class
play-er
.” She dragged out the word.

With a grunt, he pounded a fist to his chest, feigning a stab wound. “Ouch.” But the truth hurt a little. She had no idea
how much he was playing her right then.

“Not denying it, I see.”

“I’m not a player,” he assured her. “Just a hopeless romantic. Like you’re private and not secretive. Obviously, between us,
semantics are important.” He guided her closer to the cliff’s edge. “C’mon, Devyn. Face your fears.”

Another gust whooshed over them, so he had to place his arm around her waist or stumble in the stiff breeze. She looked out
at the water, giving him a chance to study her profile.

“It’s hard to be scared in the face of such beauty,” she mused, unaware of his scrutiny.

“It sure is.”

She turned then and caught him. “You’re flirting again.”

“I’m admiring the view again.” The stunning, perfect view that really should be a red flag to Marc.

She looked back at the sea, letting the compliment drop.

His former wife had been a flawless specimen of womankind, too, and he’d been foolish enough to believe that meant her heart
and intentions were perfect as well. At least he had the advantage of already knowing this woman was hiding something.

Something he needed to know in order to accomplish the simple assignment of derailing her and getting her to
leave Belfast. At least he’d gotten her out of the city for the day, but the job was bigger in scope than one day, and if
he was going to accomplish it quickly, he’d better work harder.

“So,” he said with a light squeeze, “you’ve stood at the edge of the Giant’s Causeway. Surely you’re ready for the rope bridge
at Carrick-a-Rede? It’s next on every tourist’s agenda.”

“I don’t know…” She suddenly looked around, her attention moving to the crowds instead of the scenery. “Every tourist?”

“Yep, even the ones afraid of heights.” He guided her back to the car, across the thousands of hexagonal rock columns, arm
in arm over the uneven terrain like a couple who’d been together for years instead of three hours.

What exactly would it take to get her to leave before the person she was waiting for arrived? It depended on who that person
was, he decided. Time to find out.

As they passed the Wishing Chair, he wended them toward it. “I know what my wish is now.”

She let him take her there, and when he sat, she didn’t fight the pull to sit on his lap. He put his finger under her chin
and turned her face toward his.

“I know what you’re going to wish for,” she said with a laugh. “And you’re wasting your time. I’m not going to kiss you.”

“That’s not what I was going to wish for at all.”

A flash of surprise and maybe disappointment darkened her eyes. “Then what?”

“I wish you’d tell me who you’re meeting in Belfast this week.”

Color drained from her face. “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“Not important. Just a friend.” She got up from his lap, the move fast and forceful. “Let’s go, Marc.”

He stayed in the chair and watched her make her way across the stones without him. He’d have to be more creative.

Less than thirty minutes later, they were at the base of another seaside cliff, the entire promontory swathed in classic Irish
green grass, a winding stone path leading up to the top.

Way
up to the top.

A few hundred butterflies woke up in her stomach, making Devyn wonder if they took flight because of her fear of heights or
her attraction to Marc.

He was right about one thing—he made her as dizzy as the extreme elevations.

Their fingers brushed as they started toward the path, passing dozens of tourists along the narrow walkway, groups coming
down from the rope bridge that joined two towering land masses, the water crashing beside and below.

Devyn wanted to join the laughter and chatter in the air, but she’d been purposefully quiet on the ride over here, a debate
raging internally.

She wanted to tell him why she was here. It would be such a relief to share the burden but, oh, the explanations and questions.
So, she curbed the impulse and said nothing, and being a gentleman, he let that silence feel comfortable instead of awkward.
Which was just another thing she liked about him.

Without taking the time to consider why, she slipped
her hand into his much larger one and they started up the hill.

A group of tourists hustled by, noisy and happy, joking about the terrifying trip across the bridge. As Devyn and Marc came
around the next corner, they could see why.

“Whoa.” She almost didn’t breathe as her gaze traveled up to the narrow, handmade walkway that joined the highest peak on
the mainland to the cliffs of tiny Carrick Island. About sixty feet from end to end, the bridge hung a good eighty feet or
more above a watery chasm. Devyn felt the breath rush out of her at the thought of crossing that bridge.

“C’mon.” He tugged her gently, obviously sensing her reluctance to move. “Can you imagine the view off the other side? You
can see Scotland.”

“Not today you can’t.” A fenced-in path rimmed the top of the huge rock, offering glorious views back at Ireland, but straight
across the ocean was nothing but clouds and mist.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Dev.”

Her heart flipped. “Oh, yes, there is.” Starting with a man who called her “Dev.”

“I’ll be with you the whole way.”

“So we go down together.”

He grinned. “What a way to go.” He took her hand and placed a strong, protective arm around her waist, the gesture so close
and comforting it made her eyes tear. Or maybe that was the wind. And raw fear of what she was about to do.

No, she decided, the emotional tug was because of him. No one had ever protected her before. On the contrary, anyone she’d
ever trusted had betrayed her. And yet, this man, this total stranger, just made her feel… safe.

“Don’t think so hard about it—just do it,” he said.

“I’m not thinking about the bridge,” she said quietly. “I was actually thinking about you.”

He slowed his step, searching her face with a hint of a smile. “And what were you thinking?”

“That no one calls me Dev.”

He lifted a brow. “No one? Not your mom or dad?”

“Especially not them.” Both of whom would jump off that bridge if she referred to them as “mom” and “dad” instead of “mother”
and “father.”

“Not your”—he angled his head gently—“husband?”

“Not him, either.”

For a heartbreakingly long minute, he held her gaze. “Then it’s a day for firsts, Dev.” He pulled her a little closer. “First
nicknames. First trips across scary bridges. And, if we make it… first kisses.”

Something inside her slipped, falling into an exciting cocktail of feminine response low in her stomach. She
wanted
that kiss. “Then I’m motivated to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He laughed at the pun and hugged her, warmth flowing from him into her whole body. With the cold breeze off the North Atlantic
and the cloudy sky, Devyn almost ached with the desire to hold tight to the warmth and security he was offering her.

Without exchanging another word, they continued arm in arm, drinking in the breathtaking scenery, occasionally glancing at
each other with appreciative smiles. By the time they reached the top of the hill, her skin felt flushed and her heart was
beating double-time again.

A small crowd gathered in groups at the precipice, forming a single line to cross the bridge.

“Ugh,” she said softly. “It’s a long way down.”

“You’re not going down, Dev. You’re going across. With me.” He led her over to read a placard explaining that the bridge was
built—and rebuilt every year, he pointed out—by fishermen who wanted to reach the island to catch the salmon that circled
it during spawning season. After a few minutes, they joined the crowds moving toward the stairs that led to the rope bridge,
and Devyn’s throat grew drier.

By unspoken rule, people crossed with their groups, with no more than two or three on the bridge at the same time, pausing
to take pictures or share giddy, terrified laughter. Some held hands. Every once in a while, someone froze in fear and had
to be coaxed one way or the other.

“I’ll hold your hand,” Marc promised as their turn approached.

He went first, his fingers threaded through hers. The first step was pure hell, a jolt of terror going through her as the
planks of wood wobbled under her sneakers. Instinctively, she let go of his hand to grab the braided ropes on both sides for
balance.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay.’ ” She managed a rough laugh, proud that she could find any humor at all in this. “Just… don’t stop. Let’s
get over there.”

“Offer a woman a kiss and look at the heights she’ll scale.”

She laughed again, nerves making this one come out like a giggle. “Go, Marc.”

He turned and went a few feet ahead. With her gaze planted on his back and not the narrow body of water almost a hundred feet
below, she took a step. The ropes
creaked, the wind whined over her ears, and somehow they managed to make it to the middle.

Where Devyn froze. Her feet refused to move, no matter how much she willed them to take the next step. Mind won over matter;
fear beat out the promise of a kiss she wanted more than she was willing to admit.

A few feet ahead, Marc turned and reached out a hand. “Come on, Dev.”

“I want to.” She really did, but she couldn’t let go of the ropes, couldn’t take another step. In fact, she couldn’t breathe
as fright clutched every cell and paralyzed her. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

With a few fearless steps, he returned to her, and she heard a soft “aww” from the bystanders waiting their turn. Still she
didn’t move.

Her gaze slid exactly where it shouldn’t have, over the side and down. So. Far. Down. The fall would be terrifying, her body
in free fall, gravity taking ownership, the crash deadly.

“I can’t,” she repeated, even when he placed his hand over hers.

He looked right into her eyes. “You can do this,” he said softly. “I’ve got you, I promise.” He squeezed her hand and eased
it off the rope. “I’ve got you, Dev. Show me what you’re made of.”

The words had their intended effect, kicking her forward, spurring her on. What
was
she made of? Wasn’t finding that out the whole reason she’d come to Northern Ireland?

Not that she expected to find out on a flimsy rope bridge almost a hundred feet above certain death.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “We’ll take every step together.”

She squeezed his hand in a death grip, her gaze pinned on him. One foot. In front of. The other.

After about thirty endless steps, they reached Carrick Island, terra firma glorious under her feet.

“I knew you could do it,” he said, pulling her into him for a congratulatory hug.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

He grinned at her. “Yes, you could have, but I’ll take the credit. And also be the bearer of bad news.”

“What?”

“There’s only one way back.” He wrapped an arm around her and guided her toward the dirt path that encircled the top of the
rock. “Let’s explore for a little while before we tackle the return trip.”

So he was either forgetting the kiss or delaying the gratification. Either way, she didn’t let the disappointment show. They
strolled along the path that circled the rock, leaning against the fence to look way down the limestone cliffs, which was
only a little less terrifying than the rope bridge. But the salt air was cleansing, the squawk of birds and crash of waves
like nature’s symphony, and the man she was with made her feel so
steady
.

As they approached the end of the path that led back to the bridge, they stopped one last time to enjoy the view.

“That is just one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen,” she said, trying to memorize the beauty of the endless rolling
green hills.

“So are you.”

She looked up, only a little surprised to find him gazing down at her, his expression a mix of interest and desire. “You’re
flirting again,” she teased.

“I never stopped.” He lowered his head, his intentions clear as he turned his back to the view and reached out for her.