REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

  The wicked gleam in his eyes faded. "Take your bath," Reilly said softly, turning her around and giving her a slight push in the direction of the bathroom. "I don't mind going second."

  Mandy closed the bathroom door behind her, then for the first time caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the utilitarian sink. A tiny shriek lodged in her throat, but she remembered the man on the other side of the door and stopped herself just in time.

  Her hair had taken the worst punishment, she decided after careful deliberation. Smoke and dirt had matted it down, but it was the singed areas that made her cringe—they gave her a lopsided look.

  She took a moment to put the stopper in the old-fashioned tub and turn on the faucet. Water gushed into the tub, and she checked the temperature with one hand, wincing as the heat stung the blisters on her palms. She adjusted the hot-water flow, then returned to the mirror and contemplated her reflection.

  She didn't have scissors handy, or she'd have hacked away at her hair to even it up. She borrowed Cody's hairbrush instead, ignored her sore palms, and ruthlessly brushed out as much of the mess as she could.

  The tub was full now. Mandy turned off the water and quickly stripped to the buff, shooting a glance at the bathroom door to make sure it was shut. There wasn't a lock on the door, and it concerned her for a moment. Then she was ashamed for even thinking it necessary. Reilly would never invade her privacy. She knew that as surely as she knew anything.

  She stopped just long enough to wash out her bra and panties and hang them on the towel rack to dry, then grabbed a clean, but well-worn, washcloth from the small stack on a shelf above the tub, and slid into the water. Her hands throbbed a bit, so she lifted them out of the water, and laid them on the cool porcelain sides of the large, claw-footed tub. Then she immersed the rest of herself, hair and all, and just lay back, soaking her aching body, letting the warm water ease away the pain. When she caught herself dozing off, she sat up with a sudden splash and began scrubbing.

  A small pang of guilt reminded her that Reilly was waiting to use the water after her, and if she didn't hurry, his bath would be stone-cold. She quickly washed her hair and rinsed off by immersing herself again, then got out and dried off as fast as she could, wrapping the towel around her hair as she considered what to wear.

  There was no way she could put her filthy clothes back on, against her clean skin—she shuddered at the thought. She spotted a dark blue terry-cloth bathrobe hanging behind the door and debated with herself for a moment. She really should leave it for Reilly, her better side argued, but her better side lost.

  "He must have other clothes in his duffel bag," she rationalized, as she shrugged the bathrobe on and tied the belt loosely around her waist.

  The robe was way too big for her, of course, but it was clean, soft and comfortable. She kicked her scorched and dirty clothes into the corner, figuring she'd worry about them tomorrow.

  She rubbed her hair until it was no more than damp, then combed it out as best she could. Her arms were so heavy she could scarcely lift them, and she finally gave up and put the comb back on the sink.

  She emerged from the bathroom feeling human once more, but more tired than ever, and found that Reilly had made up both the cot and the bed. Guilt poked its sleepy head up again, and she mumbled her thanks, then crawled gratefully between the sheets. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

  Reilly turned off the overhead light, so that the only illumination in the room came from the fireplace, which cast dancing shadows along the walls. He stared down at Mandy for a long time. Her freshly washed hair hadn't had time to dry, and the damp golden strands lay in loose disarray upon her pillow. One strand clung to her cheek, and without thinking he moved it, tucking it behind her ear.

  She stirred slightly, and the bathrobe gaped open at the neck. He told himself not to look, but it was a futile resolution at best. Her sweet-smelling skin beckoned, the shadowy hollow between her breasts a torment he couldn't resist.

  His body reacted in typical fashion, sweeping away his fatigue.

  She shifted in her sleep and the loosely tied belt gave way, exposing even more of Mandy's body to his hungry gaze. He told himself not to touch, but already his fingers were sliding from the gentle pulse in her throat toward the creamy curve of her breast. She sighed, a helpless little sound, and an unexpected wave of tenderness washed over him.

  Then, and only then, did he realize what he'd almost done. Only a bastard would take advantage of a woman when she's defenseless, he told himself.

  He tugged the blankets up, covering her completely, and ignored the little voice in his head that urged him to ease under the covers beside her, and take what he'd done without for almost a year. Denying himself was harder, much harder than he'd ever thought possible.

  In the bathroom he shucked his clothes in record time, peeling off the bandage on his shoulder with a careless disregard that would have appalled Mandy.

  Bathing in the now tepid bathwater helped a little, but not much. His heavy arousal refused to be assuaged. His body knew what it wanted, and wasn't about to let him forget it, especially since he could vividly imagine her in this very tub only a few minutes ago, the same water lapping at her slick skin just as it was lapping at his. And the sight of Mandy's delicate bra and panties hanging on the towel rack did absolutely nothing to help.

  He soaped his body roughly, hoping to rein in his imagination, but to no avail. His mind wandered along a familiar path, one it had taken so often in the last twelve months that he knew it by heart.

  He'd never intended to become Mandy's lover. No matter that his good intentions had swiftly fallen by the wayside under her gentle onslaught, at least his conscience was clear on that point. He'd never intended to become involved with her. He just hadn't counted on Mandy's determination.

  Reilly smiled a little to himself. A determined Mandy was not someone to tangle with. She'd single-mindedly lured him to her bed with the most potent aphrodisiac known to man—love. She'd turned those loving blue eyes on him and he'd fallen with a thud that still reverberated in his ears. It had baffled him at first, this control she held over him, but eventually he'd succumbed to temptation, and found that being loved by Mandy was the next best thing in the world.

  Loving her was the best.

  Loving her. The washcloth faltered as Reilly remembered, and for a moment he could have sworn he smelled lilacs.

  Blood pounded throughout his body, pooling, as usual, between his legs. He cursed long and low. I don't need this, he reminded himself savagely. I really don't. And neither does Mandy. But he had no control left.

  He splashed water on his face and scrubbed ruthlessly, ignoring the tight pain in his palms, then rinsed off and climbed out of the tub. There were only two towels—a clean one on the shelf, and the damp one Mandy had used and then hung beside her underclothes. Reilly chose Mandy's towel, briskly rubbing himself off, picturing her doing the same thing.

  He was most definitely aroused now.

  With his foot he pushed his dirty clothes into a heap beside Mandy's smaller pile, then stood in front of the mirror, finger-combing his damp hair. There was a comb on the sink, but Reilly drew the line at using Cody Walker's comb. The shelf of shaving items caught his eye, and he rubbed his chin, fingers rasping against his unshaven jaw. He'd shave tomorrow, he decided. And he'd use his own razor, not Walker's.

  He padded naked into the main room and fished around in his duffel bag until he came up with a clean pair of underwear. He normally slept in the nude, but he figured he should spare Mandy any embarrassment he could, especially after his shameful behavior earlier.

  This wasn't how he'd envisioned spending the night when he'd broken into her house earlier. He laughed under his breath. Now that was the understatement of the year.

  He touched a hand to his injured shoulder and brought it away clean. No blood. Good. He hadn't reopened the wound. He'd hate to bleed all over the sheets. Not that he cared if he ruined W
alker's sheets, but he didn't want Mandy to worry.

  The cot creaked beneath his weight when he settled on it, and the canvas wasn't very comfortable or forgiving for a man who'd gone through what he'd gone through tonight.

  Reilly's thoughts moved from the hard cot on which he lay to the incredible softness of Mandy's skin, and the scent of warm woman that rose from her body as he'd caressed her earlier. If nothing else, he'd have that to add to his small hoard of precious memories when he left again.

  If he lived long enough, he'd take those memories out someday, and they'd make the sacrifice worthwhile, knowing that Mandy was safe.

  If he lived long enough.

  * * *

  Mandy woke slowly, painfully, her body protesting and her mind rebelling. She snuggled deeper under the covers, but someone was moving stealthily about the sunlit room, and she couldn't get back to sleep. For some strange reason, though, she wasn't alarmed that she wasn't alone. Instead, she smiled drowsily to herself.

  "Good morning."

  The familiar, masculine voice brought her wide awake. For one disoriented moment she forgot where she was, and she sat up suddenly in bed, her heart pounding. She blinked, then all at once everything came back to her—Reilly, the fire, their flight to Cody's cabin.

  "I didn't mean to wake you." The deep voice sounded closer. Mandy glanced up to find Reilly looming beside the bed, looking tall, dangerous and very male in jeans and a black T-shirt. He was wearing the shoulder holster, too, and there was a gun in it. She'd almost forgotten about that part.

  The direction of his gaze made her realize with a start that the robe she was wearing had come loose during the night and was hanging open. She snatched the lapels closed and fumbled to retie the belt as faint color mounted her cheekbones.

  He held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, and he offered it to her. "Black, no sugar, just the way you like it."

  She shook her head in refusal. "No, I … not just yet." She pushed her sleep-tangled hair away from her face, swallowed, and blinked again.

  She'd never been a morning person. Her bookstore didn't open until ten because she needed to potter around for an hour or so in the mornings before she even started getting dressed—"easing into the day," she liked to call it.

  But Reilly was a morning person. She'd forgotten that about him. And it was obvious he'd already been up for some time. He couldn't have been very comfortable on the cot last night, but he looked as if he'd had ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. His chin was shaved with military precision, and not a hair was out of place. Even his clothes, which should have been wrinkled from packing, looked as if they'd come straight from the dryer.

  A flash of memory reminded her that once upon a time this man had almost convinced her that waking up with the sunrise wasn't such a bad idea after all. Not when your lover "eased" you into the day the way Reilly loved to do.

  Mandy mentally slammed the door shut on those memories when she realized shivers of sensual awareness were darting through her. She stole a glance at Reilly, and was disconcerted to find him leaning against the wall, watching her. He was still holding the cup of coffee she'd rejected earlier and was sipping from it. His eyes queried hers over the top of the cup.

  "What is it?" she asked, surreptitiously peeking down to make sure her robe wasn't gaping open.

  A laconic smile touched his lips. "Isn't that my question?"

  "What do you mean?"

  He took another swallow of coffee as he considered his reply. "Let's just say I don't remember you ever waking up that abruptly." His knowing eyes reminded her that he knew her matutinal habits all too well, just as she'd known his, and warmth crept into her cheeks at the reminder.

  Reilly moved suddenly and she started, but he was only heading for the coffeepot on the stove. He refilled his cup, then pulled another mug down from the cabinet and half turned toward her. "Are you sure you don't want some?"

  She tossed back the covers and clambered out of bed. "I do, actually, but first…" She tightened the belt on the robe, then headed for the bathroom.

  Reilly watched her movements with male enjoyment. There was something sexy about a woman, warm and rumpled from bed, he decided, even if the bed she'd risen from wasn't his. And of course, he'd seen her rising in golden glory from his bed often enough to remember the lazy, possessive pleasure it evoked.

  The door closed behind Mandy, and Reilly turned back to the coffeepot. He filled her mug and set it on the counter, then lifted his own and carried it to the front door, and outside.

  The morning was well advanced, the sun already high above the trees. Last night's wind had died down, leaving only a slight passing breeze to ruffle the leaves and the sparse vegetation.

  Reilly had already checked the perimeter once this morning, but he checked it again now. Satisfied that they were safe, at least for the moment, he sat down on the steps, drinking his coffee, and thinking.

  He didn't have a clue what he was going to tell Mandy about everything that had happened. Any minute now she was going to join him, and the questions he'd postponed answering last night were going to come tumbling out of her. He doubted she'd let him put her off any longer.

  You've got two choices. You can tell the truth. Or you can lie. Which is it going to be?

  He hated like hell the thought of lying to her. That had never been his intention. Oh, he'd deceived her when they'd first met, of course, by not telling her the truth about who he really was and why he was there, but that had been as much for her own protection as for his. In the past he'd evaded uncomfortable questions he had no answers for, rather than look into those clear blue eyes and outright lie. He didn't know if he had it in him to do so now.

  "But how can I tell her?" His words were tinged with despair.

  How can you not? his inner voice chided him. You know what she thinks. She thinks you deserted her, that you never loved her at all. Can you leave her again, this time for good, without telling her what really happened?

  "It would be better for her," he reasoned out loud.

  "Don't you think I should be allowed to decide what's best for me?"

  Reilly jumped, spilling hot coffee all over his left hand while his right hand reached for the gun in his shoulder holster. He froze with it pulled halfway out, and swore. He shoved the gun back in place, transferred the cup to his other hand, then shook drops of coffee off the first one and wiped it on his jeans. Then he turned around.

  Mandy stood in the open doorway, eyes flashing, golden curls tossed impatiently back over her shoulder, hands on her hips in confrontation. Part of him marveled that she could look so feminine wearing a man's checkered flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and worn but clean jeans that were obviously too big for her, while another part of him wondered where she'd found the clothes. Then his eyes narrowed and a muscle twitched in his cheek. They were Walker's. Had to be.

  An unreasoning jealousy swept through Reilly, as unwelcome as it was unexpected. It didn't make sense, but there it was—he didn't want Mandy wearing clothes that belonged to another man, especially Walker. It galled him that they had to impose on Walker's unknowing hospitality by using the man's cabin, but Reilly could deal with that. What set his teeth on edge was seeing his woman wearing the other man's clothes.

  Then he remembered her question.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  "I said," Mandy repeated with exaggerated emphasis, "don't you think I should decide what's best for me?"

  All at once Reilly knew he couldn't tell her everything. As much as he hated lying to her, until he knew what he was going to do, he couldn't take the chance of hurting her again.

  She's had a year to get over you, he told himself. If you explain, if you tell her you came back to ask her to go with you because you've always loved her, what would that accomplish? You may not be able to take her with you this time, any more than you could before, no matter how much you might want to.

  And he wanted. Ho
w he wanted. Mandy was even more entrenched in his heart now than she'd been before he'd left her. There were times in the past twelve months that he'd wished it were different. That he was different. It would have been better for everyone concerned if he could have forgotten her, forgotten the way she looked, the way she smelled, the way her smile pierced his heart. But he couldn't forget. No other woman would do for him, because she was the woman he loved. If he couldn't have her, he didn't want anyone else.

  Reilly allowed nothing of what he was feeling to show on his face. Not even the slightest twitch of a muscle betrayed him, as he said coolly, "I guess you're right, Mandy. You're old enough to make your own choices."

  Her hands dropped to her sides, and she looked like a woman who'd just had the wind taken out of her sails. Then a puzzled expression crept into her eyes, and he waited for the inevitable questions with a patience he'd learned the hard way.

  "What's going on, Reilly? I think I have the right to know that, at least."

  He nodded. "I'll tell you what I can." He glanced one more time around the clearing, his eyes and ears alert, then trod up the wooden steps. Mandy moved aside to let him enter, then followed him inside.

  He'd already scoped out the cabin's interior this morning before Mandy had woken. Other than the bed and the cot he'd put away earlier, there weren't a lot of choices for sitting. He didn't trust himself anywhere near the bed with her, so he pulled one of the two paddle-back wooden chairs away from the small kitchen table and seated Mandy in it. Then he pulled the other one out for himself, turned it around and straddled it, resting his arms over the back.

  Several openings occurred to him, but he discarded them all, until at last she said, "Well?"

  He ran his hand through his hair, then took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "There's a lot I can't tell you. No, wait," he said as she started to interrupt. "First let me explain why."