Carole Mortimer - The Secret Virgin

He continued to look at her with those expressionless grey eyes. ‘So?’

Tory drew in a deep breath. ‘Look, Mr McGuire, I suggest that the two of us start again.’ She came to an abrupt halt on the pavement. ‘My name is Tory Buchanan.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to welcome you to the Isle of Man.’

Jonathan McGuire still looked blankly at the slenderness of her hand for several long seconds, and then he slowly raised his own hand to grip hers. ‘I’ve been to the island before,’ he bit out economically, having released her hand after only the briefest of touches.

He had? Of course, she spent a lot of time away from the island herself, so it wasn’t so surprising that she might have missed his visit. But, nevertheless, she had gained the impression on the telephone last night, as she’d spoken to Madison, that Jonathan McGuire wasn’t familiar with the island, or the location of Madison and Gideon’s house. In fact, that was the main reason Madison had asked if someone would be able to go to the airport to meet him.

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘It was a very brief visit,’ he drawled.

One he had no intention of talking about, his slightly challenging tone implied.

Well, that was okay; Tory had already decided that, good-looking as Jonathan McGuire might be, her favour towards Madison ended the moment she had dropped her brother off at the house! He was darkly cold and arrogant, when she had imagined him to be a golden-haired fun person, like Madison was herself. As far as Tory was concerned, Jonathan McGuire could keep his cold arrogance to himself!

‘My car is parked over here.’ She indicated they should turn to the left as they entered the car park. ‘Actually, it’s my father’s,’ she explained as she unlocked the back of the Land Rover, slightly muddy from where her father drove it around the fields that made up his farm. ‘My mother and father have taken the car today to attend a wedding this morning,’ she somehow felt she had to add. Although why she should feel that way she had no idea; this man’s ungrateful attitude meant she owed him no explanations.

She didn’t offer to help as he lifted his luggage into the back, getting in behind the wheel as she waited for him to stroll round and get into the passenger seat beside her before starting the engine. Ten years old, the engine roared protestingly for a few seconds before settling down to its normal erratic clonking noise, and she accelerated the vehicle towards the exit.

‘Weren’t you invited?’

‘Invited where?’ Tory turned briefly from feeding her ticket into the machine at the exit, the barrier instantly lifting to allow them to drive out; as she had only arrived at the airport half an hour ago she hadn’t had to pay a parking fee.

‘To the wedding,’ Jonathan McGuire continued, perfectly relaxed in the seat next to her.

So he had been listening, after all! ‘I was,’ she returned.

‘But…?’

‘But a friend asked me to do her a favour instead,’ Tory said quickly, deliberately not looking at him as she concentrated on her driving.

She sensed him looking at her through narrowed lids, nonetheless. Well, let him look. She had been invited to the wedding, but when Madison had asked if someone could meet her brother at the airport and take him to the house, Tory had been only too happy to offer to be the one to do it. After all, it was Tory’s mother’s niece who was getting married. Admittedly, the bride was Tory’s cousin too, but she could still go to the reception later this afternoon.

‘I play.’

Tory gave him a brief, puzzled glance. She seemed to have missed something somewhere!

‘The guitar,’ he explained. ‘You asked if I play. I do.’

‘Ah.’ She nodded her understanding. ‘What sort of music do you play?’ she continued interestedly.

There was a brief silence, causing Tory to glance at him once again. His closed expression told her she had—once more!—ventured into forbidden territory. The problem with this man was that every subject seemed to have the potential of an unexplored minefield!

‘Usually whatever I feel like playing,’ he rasped dismissively.

Tory sighed at the deliberate snub, turning her attention back to her driving. She had only been trying to make polite conversation, for goodness’ sake. Obviously a nicety wasted on Jonathan McGuire.

Only another half an hour or so and she could deposit him at his sister’s home—and hopefully not see him again for the remainder of his visit. She just hoped he made it another brief one!

She tried to remember the little Madison had said about her brother during their call the previous evening. Madison had called him ‘Jonny’ she remembered that. Tory couldn’t ever imagine calling this remotely cold man by such an intimately friendly name!

But she could see that he looked wealthy enough; his clothes were obviously of good quality, and she could tell at a glance that his case and the guitar case were the best that money could buy. And, as Madison’s brother, he must also be son of Susan Delaney—a woman had become an acting legend in her own lifetime, and a woman Tory had met several times and liked immensely, when she’d visited Madison and Gideon on the island. Perhaps Jonathan McGuire took after his father—because he was certainly nothing like his charming sister and mother!

Tory decided to forget about her less-than-gracious passenger and enjoy the drive instead. It was a lovely day, the early June weather warm and sunny, wild garlic, blue-and whitebells still in flower along the roadside, the vivid yellow-orange of the gorse so bright against fresh green foliage that it almost hurt the eyes to look at it.

Not even the taciturn Jonathan McGuire could spoil her enjoyment of a beautiful day like today!

As they approached the end of the long stretch of road, with the leaves of the trees either side of the road meeting overhead like a green arch, she automatically raised her hand.

‘Hi, fairies,’ the man at her side murmured softly.

Tory turned to look at him, blue eyes wide with surprise. He had been here before.

They had just driven over the Fairy Bridge, marked by a white wall either side of the road. It was considered bad luck not to show the ‘little people’ who lived under the bridge due respect by saying hello to them.

Perhaps Jonathan McGuire felt in need of good luck…?

Damn it, she was starting to feel intrigued by the man, in spite of herself. He was American, for one thing; what did a single American male, of only thirty-two or thirty-three, want from a small community like the Isle of Man? Beautiful as the island was, almost crime-free too, with a population of less than eighty thousand, it certainly couldn’t be considered a fashionable holiday spot for single thirty-odd-year-old males!

She knew the same could be said of a young woman of only twenty-four as well, but it was completely different in her own case. She had been born here; her family were all here. Whereas Jonathan McGuire seemed to be getting away from his own family!

Yes, she was intrigued!

That was the last thing she wanted at the moment. She had come back home to do some thinking herself, to make some decisions of her own. She certainly didn’t need a man like the remote Jonathan McGuire in that already complicated equation.

‘I see you’re aware of some of the quainter island traditions,’ she remarked conversationally.

‘I did tell you I had been here before,’ he bit out, staring uninterestedly out of the window at his side.

She really didn’t know why she was bothering. She—

‘What the hell was that?’ Jonathan McGuire gave a shocked gasp as a streak of red shot noisily past the Land Rover.

Tory smiled, completely unperturbed. ‘Obviously you aren’t aware of all the island traditions,’ she drawled mockingly as another blaze of colour shot past them, blue this time, and if anything noisier than the red one. ‘Ever heard of the TT Races? The Tourist Trophy?’ she enlarged dryly.