Reconsidering Riley (8 page)

"Some of these items will be shared among
teams of two—that's how we divide each group. You'll have a buddy,
and the two of you will keep track of each other."

The women turned to each other, excitedly
pairing off. Amid the camaraderie, Jayne glanced toward Riley.
Their eyes met. In hers he read curiosity, interest...and a certain
amount of "how about hooking up for old times' sake?" mischief. The
same kind of mischief, he figured, that had led her to flaunt her
sexy shoes, show off her cleavage, and generally make him regret
he'd ever let her go.

If Jayne thought all that stuff meant he was
going to want to partner with her—in every conceivable way...well,
she was right.

But wanting to do it and
actually
doing it were two different things, Riley reminded himself. He
might have to suffer through the former, but he was going to avoid
the latter. He was going to be gentlemanly, helpful...an all-around
good guy. He was going to show Jayne there were decent men in the
world—men who
weren't
packing the raw materials for
relationship disaster.

"Later," he mouthed to her, and smiled.

She nodded and rejoined the
conversation.

While the group discussed trail buddies and
calorific bonanzas, Riley went to the opposite side of the table
and sorted through the packs arrayed there. He was feeling pretty
good about things. Happy about the way this orientation was
progressing, optimistic about the women's chances for survival and
good times on the trail, downright saintly about his plans to show
Jayne the goodness of mankind. But as he lifted the pack he'd
chosen, another, less welcome emotion pushed its way into his
consciousness.

Uneasiness.

Along with it came the sensation that he'd
forgotten something. Riley tried to tamp it down, but it refused to
budge. He tried to ignore it, along with the uneasiness, but still
it niggled at him. For some reason, he felt unsure about what was
happening. And then it hit him—the realization of what was behind
these feelings.

In the past, getting close to Jayne had only
tempted him to change his ways, he remembered. Had only encouraged
him to give up the vagabond life he'd chosen and
stay—
stay
—with her. Would spending time with her now have
the same effect?

Riley looked at her, considering. Jayne was
laughing, swiveled in her chair in a classic bombshell's pose, legs
crossed seductively and dress clinging in all the right places. She
looked fabulous. Warm, affectionate, funny. Exactly the way a
change-your-whole-life temptress
ought
to look.

He waited for that old urge to strike...the
urge that had whispered how nice it would be to wake up in the same
place, with the same woman, day after day.

It didn't strike.

Whew
. For a second there, he'd been
afraid he didn't even have the fortitude to get through a single
day—much less a whole week—with Jayne, and still keep his
traveling-adventuring-exploring goals intact.

To see, to do, to conquer, to
enjoy
.

If he couldn't stick to his intentions,
Riley told himself, then he wasn't the man he thought he was. And
that was...unthinkable.

Boundlessly relieved, he called an end to
the chatty discussion. With the ladies' attention secured, Riley
accepted a sample backpacker's pack from Alexis and held it in his
arms as he addressed the group again.

"I'll need a volunteer to help demonstrate
proper fitting of a trail pack," he said. He grinned and delivered
his standard joke. "Someone who won't mind getting close, and won't
mind having a strange man's hands all over her."

Five hands shot into the air. The women
waved their arms, eager to join in. As Riley had expected, Jayne
wasn't one of the volunteers.

Time for the "two could play that game"
portion of our show
.

Sweeping the group with a speculative look,
he finally settled his gaze on...Jayne. He took his time
considering her, and was forced to admire the way she sat straight
beneath his scrutiny. Obviously, she refused to be intimidated—or
to admit the sense of challenge playing between them.

"Jayne, how about you?"

Chapter Five

How
about
her?
Jayne thought
as Riley's I-dare-you gaze settled on her.
How about having her
sense of self-preservation examined, for instance?

It looked as though she'd checked it at the
doors of the Hideaway Lodge, along with her sense of normalcy and
her usual city-bred certainty. Staying here where Riley could tease
her with those warm hazel eyes, that devastating smile, that
alert-yet-relaxed stance of his was absolutely nuts. Any sensible
woman would have taken herself far away from him. Far, far, far,
far—
yikes. He was coming closer
.

At his approach, she straightened in her
chair, desperate to continue projecting a confident,
you-don't-bug-me demeanor. During Riley's presentation, it had been
hard not to fidget. She'd caught herself at it a few
times—nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs, playing with her
pendant, wiggling in her chair—and had put a stop to it every
time...but not before Riley had noticed, in a couple of
instances.

She didn't want him to know he could still
get to her. That way lay madness—and the certain failure of her
Heartbreak 101
workshop. Her techniques had never faced a
challenge quite like this—more than six feet of rugged male, coming
nearer with every second and likely to come even closer over the
next few days. Good-natured Riley, with his easy ways and drifter's
heart, probably didn't even realize how his nearness turned her
inside out.

But Jayne did. And she couldn't afford to
succumb to it.

All around her, the workshop attendees waved
their arms, eager to volunteer for the duty she dreaded: having
Riley's hands all over her.

One of those hands loomed in her vision as
he held it toward her, palm up in invitation. Predictably, she
automatically leaned nearer. It seemed her body remembered the feel
of those hands—big, strong, nimble-fingered and surprisingly
gentle—and had none of the reservations her mind did.

Jayne jerked herself back. She shook her
head, scrambling for an excuse. "I, um, haven't even tried wearing
a backpack before. Surely Kelly's Camp Weehawken experience makes
her more qualified for your demonstration. I'm a rank
beginner!"

"You're
perfect
," Riley said in that
rumbly voice of his.

A moment later, Jayne found herself pulled
to her feet, to the applause of the group. At her side, Mr.
Charming Smile gave her a reassuring pat.

"This won't hurt a bit," he said.

That's what he thought
. He wasn't the
one who'd have to endure the now-impersonal touch of someone who'd
once caressed her tenderly...someone who'd once kissed her
sweetly...someone who'd once—
whoa
. Jayne started as Riley's
hands lowered to her shoulders and his fingertips grazed the bare
skin near her neckline.
That
wasn't so
impersonal
.

"Wearing a pack comfortably starts with what
you're wearing beneath it," Riley said. "You want to avoid seams,
tears, areas that might chafe. Pure cotton rubs when wet, but
silk—" His palms skimmed her shoulders. "—is a fine choice, as are
breathable poly-blends that wick moisture from the skin."

Jayne gawped at him. She'd have sworn there
wasn't a man alive who knew the difference between silk, cotton,
and rayon—much less what a "poly-blend" was. And Riley could
identify those fabrics by touch, while advising on their proper
use. Unbelievable. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that his
expertise was probably
not
limited to breaking hearts while
appearing unceasingly happy-go-lucky.

The pack settled onto her back, its weight
unfamiliar.

"This is an external frame pack," Riley
explained as he helped steady it. "Empty, it weighs about six
pounds."

"Couldn't I just carry my purse?" Jayne
squirmed beneath the awkward load. "It's lighter.
And
more
stylish. This feels like a gigantic fanny pack."

The women made faces, nodding in sympathy.
Jayne felt vindicated.
Nothing
was more unflattering than a
fanny pack. Unless it was two fanny packs.

Riley shook his head. "Can you fit a
sleeping bag, several days' worth of food, supplies, and extra
clothes in your purse?"

Jayne thought about it. If only she'd
brought her Sak drawstring hobo instead of a handbag....

Doris held up her purse. "I think
I
can."

"Nonsense.
I
can." Donna raised her
tote. "I once fit a nineteen pound Thanksgiving turkey in here,"
she said proudly.

They all murmured appreciatively at this
accomplishment.

"I saw the
cutest
Kate Spade bag in a
magazine last month," Carla said. "It was, like, to die for."

"Who's Kate Spade?" Mitzi asked.
Pop
.

Kelly looked dreamy. "Does anybody else
think David Spade is cute? Because ever since "Just Shoot Me" came
on TV, I—"

The conversation took on a momentum of its
own. Amid its topic changes and laughter, Jayne was stranded with
Riley right behind her. And she did mean
right behind her
.
His warmth touched her all over. His breath tickled her ear as he
spoke.

"How long do you think this will go on?" he
asked.

She shrugged. Which was a mistake, because
it brought her shoulders more firmly against his palms again. An
inadvisable sizzle zipped through her at the contact. "I dunno.
Until we've covered Fendi, Prada, about six other actors, and,
quite possibly, gardening spades as recommended by Martha
Stewart."

He whistled again. Everyone quieted.

"Or," Jayne amended, "until you stop it,
probably."

Riley squeezed her shoulders gently. The
camaraderie they'd shared awakened at the contact, reminding her of
the way they each used to know what the other was thinking without
saying a word. During their time together, the two of them had
created an entire language of touches, looks, laughs. Apparently,
it wouldn't take long for the Berlitz version of Riley-Jane-Speak
to bring them up to speed again now.

Damn it.

She knew he was smiling at her comment even
before she glanced over her shoulder at him.

He winked and nodded toward the group.
"Somebody's got to be in charge."

He was in charge
. Although he kept
his voice low so the others wouldn't overhear, Jayne knew they
realized it too. The ability to lead came as naturally to Riley as
broad shoulders and a wicked appreciation for a properly-fitted
pack.

Speaking of which...

"The hip belt is secured first," he said to
the group. His hands skimmed down her sides to capture the dangling
straps, while he leveraged his chest against her back to hold the
pack in place. Murmuring encouragement, Riley turned Jayne to a
three-quarters-facing position toward their audience. "It helps
keep the pack's weight here, where it belongs."

His knuckles nudged her hips. A thousand
memories rushed forward at his touch—memories of him cradling her
close during a kiss, raising her hips while he entered her,
tickling her while they cuddled together afterward. Didn't he
realize this position was just like vertical spooning? Didn't he
remember spooning was one of her favorite things?

Helplessly, Jayne glanced at Riley's profile
while he looked over her shoulder to fasten the hip belt buckle.
His jaw held the merest hint of dark, late-afternoon stubble. His
mouth pursed in concentration. His eyes...met hers as the buckle
clicked into place.

He realized, all right. He
remembered
. And he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Unfortunately, she was trapped for the rest of it.

Her whole body quivered. Riley's voice
filled the room as he went on explaining about pack fitting, but
Jayne heard almost none of it. Her mind was occupied with blocking
out memories of his touch, ignoring the reawakening their contact
caused now, staying the course she'd set for herself.

How could she have believed herself over
him?

She was
, Jayne told herself firmly.
The touch of any good-looking man would have caused this reaction.
Especially after the several nearly-celibate months she'd recently
spent. Her night-table companion Mr. Buzzy, she had to admit, just
wasn't the same as a real live—
geez
, his touch felt good.
She was only human, Jayne struggled to convince herself further,
with a woman's natural susceptibility to a sexy man's—

Was
that
what she
thought
that
was, grazing her backside?

Was Riley as affected by their nearness as
she was?

A trickle of hope filled her. So long as he
wasn't as unruffled as his carefree expression suggested, Jayne
still stood a chance. She still might escape this week as confident
as she'd entered it.

Having adjusted the pack's shoulder straps,
Riley stepped from behind her. Something swung free as he did.
Another buckle, Jayne realized as she eyed it dispiritedly. What
she'd mistaken for helpless ardor had merely been...a rogue
fastener.

Sigh
.

Waitaminute
. She wasn't disappointed.
Riley could keep all his...
buckles
to himself, for all she
cared. She didn't care if she ever saw his...
buckle
again.
Ever.

Unwanted, a risqué vision rose in her mind.
Riley, wearing nothing but a pack. Riley, gloriously naked save
some strategically-placed belts. Riley, wearing a smile and a
come-and-get-it grin as he proudly showed off the part of him that
had made so many erotic adventures possible between them.
Riley,
Riley—
no
.