The Secret Virgin

She gave him a startled glance, relaxing slightly as she saw the laughter lurking in dark grey eyes. So the man did have a sense of humour, after all!

‘No, I’m not,’ she assured him ruefully. ‘Casinos hold no appeal for me, I’m afraid,’ she added slightly apologetically. After all, it was his family business.

‘Me neither,’ he rejoined, that brief show of humour completely gone.

Tory waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t she decided that had to be the end of that subject, too.

In the circumstances, it had been rather an odd thing to say. But then Jonathan McGuire, she was quickly coming to realise, was an enigma.

‘Here we are,’ she said with a certain amount of relief a few minutes later as she turned the Land Rover down the Tarmacked driveway that led to the Byrne house.

Even though she had lived in the adjoining farm most of her life, Tory could still appreciate the beauty of this particular spot, high up in the hills, completely away from everything and everyone, though the village of Laxey, with its huge black and red waterwheel, was still visible down in the valley.

The Byrne home had been the original farmhouse once—it and the adjoining acre of land having been purchased from Tory’s parents a year ago. The house was now completely refurbished, looking splendidly grand in the sunlight, its pale lemon and white paint gleaming brightly.

Tory parked the vehicle in front of the house before getting down onto the Tarmac to go round and drop the tailboard, relieved the journey was over at last. With any luck she wouldn’t have to see Jonathan McGuire again.

He put his bag and the guitar case down before turning to look at her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been very good company,’ he told her gruffly. ‘My only excuse is that I wasn’t expecting anyone at the airport to meet me.’

Which was no excuse. Madison had taken the trouble to call them the evening before, obviously concerned as to her brother’s comfort. Tory’s mother had been shopping for him this morning. And Tory herself had taken time out to go and collect him.

‘Do you have a key?’ she prompted briskly, reaching into her denims’ pocket for the spare Madison and Gideon always left with her parents when they were away.

Jonathan McGuire reached into his own denims’ pocket and pulled out a duplicate silver key. ‘Compliments of Gideon,’ he offered lazily.

‘Fine.’ She put her own key back in her pocket. ‘If there’s anything else you need, I’m sure my parents would be only too pleased to help.’ She gestured across the neighbouring field to the white farmhouse and accompanying barns and sheds that could be seen in the distance.

He reached out and grasped her arm as she would have turned away and got back into the Land Rover. ‘But not you?’ He demanded.

Tory was very aware of that hand on the bareness of her arm, the skin warm and firm to the touch. She looked up at him with dark blue eyes, shaking her head, her shaggy dark mane of hair moving softly against her shoulders. ‘I may not be here. Like you, I’m only visiting.’

He frowned. ‘But I thought you said—’

‘You’ll find food in the fridge, and bread in the bin.’ She knew that because, although her mother had done the shopping, Tory had actually brought it over to the house and unpacked it. ‘There’s also one of my mother’s apple pies in the cupboard.’ She pulled out of his grasp, stepping lightly back into the Land Rover, anxious to be on her way now. ‘The car is parked in the garage round the back of the house; the keys are hanging up next to the fridge. Oh, and Madison always leaves a list of relevant telephone numbers next to the phone.’ She turned on the ignition, reaching out to close the door behind her.

Jonathan McGuire also reached out to grasp the door, preventing it from closing. ‘Is yours there?’ he asked softly. Now he decided to start being charming! Well, charm she had had, in plenty—and she certainly didn’t want or need it from this man!

Her pointed chin rose challengingly. ‘My parents’ number is there, if you should need it.’

His head tilted to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘I haven’t been very polite to you, have I…?’

Tory met his gaze unblinkingly for several seconds. ‘No,’ she finally replied.

Jonathan McGuire did blink, and when he raised his lids again that earlier humour was gleaming there once more. ‘Tell me, do you get on well with my sister Madison?’

‘Very,’ she confirmed evenly.

‘I thought you might.’ He grinned suddenly.

It was like looking at a different person, Tory realised with a startled jolt. He looked years younger now he wasn’t scowling grimly, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin, laughter lines crinkling beside his mouth and eyes—eyes that had now taken on a silver sheen rather than that flinty grey.

Tory wrenched her gaze away from his. ‘I really do have to go now, Mr McGuire.’ She pulled pointedly on the door he still held, relieved when, after only the slightest of hesitations, he decided to let go of it, allowing her to slam it shut. She wound the window down beside her. ‘Just one more thing. If you do intend using the car while you’re here, I shouldn’t go out anywhere tomorrow; it’s Mad Sunday.’

‘Mad what?’ he questioned suspiciously.

‘Sunday,’ she repeated.

‘Well, I realise it’s Sunday,’ he said slowly. ‘But what’s mad about it?’

Tory grinned herself now. ‘You remember all those motorbikes you saw at the Grandstand earlier? Well,’ she continued at his confirming nod, ‘those bikes, and about twenty thousand more, will be circling the TT course tomorrow—with only the mountain road being one-way. Mad Sunday!’

She put the vehicle into gear, released the handbrake and accelerated away, her last glimpse of Jonathan McGuire as she glanced in the driving mirror the totally dazed look on his face.

She couldn’t help smiling to herself. If Jonathan McGuire had come to the island for peace and quiet—and she had a definite feeling that he had!—then he had chosen the wrong week to do it.

And in her opinion, after the hard time he had given her, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person!

CHAPTER TWO

HER mood wasn’t particularly improved when she got back to the farm to find that Rupert had left a message on the answer-machine!

The machine itself had been her gift to her parents the previous summer, mainly so that she could leave messages on it herself, no matter where she was or what time zone she might be in, ensuring that her parents would always know she was okay.

But Tory had it switched on most of the time when she was at home, enabling her to pick and choose which calls she wanted to take.

She most certainly would not have taken this one from Rupert!

She had specifically told him she did not want him to call her while she was here. But in his usual high-handed fashion he had taken absolutely no notice of her.

‘Hello, darling,’ his charming, educated voice greeted smoothly, enabling Tory to actually visualise him as he sat back in his brown leather chair, leather-shod feet up on the desk, looking immaculate in his designer-label suit and tailored shirt, silk tie knotted perfectly. ‘Just wanted to see if you’re ready to come home yet. We all miss you.’

Tory turned off the machine with a definitive click. Damn him, she was home. And as for missing her—!

Her mouth tightened. No doubt they were missing her, but Rupert especially; she had helped put those leather shoes on his feet, the designer-label suit and tailored shirt on his back. In fact, she was his main meal ticket.

Oh, hell!

She dropped down into one of the kitchen chairs, elbows on the oak table as she rested her chin on her hands. The last thing she wanted was to become bitter and twisted. But what was she going to do?

That was what she had come here a week ago to find out. She was nearer the answer, she realised, she knew what she wanted to do. But if she did it all hell was going to break loose. She—

‘Give us a hand, would you, love?’ her father puffed as he pushed open the kitchen door, arm around her mother’s waist as he helped her badly limping form into the room.

Tory jumped concernedly to her feet, rushing over to her mother’s other side so the two of them could guide her over to one of the kitchen chairs. Her mother’s left ankle was tightly bandaged; a pained expression was on her face.

‘What on earth happened?’ Tory gasped once they had her mother safely settled in the chair.

‘I fell over coming out of the church.’ Her mother was the one to answer, self-disgustedly, looking very summery in her floral pink and white suit with matching pink hat.