The Secret Virgin. Carole Mortimer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ far to go now,’ she realised with satisfaction, leaving Onchan behind them and driving out into the countryside once again.

      She always felt refreshed, renewed, when she spent time on the island; there was a feeling of having time stand still. At the moment, with important decisions in front of her, that was something she desperately needed.

      Unlike the arrogantly rude Jonathan McGuire, who was definitely something she didn’t need!

      ‘This is a very beautiful island.’

      Tory was becoming used to his sudden, seemingly unconnected statements, and didn’t even bother to look at him this time. ‘It is,’ she agreed.

      ‘What work do you do here?’

      She stiffened slightly. For a man who obviously didn’t like personal questions himself, he was becoming a little too curious about her own life.

      She shrugged. ‘Running a farm is a full-time family concern,’ she answered evasively.

      Dressed as she was, in a light blue tee shirt and faded denims, the latter mud-spattered from where it had rained the day before, her face bare of make-up, she definitely had the look of someone straight off the farm.

      The fact that farming wasn’t what she did was none of this man’s business.

      ‘I suppose it is,’ he responded, before once again turning to look out of the window.

      It seemed that pleasantries were over for the day!

      ‘What work do you do, Mr McGuire?’ she prompted lightly.

      ‘My family is in casinos in Reno.’

      That was about as helpful as her own remark about farming being a full-time family concern—it actually told her precisely nothing!

      ‘We have a casino on the island,’ she said in friendly reply. ‘Perhaps you would like to see it while you’re here?’ Although she couldn’t imagine why; it was a completely soulless place, and the people who went there seemed to be either curious tourists or hardened gamblers—neither of which particularly interested Tory.

      ‘Are you asking me out after all, Tory?’ He raised mocking dark brows.

      She gave him a startled glance, relaxing slightly as she saw the laughter lurking in dark grey eyes. So the man did have a sense of humour, after all!

      ‘No, I’m not,’ she assured him ruefully. ‘Casinos hold no appeal for me, I’m afraid,’ she added slightly apologetically. After all, it was his family business.

      ‘Me neither,’ he rejoined, that brief show of humour completely gone.

      Tory waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t she decided that had to be the end of that subject, too.

      In the circumstances, it had been rather an odd thing to say. But then Jonathan McGuire, she was quickly coming to realise, was an enigma.

      ‘Here we are,’ she said with a certain amount of relief a few minutes later as she turned the Land Rover down the Tarmacked driveway that led to the Byrne house.

      Even though she had lived in the adjoining farm most of her life, Tory could still appreciate the beauty of this particular spot, high up in the hills, completely away from everything and everyone, though the village of Laxey, with its huge black and red waterwheel, was still visible down in the valley.

      The Byrne home had been the original farmhouse once—it and the adjoining acre of land having been purchased from Tory’s parents a year ago. The house was now completely refurbished, looking splendidly grand in the sunlight, its pale lemon and white paint gleaming brightly.

      Tory parked the vehicle in front of the house before getting down onto the Tarmac to go round and drop the tailboard, relieved the journey was over at last. With any luck she wouldn’t have to see Jonathan McGuire again.

      He put his bag and the guitar case down before turning to look at her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been very good company,’ he told her gruffly. ‘My only excuse is that I wasn’t expecting anyone at the airport to meet me.’

      Which was no excuse. Madison had taken the trouble to call them the evening before, obviously concerned as to her brother’s comfort. Tory’s mother had been shopping for him this morning. And Tory herself had taken time out to go and collect him.

      ‘Do you have a key?’ she prompted briskly, reaching into her denims’ pocket for the spare Madison and Gideon always left with her parents when they were away.

      Jonathan McGuire reached into his own denims’ pocket and pulled out a duplicate silver key. ‘Compliments of Gideon,’ he offered lazily.

      ‘Fine.’ She put her own key back in her pocket. ‘If there’s anything else you need, I’m sure my parents would be only too pleased to help.’ She gestured across the neighbouring field to the white farmhouse and accompanying barns and sheds that could be seen in the distance.

      He reached out and grasped her arm as she would have turned away and got back into the Land Rover. ‘But not you?’ He demanded.

      Tory was very aware of that hand on the bareness of her arm, the skin warm and firm to the touch. She looked up at him with dark blue eyes, shaking her head, her shaggy dark mane of hair moving softly against her shoulders. ‘I may not be here. Like you, I’m only visiting.’

      He frowned. ‘But I thought you said—’

      ‘You’ll find food in the fridge, and bread in the bin.’ She knew that because, although her mother had done the shopping, Tory had actually brought it over to the house and unpacked it. ‘There’s also one of my mother’s apple pies in the cupboard.’ She pulled out of his grasp, stepping lightly back into the Land Rover, anxious to be on her way now. ‘The car is parked in the garage round the back of the house; the keys are hanging up next to the fridge. Oh, and Madison always leaves a list of relevant telephone numbers next to the phone.’ She turned on the ignition, reaching out to close the door behind her.

      Jonathan McGuire also reached out to grasp the door, preventing it from closing. ‘Is yours there?’ he asked softly. Now he decided to start being charming! Well, charm she had had, in plenty—and she certainly didn’t want or need it from this man!

      Her pointed chin rose challengingly. ‘My parents’ number is there, if you should need it.’

      His head tilted to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘I haven’t been very polite to you, have I…?’

      Tory met his gaze unblinkingly for several seconds. ‘No,’ she finally replied.

      Jonathan McGuire did blink, and when he raised his lids again that earlier humour was gleaming there once more. ‘Tell me, do you get on well with my sister Madison?’

      ‘Very,’ she confirmed evenly.

      ‘I thought you might.’ He grinned suddenly.

      It was like looking at a different person, Tory realised with a startled jolt. He looked years younger now he wasn’t scowling grimly, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin, laughter lines crinkling beside his mouth and eyes—eyes СКАЧАТЬ