Maureen Child - Whatever Reilly Wants...

“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.