The Secret Virgin. Carole Mortimer

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