feminine with the wide ivory lace collar of her sweater framing her slender shoulders. And there wasn’t a reason in the world she couldn’t be his.
“I’d have everything a man could want if I had your love,” he murmured, his words sweet with longing and wishing. “I’d be everything I’d ever hoped to be with you by my side.”
Dazed and dazzled, Jayne stared up at him, barely aware that they were on stage. Breathlessly she recited her next line, her heart skipping erratically in her breast. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” he said hoarsely. The script dropped from his free hand and fell to the floor unheeded. He speared his fingers into Jayne’s hair, his big hands framing her face, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Jayne sighed and leaned into him. It was a sweet kiss, full of hunger and hesitancy, and she drank it in as if she hadn’t been kissed in years.
The cast broke into wild applause, cheering and whistling.
Reilly lifted his head, his eyes cloudy with confusion. Jayne reacted more quickly, bolting out of his arms, scrubbing at her flaming cheeks.
“That was wonderful!” Cybill exclaimed, her eyes brimming with tears as she came forward to congratulate Jayne on her performance. “But I’ll tell you something, Jayne. If he kisses me that way, I promise you I’ll have an aneurysm and die.”
That didn’t seem like an altogether bad idea, Jayne thought. She was trembling all over as if she had severe malaria. Fever and chills chased each other over her skin. She felt as if her bones had all dissolved. One kiss and her sense of self had shattered like a supernova.
And for Reilly it had all been an act.
SIX
H E’D PUSHED TOO hard.
Jayne, who usually rambled on nonstop, her conversation flowing from one topic to the next, had been virtually silent on the drive home from play practice. Candi had filled the awkward quiet with her wry observations about the cast, about the way rehearsal had gone, about Timothy Fieldman, who she thought was kind of cute in a nerdish sort of way.
Reilly hadn’t had much to say. He’d been too caught up in memories of the way Jayne had felt in his arms during the scene they had played together, of the way the whole world had disappeared and every ounce of his energy had been concentrated on Jayne. More than once during the past year he had wondered if what he’d felt that day at Mac’sgraveside had been a figment of his imagination. It hadn’t been. He’d felt it again tonight.
They were on the verge of something special, he and Jaynie. He could feel it in his gut. He only hoped he hadn’t blown it by taking the bit in his teeth earlier in the evening. Yes, Jayne had responded to his bullying. She had also sought the refuge of her bedroom the instant they walked into the house.
Reilly didn’t waste time wishing he’d been born with the capacity for self-restraint. Nor did he waste time regretting what he’d done. He did waste a considerable amount of time sitting on the sofa in Jayne’s den, staring at her closed bedroom door.
Not that he had anything better to do. It was two-ten in the morning. Everyone and everything on the farm was asleep, including Rowdy and the llamas. Even the tarantula was dead to the world. But Pat Reilly was wide awake, suffering through yet another bout of the insomnia that had plagued him for months now. He hadn’t even bothered going to bed. He knew he’d be lucky to get two or three hours of sleep, and those wouldn’t come for a while yet.
The turmoil of self-doubt that lay beneath his veneer of macho self-confidence always seemed tosimmer a little hotter during the night when there was no escaping it. The idea of distracting himself in a woman’s arms had crossed his mind more than once, but the one and only woman he wanted hadn’t been available to him. Tonight she was within his reach, but a wall stood between them—an emotional wall that could prove to be much trickier to get around than the wooden
“I’d have everything a man could want if I had your love,” he murmured, his words sweet with longing and wishing. “I’d be everything I’d ever hoped to be with you by my side.”
Dazed and dazzled, Jayne stared up at him, barely aware that they were on stage. Breathlessly she recited her next line, her heart skipping erratically in her breast. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” he said hoarsely. The script dropped from his free hand and fell to the floor unheeded. He speared his fingers into Jayne’s hair, his big hands framing her face, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Jayne sighed and leaned into him. It was a sweet kiss, full of hunger and hesitancy, and she drank it in as if she hadn’t been kissed in years.
The cast broke into wild applause, cheering and whistling.
Reilly lifted his head, his eyes cloudy with confusion. Jayne reacted more quickly, bolting out of his arms, scrubbing at her flaming cheeks.
“That was wonderful!” Cybill exclaimed, her eyes brimming with tears as she came forward to congratulate Jayne on her performance. “But I’ll tell you something, Jayne. If he kisses me that way, I promise you I’ll have an aneurysm and die.”
That didn’t seem like an altogether bad idea, Jayne thought. She was trembling all over as if she had severe malaria. Fever and chills chased each other over her skin. She felt as if her bones had all dissolved. One kiss and her sense of self had shattered like a supernova.
And for Reilly it had all been an act.
SIX
H E’D PUSHED TOO hard.
Jayne, who usually rambled on nonstop, her conversation flowing from one topic to the next, had been virtually silent on the drive home from play practice. Candi had filled the awkward quiet with her wry observations about the cast, about the way rehearsal had gone, about Timothy Fieldman, who she thought was kind of cute in a nerdish sort of way.
Reilly hadn’t had much to say. He’d been too caught up in memories of the way Jayne had felt in his arms during the scene they had played together, of the way the whole world had disappeared and every ounce of his energy had been concentrated on Jayne. More than once during the past year he had wondered if what he’d felt that day at Mac’sgraveside had been a figment of his imagination. It hadn’t been. He’d felt it again tonight.
They were on the verge of something special, he and Jaynie. He could feel it in his gut. He only hoped he hadn’t blown it by taking the bit in his teeth earlier in the evening. Yes, Jayne had responded to his bullying. She had also sought the refuge of her bedroom the instant they walked into the house.
Reilly didn’t waste time wishing he’d been born with the capacity for self-restraint. Nor did he waste time regretting what he’d done. He did waste a considerable amount of time sitting on the sofa in Jayne’s den, staring at her closed bedroom door.
Not that he had anything better to do. It was two-ten in the morning. Everyone and everything on the farm was asleep, including Rowdy and the llamas. Even the tarantula was dead to the world. But Pat Reilly was wide awake, suffering through yet another bout of the insomnia that had plagued him for months now. He hadn’t even bothered going to bed. He knew he’d be lucky to get two or three hours of sleep, and those wouldn’t come for a while yet.
The turmoil of self-doubt that lay beneath his veneer of macho self-confidence always seemed tosimmer a little hotter during the night when there was no escaping it. The idea of distracting himself in a woman’s arms had crossed his mind more than once, but the one and only woman he wanted hadn’t been available to him. Tonight she was within his reach, but a wall stood between them—an emotional wall that could prove to be much trickier to get around than the wooden
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