Whatever Reilly Wants.... Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ faced the mirror and watched her own features harden. “I want him to be sorry he said that. Sorry he ever took me for granted. Heck, sorry he ever met me.”

      “You sure you want to do this?” her friend asked, and the worry was clear in her voice. “I mean, look how the thing with Tony worked out.”

      Emma flinched at the memory. Tony DeMarco had done more than break her heart. He’d shattered her newfound confidence and cost her the ability to trust. But that was different and she said so now. “Not the same situation,” she said firmly, not sure if she was trying to convince herself or her friend. “I loved Tony. I don’t love Connor.”

      “You just want to make him miserable?”

      “Damn skippy.”

      “And your plan is…?”

      “I’m gonna drive him crazy,” Emma said, and she smiled at the thought of Connor Reilly groveling at her feet, begging for just a crumb of her attentions.

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I’m going to make him lose that bet.”

      “By sleeping with him?”

      “Sleep’s got nothing to do with my plan,” Emma said softly, and ignored the flutter of something warm and liquid rustling to life inside her.

      Two

      Saint Sebastian’s Catholic Church looked like a tiny castle plunked down in the middle of rural South Carolina. Made from weathered gray brick, the building’s leaded windows sparkled in the morning sunlight. Huge terra-cotta pots on the front porch of the rectory, or priests’ house, were filled with red, purple and blue petunias that splashed color in the dimness of the overhang. Ancient Magnolia trees stood in the yard of the church, draping the neatly clipped lawn with welcome patches of cool shade.

      The church’s double front doors stood open, welcoming anyone who might need to stop in and pray, but Emma drove past the church and pulled into the driveway behind the rectory.

      She turned off the engine, then stepped out of the car and into the blanketing humidity of summer. The heat slapped at her, but Emma hardly noticed. She’d grown up in the South and she was used to the heat that regularly made short work of tourists.

      Besides, if she was looking to avoid the heat, she could have stayed at the shop, in the air-conditioned splendor of her office, and had one of her mechanics drive Father Liam’s aging sedan back to him. But she’d wanted the opportunity to talk to Connor’s older brother.

      Ever since her enlightening conversation with Connor the day before, Emma’d been fuming. And thinking. A combustible combination. She’d lain awake half the night, torn between insult and anger and even now, she wasn’t sure which was the stronger emotion churning inside her.

      She’d thought that maybe talking to Liam might help sort things out. Now that she was here, though, she didn’t have a clue what to say to the man.

      Muttering darkly, she headed past the small basketball court in front of the garage, down the rosebush-lined driveway and around to the front door.

      She knocked, and almost instantly the door was opened by a tall, older woman with graying red hair and sharp green eyes. Her mouth was pinched into its perpetual frown. “Miss Jacobsen.”

      “Hi, Mrs. Hannigan,” Emma said, ignoring the woman’s usual lack of welcome. Practically a stereotypical housekeeper, she was straight out of an old Gothic novel. So, Emma never took her grim sense of disapproval personally. Mrs. Hannigan didn’t like anybody.

      Stepping into the house, she glanced around and smiled at the polished dark wood paneling, the faded but still colorful braided rugs and the tiny, diamond-shaped slices of sunlight on the gleaming wood floor. “I brought Father Liam’s car back. Just want to give him the keys and the bill.”

      “He’s in the library,” the housekeeper said, already turning for the hall leading back down the house toward the kitchen. “You go in, I’ll bring tea.”

      “That’s okay—” Horrified, Emma spoke up quickly, trying to head the woman off. Everyone in Baywater knew enough to say no to Mrs. Hannigan’s tea. But it was too late. The housekeeper ignored Emma’s protest and strode down the hallway, filled with purpose, and Emma knew there would be no getting out of having to drink the world’s worst tea just to be polite.

      Grumbling to herself, she crossed the hall, opened the door into the library and paused, waiting for the young priest to notice her. It didn’t take long.

      Father Liam Reilly set aside the book he was reading, stood up and smiled at her, and Emma had to remind herself that he was a dedicated priest. As she was sure every female was forced to do when face to face with Liam.

      As tall as his brothers, he was every bit as gorgeous, too. His black hair, longer than the triplets’ military cuts, was thick and wavy and his deep-blue eyes were fringed by long black lashes any woman would envy. His generous mouth was usually curved in a smile that set people immediately at ease, and today was no exception.

      “Emma! I’m guessing your arrival means you were able to save my car again?” He crossed to her and dropped one arm around her shoulder, leading her to a pair of overstuffed chairs near a fireplace that held, instead of flaming logs, a copper bucket filled with summer roses.

      “I brought it back from the brink again, Liam,” she said, and handed him the bill she pulled out of her back pocket before taking the seat he offered. “But it’s on life support. You’re going to need a new one soon.”

      He grinned, then glanced at the bill and winced. “I know,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “But there’s always a more important use for the money. And Connor’s promised to rebuild the engine when he gets a chance, so I’ll wait him out.”

      Connor.

      The very man she wanted to talk about. But now that she was here, she really didn’t know what to say. How could she tell a priest that she wanted to kill his brother?

      “Something wrong?” Liam asked, sitting down across from her and leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

      “What makes you ask that?”

      He smiled. “Because the minute I said the name Connor, your face froze and your eyes caught fire.”

      “I guess poker’s not my game, huh?”

      “No.” He shook his head, reached out, tapped the back of one of her hands and asked, “So, want to talk?”

      Emma opened her mouth, but they were interrupted. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

      “Tea, Father,” Mrs. Hannigan announced as she bustled into the room carrying a wide tray loaded with a pitcher of a murky brown liquid, two tall glasses filled with ice and a plate of cookies.

      “Oh,” Liam said with heartfelt sincerity, “you really didn’t have to do that, Mrs. Hannigan.”

      “No trouble.” She set down the tray, dusted her palms together, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room with near military precision.

      “We СКАЧАТЬ