Reilly’s heart stopped, then he swore. “She’s on a plane home now, you say?”
“She is. She’s safe. She was living in a community hut on the outskirts of the jungle with a team of volunteers. And, of course, their bodyguards.”
“How long ago did this happen?” Reilly demanded, slamming his beer onto the coffee table in front of him. He didn’t bother with the article and instead reached for Colin’s computer.
“Two days ago. She’s flying into Boston tonight.” Colin checked his watch. “Her plane will land in another hour or so. Ellie scheduled a driver to pick her up.”
“Cancel the driver.”
Reilly settled back onto the couch, the computer in his lap and his heart slamming against his ribs. The thought of Gwen in one of the most dangerous places in the world terrified him, though he would bite off his right hand before admitting it aloud. He searched for incoming flights to Boston.
“She’s staying here tonight?” he confirmed as he typed.
Colin nodded. “Yep. I figured I have the room, and it’d give me extra brownie points with Ellie.”
Reilly rolled his eyes, allowing Colin to distract him with talk of his lady love. “You’re marrying the chit. I don’t think you need any extra points right now. When do you see your almost-wife again?”
“This weekend. My frequent flyer miles are adding up.”
“Any decisions as to where you’ll live after the wedding?”
Ellie owned a bookshop in London and Colin was the CEO of Celtic Connections, a Boston-based elite matchmaking service; they’d been trying to work out how to split their time between Europe and America, with limited success.
“Not yet. When are you going to make your move?”
Reilly didn’t look up. “I’ve no plans to move anywhere. Ireland is my home.”
“I meant on Gwen.”
Reilly slowly turned his head and pinned Colin with a stare. “I’m certain I’ve no idea what you speak of.”
Colin interlaced his fingers and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Of course you do. At some point, you’ll have to admit it, just like we all have.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. First Nick, then Aidan, now me. You’re next.”
“What about your brother?” Reilly returned evenly. “Surely James is next.”
“He just divorced. He needs some time before he gets all twisted up over a woman again.”
“Well, I’m most certainly not on your short list. Concentrate on your own love life and leave mine alone.”
“You haven’t been out with a woman in how long now?” Colin asked, ignoring his protests.
“You’re bothering me.”
“Great, you can take it out on me in the lists tomorrow morning. So, if not Gwen, who’s going to warm your bed?”
“Enough with the matchmaking,” Reilly growled.
“It’s in my blood,” he said with a shrug. Thankfully, his phone rang, and Colin held it up. “Work.”
“Praise the saints,” Reilly muttered.
“Hey, Candice. What’s up?” A moment passed, then Colin rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket and tossed his car keys to Reilly, then wrote down a number and handed that to him as well. “Okay, define disaster…”
Reilly typed in the flight number and obtained the details of Gwen’s arrival. Left alone in the living room, he picked up his beer, then carefully placed it back down again, remembering that he was going to be driving shortly. He could hold his alcohol better than anyone, but he took no chances when it came to Gwen, despite the excellence of the brew.
He knew it would be flat by the time he returned, but by then, he would most likely need something a bit stronger.
Gwendolyn Allen did that to him.
• • •
Once they’d collected their luggage, Anthony carried Gwen’s bag as far as the escalators, but he had to catch the express bus to where his ride was waiting for him. Though he lived in Vermont, his parents lived in Massachusetts, so he was heading there to visit them and meet the niece who was born while they were in Venezuela.
And, perhaps, try to come to grips with losing so many of his team.
He’d been in the first vehicle and hadn’t seen the grenade. But he’d heard it, as had they all. His eyes were as haunted as hers.
He kissed her briefly, and Gwen smiled sadly at him. “I’ll see you next Friday.”
“I’ll pick you up early, around five.”
“I can meet you at the yacht club,” she protested. “It’s ridiculous for you to have to drive an hour and a half north, just to drive an hour south again.”
“Ah, you’re forgetting that the hour drive south is spent in your company, so it’s very much something I want to do.”
She smiled a little. After another kiss goodbye, she shooed him toward the bus pickup area.
Yes. Marriage to him would be a good thing. Gwen needed some normalcy in her world, especially now.
She readjusted her bag (she swore again that she’d invest in some real luggage before her next trip) and searched for her ride as she rode the escalator to the floor above. She also searched for unattended baggage and men holding guns, but thankfully, neither were present. Her nerves were still on edge.
Gwen didn’t see a driver holding a sign with her name on it as she stepped off the escalator, nor did she see him as she headed cautiously toward the glass double doors. Ellie said she would have one waiting; perhaps he was waiting at a different terminal, even though all international flights arrived in this one.
She froze as she felt awareness wash over her body.
Glancing over her shoulder, a surprised smile broke out as she caught sight of the brooding man standing about fifty paces from her.
It had been so long since she’d seen him in person, yet she’d recognize him anywhere, any time.
Dark, almost-black hair that fell just so over the most handsome—and familiar—face she’d ever seen. The deceptively relaxed pose—his leaning against a supporting pole, arms folded and legs splayed. The expressionless face, half-hidden behind dark glasses. An incredible physique, not hidden at all underneath jeans and leather…
Her salvation.
“Reilly?”
He lifted an eyebrow, visible over the rim of his sunglasses, and she rolled her eyes with a laugh, her nerves scattering to the wind. She dropped her bag and ran to him. She leapt into his arms, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt free. Safe.
Home.
She pulled back and grinned at him. “Not even a welcome home smile?”
He gave a half shrug and put her down. “Never in public,” he replied, his Irish brogue sending the words into a melodic dance. “And you should never leave your bags unattended. They frown on that.”
She quickly reached under his jacket and pinched his side.
The corners of his lips turned up. “Pain in the arse,” he muttered affectionately, before trotting over to grab her bag.
It was like it used to be, before their almost-mistake. He would try to keep up his tough-guy image, and she would tease him out of it, despite himself.
But this time, Gwen admitted, it took a little more effort than normal.
This time, she had to put on a smile not because she wanted to, but because she had to. No one could know what happened, as she’d told no one of her real location.
And, to make things even more complicated, this time, she had a boyfriend. A fiancé, actually…though it still didn’t feel quite like an engagement. But Anthony was someone she was ready to introduce to her parents, include in her life, and make a life with.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was darn close. After years of waiting and hoping and dreaming for something real, she had it.
It wasn’t from the man she had always wanted, but then life rarely went according to plan. Settling for the next-best-thing-to-perfect was enough for her. And Anthony was exactly that. She just hadn’t told him about Reilly yet.
How could
she explain to her boyfriend—no, her fiancé—that her best friend was a six-foot-five alpha Irishman? She wasn’t naive enough to believe Anth would be perfectly fine with her and Ry’s relationship. She and Reilly were close—at least, they used to be, and she hoped to be again. They used to visit each other every few months; she had her own room at his cottage, he ate off her plate, they finished each other’s sentences.
They’d be perfect together…except Reilly O’Malley didn’t do love. He didn’t do relationships, and he didn’t do messy emotions.
And so she had to let him go.
“I cancelled your driver. And I find it interesting that there weren’t any flights from South Africa in the last few hours,” Reilly noted dryly. “The poor man would’ve been waiting in the wrong spot.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t let anyone know where I go,” she replied.
“Do you know how dangerous Venezuela is, Gwen?”
More than you want to know. But she managed a sweet smile for him, unintimidated by his large frame, and didn’t bother wondering how he’d found out her location. He somehow always knew, and instead of finding it annoying, Gwen actually found it a bit relieving. “Do you know how old I am, Ry?”
“Thirty going on twelve?”
“The correct answer is old enough to make my own decisions.” She hated the edge in her voice, but she couldn’t help it.
“Even if they’re poor ones?”
Gwen ignored him, because in this case, he was right. She was lucky to be out of there, and she knew it. Many innocent lives had been lost. She hoped it wasn’t on the news over here. She stepped into the cool air and shivered. “Hold on a second. Let me grab my sweater out of the bag.”
“Take this,” he replied, shaking out of his leather jacket and handing it to her. “You’re in a tee shirt; a jumper won’t do anything for you.”
She didn’t bother to protest; she knew him well enough not to insist. Plus, she needed it. Reilly was her rock, and wearing his clothing always made her feel more grounded, more…safe.
There’s that word again. She felt a flash of guilt at how she didn’t feel that way about Anthony. Yet, she reminded herself. I don’t feel that way about him yet.
Gwen thanked Reilly and snuggled into the much-too-big jacket, reveling in the warmth and scent of home. She didn’t just like it; she loved wearing his clothing, especially if it was straight off his body. There was something about the softness of his shirts, and the scent of him, that filled her with…
Warmth. Only warmth. That’s all, she told herself. She had Anth now. He was her source of happiness. And he did make her happy. He also made her laugh and feel special.
Why, why, why did she have to remind herself of all his good qualities after being in Ry’s presence for a mere five minutes?
They made it to the car without any more speech. She waited for him to drop her bag into the trunk; another battle she had long since conceded was his desire to open the door for her. Chivalry was so deeply ingrained in his chemical makeup that he became insulted when she didn’t wait, so she always did.
When he came around to her side, instead of opening the door, he gathered her into an uncharacteristically sudden hug. Gwen, never one to not show affection, melted into him without hesitation.
“You missed me,” she mumbled into the bottom of his sternum.
He pulled his sunglasses off his head, his own hazel eyes softening as he looked down at her. “More than you know.”
She hoped her face remained playful, but his eyes searched hers.
Damn. He knows something’s wrong.
But, true to form, he didn’t call her out on it. Instead, he half-smiled at her. He placed his large hand against her cheek and pressed her head back against his chest. “Why can’t you go to St. Croix, like every other trust fund baby?”
Gwen smiled into him and realized that she missed this, their friendship. After a year away from him, she was ready to let go of what happened last year and be a part of his life.
She gave him the same answer she’d been giving for years. “Because I’m not like every other trust fund baby.”
When she came of age to access the trust fund her parents insisted upon, Gwen partnered with a college friend and began investing in various travel and airline companies. As time went on, she showed a knack for understanding which companies would succeed, and which would tank. Her parents were, predictably, shocked and saddened at her mercantile dealings.
“Gwen!”
Reilly glanced back over his shoulder, and Gwen looked around in surprise. “Anthony?”
He jogged over, a suspicious expression on his face. He was holding her makeup bag, of all things, in his hand. “I almost forgot to give this to you.” He sized up Reilly, then added, “Remember, we packed it in my bag when it didn’t fit into yours?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, caught off guard. “Right, of course. Thanks.”
She disentangled herself from Reilly’s arms and took the bag, but Anth didn’t release it. Instead, he pulled her into him and kissed her.
Flustered, she let him, then pulled back.
Oh, boy. That was a “she’s with me” move if she’d ever seen one.
“Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?” Anth asked pointedly.
“Oh!” Gwen replied, her tongue twisted into a knot. “Right. Reilly O’Malley, this is Anthony Ferraro.”
“Her fiancé,” he supplied, sticking out his hand.
Reilly raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t so much as blink. “Fiancé? Can’t say Gwendolyn’s mentioned you before.”
“I, um, wanted to tell you in person…” Gwen explained, though even to her own ears, it was a weak excuse. But also, when would she have told Reilly? During their single five-minute call a few weeks ago?
Why she hadn’t wanted to tell Reilly about Anth was easy enough to explain to herself. But to give an actual voice to that reason?
She’d rather jump off the Cliffs of Moher.
“Oh, aye, of course,” Reilly replied without inflection. He gripped Anthony’s hand, and the two of them looked as though they were going to crush each other’s bones. “I’m the best friend.”
“I thought her best friend’s name was Ellie.” Anth released Reilly’s hand—or maybe it was the other way around, Gwen wasn’t sure—and looked at her, his eyes accusing.
“Ellie is also my best friend,” Gwen tried to explain.
“Really? So that’s why you’re wearing her jacket?”
Reilly slung an arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “We’ve known each other for a few years. And she was chilled.” He opened the car door and motioned her inside. “Come on, lass. Last time you caught a cold you were a miserable mess for a week.”
Gwen bit her lip. “Right.” She turned to Anthony and gave him a genuine smile. “See you in a few days. Thanks for remembering my bag.”
“I’ll be there,” Anth promised.
She nodded with a smile before Reilly slammed the door with more force than was strictly necessary before rounding the car and getting in on the driver’s seat.
“I was going to tell—”
“There’s no need for an explanation, Gwendolyn,” he ground out, his accent thicker than she’d heard it in a long time.
She closed her mouth, hurt by the cold tone, and glanced in the side mirror as they drove away. She caught sight of Anth, his arms crossed, and his expression less than pleased.
She sunk lower into the seat and closed her eyes against the conflicting emotions swirling around her brain. “No, really, I wanted—” she started.
“Like I said, no need to explain.” Reilly’s cold tone continued, and she frowned when he added, “I’ll be glad to not wear the tux at next week’s gala.”
“I don’t recall asking you to go to the gala with me,” she fired back, a bubble of defiance creeping into her words.
“Nay,” he returned evenly. Easily. “Your parents, however, did. And that’s on me,
of course. I’d assumed it would be like all the other times, where we go, sip subpar champagne, enjoy the good people there, then go out for a beer afterward. But being your wingman at those things is not my job anymore, and to be honest, I’m relieved for it.”
Ouch.
“Oh,” she replied in a small voice. And she said nothing else for the rest of the ride.
• • •
Colin O’Rourke had a magnificent library.
Granted, Gwen wasn’t the biggest reader, but she could certainly appreciate the lush carpet, peaceful ambiance, and shelves of books. Jumping onto, then gliding across the room on, the book ladder wasn’t exactly a hardship, either.
Her best friend (and Colin’s fiancée) Ellie Carberry often claimed that this library was part relaxation, part imagination, and part “magication.”
Gwen acknowledged that Ellie was far superior to her in words and literary references (being as Ellie’s life was books, as she was a lifelong reader and longtime bookshop owner in London), so if Ellie said it was part “magication,” Gwen went with it.
Looking around, she had to agree.
The curtains on both sides of the room were drawn, and the only light was from the floor lamps that anchored each wall of windows. The room spanned the entire length of Colin’s historic Boston brownstone; the square footage in the room alone probably rivaled Gwen’s entire house in New Hampshire.
She wished she was there right now.
When Colin and Ellie insisted she stay at Colin’s house, due to the late hour of her arrival, Gwen acquiesced because she really didn’t care to drive for another hour and a half after the two days of travel she had behind her. Getting out of Venezuela had been difficult; all the survivors of her group needed new passports expedited to them. It was one of the few times she’d used her name to get what she needed; she hadn’t hesitated in calling in favors from a couple of discreet contacts in Washington, D.C.
Within twenty-four hours, she had enough documentation to get them all back to the States.
She dragged her fingers over the spines of books that looked very old, her mind now trying to process just the last few hours.
Falling Through Time Page 3