Aftershocks (12 page)

She didn’t want to interrupt Fiona and her friend, but couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the scene for a few minutes.

“Sugar and spice and everything nice?” a deep male voice said softly behind her.

Since her body immediately perked to attention, it was obvious who was speaking. She turned to find Patrick altogether too close and looking more relaxed now.

She smiled at him, wishing she had the right to put her arms around him and kiss him. Wishing he didn’t look at her in a way that put the idea into her head.

“Will Fiona and her little friend be that noisy when they’re Dylan’s age?” she asked.

She ought to take a couple of steps back, Briana thought, but her body wouldn’t obey the dictates of her more sensible brain. He was so close she could see the black flecks in his eyes, the lines of both laughter and tragedy endured that radiated from the corners of his eyes, the darker patch of stubble on one side of his jaw where he’d missed a spot shaving. She could even smell him, the clean laundry smell of his T-shirt and the earthy and so-familiar scent of his skin. It took her back to the dark elevator, when she’d been surrounded by his scent, the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice.

The pull she felt was like a physical tug.

“I doubt it. I think boys are just rowdier.”

And which gender would he have ended up having more of, she wondered, if his wife hadn’t died? Boys or girls? It was a sad thought for a sunny day, but the information was so new to her that she needed to digest it. She wished she could ask Patrick, encourage him to open up and talk to her about that awful time. But she didn’t have
the right. She already felt an intimacy she didn’t want to feel, and to encourage it at this point was crazy.

“You look like you’re miles away,” Patrick said.

“Sorry. I think I’m in shock. I had no idea Dylan and his friends had so much energy.”

He chuckled. “He’ll sleep tonight. They all will. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you much of a welcome. You caught me in the middle of a panic.”

She smiled, thinking how much she liked the carefree sound of his laughter, and how rare that laughter was these days. “As I believe I told you, I love to cook.”

“The salad looks great. Thanks for helping me out.”

“What are friends for?”

“Is that what we are, Briana? Friends?”

Briana had asked the question idly, and his reply stunned her. She blinked and stared at Patrick, so serious and so handsome with the sunlight glinting off his black hair, his blue eyes intent on her.

“I—I’d like to think we are.”

He gazed at her as though there was a lot more he wanted to say, and couldn’t. He merely nodded, and she noted the tense set of his shoulders as he turned and strolled over to his brother Sean, who was helping John flip burgers.

She didn’t see Patrick again until it was time for cake and presents. Since there were no kids in her own life—most of her friends being young, childless professionals—she was ridiculously nervous about her gift for Dylan. Was it too old? Too…artistic? She didn’t want to disappoint Dylan with a lame gift, and now she wondered if she’d been wise to include her small present for Fiona.

Oh, well, she’d done it with the best of intentions.
Quietly she handed the little girl the wrapped package when Dylan opened his. Fiona was delighted, and her dainty little fingers made surprisingly short work of the wrapping.

“It’s a book!” Fiona showed it to Briana as though it would be a surprise for her, as well. She’d asked at the bookstore and hoped she had something age-appropriate, and the story was about a small black dog who got lost and had to find his way home. It seemed to be a hit with Fiona.

Dylan ripped the wrapping paper off his gift. “Wow. Cool,” he said as he opened the case and spied all the art supplies. “Thanks. I’ll draw you the first picture.” He flashed her that grin again, then opened his book and pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!”

He opened his other gifts, but the biggest excitement was saved for his father’s present—a black mountain bike with a glossy black helmet to match.

“Sweet!” Dylan yelled. “Now we can go biking together, Dad.”

Briana only hoped life in Courage Bay would calm down enough that the father and son could enjoy plenty of weekend bike rides.

She smiled to herself. While they were doing that, she and Fiona could spend some quality girl time making cookies, doing manicures, decorating the doll’s house she’d spied in the little girl’s room. Briana was dying to get her hands on it. And when Fiona was a little older, she imagined the four of them out riding together.

Abruptly she yanked her daydreams back to reality. What was she thinking? She never should have come here today and allowed herself to fall into the fantasy that she was part of the O’Shea clan.

Until she’d cleared her uncle’s name, she needed to keep her distance from the O’Sheas—all of them. If by some slim chance Patrick had been a party to hurting her family, the two of them could never have a future together.

Briana forced herself to drink coffee and chat to Mary O’Shea as though she weren’t counting the seconds until she could leave.

Then, suddenly, nine of the boisterous young boys were being taken home, and relative quiet descended on Patrick’s home. Good. Her moment to escape had arrived.

After a short conversation with Patrick and John, Shannon clapped her hands. “Do the birthday boy and his sister want to come have a sleepover at Auntie Shannon’s?”

Over the shrieks of glee and the pleas, “Can you make pancakes in the morning? Can we take Cleo for a walk?” Briana felt her stomach contract.

Damn that interfering,
matchmaking
Shannon O’Shea. Briana had liked her better when she was threatening her than she did now that the woman was trying to foster a relationship between Briana and Patrick that was both inappropriate and fraught with potential heartache.

Briana knew perfectly well that the sleepover was a ploy to give her and Patrick time alone. It had to be the least subtle ploy she’d ever seen, and in front of his whole family, too! Not that anyone seemed to mind. Mary, for one, had a complacent smile on her face, and she saw the older woman reach for her husband’s hand and give it a quick squeeze.

Oh, no.

Briana didn’t want time alone with Patrick. Well,
okay, she did, but not while everything was such a mess, and she was so confused.

No. She couldn’t and wouldn’t be manipulated like this. As well-meaning as his sister was, Shannon was also, as she’d warned Briana, pushy. For some reason, Patrick’s sister had now decided to sanction the romance, but Briana needed to let it be known to every O’Shea in Courage Bay that she made her own decisions. And being offered a night alone with Patrick on a silver platter was more tempting than she liked to admit, but she wasn’t ready for that delicacy quite yet.

In the pandemonium of the kids getting ready to go, and before Patrick’s family had a chance to leave, she retrieved her coat. Her color was high, she knew, but she couldn’t help that. Maybe they’d think she’d caught a touch of sun.

“Thank you for a lovely party,” she said to Dylan, who was running around the kitchen with his sleeping bag, shouting something about not needing a toothbrush.

Patrick didn’t seem to agree on the toothbrush situation and was down in the bathroom, she presumed, yelling something about cavities.

“Thanks for the present,” Dylan said. “I mean, thanks for coming.”

“I had a good time. You enjoy your sleepover.”

Then she gave Shannon her blandest smile, wished every O’Shea in the vicinity a pleasant evening, and headed out while the O’Shea she most cared about was down the hall in his children’s bathroom.

And take that, Shannon, she said to herself as she scooted into her car and drove home.

B
RIANA STARED
at the grainy photocopy of the newspaper story and photo that had destroyed her uncle’s chance at being mayor and felt a surge of irritation. Uncle Cecil should hire a lawyer and a private investigator and find out once and for all who’d planted the false story and evidence. Her uncle insisted he wouldn’t have her aunt hurt, but he didn’t seem to consider that this whole mess was hurting his niece.

As much as she wanted to help her uncle, she was putting her own career in jeopardy. She’d come to Courage Bay so angry on her aunt and uncle’s behalf that she couldn’t see straight, never mind think straight. But she’d had two months to gain some perspective and she’d also discovered that she loved Courage Bay, enough that she wanted to put down some roots and stay awhile. Maybe forever. She could no longer contemplate a political hit-and-run operation.

Once Briana had done as much of the legwork as she could to find the culprit behind this story, she’d insist Uncle Cecil launch a formal investigation or drop his vendetta. That was a more honorable course than trying to destroy Patrick’s career.

Even as she tried to focus on the photo, her sneaky
mind kept transporting her to that house in Jacaranda Heights, where, even now, Patrick was cleaning up after the party, or maybe doing some quiet activity of his own, since he had the house to himself.

All night long.

Lust grabbed at her with sharp claws and she gritted her teeth to stop herself from driving back over to his place. But maybe once she’d left, Shannon had reneged on the invitation to the kids, and Patrick and his family were all playing one of the new video games Dylan had received for his birthday.

No. Shannon wouldn’t back out of her invitation, not when Fiona and Dylan had been so excited. Patrick was on his own all right, unless he’d decided to use his freedom to do some socializing. She didn’t like how that thought made her feel, but then she’d had her chance to be the one “socializing” with Patrick, and she’d declined the treat.

But her restlessness didn’t abate.

She put the newspaper article down on her kitchen counter. What was she thinking? It was Saturday night. She should have gone out. One of the girls at work was having a party tonight. She could go. But having already turned down a dinner invitation from a man who might now be there, she’d decided to stay home.

Sometimes, being single sucked.

Having decided that, she wandered into the kitchen. She wasn’t starving exactly, since she’d had a burger for lunch, but cooking always soothed her. There was a nice bottle of Pinot Gris in the fridge, which she opened. She put Sarah McLachlan on the CD player, took out salad greens and a free-range chicken breast and started cooking.

She was humming, her salad dressing half-made, when there was a knock at her door.

Odd. Everyone she knew would call before coming over. Maybe it was someone canvassing for some cause or a neighbor looking for a lost cat.

She opened the door and Patrick stood on her doorstep, apparently as surprised to be there as she was to see him. And she was far too happy to see him.

“Hi,” she said, noting that his eyes were almost navy in the dim evening light.

“Hi.” He didn’t make a move to come in and didn’t seem to have much to say for himself.

Wanting to help him out, she asked, “Did I forget something at Dylan’s party?”

“Yes.” It must have been her sweater. But he wasn’t carrying anything, and then she remembered she’d draped her sweater over a chair in the kitchen.

“Okay. What?”

“You forgot to say goodbye.”

“I said goodbye to Dylan. He’s the one who invited me.”

“Right. But I’m the one who missed you when you left.”

“Oh, Patrick. You mustn’t say things like that.” He was playing right into her uncle’s hands and she didn’t want him to.

“I know.” She opened the door wider and he leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “I don’t want to want you this much. I said I’d give you a month, and it hasn’t even been two weeks.”

She nodded. She could count the days as well as he could. And she had been.

“But I have a problem.” He glanced up at her, so solemn, his blue eyes frank and intense. “I’m crazy about you.”

Her heart did a perfect somersault. “Oh, Patrick.”

“Do you think I could come in for a minute?”

She nodded and let him in. Without bothering to ask if he wanted one, she poured him a glass of wine and led him into her tiny living area, where she took a seat and gestured him into the one opposite her.

He fiddled with the stem of his glass. Sipped. Put the glass down on the rattan coffee table. She was irrationally glad she’d bought some fresh red tulips today and put them in a vase, not that he appeared to notice them.

“We never should have made love,” he said almost savagely.

Her mouth opened, but he went on before she could speak.

“No. That’s not true. I never should have hired you. I saw your résumé and I knew you were overqualified for the job. If I hadn’t hired you, I’d have met you some other way. I’ve tried so hard to stay away, Briana, but after the night in the elevator, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her heart was pounding at a ridiculous rate. “I…Oh, Patrick.”

“Honey, I don’t think I can wait a month for you.”

“But you promised me—”

“I know I did. I’ve considered resigning as mayor.”

She blinked. He was handing her the answer to all her troubles on a silver platter. If he resigned, then her uncle would have achieved his goal. Maybe Uncle Cecil could have another shot at the job himself. Except that, family loyalty aside, she knew Patrick was doing the
right thing for Courage Bay, and now was not the time for change.

“You can’t do that!” she cried.

“That’s the conclusion I came to also. Please, Briana, I’m asking you as a man in pain, please consider another job.”

“But we agreed to wait until after—”

“I know. But you could put in for a transfer and we could post your position. You wouldn’t have to leave the mayor’s office for a month or so.”

What could she do? She was only human, and she knew his need so well because it was the same as her own. Now that he was here, the temptation was too great. “I wish you hadn’t come.”

“I couldn’t stand being in that house all by myself when I knew damn well, just as you did, that Shannon pulled that stunt so we’d have some time together.”

“It was pretty high-handed of her. Not to mention inappropriate.”

He snorted. “Get used to it. That’s my sister.”

“Patrick, I…” She what? Didn’t want him? Thought her job as an admin assistant was more important than the most promising relationship she’d had in her life?

Maybe it was time for the truth. Part of the truth, anyway. “Until this crisis is resolved, I’m staying.” She rose and brought her copy of the grainy newspaper photo and handed it to him. After he’d looked at it, he put the paper down on the table with an expression of distaste.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked.

She wouldn’t lie. She’d keep her uncle’s role confidential but she wouldn’t lie. “I’ve been doing some
research. I think this photo is one of the reasons Cecil Thomson is your enemy on council.”

Patrick stared up at her. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”

She chose her words carefully. “But the article did come out right at a crucial moment in the election campaign. Cecil Thomson was predicted to win easily, and then this article and the photo were published and you won by a landslide.”

Patrick was frowning at her. “Are you suggesting I sent that article to the
Sentinel
? What, you thought I had an old photo lying around of Thomson getting a blowjob from a hooker? How could—”

“No. No. Not you. But maybe someone who badly wanted you to win. You have to admit it was unfortunate timing.”

“I never liked Cecil Thomson much, but I wouldn’t have believed he’d act like that. I’ve lived in Courage Bay my whole life. You get to know things. There are a lot of things I don’t like about Thomson, but he’s never been a man you’d figure to have skeletons in his closet. I was as shocked as anyone.”

She picked up the photocopy and stared at it. “Are you sure it’s real?”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “You think someone faked this? Briana, this isn’t a race for the White House. It’s a city mayor’s job. Thomson’s bank job probably pays more. The only reason he wanted to be mayor was for the prestige and power. I was a reluctant candidate from the start. No. I don’t believe anyone faked the photo. Why are you so interested in Cecil Thomson’s dirty laundry, anyway?”

She put the photo back on the table so she could
avoid looking at Patrick. “I was trying to find a way to end the antipathy between the two of you.”

“Well, your chances aren’t great.” He sighed and leaned back. “We talk about this stuff all day at work. Can we have a Saturday night off?”

“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Can I just say one more thing? On Monday, I’m going to put in for a transfer. If you want to put in a good word for me with Max Zirinsky, I know there are a few positions in the police department that I’d enjoy.”

Patrick grinned at her, relief and plain joy shining from his eyes. “I’ve got some positions you might enjoy, too.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. “Come here.”

She was delighted to comply.

She rose slowly, irresistibly pulled toward him. How had they managed to hold off all the days and nights since the elevator escapade?

Since she didn’t think the arm of her upholstered wicker armchair would hold her weight—at least that’s the excuse she gave herself—she eased onto Patrick’s lap and kissed him.

It was an easy kiss, meant to be the prelude to something very different from what they’d experienced in the elevator. For one thing, they had her apartment to spread out in, and for another, they weren’t feeling their lives were in danger. But perhaps best of all, they had all night.

As though he’d read her mind, Patrick said, “You know what’s been driving me crazy?”

Wanting her, she hoped. “What?”

“I don’t know what you look like.” His voice was already husky. “I know what you feel like, I know the scent
of you, the taste of you.” He nibbled her ear to illustrate his point. “But I have no idea what you look like naked.”

She bent awkwardly as she tried to kiss him. They were going to either end up on her living room floor or make a move for the bed before it was too late.

Maybe later she’d go for the living room floor. This time, she wanted all the comforts.

So she took his hand and hauled him to his feet, then led him to her room.

Once more she congratulated herself on her housecleaning binge this morning. The sheets on the bed were fresh, the bathroom sparkled and all her junk was put away. She didn’t live like a slob by any means, but today her place was as neat as it ever got. Not that Patrick seemed bothered about her decor. She suspected that if she put her hands over his eyes and asked him to describe anything about her apartment, he’d be stumped.

And for all the right reasons. Since he’d entered her home, he’d had eyes only for her.

His gaze was so intense that she shivered as he stepped close to her and reached for her shirt.

They undressed each other slowly. Watching him watch her strip off her blouse was as erotic as the most exquisite foreplay. He traced the lacy cups of her bra with a fingertip, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, then slid the shirt slowly off her shoulders so it slipped to the floor like a dropped handkerchief.

He seemed undecided whether to go for bra or skirt next. She thought about reaching down for his belt buckle while he was busy making up his mind, but she felt curiously lazy, and decided she’d wait her turn.

The same index finger traced the line where her
breasts met, tracked down over the bra and then followed the center line of her ribs in an invisible path that crossed her belly button and ended at the waistband of her short denim skirt.

He unzipped the skirt and she wriggled it past her hips.

He kissed her again, rubbing against her, and she decided he had far too many clothes on, when she was wearing so few. With a tug and a yank, she had his T-shirt out of his shorts and halfway up his belly. He stepped back a little and raised his arms so she could finish the job.

Mmm. Oh, yes. Mmm-hmm. She loved a hairy chest, and he had a terrific one. Lots of dark curls from his collarbone spreading over his nicely developed pecs and tapering down to his ribs.

A gold medallion of some sort nestled against his sternum. “What’s this?” she asked, touching the medal.

“St. Christopher.”

“It’s nice.” And it was. Intricately detailed, and warm from his body.

While she admired the medallion, he unsnapped her bra and pulled it away before she realized he was going to.

“Apricot,” he mumbled with satisfaction.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Apricot. I had a bet with myself what color your nipples would be. They’re a little more on the brown side than I’d guessed, but I had the right general palette.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been thinking about the color of my nipples.”

He grinned at her. “They match the color of your cheeks when you blush.”

As she was doing now.

He flipped back the bedcover and laid her on her back, then he slid his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and eased them down.

A single shiver passed over her from crown to toe as the silky material slid down her legs. The sheets were cool and crisp to the touch, smelling faintly of lavender linen spray.

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, beginning with her mouth and heading slowly south as though she were a long-denied treat and his diet was over.

“I think you even taste like apricots,” he said, as he toyed with her breasts before sucking one sensitive tip right into his mouth.

Oh, what that man could do with his lips and tongue. He kissed her skin everywhere, bringing it to tingling life. Slow and meticulous, he seemed intent on kissing every inch of her.

“Oh, Patrick,” she sighed.

“I didn’t take enough time with you in the elevator,” he murmured against her ribs. “I was in too much of a hurry, too eager.”