Shiver of Fear Page 5

  “I invest in companies.”

  “Like a venture capitalist?”

  “Something like that, but a little more in the background. Angel investments. You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her. “What’s your business here in Belfast?”

  “It’s personal,” she said, hoping her tone would not invite another question, but his look was expectant. So she added, “I’m waiting for a friend from the States who gets back in a few days.”

  “Back from where?”

  Instead of responding, she made a show of opening the brochure she’d been holding in the hotel. “There’s a map on the back of this. We’ve got quite a scenic route up the coast.”

  He kept his gaze on her and not the road for a few seconds. “So you’re secretive as well as beautiful.”

  Looking down at the brochure, she let a lock of hair fall and cover her expression. Would she have to ask him outright not to probe with personal questions?

  Stopping at a light, he reached over and lifted her hair, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, the contact surprisingly warm. Damn near electric.

  “Am I right?” he asked. “You’re secretive?”

  “I’m private,” she replied, turning her head enough to escape the heat. “There’s a difference.”

  “Still beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She felt a flush rise to her face as the voice of the woman who’d raised her echoed in her head.

  Beauty is skin-deep.

  It wasn’t until Devyn used her considerable resources to find out her real bloodline that she learned exactly why her adopted mother loved that phrase. Because under the skin is the blood… and the blood in her veins was not Hewitt. It was MacCauley, and there was nothing beautiful about it.

  The thought reminded her of why she was here—not to sightsee with charming strangers. Still, she’d made the rash decision—that bloodline acting again—and now she had to live with the consequences.

  She pointed to a main highway. “That’s the M2, I believe, that circles Belfast. Take it a little west, then go east up to Ballyclare.” She gave him a forced smile. “Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Have you been to Ireland before?”

  “I have, but I spend most of my time in Dublin. Never been up this far.”

  “Me neither.”

  His smile wasn’t forced or unnatural. It was just… inviting.

  “I know you don’t want a barrage of personal questions, but I have to ask one, since I don’t see a ring. Single as well?”

  “I am now,” she said, looking away, out the window.

  “Ah, divorced, too, then?”

  She waited a beat. “No, actually, I’m a widow.”

  “I’m sorry. How long has it been?”

  “About two…” Months. “Years.”

  “Kids?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “What about you?”

  Maneuvering onto the highway stole his attention momentarily. “Not yet,” he replied, a hint of something like wistfulness in his voice.

  “But you want them?”

  He glanced at her. “What was the clue?”

  “The word ‘yet’ and the sound of longing in your tone.”

  “Wow.” He laughed, shooting her an admiring look. “Private, beautiful, intuitive. Look how much I learned about you in just this little bit of time.”

  Reminding her that she’d better keep the conversation about him or she’d be telling him far too much. “We’re even, then. I’ve learned you’re open, charming, and, oh, let me guess, the oldest in your family.”

  “You got all that out of ‘not yet’? Amazing. But I hate to ruin your perfect record. I’m the second out of seven, not quite the oldest.”

  “Seven? That’s a huge family.”

  “Now we’re even,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I hear longing in your voice.”

  Was it that obvious? “I was a lonely only,” she admitted. “Seven kids sounds like pure heaven.”

  “With moments of hell. To be fair, there were only five kids and two cousins raised with us. Plus a grandfather, Uncle Nino.”

  “You call your grandfather Uncle Nino?”

  “Mostly we just called him Nino, which became his de facto grandfather title, like, you know Boompa or Gramps. My cousins came to live with us and he’s their great-uncle, so they call him Uncle Nino.”

  “Sounds like a great way to grow up. Rossi, right? So this must be an Italian family. Where in New York?”

  But he just shook his head. “You know, Devyn, I have only a day with you, and an overview of my huge family—and yes, we are Italian—could take up most of our time. Unless, of course, you promise me I can have more time until your friend gets here. What day does he arrive?”

  “Thursday and… it’s a she.”

  He lifted a brow, his dark eyes glittering with a tease. “Well, that’s encouraging. Not a romantic rendezvous, then.”

  Damn, he was good at the conversation volley. She purposely shifted in her seat and avoided eye contact. “It’s two more miles to the turn to Ballyclare. You know, I just like saying that, such an Irish word. Have you noticed how different the accent is up here? More British than brogue, don’t you think?”

  “You know, Devyn,” he said, gently placing his hand over hers on the console. “This will be a very long, very frustrating, and very uncomfortable day if you refuse to tell me anything about yourself. Unless, of course, you’re on the run from the law, in hiding from an ex-lover, or on a secret mission for the government and can’t tell me anything. In that case, I’ll let you get away with being chatty and vague.”

  She slid her hand out from under his, taking the brief moment to try and swallow. “What if I were guilty of all of the above? Would you still want to go sightseeing with me?”

  His expression shifted and softened. “More than ever.”

  The last time a man believed her, he took her story and tried to sell it to the highest bidder—and it cost him his life.

  “Then you better be careful, Marc Rossi,” she said quietly. “Because nothing about me is as it seems.”

  He smiled, an expression so sexy and endearing it made her stomach plummet to her toes. “There’s nothing I like more in a woman than mystery. I take solving it as a personal challenge.”

  A challenge, she swore to herself, he would fail.

  CHAPTER 4

  Make a wish, Marc.”

  I wish she weren’t so damn perfect. “I wish I didn’t feel like such a tourist.” He settled into the cool, mottled rocks, the particular arrangement of stones shaped like a chair.

  “Too bad, you are. And at this moment, the tourist is in the Wishing Chair.” Devyn waved the guidebook they’d picked up at the visitor’s center, the wind whipping off the Atlantic coast and howling over the wide stretch of bizarre geology called the Giant’s Causeway. “Whatever you wish will come true, according to legend. And if I’ve learned anything in the last few hours, it’s that legends rule the day around here.”

  “Right. I better make a good wish.” He leaned back, squinting up at the silhouette of a woman against a misty sky and gunmetal seas, still amazed at how different she was in person than in two dimensions.

  And not just her features. Yes, she was even prettier than he’d anticipated, but he’d braced for an ice queen and got a surprising blast of heat. He’d expected a bland and bored rich widow, maybe uptight and withdrawn, but discovered a woman with a smile that came from her heart, a laugh that sounded like chimes, and windblown hair that was ten different shades of butterscotch and caramel.

  Not to mention a lithe, lean body that moved with a magical mix of grace and sexiness.

  Too perfect.

  “Come on,” she urged. “What do you want most in the whole world?”

  Nothing he could wish for here and now. Nothing the legends and lore would grant him. Nothing he could ever expect to have again in this lifetime.

  “Now you’re the one who’s thin
king too hard,” she said, those wind chimes ringing again as she laughed, a sound as intoxicating as the view from the sharp, limestone cliff jutting out to the ocean behind her.

  “I’m not thinking. I’m enjoying the view,” he said, looking right into eyes the color of his first Corvette. Arctic Blue, the Chevy guys called it, a mix of glinting glaciers against azure sea.

  “You have about ten seconds before the next busload of tourists forms a line. Wish.”

  He closed his eyes, the outline of her curves against the milky sky still burned behind his lids. “I wish you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

  She just laughed and reached for his hand, offering help he didn’t need but certainly wanted. “You’re greedy. You’ve got my whole day already.”

  “Not greedy. I just like to plan for the future.” Still holding her hand, he brushed her lower lip with his thumb, because it was the next best thing to pressing his mouth there. “And dinner isn’t exactly a lifetime commitment. You’ve got to eat. Why do it alone?”

  She gave him that don’t-ask-me look she’d laid on him mercilessly in the car, until he backed off and kept the conversation impersonal and light.

  Once he’d done that, she’d relaxed and the day had unfolded from his well-orchestrated “accidental” meeting to something that felt very much like a first date. He couldn’t think of a better way to get her off course than good old-fashioned seduction, but nothing about this effort felt forced.

  “Let’s go to the edge,” he said, keeping their hands locked as he closed his arm around her back.

  She hesitated, a little off balance on the slabs of slippery rock. “I don’t think so.”

  “You afraid of heights?” he asked.

  She nodded, her color deepening with the admission. “They make me dizzy.”

  He tightened his grip and lowered his face to her ear. “I’ll hold you,” he said softly, his words caught in the wind. “Then I’ll make you dizzy.”

  “Wow.” Easing away but still holding his hand, she shook her head, stepping gingerly over one of the thousands of flat-topped rocks that formed the unique shoreline. “You’re scary good at flirting, you know that?”

  “Come on, how can you not be a little romantic? It’s Ireland, for God’s sake, and this whole thing”—he gestured to nature’s spectacle around them—“was created by a lovesick giant.”

  “Or an erupting volcano, depending on whether you believe lore or fact.”

  He laughed, slowing her steps with a gentle tug. “I guess I’ll add pragmatic to the list of things I’m discovering about you.”

  “And I’ll add world-class play-er.” She dragged out the word.

  With a grunt, he pounded a fist to his chest, feigning a stab wound. “Ouch.” But the truth hurt a little. She had no idea how much he was playing her right then.

  “Not denying it, I see.”

  “I’m not a player,” he assured her. “Just a hopeless romantic. Like you’re private and not secretive. Obviously, between us, semantics are important.” He guided her closer to the cliff’s edge. “C’mon, Devyn. Face your fears.”

  Another gust whooshed over them, so he had to place his arm around her waist or stumble in the stiff breeze. She looked out at the water, giving him a chance to study her profile.

  “It’s hard to be scared in the face of such beauty,” she mused, unaware of his scrutiny.

  “It sure is.”

  She turned then and caught him. “You’re flirting again.”

  “I’m admiring the view again.” The stunning, perfect view that really should be a red flag to Marc.

  She looked back at the sea, letting the compliment drop.

  His former wife had been a flawless specimen of womankind, too, and he’d been foolish enough to believe that meant her heart and intentions were perfect as well. At least he had the advantage of already knowing this woman was hiding something.

  Something he needed to know in order to accomplish the simple assignment of derailing her and getting her to leave Belfast. At least he’d gotten her out of the city for the day, but the job was bigger in scope than one day, and if he was going to accomplish it quickly, he’d better work harder.

  “So,” he said with a light squeeze, “you’ve stood at the edge of the Giant’s Causeway. Surely you’re ready for the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede? It’s next on every tourist’s agenda.”

  “I don’t know…” She suddenly looked around, her attention moving to the crowds instead of the scenery. “Every tourist?”

  “Yep, even the ones afraid of heights.” He guided her back to the car, across the thousands of hexagonal rock columns, arm in arm over the uneven terrain like a couple who’d been together for years instead of three hours.

  What exactly would it take to get her to leave before the person she was waiting for arrived? It depended on who that person was, he decided. Time to find out.

  As they passed the Wishing Chair, he wended them toward it. “I know what my wish is now.”

  She let him take her there, and when he sat, she didn’t fight the pull to sit on his lap. He put his finger under her chin and turned her face toward his.

  “I know what you’re going to wish for,” she said with a laugh. “And you’re wasting your time. I’m not going to kiss you.”

  “That’s not what I was going to wish for at all.”

  A flash of surprise and maybe disappointment darkened her eyes. “Then what?”

  “I wish you’d tell me who you’re meeting in Belfast this week.”

  Color drained from her face. “Why?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Not important. Just a friend.” She got up from his lap, the move fast and forceful. “Let’s go, Marc.”

  He stayed in the chair and watched her make her way across the stones without him. He’d have to be more creative.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they were at the base of another seaside cliff, the entire promontory swathed in classic Irish green grass, a winding stone path leading up to the top.

  Way up to the top.

  A few hundred butterflies woke up in her stomach, making Devyn wonder if they took flight because of her fear of heights or her attraction to Marc.

  He was right about one thing—he made her as dizzy as the extreme elevations.

  Their fingers brushed as they started toward the path, passing dozens of tourists along the narrow walkway, groups coming down from the rope bridge that joined two towering land masses, the water crashing beside and below.

  Devyn wanted to join the laughter and chatter in the air, but she’d been purposefully quiet on the ride over here, a debate raging internally.

  She wanted to tell him why she was here. It would be such a relief to share the burden but, oh, the explanations and questions. So, she curbed the impulse and said nothing, and being a gentleman, he let that silence feel comfortable instead of awkward. Which was just another thing she liked about him.

  Without taking the time to consider why, she slipped her hand into his much larger one and they started up the hill.

  A group of tourists hustled by, noisy and happy, joking about the terrifying trip across the bridge. As Devyn and Marc came around the next corner, they could see why.

  “Whoa.” She almost didn’t breathe as her gaze traveled up to the narrow, handmade walkway that joined the highest peak on the mainland to the cliffs of tiny Carrick Island. About sixty feet from end to end, the bridge hung a good eighty feet or more above a watery chasm. Devyn felt the breath rush out of her at the thought of crossing that bridge.

  “C’mon.” He tugged her gently, obviously sensing her reluctance to move. “Can you imagine the view off the other side? You can see Scotland.”

  “Not today you can’t.” A fenced-in path rimmed the top of the huge rock, offering glorious views back at Ireland, but straight across the ocean was nothing but clouds and mist.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Dev.”

  Her heart flipped. �
��Oh, yes, there is.” Starting with a man who called her “Dev.”

  “I’ll be with you the whole way.”

  “So we go down together.”

  He grinned. “What a way to go.” He took her hand and placed a strong, protective arm around her waist, the gesture so close and comforting it made her eyes tear. Or maybe that was the wind. And raw fear of what she was about to do.

  No, she decided, the emotional tug was because of him. No one had ever protected her before. On the contrary, anyone she’d ever trusted had betrayed her. And yet, this man, this total stranger, just made her feel… safe.

  “Don’t think so hard about it—just do it,” he said.

  “I’m not thinking about the bridge,” she said quietly. “I was actually thinking about you.”

  He slowed his step, searching her face with a hint of a smile. “And what were you thinking?”

  “That no one calls me Dev.”

  He lifted a brow. “No one? Not your mom or dad?”

  “Especially not them.” Both of whom would jump off that bridge if she referred to them as “mom” and “dad” instead of “mother” and “father.”

  “Not your”—he angled his head gently—“husband?”

  “Not him, either.”

  For a heartbreakingly long minute, he held her gaze. “Then it’s a day for firsts, Dev.” He pulled her a little closer. “First nicknames. First trips across scary bridges. And, if we make it… first kisses.”

  Something inside her slipped, falling into an exciting cocktail of feminine response low in her stomach. She wanted that kiss. “Then I’m motivated to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  He laughed at the pun and hugged her, warmth flowing from him into her whole body. With the cold breeze off the North Atlantic and the cloudy sky, Devyn almost ached with the desire to hold tight to the warmth and security he was offering her.

  Without exchanging another word, they continued arm in arm, drinking in the breathtaking scenery, occasionally glancing at each other with appreciative smiles. By the time they reached the top of the hill, her skin felt flushed and her heart was beating double-time again.