The Secret Virgin

‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ Tory mumbled to herself as she searched through the drawer for the corkscrew, turning to check the vegetables again as he opened the bottle and poured some wine into two of the glasses sitting on the side.

‘Mr McGuire,’ her father greeted him a few seconds later as he came into the kitchen, holding out his hand. ‘Dan Buchanan. Come through to the sitting room and meet my wife. Everything okay with you, Tory?’ He quirked questioning brows.

Fine—now that he had come down to take over entertaining their guest! ‘I’ll give you a shout when I’ve served the meal,’ she said.

Jonathan gave her a quick glance. ‘I hope I haven’t put you to too much trouble on my behalf…?’

‘Not in the least,’ Tory assured him airily. ‘We were having a roast lunch anyway,’ she told him, knowing by the narrowing of those silver-grey eyes that Jonathan McGuire, at least, hadn’t missed the intended slight.

‘I’m afraid my wife fell over yesterday and sprained her ankle,’ her father told their guest. ‘But Tory cooks almost as well as her mother.’

‘Almost?’ Tory deliberately rose to her father’s teasing; it was part of what she most enjoyed about being at home. Her parents were such genuine down-to-earth people. Unlike the crowd she was surrounded by in London!

‘The proof will be in the eating.’ Her father gave Jonathan a conspiratorial wink. ‘Let’s go through, Jonathan, and say hello to Thelma; she’s been looking forward to meeting you.’

Which put her mother in the minority as far as Tory was concerned. Gifts of flowers and chocolates did not alter the fact that the man was incredibly rude.

Although there was no sign of that rudeness as the four of them sat down to lunch, her mother helped into the dining room by Jonathan McGuire’s solicitous hand under her elbow.

Probably another lesson in manners taught him by his mother, Tory decided disgruntledly.

Now who was being rude and uncooperative?

So she was. But she just couldn’t get past the man she had met yesterday. Even if Jonathan’s next words did make it seem that he was determined to wipe out that image today…

‘This is delicious,’ he told her after tasting the succulent chicken and accompanying vegetables. He was seated next to Tory at the table, her parents facing them. ‘School Sunday lunches were never as good as this!’ he commented. ‘I grew up believing English cooking had to be the worst in the world!’

Tory’s brows rose over surprised blue eyes. ‘You went to school in England?’ How strange, when his parents were both American.

He met her gaze steadily for several long seconds. ‘English education, paradoxically, is the best in the world,’ he finally answered.

‘And your parents obviously wanted the best for you,’ she acknowledged sardonically.

His eyes narrowed speculatively for several seconds before he turned to her mother. ‘I had no idea when I accepted your invitation yesterday, Thelma, that you had hurt your ankle, that it would be Tory I was making extra work for,’ he said.

If he was trying to make her feel guilty, then he was succeeding!

Though if she were truthful with herself, it wasn’t really Jonathan she was annoyed with today. Rupert had telephoned again this morning, shortly before the other man arrived, annoying her intensely with his certainty that she would be back in London soon, ready to begin another round of work and mindless parties.

‘It really was no trouble,’ she assured Jonathan awkwardly; after all, he was her parents’ guest, and she really wasn’t being very welcoming. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it. There’s one of Mum’s cherry pies for dessert,’ she added.

‘If I’m not careful I shall be putting on weight while I’m here,’ he came back satirically.

Tory doubted that very much. Jonathan had the build of an athlete, without looking muscle-bound—something she found most unattractive in a man.

Not that she wanted to find Jonathan McGuire attractive! She was having enough trouble trying to sort her own life out, without complicating it with an attraction that was going nowhere. Not that Jonathan had given any indication that he found her in the least attractive anyway!

Could she possibly be a bit irritated with him because of that, too?

Maybe, she conceded. Although she never made anything of her looks when she was at home, always wore denims and tee shirts for convenience’s sake—she never knew when her father was going to ask her to go and help him on the farm. And she never bothered with make-up when she was here, either; it was a relief not to always have to look perfect.

But, even so, Jonathan McGuire hadn’t given any indication that he had even noticed she was female, let alone an attractive one!

‘How are Madison and Gideon?’ her mother asked interestedly. ‘And the adorable Keilly, of course,’ she added indulgently.

‘I can see my niece has been breaking hearts this side of the Atlantic, too,’ Jonathan recognised. ‘Maddie and Gideon are fine. They’re visiting Maddie’s godfather and his wife at the moment; Edgar and Claire have a four-month-old son. Actually, I believe Claire is Manx,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘Her name was Christian before she married Edgar,’ he explained helpfully.

‘A good Manx name,’ Tory’s father said approvingly.

‘So I believe,’ Jonathan replied. ‘It’s the name they’ve given the baby.’

‘I can’t say we know a Claire Christian…do we, Thelma?’ Tory’s father said.

‘Sorry.’ Her mother smiled apologetically. ‘I expect your parents are thrilled about little Keilly, aren’t they? Is it their first grandchild?’

‘They are. And it is. So far…’ Jonathan confirmed dryly.

Tory gave him a thoughtful glance. Her own parents might not think any man was good enough to marry her, but that didn’t stop them wanting grandchildren of their own. Could Jonathan’s parents, now that they had one grandchild, possibly be putting the same emotional pressure on him? Probably, she decided. It seemed to be the way with parents that they wanted to see their children happily settled.

Although if Jonathan had reached the age of thirty-two or thirty-three without succumbing to matrimony, and he had come alone on his visit to the island, it didn’t look as if it was a possibility in the near future!

‘And Gideon’s parents?’ her mother continued happily. ‘I expect they’re thrilled, too?’

Jonathan’s expression didn’t change, and yet Tory felt other, subtle changes in him as he sat next to her, his body tense now, a certain wariness in his eyes.

Because her mother had mentioned Gideon’s parents? Or because she had mentioned Gideon himself? Did the two men not get on?

She found the latter hard to believe. The two men were very alike. Gideon was also forceful, very self-possessed—like this man, to the point of arrogance. Or perhaps Jonathan just didn’t think Gideon was good enough for Madison? Tory believed older brothers could be like that, too.

Not that Tory had any siblings of her own, older or younger, but she could imagine Jonathan being quite protective of his ‘little sister’…

‘Gideon’s parents are both dead,’ Jonathan finally answered harshly, putting his knife and fork down on his almost empty plate. ‘And now I really think I should be going; I’ve interrupted your Sunday afternoon for long enough,’ he added, with what seemed to Tory a deliberately forced softening of his tone.

Her mother looked surprised. ‘But we haven’t had dessert yet,’ she protested with light rebuke.

Tory knew only too well, no one was allowed to leave without eating her mother’s desserts!

She stood up. ‘Would you like to help me clear the plates, Jonathan?’ she suggested. ‘Then you can sample Mum’s cherry pie and tell her which one you prefer—the apple or the cherry.’ She smiled at her blushing mother.

Perhaps it wasn’t quite the thing to do to ask the guest to help clear away, but it had seemed to Tory that Jonathan needed a brief respite from a conversation that seemed to be getting a little too personal for his liking. Or comfort!

Not that she could say what could possibly make him feel uncomfortable talking about his sister and her husband; she just knew that it was.

Unless it was just that he had had enough of their provincial company for one day. After all, being based in Reno, involved in the running of casinos, he would obviously be used to a much more sophisticated form of entertainment. And company!

‘Thank you for that,’ he said quietly once they reached the kitchen, putting the plates he carried down on the side.

Tory looked at the muscled width of his back as he stood turned away from her, once again wondering why a man like him had decided to bury himself on the Isle of Man for an indefinite period, and once again coming up with no answer!

Or perhaps, like her, he just needed some time and space to be able to think…?

Also, like her, he wasn’t about to discuss what he was thinking about with a third party…

He turned sharply, as if sensing her puzzled gaze on him, his expression immediately guarded. ‘I meant, of course, for helping me avoid insulting your mother by missing out on dessert,’ he explained.

Oh, sure he did! ‘Of course,’ she repeated dryly, still not absolutely sure of his reason for saying he was leaving a few minutes ago. If it was because she and her parents simply bored him, then he was rude! But, then, she had already known that, hadn’t she?

He gave her a piercingly searching look, a look Tory withstood with calm indifference. He was wasting his time trying to disconcert her in that particular way; she was more than used to being in the spotlight.

Jonathan was the first one to break away from their locked gazes. ‘Would you like me to carry anything through for you?’ he offered distantly.

‘The cream.’ She opened the fridge and took the jug of cream out. ‘Unless you would prefer ice-cream? I believe Americans prefer it with their dessert?’

During the last five years she had been to America at least a dozen times herself, and had always noticed this preference with pie. Although Jonathan McGuire probably thought she had just watched a lot of American programmes on the television!

He gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘You believe correctly,’ he drawled.

She took the ice-cream from the freezer, carrying through that and the pie while Jonathan carried all the other things.

Her father turned to smile at them both as they came into the room. ‘I was just saying to your mother, Tory; perhaps Jonathan would like you to take him out for a ride this afternoon?’

Tory gave her father an irritated frown. She did not want to spend any more time in Jonathan McGuire’s company than she had to. Besides, he was their guest, not hers.

She wasn’t daft; she knew exactly what her father was up to. There was a good war film on the television this afternoon, and her father didn’t want to miss it! If he could manage to persuade Jonathan to go out with Tory, then he would be able to watch it.

Jonathan looked puzzled. ‘But I thought you told me it was best to stay in this afternoon?’ he reminded Tory. ‘Something to do with the bikes on the TT course?’ he added.

‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ her father told him jovially. ‘Tory hasn’t been round the course herself for a couple of years; I’m sure she would love to take you. Wouldn’t you love?’ he pressed hopefully. ‘It’s an experience everyone should have once in their lifetime!’ he assured Jonathan.

‘You ride a motorbike?’ Jonathan no longer looked puzzled—he looked astounded.

Tory bristled at his disbelieving expression. She had been born on the island, lived here all her life until six years ago, still spent as much time here as work and other commitments would allow, and motorbikes were a fact of the island, whether you liked them or not. Five years ago Tory had bought her own motorbike, on the basis that if you couldn’t beat them, you joined them!

‘Yes, I ride a motorbike,’ she confirmed stiffly. ‘I’ll take you out on it when we’ve finished lunch. If you would like to go?’

If you dare! her tone implied.

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW ever did we get ourselves into this?’ Jonathan exclaimed as she handed him the second helmet before leaving the house, the two of them striding across the yard to the shed where Tory kept her bike.

She had been wondering that herself all the time she was in her bedroom putting on her leathers, forgoing dessert herself to leave Jonathan downstairs with her parents to enjoy his.

But she knew exactly why she had behaved in the way that she had; Jonathan’s scornful reaction to hearing she rode a motorbike had clearly indicated he didn’t believe she was big enough to handle a pushbike, let alone a machine powerful enough to take the two of them around the TT course.

‘Don’t you know?’ she derided, already starting to feel hot in the black leathers as the warm sun shone down on them.

Dark brows rose over grey eyes. ‘Do you?’

Tory nodded grimly. ‘You were dared into it—by me! And I was goaded into it—by you!’

Jonathan grimaced. ‘Very commendable!’ he responded mockingly. ‘Just how long is this TT course?’ he asked slowly.

‘Almost thirty-eight miles.’ She unlocked the shed, throwing back the doors.

‘Thirty-eight—! I think maybe I should have forgone that second helping of pie your mother pressed on me!’ he said with feeling.

Tory turned to chuckle softly at his expression. ‘Frightened you might shortly see it again?’

‘God, I hope not,’ he groaned.

Tory went into the shed to get her bike, needing all her strength to push it outside into the yard, sparing Jonathan a brief glance from beneath lowered lashes once she had done so. She wasn’t disappointed; he was staring open-mouthed at the powerful machine.

Bright red, with a 750cc engine, it was an extremely powerful, as well as beautiful, bike.

‘Can you really ride that thing?’ he queried suspiciously.

Her mouth tightened. Had he forgotten that it was exactly this sort of attitude that had got them into this in the first place? Obviously not a man who learnt his lesson the first time around!

She got on the leather seat, putting her helmet on before starting the powerful engine. ‘Get on,’ she told him firmly. ‘We’ll go down to the Grandstand where the races start from. And for goodness’ sake, hold on!’ she ordered warningly.

She held the bike steady as Jonathan got on behind her, tensing slightly as his arms curved about her waist. Well, she was the one who had told him to hold on!

But it wasn’t too difficult once they were on the TT course itself, with the sun beating down, the breeze whistling past them, and with the comradeship of the other bikers, to almost forget she had Jonathan McGuire as a passenger. Only the occasional tightening of his grip about her waist reminded her.

She had forgotten the thrill of this ride too, felt totally exhilarated as the miles passed beneath them.

As they approached the Grandstand after the first lap of the circuit she felt a dig in her ribs, and turned slightly to see what Jonathan wanted, only to find him pointing towards the parking area where thousands of bikers were already gathered.

Disappointed, she throttled down before turning into an empty space and switching off the engine, taking off her helmet to shake her dark hair loose about her shoulders before turning to look at Jonathan.

A very green-looking Jonathan!

‘Are you okay?’ she gasped concernedly as he got off the bike, staggering slightly.

He ripped off his own helmet, taking in huge gulps of air now that he was back on terra firma. ‘Do I look all right?’ he snarled through gritted teeth.

Actually, he looked terrible, Tory decided as she swung off the bike too, putting it on its stand before turning back to him. ‘I—’

‘Tory! Hey, Tory!’

They both turned to the leather-clad figure limping towards them, a grin of pure pleasure splitting the ruggedly hewn features of the newcomer.

‘Terry!’ Tory greeted with equal pleasure before being gathered up into a bear hug.

‘It’s great to see you back on the island.’ Terry moved back slightly to look down at her, still grinning. ‘Back on the bike, too.’ He nodded his approval ‘We missed you here last year,’ he said wistfully.

She grinned. ‘Work commitments.’

Terry grinned back. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Oh, you know—’

‘I hate to interrupt this moving reunion—’ the sarcasm in Jonathan’s tone completely belied his words ‘—but could one of you point me in the direction of a public convenience?’

Terry gave Tory an ‘is he with you?’ look, before answering the other man. ‘Over there, mate.’ He waved in the direction of the Grandstand.

‘Thank you.’ Jonathan gave a terse nod, his face set in grim lines as he strode off in the direction indicated.

‘Friend of yours?’ Terry said meaningfully.

‘Sort of,’ Tory replied, watching Jonathan until he disappeared into the Gents. ‘I don’t think he’s too impressed with our TT course,’ she understated, not sure that Jonathan hadn’t excused himself so that he could be sick! ‘If he isn’t back in ten minutes, perhaps you had better go and see if he’s all right,’ she suggested.

Terry chuckled. ‘He’s American, isn’t he?’

‘Mmm,’ she confirmed vaguely, feeling slightly guilty that she hadn’t realised Jonathan wasn’t enjoying the ride as much as she was. ‘How are Jane and the family?’ She changed the subject as she turned back to Terry.

‘All well,’ he responded. ‘We all missed you at the wedding yesterday.’

As her cousin—in fact, Denise’s older brother—of course Terry and his family would also have been at the ceremony. ‘I’m sorry I missed it, too,’ she said, not altogether truthfully. ‘But I had—other commitments.’

That ‘commitment’—she was glad to see!—was making his way back to them through the crowd at this very moment, no longer looking quite as green as he had when Tory had first looked at him after their ride.

‘How is Aunty Thelma today?’ Terry enquired.

‘Hobbling about,’ Tory assured him, happier now that she knew Jonathan wasn’t collapsed in a heap somewhere. ‘You know Mum,’ she opined, ‘you can’t keep her down for long!’

‘That’s true,’ Terry acknowledged affectionately. ‘I have to say,’ he went on thoughtfully as he gave the approaching Jonathan McGuire a glance, ‘he’s a definite improvement on the other one you brought home.’

The ‘other one’, Tory knew, being Rupert! But then Rupert, with his rakish London sophistication, on the one, never to be repeated occasion he had accompanied her to the island, hadn’t set out to win any points for charm. He had been deliberately condescending, to her family and friends alike.

But, by the same token, Jonathan McGuire was not someone she had brought home!

‘So, what do you think of our TT course?’ Terry turned to ask the other man as he rejoined them, giving Tory no opportunity to refute her cousin’s mistaken impression concerning her relationship to Jonathan.

Terry had always had a wicked sense of humour, Tory remembered with an inward groan. Admittedly Jonathan wasn’t green any more, but he was certainly still very white.

‘Jonathan McGuire. Terry Bridson.’ She introduced the two men quickly as she saw that Jonathan’s eyes were once again the flinty grey colour that warned of impending danger to anyone who crossed him, and Terry’s teasing definitely came under that heading!

She watched as the two men shook hands, Terry still grinning, Jonathan managing a grimace of a smile in return.

‘Your TT course is—interesting,’ Jonathan ventured. ‘What other forms of torture do you have for the unsuspecting tourist?’

The latter was added so mildly that the sarcasm underlying the remark didn’t sink in with Tory for several seconds.

Terry, however, roared with laughter, slapping the other man companionably on the back. ‘We call it fun here on the island.’ He grinned.

‘Hmm,’ Jonathan responded non-committally. ‘Are you one of the competitors?’

‘Not any more.’ Terry sobered. ‘I came off a few years ago.’ He slapped his damaged knee, the reason for his pronounced limp. ‘I don’t have the agility to be a competitor any more.’

‘Much to his family’s relief,’ Tory put in firmly.

Terry shrugged. ‘There is that, I suppose.’ But the wistfulness could clearly be heard in his voice. ‘Are you staying on the island long, Jonathan? Or are you just here for TT?’

From the look on his face, Jonathan didn’t care if he never looked at another motorbike in his lifetime!

‘I’m unsure of the length of my stay,’ he answered the other man, that guarded tone back in his voice.

‘If you’re still here next week, maybe you and Tory would like to come out for a quiet drink.’ Terry seemed completely oblivious to the other man’s non-committal answer. ‘This week is out, I’m afraid. For obvious reasons.’ He looked about them, the noise of bike engines, chatter and laughter almost deafening.

So was next week, as far as Tory was concerned. She had no wish to be linked as the other half of a couple with Jonathan McGuire! Especially where her family was concerned.

‘We had better be getting back.’ She touched her cousin’s arm in apology. ‘And we’ll take a raincheck on next week,’ she added as she pulled her helmet back on. ‘Neither of us is sure of our plans at the moment.’

‘Fine,’ Terry said. ‘But give me a ring before you go back to London. Nice to meet you, Jonathan,’ he finished, before limping back to the group of friends he had been talking with when they had arrived.

Tory looked at the still ashen-faced Jonathan. ‘Do you feel up to riding back to the farm on the bike? I promise I’ll go slowly.’

He briefly shut his eyes and then opened them again as he pulled his own helmet back on. ‘This has got to be the maddest thing I’ve ever done in my life,’ he said.

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