Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing Silhouette Desire, where this month we have six fabulous novels for you to enjoy. We start things off with Estate Affair by Sara Orwig, the latest installment of the continuing DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS series. In this upstairs/downstairs-themed story, the Ashtons’ maid falls for an Ashton son and all sorts of scandal follows. And in Maureen Child’s Whatever Reilly Wants…, the second title in the THREE-WAY WAGER series, a sexy marine gets an unexpected surprise when he falls for his suddenly transformed gal pal.

Susan Crosby concludes her BEHIND CLOSED DOORS series with Secrets of Paternity. The secret baby in this book just happens to be eighteen years old…. Hmm, there’s quite the story behind that revelation. The wonderful Emilie Rose presents Scandalous Passion, a sultry tale of a woman desperate to get back some steamy photos from her past lover. Of course, he has a price for returning those pictures, but it’s not money he’s after. The Sultan’s Bed, by Laura Wright, continues the tales of her sheikh heroes with an enigmatic male who is searching for his missing sister and finds a startling attraction to her lovely neighbor. And finally, what was supposed to be just an elevator ride turns into a very passionate encounter, in Blame It on the Blackout by Heidi Betts.

Sit back and enjoy all of the smart, sensual stories Silhouette Desire has to offer.

Happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

Whatever Reilly Wants…
Maureen Child

ISBN: 9781408942673

Whatever Reilly Wants...

© Maureen Child 2005

First Published in Great Britain in 2005

Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the prior consent of the publisher, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l.

® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAUREEN CHILD

is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur.

Visit her Web site at www.maureenchild.com.

For Kathleen Beaver.

Thanks for being an emergency reader,

for always being a friend

and for never getting tired of meeting me

for a latte to talk about writing!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

“One down, two to go.” Father Liam Reilly grinned at his brother, sitting alongside him, then lifted a beer in salute to the two identical men sitting opposite him in the restaurant booth.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Connor Reilly took a sip of his own beer and nodded toward his brother Brian, the third of the Reilly triplets, sitting beside Liam. “Just because Brian couldn’t go the distance, doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“Amen,” Aidan said from beside him.

“Who said I couldn’t go the distance?” Brian demanded, reaching for a handful of tortilla chips from the basket in the middle of the table. He grinned and sat back in the booth. “I just didn’t want to go the distance. Not anymore.” He held up his left hand, and the gold wedding band caught the light and winked at all of them.

“And I’m glad for you,” Liam said, his black eyebrows lifting. “Plus, with you happily married, the odds of my winning this bet are better than ever.”

“Not a chance, Liam.” Aidan grabbed a handful of chips, too. “It’s not that I begrudge you a roof for the church…but I’m the Reilly to watch in this bet, brother.”

As his brothers talked, Connor just smiled and half listened. Once a week the Reilly brothers met for dinner at the Lighthouse Restaurant, a family place, dead center of the town of Baywater. They laughed, talked and, in general, enjoyed the camaraderie of being brothers.

But for the last month their conversations had pretty much centered around The Bet.

A great uncle, the last surviving member of a set of triplets, had left ten thousand dollars to Aidan, Brian and Connor. At first, the three of them had thought to divide the money, giving their older brother, Liam, an equal share. Then someone, and Connor was pretty sure it had been Liam, had come up with the idea of a bet—winner take all.

Since the Reilly triplets were, above all things, competitive, there’d never been any real doubt that they would accept the challenge. But Liam hadn’t made it easy. He’d insisted that as a Catholic priest, his decision to give up sex for a lifetime was something not one of his brothers could match. He dared them to be celibate for ninety days—last man standing winning the ten thousand dollars. And if all three of the triplets failed, then Liam got the money for a new roof for his church.

Connor shot his older brother a suspicious look. He had a feeling that Liam was already getting estimates from local roofers. Scowling, he took another sip of his beer and let his gaze shift to Brian. A month ago the triplets had stood together in this bet, but now one had already fallen. Brian had reconciled with his ex-wife, Tina, and, now there was just Connor and Aidan to survive the bet.

“Don’t know about you,” Aidan said, jamming his elbow into Connor’s rib cage, “but I’m avoiding all females for the duration.”

“No self-control, huh?” Liam grinned and lifted his beer for another long drink.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Connor glared at him.

“Damn right I am,” Liam said laughing. “Watching the three of you has always been entertaining. Just more so lately.”

“Ah,” Brian said, “the two of them. I’m out, remember?”

“Didn’t even last a month,” Aidan said with a slow, sad shake of his head.

Brian’s self-satisfied smile spoke volumes. “Never been so glad about losing a bet in my life.”

“Tina’s a peach, no doubt about it,” Connor said, just a little irritated by Brian’s “happy man” attitude. “But there’s still the matter of you in that ridiculous outfit to consider.”

Not only did the losers lose the money in this bet, but they’d agreed to ride around in the back of a convertible, wearing coconut bras and hula skirts while being driven around the base on Battle Color day…the one day of the year when every dignitary imaginable would be on the Marine base.

Brian shuddered, then manfully sucked it up and squared his shoulders. “It’ll still be worth it.”

“He’s got it bad,” Aidan muttered, and held up both index fingers in an impromptu cross, as if trying to keep Brian at a distance.

“Laugh all you want,” Brian said, leaning over the table to stare first at one brother, then the other. “But I’m the only one here having regular—and can I just add—great, sex.”

“That was cold, man.” Aidan groaned and scraped one hand over his face.

“Heartless,” Connor agreed.

Liam laughed, clapped his hands together, then rubbed his palms briskly. Black eyebrows lifting, he looked at his brothers and asked, “Either of you care to back out now? Save time?”

“Not likely,” Aidan muttered.

“That’s for damn sure.” Connor held out one hand to Aidan. “In this to the end?”

Aidan’s grip was fierce. “Or until you cave. Whichever comes first.”

“In your dreams.” Connor’d never lost a bet yet and he wasn’t about to start with this one. Of course, the stakes were higher and the bet more challenging than anything else he’d ever done, but that didn’t matter. This was about pride. And he’d be damned if he’d let Aidan beat him. Besides, “No way am I gonna be riding in that convertible with Brian.”

“I’ll save you a seat,” Brian said, grinning.

“Oh, man, I need another beer.” Aidan lifted one hand to get the waitress’s attention.

Another beer would be good. All he had to do was not look at the waitress. Connor’s gaze snapped from Aidan to Brian and finally to Liam. “This game’s far from over, you know.”

“There’s two, count ’em, two long, tempting months left,” Liam reminded him.

“Yeah, well, don’t be picking out roof shingles just yet, Father.”

Liam just smiled. “The samples are coming tomorrow.”

The next morning Connor sat in the sunlight outside Jake’s Garage and sighed heavily. South Carolina in July. Even the mornings were hot and steamy. The heat flattened a man until all he wanted to do was either escape to a beach and ocean breezes or find a nice shady tree and park himself beneath it.

Neither of which Connor was doing. He was on leave. Two weeks off and nothing to do. Hell, he didn’t even want to go anywhere. What would be the point? He couldn’t date. Couldn’t spend any time at all with a woman the way he was feeling. He was a man on the edge.

Two more months of this bet and he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive. Connor liked women. He liked the way they smelled and the way they laughed and the way they moved. He liked dancing with ’em, walking with ’em and most especially, he liked making love to ’em.

So he’d never found the one.

Who said he was looking for her?

His mother, Maggie, had been telling her sons the story of her own whirlwind courtship and marriage to their father since they were kids. They’d all heard about the lightning bolt that had hit Maggie and Sean Reilly. About how they’d shared a dance at a town picnic, fallen desperately in love and within two weeks had been married. Nine months later, Liam had arrived and just two years later, the triplets.

Maggie had long been a big believer in love at first sight and had always insisted that when the time was right, each of her sons…well, except for Liam, would be hit by a thunderbolt.

Connor had made it a point to steer clear of storms.

“Boy, you look like you could chew glass.” Emma Jacobsen, owner and manager of Jake’s Garage, took a seat on the bench beside him.

Connor smiled. Here was the one woman he could trust himself with. The one woman he’d never thought of as, well…a woman.

She wore dark-blue coveralls and a white T-shirt beneath. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and braided, falling to the middle of her back. She had a smudge of grease across her nose, and the cap she wore shaded her blue eyes. She’d been his friend for two years, and he could honestly say he’d never once wondered what she looked like under those coveralls.

Emma was safety.

“It’s this damn bet,” Connor muttered, and leaned his elbows on the bench back behind him, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

“So why’d you agree to it in the first place?”

He grinned. “Turn down a challenge?”

She laughed. “What was I thinking?”

“Exactly.” He shook his head and sighed. “But it’s harder than I thought it’d be. I’m telling you, Em, I spend most of my time avoiding women like the plague. Hell, I even crossed the street yesterday when I saw a gorgeous redhead coming my way.”

“Poor baby.”

“Sarcasm isn’t pretty.”

“Yeah, but so appropriate.” She smiled and punched his shoulder. “So if you’re avoiding women, what’re you doing hanging around my place?”

Straightening up, Connor dropped one arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick, comradely squeeze. “That’s the beauty of it, Em. I’m safe here.”

“Huh?”

He looked at the confusion on her face and explained. “I can hang out with you and not worry. I’ve never wanted you. Not that way. So being here is like finding a demilitarized zone in the middle of a war.”

“You’ve never wanted me.”

“We’re pals, Em.” Connor gave her another squeeze just to prove how much he thought of her. “We can talk cars. You don’t expect me to bring you flowers or open doors for you. You’re not a woman, you’re a mechanic.”

Emma Virginia Jacobsen stared at the man sitting next to her and wondered why she wasn’t shrieking. He’d never wanted her? She wasn’t a woman?

For two years Connor Reilly had been coming to the shop she’d inherited from her father when he passed away five years ago. For two years she’d known Connor and listened to him talk about whatever female he might be chasing at the moment. She’d laughed with him, joked with him and had always thought he was different. She’d believed that he’d looked beyond her being female—that he’d seen her as a woman and as a friend.

Now she finds out he didn’t even think of her as female at all?

Fury erupted inside her while she futilely tried to reign it in. Not once in the past two years had she even considered going after Connor Reilly herself. Not that he wasn’t attractive or anything. While he continued to talk, she glanced at his profile.

His black hair was cut militarily short. His features were clean and sharp. High cheekbones, square jaw, clear, dark-blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed. He wore a dark-green USMC T-shirt that strained across his muscular chest and a pair of dark-green running shorts that showed off long, tanned, very hairy legs.

Okay, sure, he was gorgeous, but Emma had never thought of him as dating material because of their friendship. Now, she was glad she hadn’t gone after him. He would have laughed in her face.

And that thought only tossed gasoline on the fires of anger burning inside her.

“So you can see,” he was saying, “why it’s so nice to have this place to hang out. If I want to win this bet—and I do—I’ve gotta be careful.”

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured, still watching him and wondering why he didn’t notice the steam coming out of her ears. Of course, he hadn’t noticed her in two years. Why should he start now? “Careful.”

“Seriously, Em,” he said, and stood up, turning to look down at her. “Without you to talk to about this, I’d probably lose my mind.”

“What’s left of it,” she muttered darkly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” He grinned and hooked a thumb toward her office, located at the front of the garage. “I’m going for a soda. You want one?”

“No, but you go ahead.”

He nodded, then loped off toward the shop. She watched him and, for the first time, really looked at him. Nice buns, she thought, startling herself. She’d never noticed Connor’s behind before. Why now?

Because, she told herself, he’d just changed the rules between them. And the big dummy didn’t even know it.

While the sun sizzled all around her and the damp, hot air choked in her lungs, Emma’s mind raced. Oh, boy, she hadn’t been this angry in years. But more than the righteous fury boiling in her blood, she was insulted…and hurt.

Just three years ago she’d allowed another man to slip beneath her radar and break her heart. Connor had, unknowingly, just joined the long list of men who had underestimated her in her life. And this time Emma wasn’t going to let a guy get away with it. She was going to make him pay for this, she thought. For all the times she’d been overlooked or underappreciated. For all the men who’d considered her less than a woman. For all the times she’d doubted her own femininity…

Connor Reilly was going to pay.

Big-time.

A few hours later Emma was still furious, though much cooler. In her own house, she had the air conditioner set just a little above frigid, so a cup of hot tea was enjoyable at night. Usually she found a cup of tea soothing. Tonight she was afraid she’d need a lot more than tea.

Even after Connor left the garage that afternoon, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him and about what he’d said. Anger had faded into insult and insult into bruised feelings, then circled back around to anger again.

There was only one person in the world who would understand what she was feeling. Alone at home, she set one of the last remaining two of her late mother’s floral-patterned china cups on the table beside her, picked up the phone and hit the speed dial.

The phone only rang once when it was picked up and a familiar voice said “Hello.”

“Mary Alice,” Emma said quickly, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to be heard, “you’re not going to believe this. Connor Reilly told me today that he doesn’t think of me as a woman. I’m a ‘pal,’ A ‘mechanic.’ Remember I told you about that stupid bet he and his brothers concocted?” She didn’t wait for confirmation. “Well, today he tells me that the reason he’s hanging out at the garage is because he feels safe around me. He doesn’t want me, so I’m neutral territory. Can you believe it? Can you actually believe he looked me dead in the eye and practically told me that I’m less than female?”

“Who is this?” An amused female voice interrupted her.

“Very funny.” Emma smiled, in spite of her anger, then jumped up off the old, worn sofa in her family’s living room and stalked to the mirror above the now-cold fireplace. “Weren’t you listening to me?”

“You bet,” Mary Alice said. “Heard every word. Want Tommy to call out the Recon guys, take this jerk out for you?”

Emma grinned at her own reflection. “No, but thanks.” Mary Alice Flanagan, Emma’s best friend since fifth grade, had married Tom Malone, a Marine, four years ago and was now currently stationed in California. It was only thanks to Mary Alice that Emma had ever discovered the mysteries of being female.

Emma’s mother had died when she was an infant, and after that she’d been raised by her father. A terrific man, he’d loved his daughter to distraction, but had had no idea how to teach her to be a woman. Mary Alice’s mother had filled the gap, and when they were grown, Mary Alice herself had given Emma the makeover that had helped her attract and then win the very man who’d left her heart battered and bleeding three years ago.

The two women stayed in constant touch by phone and e-mail, but this was one night Emma wished her oldest and best friend was right here in town. She needed to sit and vent.

“Okay then, if you don’t want him dead, what do you want?” Mary Alice asked.

Emma 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 have to drink it,” Liam said on a sigh as he reached for the pitcher.

“I know.” Emma braced herself as she watched him pour what looked like mud into the glasses.

“She’s a good woman,” Liam said, lifting his own glass and eyeing it dubiously. “Though I can’t imagine why the concept of tea escapes her.”

Emma decided to get it over with and took a hearty swig. She gulped it down before it could stick in her throat, then set the glass back on the tray and coughed a little before speaking again. “So about Connor…”

“Right.” Liam gagged a little at the tea, set the glass down and shuddered. “What’d he do?”

Intrigued, Emma asked, “How did you know he did anything?”

“Something put that flash of anger in your eyes, Emma.”

“Okay, yeah. You’re right.” She jumped up from the chair that was big enough and soft enough to swallow her whole and started walking. Nowhere in particular, she just felt as though she needed to move. “He did do something, well, said something and it made me so mad, Liam, I almost punched him and then I thought he wouldn’t even understand why I was hitting him and then that made me even more mad, which even I could hardly believe, because honestly I was never so mad in my life and he didn’t even have a clue. You know?”

She was walking in circles, and Liam kept his head swiveling, to keep up with her, following her progress around the room and trying to keep up with the rambling fury of her words.

“So, would you hate me, too, if I said I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about?”

Emma blew out a breath and stopped in front of the wide windows overlooking the shady front lawn. The scent of the roses in the cold hearth mingled with the homey scent of lemon oil clinging to the gleaming woodwork. Outside, a slight wind tugged at the leaves of the magnolias and two kids, oblivious to the heat, raced past the church, baseball bats on their shoulders.

“He’s an idiot.” Emma turned and looked at him. “Connor, I mean.”

“True,” Liam admitted and gave her a smile that took the edge off her anger. “In fact, all of my brothers are idiots—” he caught himself and corrected “—maybe not Brian anymore since he wised up in time to keep Tina in his life. But Connor and Aidan?” He nodded. “Idiots. Still, in their defense, they’re under a lot of…pressure, right now.”

“You mean the bet?” Emma asked.

Liam blinked. “You know about it?”

“It’s practically all Connor’s talked about for the last month.”

“Is that right?” Liam smiled again, wider this time. “Driving him crazy, is it?”

Emma grinned at him, despite the bubbles of anger still simmering inside her. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I shouldn’t be, should I?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, her smile fading just a little, “okay, you’re a priest, but you are still a Reilly.”

“Guilty as charged,” Liam admitted. “And this Reilly wants to know what Connor did that upset you so much.”

“He dismissed me.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma shrugged, as if she could shift what felt like a load off her shoulders, then shoved both hands into the pockets of her jeans. Blowing out a breath, she realized that it was just a little harder than she’d thought it would be to talk about this. Saying it all out loud only made it harsher and made her remember the stupid smile in Connor’s eyes when he told her she was a “pal.”

Gritting her teeth, Emma got a grip on her anger and muttered thickly, “He actually told me that he didn’t want me, so I was safe to be around.”

Liam groaned. “He really is an idiot.”

“Yeah, well.” Feeling the sting of Connor’s words again, Emma turned her head and looked out the window, focusing on the gnarled trunk of the closest magnolia tree. She should just be mad, but there was an undeniable sting of hurt jabbing at her, too. And it was that niggling pain that bothered her the most. She hadn’t let a man close enough to actually hurt her in three years. The fact that Connor could do it without even trying infuriated her.

“He’s going to be sorry,” she whispered, more as a solemn promise to herself than to Liam.

“Emma?”

She wouldn’t look at him. How could she? She heard the concern in his voice, and though she appreciated it, she didn’t need it. She’d be fine. Just as she’d always been. And once Connor had been taught a very costly lesson, things would go back to the way they should be. “I’m going to see to it he loses that bet, Liam.”

He sighed and she heard him stand up and walk toward her. “Not that I wouldn’t be pleased if the church got a new roof,” Liam said when he stopped beside her. “But I feel I ought to caution you.”

“About?” She slanted him a look.

Shaking his head, Liam said softly, “Sometimes the best-laid traps can backfire, Emma. They can spring shut on the one who set the trap in the first place.”

Not if the trapper was careful.

“Don’t worry about me, Liam,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and reached out to turn her face toward him. “But you and Connor have been friends for a long time.”

“So?” She didn’t mean to sound so much like a cranky child. But she couldn’t seem to help it. The fact that they had been friends was the very thing that had made this whole situation so infuriating.

“So,” he said, “it’s not that far a fall from friendship to love.”

Emma laughed and shook her head. “Sorry for laughing, Liam. But trust me, there’s no chance of that.”

Number one, she wasn’t interested in loving anybody. She’d tried that once and she still had the emotional bruises to prove it. And Connor wasn’t looking for love either. Heck, if anything, he was trying to avoid women altogether. And clearly, she told herself, her spine straightening and her chin lifting, if he were to go looking for love…he wouldn’t be looking at her. Nope. No danger here.

Still chuckling, she turned and headed for the door. “I’ve got to get back to the garage,” she said. “And don’t worry about giving me a ride back. It’s only a few blocks. I could use the walk.”

At the door, she stopped and turned back to look at him again. Father Liam was watching her with a concerned expression on his handsome face.

“Don’t look so worried,” she quipped. “I’m going to help you get that new roof.”

“A new roof’s not worth a broken heart, Emma.”

If something inside her shivered, she ignored it. He meant well, but he didn’t understand. This wasn’t about making Connor love her. This was about making Connor want her, and then leaving him flat.

This was about payback.

“Hearts are not involved here, Liam.”

Still worried, Liam watched her go. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

Two days later Connor couldn’t stand his own company any longer.

He’d been avoiding his usual hangouts—except for Jacobsen’s Garage—but Emma hadn’t had much time to talk to him in the last couple of days. He might have thought that she was avoiding him, but that didn’t make any sense at all.

To fill his time, he’d spent a few hours working in his mother’s garden, played basketball with Liam and had even mooched a meal from Brian and Tina. But, Connor thought, as good a cook as his sister-in-law was, he just couldn’t take another evening over there. Not with the way Brian and Tina were all over each other.

It was hell to be jealous of a married man.

But there it was.

“I think going without sex is killing off brain cells,” he muttered, and shut off his car’s engine. Instantly the air conditioner died and the temperature in the car started to climb.

Summer nights weren’t much cooler than summer days and the humidity was enough to make a grown man weep. He stared through the windshield at the Off Duty Bar and told himself if he was smart, he’d fire up the engine, turn the car around and drive back to his empty apartment.

But damn it, temptation of women or not, Connor wanted a couple of hours of listening to music, drinking a beer and talking to his friends.

“I can do this,” he assured himself as he opened the car door and stepped out into the sultry summer air. Music, loud but muffled, floated to him on the way-too-slight breeze and the scent of jasmine, coming from the bushes growing at the edge of the parking lot, was thick and sweet.

Connor slammed the car door, punched the alarm button until the car horn beeped, then headed for the front door. As he walked closer, a couple left the building, the man’s arm wrapped tightly around his woman’s shoulders as he dropped a kiss on her hair.

Connor groaned and seriously considered turning back while there was still time. But the lure of air-conditioning, cold beer and some conversation was just too strong. He grabbed the silver bar in the center of the door and gave it a yank. The door flew open, music slapped at him, and the scent of perfume, beer and cigarette smoke welcomed him.

He stepped into the dimly lit room and nodded greetings as he made his way to the bar. Signaling the bartender, Connor said, “Beer. Draft.” He slapped a bill on the bar top and when his drink was ready, he lifted it and took a long pull.

The icy froth soothed him as it slid down his throat, and he shifted his gaze to take in the room. The bar itself was old. Probably fifty years at least. The walls were painted battleship gray and the furniture was scarred. From the open, beamed ceiling, hung memorabilia of the corps. Vintage helmets, bayonets in frayed scabbards, and even a ceremonial sword, belonging to the current owner, a retired Sergeant Major. The whole place was designed to make a military man feel welcome. A Marine, most of all.

There were pool tables at one end of the main room, and on the opposite end, a dozen round tables were lined up in a wide circle, so that the middle of the ring could be used for dancing. The jukebox, which looked older than Connor, blasted out current rock along with some of the classics.

Most of the regulars at the Off Duty were Marines. Winding down after a day of work or just stopping in for a cold one before going home. Of course, there were also a few civilians and more than a few women.

Not that Connor was noticing.

Then the crowd shifted. His hand tightened on the glass of beer. Through the gap in the people milling around the bar, he had an all-too-clear view of a tall blonde in a skirt short enough to be just barely legal.

She was bending over the pool table, lining up a shot.

Connor’s mouth went dry.

Her long, blond hair hung in a honey-colored curtain down to the middle of her back. As she tipped her head to one side, that fall of hair shifted, off her shoulders and his gaze was caught by the way the overhead light picked out streaks of sun-kissed hair, brighter than the rest. She wore a pale-blue tank top that looked as if it had been glued onto her body, and the tiny denim skirt, just covering her behind, hitched even higher as she leaned farther over the pool table. Her shapely legs looked smooth and tanned and about three miles long. She wore black, sky-high heels on her small feet, and her ankles looked as fragile as her thighs looked sexy.

Sexy?

The woman oozed sex.

His fingers squeezed the glass of beer until he wouldn’t have been surprised to feel it shatter like spun sugar in his grasp. Scraping one hand across his face, he inhaled sharply and watched, spellbound, as she lifted her right foot and rubbed it slowly against her left calf.

Need spiked.

His body went instantly hard.

His breath shuddered and his heartbeat staggered.

He watched one of the guys closest to her, lean in and whisper something, and Connor wanted to grab the guy and pitch him through a window.

Okay, breathe.

He sucked in air and told himself that he was only reacting like this because of his recent dry spell.

But it was more.

There was something about her.

Something that called to him from all the way across the room. Something that made a man want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to a cave where he could have her, over and over again. Where he could listen to her moan and taste her sighs.

He took another gulp of beer, hoping the icy drink would put out some of the fire. But he knew better. Damn it, he never should have come in here.

The blonde straightened up slowly, then hitched one hip higher than the other as she laughed. That tight, short skirt of hers hugged her behind. She shook her long blond hair back from her face, and Connor was captivated, watching the thick, wavy fall of blond shift and dance around her.

He swallowed hard.

Then she tipped her head back and playfully patted the other guy’s chest.

Connor dropped his beer.

The glass shattered at his feet, splashing ice cold beer on everyone close by.

He didn’t notice.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the blond with the body made for sex.

“Emma?”

Three

Even over the pounding rhythm of the jukebox, Emma heard the glass shatter.

But then, her ears were attuned to everything. She’d seen Connor walk into the bar—which was exactly why she’d maneuvered herself to the end of the pool table. She’d even opted to take a lousy shot, because she knew exactly what kind of picture she’d make, leaning over the pool table.

Nerves hit her hard and fast. Her stomach spun, and the edges of her vision got a little foggy, but she could deal with that. Had to deal with it. Too late now to change her plan.

Smiling up at the guy she’d just beaten at pool, she ignored the sensation of Connor’s gaze boring into her back. “That’s twenty bucks you owe me, Mike. Want to go double or nothing?”

The tall Marine smiled down at her as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “How about you let me buy you a drink instead?”

“How about you take off?” Connor’s voice was nothing more than a low growl.

Emma shifted a look at him and had to force herself not to smile at the stunned-to-his-toes expression on his face. Good. She definitely had his attention.

“Connor,” she said, in mock surprise. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Viciously he rubbed the back of his neck, then let his hand drop to his side. “Yeah, well. I sure as hell saw you.”

“Friend of yours?”

Emma glanced back at the man she’d just beaten twice at pool. Tall and good-looking, any other night she just might be interested. Tonight, though, every thought was centered on Connor. But Mike didn’t look too pleased at the idea of sharing.

They were attracting a small crowd, drawn no doubt by the bristling testosterone in the air. Emma wanted to shake her head at the ridiculousness of it, but there was a small part of her enjoying the whole show.

After all, she spent most of her time being just what Connor had called her. One of the guys. A pal. Well, she’d been underestimated most of her life. True, she’d probably played into it by never bothering to dress the part of “female.” But she’d always figured she shouldn’t have to. A woman who was a successful business owner should be accepted on her own terms without having to stand in killer high heels and skirts so short she felt a breeze way too high up.

“Emma,” Mike said, bringing her up out of her thoughts with a jerk. “You know this guy?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, sending another look to Connor and really enjoying seeing him watch the other guy through narrowed eyes. “Connor and I are old friends.”

“And we need to talk,” Connor said, not bothering to take the warning out of his voice as he faced the other Marine. “So why don’t you get lost?”

“Yeah?” Mike snarled. “I don’t remember inviting you over.”

Connor’s chin went up, Mike stiffened and curled his hands into fists, and Emma suddenly felt as though she were in the middle of a special on that cable channel about animals. The men were like two bull elephants about to butt heads.

And in spite of the anger she still felt toward Connor, a purely female spurt of delight shot through her—which she quickly shot down. Seriously, two men go caveman and woman reverts right along with them. Must be contagious.

Stepping in between them, Emma smiled up at Mike Whatever-his-last-name-was and said, “It’s okay. I do need to talk to Connor so…” She let her sentence trail off and shrugged an apology.

He didn’t like it, but he moved away, rejoining his friends at the bar. Connor glared after him, then shifted his gaze back to Emma.

With a calm she wasn’t quite feeling, she folded the twenty-dollar bill she’d just won and tucked it into her bra—the push-up kind that gave her more cleavage than God had ever gifted her with. And she didn’t miss Connor’s gaze following the action.

A swirl of something hot and thick simmered within, and she told herself it was purely a female reaction to a male stare of appreciation. Although, she hadn’t exactly been panting when Mike was giving her the once-over.

Doesn’t matter.

All that mattered was that her plan was working.

She smiled to herself and rubbed the tip of her cue stick with a square of chalk. Then, setting it aside, she pursed her lips and blew gently on the tip. Connor swallowed hard.

This is just fun, Emma thought.

“So,” she said, tipping her head to one side so that her hair fell around her like a gold curtain, “what’d you want to talk about?”

He snorted and swept his gaze up and down her. “You’re kidding, right?”

She leaned one hip against the pool table, while she idly stroked her fingers up and down the cue stick. “Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” Connor’s eyes bugged out and his mouth worked a time or two, as if he was trying to speak but just couldn’t convince the words to cooperate. Finally he got a grip on himself, leaned in toward her and said in a strained hush, “Damn it, Emma, look at you. When you were bent over that pool table, I could see clear to—”

She raised one eyebrow and hid the delighted smile she felt inside. “Clear to where, Connor?”

He straightened up. “Doesn’t matter.” He inhaled sharply. “What does matter is that every guy in here is looking, too.”

Okay, there was just a tiny stirring of uneasiness. She’d wanted Connor to get an eyeful, and she’d known going in that she might attract some attention from other guys. But the thought of a roomful of Marines scoping her out gave her a chill that wasn’t quite the thrill she might have guessed. If anything, she felt a little…outnumbered.

But she wasn’t going to let Connor know it.

“And how is this any of your business?” she asked.

“Well,” he started, then stammered to a stop. He glanced around, giving the evil eye to one guy sidling a little too close for his comfort, then shifted a glare back at her. “We’re friends, Em,” he said. “I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all.”

“That’s the only reason you came over here, then?” She didn’t believe him for a minute. There was a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes and it didn’t have a thing to do with feelings for his pal.

“Why else?”

Okay, fine. They’d play this out. She could go along. In fact, this worked out better for her. The longer he tried to hold out against her, the harder she’d make it for him.

Pushing away from the pool table, she picked up her cue stick, then ran the tips of her fingers along the top edge of her tank top, as if she were hot. She didn’t miss Connor’s gaze snapping right to where she wanted him to be looking.

“Well, thanks, Connor,” she said, licking her lips slowly, provocatively. “I appreciate the concern.”

He gritted his teeth, and she watched a muscle in his jaw tick.

“No problem. In fact,” he added, “if you’re ready to leave, I’ll just take you home. Make sure you’re okay.”

Emma smiled up at him despite the urge to smack him over the head with her cue stick. Instead she laid one hand on his chest and felt the drumbeat of his heart beneath her palm. “That’s so sweet,” she said softly. “But no, thanks, I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“You’re not—”

“Tell you what,” she said, sliding past him in a move that put her between his rock-hard body and the edge of the pool table. As she moved, she heard him hiss in a breath. Good. “Now that you’ve scared off my playing partner, you ready to take me on instead?”

He scowled. “Take you on?”

She snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes. “Pool, Reilly. You want to play me a game of pool?”

“Right. Pool. Sure.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, then looked at her again and blinked as if trying to clear blurry vision. “It’d be better if we just left and—”

“Oh, you go ahead,” she said, letting her gaze slide around the room, as if she were considering picking a different challenger from the men in the bar. “I can find someone else to play.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered darkly. “Look, Emma, I just don’t think you should be hanging out here—not tonight. Not the way you look—”

One blond eyebrow lifted again, and slowly she hitched one hip higher than the other and tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor. Around them, people laughed and talked and a handful of couples danced on a small square of unoccupied floor. She paid no attention to any of it.

“What?” she asked. “I look what, exactly? Good? Bad?”

He scowled at her. “Different.”

She turned to hide her smile and offered herself a small internal whoop of congratulation. Mission accomplished. Connor Reilly had taken notice. In fact, if he’d noticed any harder, he’d be standing in a puddle of drool. A sense of power swept through her, and Emma hugged it close.

A heady sensation for a pal.

She picked up the triangle-shaped rack hanging on the side of the pool table, then set it down in position on the green felt. Not even looking at him, she said, “I wasn’t born in coveralls, you know.”

“Sure. I know that,” he said, and reached into the corner pocket to pull out a handful of the striped and solid balls. “It’s just…”

Emma sighed and muttered under her breath. Okay, she’d thought to surprise him, but this was ridiculous. It was as if he were staring at a dog who’d suddenly learned to talk. How was she going to seduce the man—make him lose that stupid bet—if she couldn’t get him to move past stunned into hunger?

She straightened up and moved closer to him. His gaze went right to the top of her scoop-necked tank top and stayed there. Her breasts looked high and full, thanks to the “miracle” bra that was currently strangling her. And Connor was certainly appreciating the view.

And that’s what she’d wanted, right?

“Look,” she said, “I want to play pool. If you don’t want to, I’ll just ask Mike, or one of these other guys, if he wants to go another round and—”

“Leave him and anybody else out of this,” Connor muttered thickly, lifting his gaze to hers. “I’ll play.”

Now, a girl could take that one of two ways. Play what exactly? Pool? Or something else, entirely? For the moment, she’d go with pool. “Twenty bucks a round. Eight ball.”

“You’re on.”

“Then,” she said, walking past him to circle the table and head for the opposite end, “as the challenger, you rack ’em.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Damn it, who would have guessed that little Emma Jacobsen was packing concealed weapons?

And man, she had weapons to spare.

The tops of her breasts pushed teasingly against the edge of her tiny tank top. Her hips swayed when she walked and the hem of that incredibly short skirt just barely managed to cover the gateway to paradise. And her legs. God, her legs.

He dropped one of the billiard balls and had to bend down to snatch it up off the floor. Which gave him much too good a view of those amazing legs as she walked away from him. And why had he never noticed the sweet curve of her behind?

How could he have missed it?

His whole body was stiff as a board. He felt hot and eager and pushed to the very edge of self-control. Damn it, it had been a mistake to come here. He’d known it before and he was sure of it now. But if he hadn’t, he might never have seen this side of Emma.

The very side that was making it an effort to walk. He suddenly wished that his jeans were a hell of a lot baggier.

And even as he thought it, he straightened up, his grip on the fallen billiard ball tight enough to crush it to dust. This is Emma, he reminded himself. Good old Emma.

Pal.

Buddy.

He shifted his gaze to her and felt his throat close up. Her blue eyes looked wider tonight. Her mouth looked edible. Her tanned, smooth skin was the color of warm honey and looked just as lickable.

Oh, man.

She was watching him with a curious expression on her face and he really couldn’t blame her. Hell, they’d been hanging out together for a couple of years now and he’d never stuttered around her before. Just like he’d never taken the time to notice that her breasts were just the right size to fill a man’s palm.

Damn it.

She held her cue stick in her left hand. Idly, she slid her fingers up and down the slim, polished wood, trailing her touch delicately enough to drive him insane by wondering how those fingers would feel on him.

“Man, get a grip, Reilly.” His voice was thick and his muttered whisper was soft enough to be buried beneath the onslaught of rock music pouring into the room. At least, he hoped it had been.

He really didn’t want Emma knowing that he was getting hard just watching her.

It’s just the bet.

That’s all it was.

He was hard up.

Frustrated.

Walking the fine edge of sanity.

But man, she looked good.

“How long’s it take to rack some balls?” she asked.

Connor winced and shot her a quick look. “A little patience goes a long way.”

She laughed and the deep, throaty, full sound of it, rippled over the conversations in the bar and danced to the rhythm of the music. It seemed to reach for him and grab him by the throat.

“You?” she asked. “Patient?”

Her fingers were still caressing the cue stick and he had to force himself to look away. But meeting her gaze wasn’t much safer. Had her eyes always been that color of blue? Sort of summer skyish? He gritted his teeth.

“I can be patient when I have to be,” he countered. Like now. It had been a long month. The stupid bet with his brothers was making him crazy. But he was patient—even if Emma didn’t think so. And he’d make it through the next two months.

As long as she didn’t bend over again.

“Yeah?” She tilted her head, and that fall of hair swung out past her shoulders. “How are you at pool?”

He lifted the rack off the triangle of balls, hung it on the hook at the end of the table and forced a nonchalant shrug. “Take your best shot and let’s find out.”

She nodded slowly. “Twenty bucks a game.”

“High stakes.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Scared?”

Well, that helped. His dignity won out over his hormones. “Hell, no. I can take you.”

“Really?” she said softly. “And just where did you plan on taking me?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she bent over the table, lined up her cue stick and drew it back and forth between her fingers while she aimed her shot.

Unfortunately, this gave Connor way too much time to appreciate the view of her breasts, practically spilling out of her tank top.

His body went to DefCon 2.

And he suddenly knew just where he’d like to take her.

A back room.

A flat surface.

On the damn pool table.

Crap. He rubbed his face and damn near slapped himself. He wanted Emma. Now. More than he could ever remember wanting anything else in his life.

The only thing that stopped him was he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have worked. Just because he was acting like a slobbering horn dog didn’t mean she was feeling the same thing. And the only thing worse than falling off the wagon and losing the bet would be trying to lose the bet and having Emma tell him thanks but no thanks.

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