Chapter One

Present Day

The hammer came down fast, but Gwen was faster. She pulled her thumb out of the way just as the tool missed the nail head. She leaned back a little and studied the new indentation on the stair she was attempting to build.

Installation of the risers was not going well.

In fact, this entire trip wasn’t going very well. Just last night their bodyguards had exchanged gunfire with a couple of men intent on robbing the small group of volunteers as they made camp for the night. In the four months that Gwen had been out in the wilds of Venezuela, she’d been thankful for the guards every single day.

After they’d completed work on the orphanage, her team was asked to help create some housing for a remote village. She’d wanted to go home, but the rest of the team agreed to stay on for the additional month, and she knew she couldn’t leave them.

Since their arrival to their current area a few weeks ago, however, Gwen wondered if they were there for purposes other than what was written on paper. Sure, they’d framed out some houses and even gotten some limited electrical and plumbing done. But she hadn’t seen any villagers. Or any signs of humanity, other than their team of forty, the ten bodyguards, and some government officials who looked more like members of an army than anything else.

Gwen knew her boss wanted them out of there. Despite his easy manners and teasing words on the job site, there were tension lines around his eyes and a tightness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there when they were working on the orphanage. He negotiated their stop work date by bringing in local Venezuelans to complete the houses, and Gwen suspected people at the top of their charitable organization had also done some negotiating to get them out of there faster.

She certainly didn’t like living in a makeshift camp in the Venezuelan jungle, surrounded by armed guards and being watched over by armed government men.

“Need any help?”

Gwen gathered the strands of her fiery red hair and secured them with a hair tie. “No thanks, Anth. I can do this.”

The project manager, Anthony Ferraro, gave her an understanding smile. “I have no doubt. But stairs are a tricky thing, and they need to pass code. Whatever code they have here…still can’t quite figure that out.”

Gwen frowned at the stair in front of her. “I know. I think I need a lighter hammer. That’ll make it easier for me to control where I drop it. Hopefully next time, it’ll be closer to its intended target.”

Anthony’s good looks and easy charm had most of the women on the volunteer team swooning. He was young, only a couple of years older than Gwen. He was also dedicated to each charitable project he worked. He had infinite patience with everyone, taught the volunteers new skills, and involved everyone in everything that happened around the worksite. Of all the charity project managers Gwen had worked for in the past five years, he was her best boss. They’d been dating for the better part of four months, though most of their together time was on a jobsite.

In fact, very little of their time together was offsite. It was weird when she thought too much about it, but Gwen preferred not to dwell on it. After all, once she returned to the States, she planned to take an extended hiatus from volunteer work, at least the home-building kind. She needed a personal and mental reset.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll find you a lighter hammer, and you go out to dinner with me when we get back to the States in a couple days.” He gave her a mock-thoughtful look. “Hmm. That actually seems to be a good deal all around.”

She laughed. “It does, but I can’t. I have plans.”

He reached around to the back of his tool belt and pulled a smaller hammer from it. He waved it a little. “You seeing someone, Red?”

She smiled easily. “Yep.”

“Is it serious?”

“Serious enough for me to say no to a very charming project manager.”

He dramatically staggered back, his hand holding the hammer over his heart. “Aw, what a rejection!”

Gwen rolled her eyes even as she grinned at him. “Sorry to break your heart. But I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

He winked at her and handed her the hammer. “Not as fine as your serious-but-not-serious boyfriend, but I’ll recover nonetheless.”

Seeing as he was her serious-but-not-serious boyfriend, she had no doubt. She smiled up at him, and he pointed to a piece of framing under the stair, then handed her the hammer. “Don’t nail the step into the riser. Nail the riser into the stringer.”

She squinted at the wood, then nodded firmly. “Makes sense. It’s a good thing that nail didn’t go into the stair. Getting it out would’ve been impossible.”

“Things tend to happen—or not—for a reason,” he agreed, then gave her a smart salute and headed over to the workers struggling to turn on the cement mixer.

“Maybe,” she murmured, watching him go, then realigned the nail and hammered it perfectly into place.

She knew what Anthony was referring to, and it wasn’t a nail in a stair. Last night, he’d proposed to her. He’d gotten the whole crew involved. They sang some pop song that had been all over the radio a few weeks ago, each taking turns holding up signs and making crazy faces. Then, after the last one dropped her sign to the ground and stepped to the side, Anthony had stood there, looking adorably nervous yet determined, holding up the final sign that read Marry Me.

She’d said yes, because really, what else was she supposed to say after everyone went to all that trouble, and she did like him a lot. Maybe even loved him. And if she didn’t love him yet, she knew she could grow to love him.

And, she reminded herself firmly, she’d decided months ago to move on with her life. She would marry a perfectly nice man who loved her enough to want to spend his life with her. She could be content enough with that.

Suddenly, a loud bang sounded in the not-so-distant jungle, quickly followed by a series of pops.

“Is it a holiday?” one of her coworkers, Jan, asked, brushing her hands on her jeans.

Gwen shrugged. “Maybe. It sounds like fireworks.”

More pops sounded, this time louder, and suddenly the bodyguards were pulling guns from their holsters and yelling at everyone to move out. The hammer fell from Gwen’s hand, and she leaped down to the ground, fear clogging her throat when she heard the words.

Pipe bomb. Gunfire. Guerrilla war.

Everyone was running, panicked, toward the five vehicles that had been parked on the perimeter of their worksite. She ran to the van in the middle of the line, but one of the bodyguards pointed to the Jeep in front of it, indicating that the van was full already. She shoved herself into the all-terrain vehicle and quickly scooted over to make room. Others piled in behind her, and then they were moving, not over the well-packed dirt road, but down a less-worn jungle path, over bumps and tree roots. Her teeth clacked against each other, and she hung onto the strap hanging from the clear plastic above her head, her hands sweating, her stomach in tight, painful knots.

Without warning, the Jeep swerved to the left, the wheels lifting slightly from the ground. Gwen screamed, and as the vehicle righted itself, she watched in horror as a small, round object passed right over them and landed on the windshield of the van behind them. The longest second passed, and the grenade detonated, engulfing the vehicle in a ball of flames.

Gwen’s driver lurched them forward, and they were moving so fast through the jungle, it was all she could do to remain in her seat. All around her people were sobbing and screaming.

She closed her eyes and began to pray.

• • •

“If I have to hear one more word about bows or flowers, I’m kidnapping her and we’re going to elope,” Colin O’Rourke announced, frisbee-ing his beer cap into the recycle bin of his kitchen.

Reilly O’Malley popped the top off his own beer and shuddered. “Don’t see why you didn’t just do that in the first place.”

“Two words,” Colin muttered. “Winifred Emsworth.”

Winifred Emsworth—the United Kingdom’s most notorious and influential gossip columnist—just happened to be Colin’s future aunt-in-law. Colin—rather, Eleanor, his fiancée—was neck-deep in wedding plans with her aunt, and Reilly still wasn’t sure if all the fuss was worth it. Not that he’d been to many weddings, or seen any of the black-tie affairs like the one that was currently besieging his best friend.

Reilly seated himself at one of the bar stools in his lavishly appointed kitchen. “Sorry, mate. Seems like a headache and a half.”

“It is.” They clinked bottles and Colin added, “Thanks for agreeing to be in it.”

Reilly choked. “What?”

Colin shrugged. “I gave your name to Winifred, so it’s a done deal. You’re an usher.”

He groaned. “Do I have to plan anything?”

“Nope. James is the best man—he’ll take care of it. All you have to do is show up, dance with a bridesmaid or two, and enjoy the open bar.”

Reilly took a slow pull of his drink. That didn’t sound so bad.

“And wear a tux,” Colin added with a snicker.

Reilly swore. “Anything else you want to drop on me?”

“Actually, there is.” He cleared his throat, then leveled Reilly with a direct stare. “Gwen’s the maid of honor.”

Reilly’s heart jumped in his chest, though he showed no outward signs of distress.

Gwendolyn Allen. The only woman he’d ever met who scared the daylights out of him.

She was, coincidentally, his best friend.

And that’s the kind of friendship that you don’t mess up with a relationship, he told himself frequently.

While they were traveling in the past, he had made such a massive misstep with her that he feared he would lose her forever. He groveled, apologized, and begged her forgiveness, and Gwen being Gwen, readily gave it to him. But she also hightailed it out of Ireland almost the moment they returned from the past.

Gwen had always been direct with him. There was never any beating around the bush, never any word games or mind tricks. She said what she felt and he could always count on her for her forthrightness. Sometimes it made him want to bang his head against the nearest hard surface, but at least with her, he always knew where he stood.

Until the day she left for the States.

She had barely spoken to him for the last year. Every time he’d send her a message, he’d get a quick reply such as, “In Rwanda this month. Let’s talk when I get back!” or “China is crazy right now. Sorry I missed you last week. Let’s talk soon!”

They never did, until she unexpectedly video called him from Venezuela. He knew then that something was wrong, but she wouldn’t say. But he knew her.

To Colin, he shrugged indifferently. “Makes sense Gwen would be maid of honor. She and Ellie are best friends, after all.”

Colin idly swirled his own beer, then walked around the kitchen island and sat next to Reilly. “You sure you’re okay with seeing her again?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just the fact that after more than a decade of friendship, she cut you out of her life?”

“She didn’t cut me out of her life,” Reilly replied mildly, though his chest tightened with Colin’s words. “She’s a busy woman. She’s got an entire world to save, you know.”

Colin grabbed the bowl of tortilla chips and jerked his head toward the bowl of salsa. Reilly followed him into the living room, where Colin pushed a button to make his fancy television appear from behind a piece of art. They arranged the snack and their beers to their liking, then Colin flipped to a rugby match.

About three minutes in, Colin, who apparently couldn’t seem to keep quiet, noted in an off-hand sort of way, “Rumor has it she was in South Africa on a safari.”

Reilly grunted in response. Gwen had been known to tell her parents one thing, then hop a plane and do something completely different. Gwen’s parents were a little high-handed, though he knew they worried about their only daughter. She was a free spirit and fiercely independent. They’d never quite known what to do with her.

Neither, he admitted, had he. But he’d kept tabs on her anyway; he never stepped in unless asked, but he felt better knowing that at least someone in the world knew where she was.

“Of course, that’s what she told her parents,” Colin mused.

The way in which the words dropped from Colin’s overactive mouth made his muscles tense. Warily, he asked, “Why?”

“Because of the attack on the humanitarian group,” Colin said quietly. He handed his phone to Reilly, an article already on the screen. “Rebels ambushed them and killed thirteen people by throwing a grenade on one of the cars.”

Reilly’s heart stopped, then he swore. “She’s on a plane home now, you say?”

“She is. She’s safe. She was living in a community hut on the outskirts of the jungle with a team of volunteers. And, of course, their bodyguards.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Reilly demanded, slamming his beer onto the coffee table in front of him. He didn’t bother with the article and instead reached for Colin’s computer.

“Two days ago. She’s flying into Boston tonight.” Colin checked his watch. “Her plane will land in another hour or so. Ellie scheduled a driver to pick her up.”

“Cancel the driver.”

Reilly settled back onto the couch, the computer in his lap and his heart slamming against his ribs. The thought of Gwen in one of the most dangerous places in the world terrified him, though he would bite off his right hand before admitting it aloud. He searched for incoming flights to Boston.

“She’s staying here tonight?” he confirmed as he typed.

Colin nodded. “Yep. I figured I have the room, and it’d give me extra brownie points with Ellie.”

Reilly rolled his eyes, allowing Colin to distract him with talk of his lady love. “You’re marrying the chit. I don’t think you need any extra points right now. When do you see your almost-wife again?”

“This weekend. My frequent flyer miles are adding up.”

“Any decisions as to where you’ll live after the wedding?”

Ellie owned a bookshop in London and Colin was the CEO of Celtic Connections, a Boston-based elite matchmaking service; they’d been trying to work out how to split their time between Europe and America, with limited success.

“Not yet. When are you going to make your move?”

Reilly didn’t look up. “I’ve no plans to move anywhere. Ireland is my home.”

“I meant on Gwen.”

Reilly slowly turned his head and pinned Colin with a stare. “I’m certain I’ve no idea what you speak of.”

Colin interlaced his fingers and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Of course you do. At some point, you’ll have to admit it, just like we all have.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. First Nick, then Aidan, now me. You’re next.”

“What about your brother?” Reilly returned evenly. “Surely James is next.”

“He just divorced. He needs some time before he gets all twisted up over a woman again.”

“Well, I’m most certainly not on your short list. Concentrate on your own love life and leave mine alone.”

“You haven’t been out with a woman in how long now?” Colin asked, ignoring his protests.

“You’re bothering me.”

“Great, you can take it out on me in the lists tomorrow morning. So, if not Gwen, who’s going to warm your bed?”

“Enough with the matchmaking,” Reilly growled.

“It’s in my blood,” he said with a shrug. Thankfully, his phone rang, and Colin held it up. “Work.”

“Praise the saints,” Reilly muttered.

“Hey, Candice. What’s up?” A moment passed, then Colin rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket and tossed his car keys to Reilly, then wrote down a number and handed that to him as well. “Okay, define disaster…”

Reilly typed in the flight number and obtained the details of Gwen’s arrival. Left alone in the living room, he picked up his beer, then carefully placed it back down again, remembering that he was going to be driving shortly. He could hold his alcohol better than anyone, but he took no chances when it came to Gwen, despite the excellence of the brew.

He knew it would be flat by the time he returned, but by then, he would most likely need something a bit stronger.

Gwendolyn Allen did that to him.

• • •

Once they’d collected their luggage, Anthony carried Gwen’s bag as far as the escalators, but he had to catch the express bus to where his ride was waiting for him. Though he lived in Vermont, his parents lived in Massachusetts, so he was heading there to visit them and meet the niece who was born while they were in Venezuela.

And, perhaps, try to come to grips with losing so many of his team.

He’d been in the first vehicle and hadn’t seen the grenade. But he’d heard it, as had they all. His eyes were as haunted as hers.

He kissed her briefly, and Gwen smiled sadly at him. “I’ll see you next Friday.”

“I’ll pick you up early, around five.”

“I can meet you at the yacht club,” she protested. “It’s ridiculous for you to have to drive an hour and a half north, just to drive an hour south again.”

“Ah, you’re forgetting that the hour drive south is spent in your company, so it’s very much something I want to do.”

She smiled a little. After another kiss goodbye, she shooed him toward the bus pickup area.

Yes. Marriage to him would be a good thing. Gwen needed some normalcy in her world, especially now.

She readjusted her bag (she swore again that she’d invest in some real luggage before her next trip) and searched for her ride as she rode the escalator to the floor above. She also searched for unattended baggage and men holding guns, but thankfully, neither were present. Her nerves were still on edge.

Gwen didn’t see a driver holding a sign with her name on it as she stepped off the escalator, nor did she see him as she headed cautiously toward the glass double doors. Ellie said she would have one waiting; perhaps he was waiting at a different terminal, even though all international flights arrived in this one.

She froze as she felt awareness wash over her body.

Glancing over her shoulder, a surprised smile broke out as she caught sight of the brooding man standing about fifty paces from her.

It had been so long since she’d seen him in person, yet she’d recognize him anywhere, any time.

Dark, almost-black hair that fell just so over the most handsome—and familiar—face she’d ever seen. The deceptively relaxed pose—his leaning against a supporting pole, arms folded and legs splayed. The expressionless face, half-hidden behind dark glasses. An incredible physique, not hidden at all underneath jeans and leather…

Her salvation.

“Reilly?”

He lifted an eyebrow, visible over the rim of his sunglasses, and she rolled her eyes with a laugh, her nerves scattering to the wind. She dropped her bag and ran to him. She leapt into his arms, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt free. Safe.

Home.

She pulled back and grinned at him. “Not even a welcome home smile?”

He gave a half shrug and put her down. “Never in public,” he replied, his Irish brogue sending the words into a melodic dance. “And you should never leave your bags unattended. They frown on that.”

She quickly reached under his jacket and pinched his side.

The corners of his lips turned up. “Pain in the arse,” he muttered affectionately, before trotting over to grab her bag.

It was like it used to be, before their almost-mistake. He would try to keep up his tough-guy image, and she would tease him out of it, despite himself.

But this time, Gwen admitted, it took a little more effort than normal.

This time, she had to put on a smile not because she wanted to, but because she had to. No one could know what happened, as she’d told no one of her real location.

And, to make things even more complicated, this time, she had a boyfriend. A fiancé, actually…though it still didn’t feel quite like an engagement. But Anthony was someone she was ready to introduce to her parents, include in her life, and make a life with.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was darn close. After years of waiting and hoping and dreaming for something real, she had it.

It wasn’t from the man she had always wanted, but then life rarely went according to plan. Settling for the next-best-thing-to-perfect was enough for her. And Anthony was exactly that. She just hadn’t told him about Reilly yet.

How could she explain to her boyfriend—no, her fiancé—that her best friend was a six-foot-five alpha Irishman? She wasn’t naive enough to believe Anth would be perfectly fine with her and Ry’s relationship. She and Reilly were close—at least, they used to be, and she hoped to be again. They used to visit each other every few months; she had her own room at his cottage, he ate off her plate, they finished each other’s sentences.

They’d be perfect together…except Reilly O’Malley didn’t do love. He didn’t do relationships, and he didn’t do messy emotions.

And so she had to let him go.

“I cancelled your driver. And I find it interesting that there weren’t any flights from South Africa in the last few hours,” Reilly noted dryly. “The poor man would’ve been waiting in the wrong spot.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t let anyone know where I go,” she replied.

“Do you know how dangerous Venezuela is, Gwen?”

More than you want to know. But she managed a sweet smile for him, unintimidated by his large frame, and didn’t bother wondering how he’d found out her location. He somehow always knew, and instead of finding it annoying, Gwen actually found it a bit relieving. “Do you know how old I am, Ry?”

“Thirty going on twelve?”

“The correct answer is old enough to make my own decisions.” She hated the edge in her voice, but she couldn’t help it.

“Even if they’re poor ones?”

Gwen ignored him, because in this case, he was right. She was lucky to be out of there, and she knew it. Many innocent lives had been lost. She hoped it wasn’t on the news over here. She stepped into the cool air and shivered. “Hold on a second. Let me grab my sweater out of the bag.”

“Take this,” he replied, shaking out of his leather jacket and handing it to her. “You’re in a tee shirt; a jumper won’t do anything for you.”

She didn’t bother to protest; she knew him well enough not to insist. Plus, she needed it. Reilly was her rock, and wearing his clothing always made her feel more grounded, more…safe.

There’s that word again. She felt a flash of guilt at how she didn’t feel that way about Anthony. Yet, she reminded herself. I don’t feel that way about him yet.

Gwen thanked Reilly and snuggled into the much-too-big jacket, reveling in the warmth and scent of home. She didn’t just like it; she loved wearing his clothing, especially if it was straight off his body. There was something about the softness of his shirts, and the scent of him, that filled her with…

Warmth. Only warmth. That’s all, she told herself. She had Anth now. He was her source of happiness. And he did make her happy. He also made her laugh and feel special.

Why, why, why did she have to remind herself of all his good qualities after being in Ry’s presence for a mere five minutes?

They made it to the car without any more speech. She waited for him to drop her bag into the trunk; another battle she had long since conceded was his desire to open the door for her. Chivalry was so deeply ingrained in his chemical makeup that he became insulted when she didn’t wait, so she always did.

When he came around to her side, instead of opening the door, he gathered her into an uncharacteristically sudden hug. Gwen, never one to not show affection, melted into him without hesitation.

“You missed me,” she mumbled into the bottom of his sternum.

He pulled his sunglasses off his head, his own hazel eyes softening as he looked down at her. “More than you know.”

She hoped her face remained playful, but his eyes searched hers.

Damn. He knows something’s wrong.

But, true to form, he didn’t call her out on it. Instead, he half-smiled at her. He placed his large hand against her cheek and pressed her head back against his chest. “Why can’t you go to St. Croix, like every other trust fund baby?”

Gwen smiled into him and realized that she missed this, their friendship. After a year away from him, she was ready to let go of what happened last year and be a part of his life.

She gave him the same answer she’d been giving for years. “Because I’m not like every other trust fund baby.”

When she came of age to access the trust fund her parents insisted upon, Gwen partnered with a college friend and began investing in various travel and airline companies. As time went on, she showed a knack for understanding which companies would succeed, and which would tank. Her parents were, predictably, shocked and saddened at her mercantile dealings.

“Gwen!”

Reilly glanced back over his shoulder, and Gwen looked around in surprise. “Anthony?”

He jogged over, a suspicious expression on his face. He was holding her makeup bag, of all things, in his hand. “I almost forgot to give this to you.” He sized up Reilly, then added, “Remember, we packed it in my bag when it didn’t fit into yours?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, caught off guard. “Right, of course. Thanks.”

She disentangled herself from Reilly’s arms and took the bag, but Anth didn’t release it. Instead, he pulled her into him and kissed her.

Flustered, she let him, then pulled back.

Oh, boy. That was a “she’s with me” move if she’d ever seen one.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?” Anth asked pointedly.

“Oh!” Gwen replied, her tongue twisted into a knot. “Right. Reilly O’Malley, this is Anthony Ferraro.”

“Her fiancé,” he supplied, sticking out his hand.

Reilly raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t so much as blink. “Fiancé? Can’t say Gwendolyn’s mentioned you before.”

“I, um, wanted to tell you in person…” Gwen explained, though even to her own ears, it was a weak excuse. But also, when would she have told Reilly? During their single five-minute call a few weeks ago?

Why she hadn’t wanted to tell Reilly about Anth was easy enough to explain to herself. But to give an actual voice to that reason?

She’d rather jump off the Cliffs of Moher.

“Oh, aye, of course,” Reilly replied without inflection. He gripped Anthony’s hand, and the two of them looked as though they were going to crush each other’s bones. “I’m the best friend.”

“I thought her best friend’s name was Ellie.” Anth released Reilly’s hand—or maybe it was the other way around, Gwen wasn’t sure—and looked at her, his eyes accusing.

“Ellie is also my best friend,” Gwen tried to explain.

“Really? So that’s why you’re wearing her jacket?”

Reilly slung an arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “We’ve known each other for a few years. And she was chilled.” He opened the car door and motioned her inside. “Come on, lass. Last time you caught a cold you were a miserable mess for a week.”

Gwen bit her lip. “Right.” She turned to Anthony and gave him a genuine smile. “See you in a few days. Thanks for remembering my bag.”

“I’ll be there,” Anth promised.

She nodded with a smile before Reilly slammed the door with more force than was strictly necessary before rounding the car and getting in on the driver’s seat.

“I was going to tell—”

“There’s no need for an explanation, Gwendolyn,” he ground out, his accent thicker than she’d heard it in a long time.

She closed her mouth, hurt by the cold tone, and glanced in the side mirror as they drove away. She caught sight of Anth, his arms crossed, and his expression less than pleased.

She sunk lower into the seat and closed her eyes against the conflicting emotions swirling around her brain. “No, really, I wanted—” she started.

“Like I said, no need to explain.” Reilly’s cold tone continued, and she frowned when he added, “I’ll be glad to not wear the tux at next week’s gala.”

“I don’t recall asking you to go to the gala with me,” she fired back, a bubble of defiance creeping into her words.

“Nay,” he returned evenly. Easily. “Your parents, however, did. And that’s on me, of course. I’d assumed it would be like all the other times, where we go, sip subpar champagne, enjoy the good people there, then go out for a beer afterward. But being your wingman at those things is not my job anymore, and to be honest, I’m relieved for it.”

Ouch.

“Oh,” she replied in a small voice. And she said nothing else for the rest of the ride.

• • •

Colin O’Rourke had a magnificent library.

Granted, Gwen wasn’t the biggest reader, but she could certainly appreciate the lush carpet, peaceful ambiance, and shelves of books. Jumping onto, then gliding across the room on, the book ladder wasn’t exactly a hardship, either.

Her best friend (and Colin’s fiancée) Ellie Carberry often claimed that this library was part relaxation, part imagination, and part “magication.”

Gwen acknowledged that Ellie was far superior to her in words and literary references (being as Ellie’s life was books, as she was a lifelong reader and longtime bookshop owner in London), so if Ellie said it was part “magication,” Gwen went with it.

Looking around, she had to agree.

The curtains on both sides of the room were drawn, and the only light was from the floor lamps that anchored each wall of windows. The room spanned the entire length of Colin’s historic Boston brownstone; the square footage in the room alone probably rivaled Gwen’s entire house in New Hampshire.

She wished she was there right now.

When Colin and Ellie insisted she stay at Colin’s house, due to the late hour of her arrival, Gwen acquiesced because she really didn’t care to drive for another hour and a half after the two days of travel she had behind her. Getting out of Venezuela had been difficult; all the survivors of her group needed new passports expedited to them. It was one of the few times she’d used her name to get what she needed; she hadn’t hesitated in calling in favors from a couple of discreet contacts in Washington, D.C.

Within twenty-four hours, she had enough documentation to get them all back to the States.

She dragged her fingers over the spines of books that looked very old, her mind now trying to process just the last few hours.

Reilly was distantly silent on the short drive to Colin’s house, and then after plying her with food (during which Colin joked and Reilly remained silent), the two men stiffened and started some strange man-conversation using just their eyes. She watched as they somehow came to a decision, and, amused, watched them try to pretend like it didn’t happen.

Colin had declared himself ready for bed and left pretty quickly. He wasn’t the best of liars, but Gwen wasn’t really up for a visit anyway, so she bid him goodnight.

Then it was just her and Reilly.

They looked at each other for a long minute before he asked, “Will you be all right if I leave for a bit?”

She frowned. “I don’t need watching over, you know.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but his lips hardened into a straight line and he gave her a jerky nod before leaving her sitting in the kitchen, alone with her mostly untouched plate of food.

After she went up to the bedroom, she heard a small commotion from somewhere in the house. Already on the second floor, she decided to investigate, so, after changing into her pajamas, she checked Reilly’s room, but he wasn’t there. She went back downstairs; all was quiet there, so she headed through the magnificent kitchen toward the side stairway. She climbed up past the second floor, and up to the third, which held the library. Finding it empty, too, she figured the noise must’ve come from Colin’s bedroom, which was on the floor above the library.

Instead of invading his privacy, she decided to linger with the books and sense of peace in that room.

Her hand paused, by its own volition, on a thick, leather bound book. A shiver went through her, and she peered at the title: The O’Rourkes: A Complete History from AD 800 to AD 2000.

She felt a strange, intense need to leaf through it, but her common sense prevailed again. She had no need to snoop through genealogy of a family that wasn’t her own; instead, she grabbed the title directly above it and plopped down in one of the exceedingly comfortable armchairs.

If her gaze continually drifted back over to the genealogy book, that couldn’t be helped.

She focused on the book in her hand—Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen—and took it as a sign. She was going to use exactly those virtues to not open that genealogy book, just like she didn’t go up to Colin’s bedroom. The poor man was probably sleeping, anyway.

And who knows where Reilly had gone.

Not that she was wondering about that, she reassured herself. She determinedly opened the book, which Ellie had been trying to get her to read for years, and soon became lost in the story of the Dashwood sisters.

She hadn’t any idea how much time had passed when a loud bang shocked her. Her throat closed up, her ears began to ring, and a panic bloomed forcefully in her chest. Frozen to the chair, her body wouldn’t move, though her mind was screaming to get to safety.

Another boom had her up and running toward the stairs, anxious to get out, get away. She ran bodily into a solid wall of muscle, and a scream lodged in her throat.

Reilly, dressed in a tunic and léine, caught her as she fell, concern etching his face.

“Gwendolyn? Why are you still up?”

“Go! Out!” she choked, pushing him blindly.

His expression turned to one of alarm. “Has something happened?”

Her words came out in a strangled sob. They needed to move, to get out of there, before the next explosion hit.

His arms came around her immediately, but she continued to fight him. Didn’t he hear it? “The blast,” she gasped. “Go, Ry, go!”

He tightened his hold on her. “We’re safe, Gwen. I’ve got you.”

The fight began to leave her, but her heart raced on. She tried to slow her breathing. “I can’t…”

He gently held her away from him for a moment and studied her face. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

She nodded quickly, drawing in deep breaths. “Okay. I know.”

“The noise you heard was me. I accidentally slammed the door when I came in.”

She nodded, accepting the explanation. “Okay.” She couldn’t seem to come up with much more than that.

He studied her face for another moment, then gently pulled her against him. She clung to his chest, her head tucked protectively against his neck, and shook.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured, giving her a small squeeze.

She let the words settle her before releasing a shaky breath. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”

But she didn’t let go.

• • •

After he finished his shower and finally climbed wearily into bed, he heard his bedroom door open on nearly silent hinges. He cracked his eyes just enough to gauge the time and the threat.

The time was a simple thing. It’d been less than a half hour since he’d managed to get Gwen back to her room, so he estimated it to be about two thirty in the morning. As he and Colin agreed to meet in the lists at 7:00 a.m., he had plenty of time yet for sleep.

The threat was rather less of a threat and more of a mystery. He watched as Gwen closed the door, then stealthily crept toward the bed. Her eyes were so round, her face drawn, and she had the look of a frightened child about her.

He immediately held up the blanket, and she dove in next to him, curling her body around his in ways that made him think less-than-chaste thoughts.

He always thought less-than-chaste thoughts about Gwen. Ensuring she never knew about those thoughts was how he got through them.

A mess, for certain.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Am now,” she whispered, then burrowed further into him.

He nodded, understanding that she didn’t want to talk, and rubbed her back until her breaths were deep and even. He tucked her body closer to him, determined to give her the safety she suddenly craved, selfishly enjoying her even though she wasn’t his to enjoy.

She’d never accepted help in any form from him. In fact, she made it a point not to require his help with anything. He figured it was their game—she would get herself into a situation, he would attempt a rescue, and she would breeze out of it without any aid. She challenged him.

But this…He glanced down at the sleeping figure. Clad in a thin shirt and pajama pants, her hair stuck out every way ’til Sunday, and her sleep was fitful, making him readjust her slightly to keep his manhood intact. Her face was relaxed, though, giving her the appearance of a peaceful, if slightly crazed, woodland sprite.

She started, and he resumed rubbing circles on her back. His normally effervescent Gwen had forced her smiles all day. By remaining silent, he didn’t feel the need to give her the same illusion Colin did that nothing was amiss, but he knew.

He always knew when something was wrong with her. And this time, it was something big. He couldn't force her to face her demons; getting Gwen to talk when she had it in her mind not to was a Herculean task he could not complete that moment, so he merely tucked her closer to him and closed his eyes.

• • •

7:00 a.m. came fast, but Reilly slipped out of the warm bed, leaving Gwen to her slumber, and donned his workout gear—shorts, tee shirt, and a sword. He met Colin outside, the uncharacteristically cool air slapping him fully awake.

“This is so much better than the humidity we were training in last week,” Colin muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Reilly bounced on the balls of his feet. “Aye. Let’s make the most of it.”

“How are you so bushy-tailed this morning?” Colin asked, stifling a yawn. “I swear you went to bed later than I did.”

“Sometimes a person is blessed with many admirable qualities. I am one of those people. Are we done with morning pleasantries yet?”

Colin rolled his eyes, but readied himself. With the first clash of steel, he remarked, “So it has nothing to do with the woman asleep upstairs?”

Reilly shouldered his blade. “You cannot believe that I’m a spritely type in the wee hours?”

Colin snorted. “Since when is any time after sunrise ‘the wee hours’ to you?”

“Fair point.”

“What was going on with her last night?”

“Exactly what you’d expect,” Reilly said grimly. He flicked his wrist and his sword swiped toward Colin.

“Ellie’s going to ask how she is,” Colin replied thoughtfully, jumping backward from the tip of Reilly’s sword as it sliced through the air. His own blade clashed with Reilly’s, and he shook off the reverberations in his arm after quickly switching hands. “I’ve no idea what to tell her.”

“Tell her that she’s safe now. ’Tis the truth.”

“All right. Next question: Do you have any indications that we might be sent somewhere before the wedding?”

Reilly dropped his sword point-down in the dirt. “I haven’t had anything that would say otherwise. But you are free from traveling until well after the wedding. I’ve lads aplenty who will help if necessary.”

“Claire trusts very few,” Colin noted. “If she decides to get herself into trouble, you should consider bringing James.”

Reilly agreed silently. Claire MacWilliam, daughter of Brianagh O’Rourke and Nioclas MacWilliam, was a troublesome, clever lass who was forever getting herself into scrapes. Reilly wondered if she did so simply to have a visit with him; he did always bring her marvels from the future. The lass had a sweet tooth that seemed only satiated by Nutella.

“I’ll take it into consideration. And do let me know when our gossip session is over. I’ve become bored with your speech and look forward to the moment you decide to attempt to best me—” Reilly grunted as Colin’s sword caught his sleeve, then glanced down. No blood. He swung again, forcing Colin backward. A particularly satisfying clash between the swords produced sparks, and Reilly couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips.

He loved hacking at worthy swordsmen. Colin was at the top of that list.

Colin lowered his sword again, and Reilly’s smile disappeared. “By the saints, O’Rourke, if you’ve no stomach for training—”

His words died a swift death when Colin jerked his head toward Gwen, who stood against the house, dressed in her pajamas, her arms wrapped around herself, and her gaze unfocused.

“I think,” Colin murmured as he quickly sheathed his weapon, “that she has suffered a shock. That’s the look of a woman who’s seen violent death up close.”

Reilly agreed; he’d seen it on the faces of many souls before her, and suspected he would see it on the faces of many more. But none of those had him tied in knots quite like she did.

He sheathed his sword and reached her in two strides. “Gwen, are you unwell?”

She blinked up at him, taking a moment longer than necessary to reply. “Um…no, I’m okay. I heard your swords, and I didn’t know what they were. I’m okay now though.”

Meaning you weren’t okay when you first heard them, he thought. Gwen wasn’t unused to the sounds of swords; she’d been to his sword fighting school many times, and had had her own trip to the past where she saw them in action.

Gently, he drew her to his side and led her back inside. “Care you for some breakfast? I can make something, or Colin would be glad for a run to the bakery.”

“You bet,” Colin said from behind them. “In fact, I’ve been looking for an excuse to check out a new place that opened up near Quincy Market. I’ll pop over there and grab some stuff after I change.”

Gwen was focusing on Reilly’s shirt. “Your shirt has a tear in it.”

He kept his tone light. “’Twas headed for the rag pile anyway. Colin merely sped the process.”

She nodded, slowly coming back into herself. He watched as her eyes refocused and her face cleared.

Colin disappeared, and Reilly turned Gwen toward him. “What’s going on, Gwendolyn?”

She swallowed, not meeting his gaze, and replied lamely, “Jet lag.”

“Look at me,” he commanded, and was gratified when she immediately raised her forest green eyes to his. They were, as he suspected, haunted, despite her expressionless features. “I know what happened, Gwendolyn. Do you wish to talk?”

She shook her head—a short, sharp movement. “No. I really don’t.”

“Then tell me what you need.”

She reached up and placed her hands on his cheeks. His breath hitched without his consent. She slowly pulled his head down to hers until they were eye level, then leaned forward and closed her eyes. Gently, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and let out a shuddering breath.

For an interminable moment, Reilly held onto his rapidly fraying self-control by dredging up every fiber of willpower in his being. Just as he almost gave into his need to cover her mouth with his, she whispered, “I need to go home.”