Love and Mistletoe (4 page)

Brian’s pale blue gaze speared her in place, making her breath catch. “Don’t judge me by your own low standards, Ms. MacCarthy. I might have fallen for your teasing over your bath product enterprise, but I’m not enough of an eejit to buy erotic literature from my local book shop.”

She leaned forward, watching his gaze fasten on her cleavage before darting away. He really did blush beautifully, right to the tips of his ears. “In that case, online vendors are your friends.”

Bridie shoved a book bag across the counter. “Here you go, Brian.”

“Thanks, Bridie. Have a good day.”

“You too. And good luck.”

As he headed for the door, he gave Sharon a reluctant half smile. “Thanks for the eggs. They made a fine fry-up.”

She shot him a wicked grin. “I’m delighted to have… satisfied your appetites, Garda Glenn. Enjoy the books.”

His smile evaporated in an instant. “I’m sure I will,” he said stiffly. “A good day to you.”

“Ah, Sharon,” Bridie said after the door had closed behind him. “You’ll never get him to ask you out if you keep tormenting him.”

She squawked in protest. “Why would you think I’d want to go out with that eejit?”

“The constant teasing is a dead giveaway. Have a care, will you? Brian can cope with a bit of slagging, but I think you hurt his feelings.”

“How? I was only messing.”

“Sometimes you take the joking too far.”

Had she really hurt his feelings?
Damn.
She hadn’t meant to offend him. “I don’t know why you think I want Brian Glenn to ask me out. He’s not my type, and I’m certain I’m not his.”

At least the latter part of that spiel is true.
Sharon’s chest tightened, and her determined good cheer deflated quicker than a burst balloon. She wasn’t sure why she was attracted to Brian Glenn. Perhaps it was his earnest, dependable nature—or maybe it was because he was as unlike her father as it was possible to get. “Last I heard, he was dating a policewoman from Cork City. He’d hardly choose the likes of me over someone with a sensible job.”
And, presumably, a sensible family.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve a lot to offer. Your problem is that you sell yourself short and end up with men who don’t treat you with the respect you deserve.”

A collage of past boyfriends danced through her mind. “Respect” wasn’t a word she’d associate with any of them. To be fair, she’d taken them as seriously as they had her—which was to say not at all.

Giving herself a mental shake, she thrust back her shoulders and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Forget Brian Glenn. I’ll have no time for romance until I get my degree. I’ll be too busy studying to think about men.”

“Indeed?” Bridie gave a sly smirk. “Are there no interesting fellas at university?”

“None that interest me.”

“What about in your lectures and seminars?”

She shrugged. “I won’t know until I attend forensic psychology this evening. I doubt it, though. The psych guys tend to be total nerds.”

Bridie’s shoulders were heaving.

Sharon blinked in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“Never you mind,” her boss said between bouts of laughter. “I’m sure your semester will get off to a studious start.”

THE LECTURE HALL WAS HOUSED in a modern circular building with dramatic floor-to-ceiling windows and tiered rows of plastic seats, fold-up writing desks attached to their sides. On the podium, a frizzy-haired professor was battling with an army of cables, none of which appeared to fit his portable computer.

Brian weaved his way through the rows, opting for an aisle seat in the middle of the room, neither too near the exit at the back nor too close to the stage at the front. The choice was made on autopilot—apparently, old habits were hard to break. Back when he was at secondary school, he’d always taken an aisle seat in the middle of the classroom. Sit too close to the teacher, and you were deemed a brown-noser; sit too close to the back, and you were labeled a potential troublemaker. As in most areas of his life, Brian preferred not to stand out.

He pulled his laptop out of his bag and placed it on the fold-up desk now stretched across his legs. Typing lecture notes made a pleasant change from scribbling witness statements, that was for sure. He peered around the packed lecture hall. Who knew forensic psychology was such a popular subject?

After three years of taking distance courses, he was officially enrolled as a part-time student at University College Cork. He fairly glowed with pride. He’d never paid much attention to his schoolwork when he was a kid, doing well enough to pass all his exams and meet the grades required to join the police force but not excelling at any particular subject. Once he’d completed the initial three years of grunt work on the force, he’d realized he was qualified to do little else and was unlikely to rise beyond the basic rank of
garda
. So he’d applied for an Open University course and worked his arse off, squeezing in time to study around long hours on the job. To his surprise, he’d done well. At Seán’s urging, he’d applied to University College Cork to complete his degree and was now enrolled as a part-time student. Two weeks into the semester, he was enjoying every second of his studies.

He shifted in his seat and fingered his collar absently. The casual jeans and shirt made him feel strange. He was so used to wearing his police uniform that he felt naked in civvies.

On the podium, the professor had found the correct cable. The first presentation slides flashed onto the screen. While the professor was clearing his throat to commence his lecture, the door to the hall creaked open. Brian glanced up from his laptop. And his jaw dropped.

In strutted a familiar form clad in a low-cut canary-yellow top and tight leather miniskirt. Her progress in her high heels could be described as tottering at best. Their eyes met, hers widening a fraction before her face split into a foxy grin. To his horror, she made a beeline for him. Batting improbably long mascaraed eyelashes, she plonked herself onto the empty seat next to his. “Hello, Garda Glenn. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What the f—” He swallowed hard. “What are
you
doing here?”

Sharon’s grin stretched wider, flashing pearly white teeth. “Same as you, I’d imagine. I need more credits to complete my psychology degree. This course was on my list of electives. What degree are you going for?”

“Criminology,” he muttered.

“Apt, given your job. How come you’re taking this course? I thought it was reserved for final-year students.”

“I
am
a final-year student. I’ve spent the past couple of years taking OU courses.”

“So that’s why you were ordering mysterious books from Bridie.”

“Yeah. She gives me a better discount than the campus bookshop.”

“I’ll bet she does.” Sharon’s voice was laced with laughter. “Is this is your first on-campus course?”

“Yeah.”

“Must be quite a change. I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.” She tugged at his shirt playfully, sending a jolt of lust zigzagging to his groin.

He removed her hand from his chest and placed it firmly on her fold-up desk, ignoring the mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You’re late starting this course. Did you switch classes?”

Her smile faltered. “No. I had… stuff to sort out after my mother died. Today is my first day back at uni.” A look of raw emotion flitted across her face before the shutters slammed shut and the trademark cheeky grin was back in place.

“If you want to read over my lecture notes, I can e-mail them to you.”

She leaned close, and her warm breath tickled his neck. “Are you looking for an excuse to get my e-mail address? Naughty, Garda Glenn.”

“Settle down, everyone,” boomed the professor before beginning his lecture.

For the first fifteen minutes, Brian was hyperaware of Sharon’s presence in the seat beside him. Her sweet perfume teased his nose, and electric awareness skittered over his skin every time her arm brushed against his when she reached down for her bag. He exhaled sharply and tried to focus on the lecture. Thankfully, the professor was a compelling speaker and the material was interesting. The rest of the hour flew by.

He was finishing typing his notes when he felt Sharon’s thigh press against him, jerking him out of the academic world of forensic psychology and back to the uncomfortable—not to mention hardening—awareness that he fancied Sharon MacCarthy.

“Not bad, eh?” She gathered up her stuff and shoved it into her shoulder bag. “Dr. Leech is less boring than most of the old geezers around here.”

As if on cue, Dr. Leech’s bombastic voice boomed through the microphone. “Just a minute, if you please. We’re not finished yet. The semester project is to be completed in pairs. If you look at the following slide, you’ll see I’ve matched each of you with another course participant. Wherever possible, I’ve paired people with different majors. I’ve also tried to take into account where you live so that you can more easily meet to study. Please consult your class list for your partner’s contact info and get in touch with them between now and next week’s lecture.”

With a sense of foreboding prickling up his neck, Brian scanned the list until he found his name.
Oh, hell on wheels. No, no, no!

Sharon hooted with laughter. “Well, would you look at that? We’re research partners.” She leaned in close, wafting perfume and sex appeal in equal measure. “Looks like you’re stuck with me until December.”

***

Sharon slung her book bag over her shoulder, shoved her phone between her teeth, and balanced a cardboard takeout tray containing two hot beverages. She backed against the study center’s door, pushed it open, and maneuvered herself inside.

The study center was a new and welcome addition to the campus. Linked to the library via a small tunnel, it was designed to provide students with a comfortable space in which they could discuss their group projects without disturbing people studying in the library proper.

At a small table by a window, Brian was already hard at work on his laptop. A look of intense concentration creased his forehead, and his pen was poised to take notes. Her heart skipped a beat. He looked adorable and utterly kissable. Sharon smiled to herself. Her vow to avoid men this academic year had fallen to the wayside the second she’d clapped eyes on Brian across the crowded lecture hall. She’d had a crush on him for years, but he’d never regarded her as anything more than a criminal and a nuisance. This was her chance to prove him wrong.

“Well, hello there, Garda Glenn,” she said in what she hoped was a sultry tone.

He glanced up from the screen, startled. “Hey.” Shoving his chair back, he relieved her of the cardboard tray.

“I thought we could do with a hot sugary drink to aid our studies.”

“Ah, thanks.” He was eyeing the Styrofoam cups with suspicion.

“The one on the left is yours.” At his wary expression, she added, “They’re not poisoned. I swear.”

He took a cautious sip from his cup, then blinked in surprise. “You got me tea.”

“Yeah. You don’t like coffee, right?”

“Right.” He smiled, the first heartfelt smile he’d ever directed at her. Sharon’s heart beat a little faster, and her legs went wobbly. Served her right for wearing towering high heels. She dropped her bag to the floor and slid into the seat opposite Brian’s.

“So…,” she said, unpacking her stuff. “What did you think of the research topic ideas I e-mailed you with?”

“They’re good, yeah, especially the one on internet stalking. But we’re going to need to narrow our focus.”

She took a sip of coffee. “Okay. What do you suggest?”

“Given that we need to examine the psychology behind the issue, I think we should either focus on stalkers who harass their victims in a virtual public space or in a private one.” He talked with his hands, subtle gestures at first, more expansive as he warmed to his topic. “So a public-space harasser could be someone who targets their victim-slash-victims on a social-media site and makes their abusive messages visible for all to see. They might use multiple accounts for the purpose, simply setting up new ones when the site blocks them for abuse.”

“Right. In that case, a private-space harasser—insofar as anything on the internet is ‘private’”—Sharon made quotation marks with her fingers—“is someone who targets their victims via e-mail or private message?”

“Exactly.” His nod of approval made her glow from the inside out. “You’re the psychology major. I’m guessing that a harasser’s motivation would differ depending on how and where he or she perpetrates the abuse.”

“You have a point, but it’s more subtle than that. Someone who harasses another person openly via social media seeks to humiliate and embarrass them. Those who confine the abuse to e-mail and private messaging want to intimidate and frighten them. And even these are sweeping generalizations, because the motivations can spill over into one method or the other.” She leaned forward, and they knocked knees. Maintaining a poker face, he shifted position and angled his chair, thus ensuring that they wouldn’t bump up against one another again. So much for her powers of seduction.

“Why don’t we focus on stalking via social media sites?” he said, moving his index finger over the trackpad. “I’ve a trove of info on Facebook, for example, because we’ve had to deal with a few instances of it at the station.”

“Sounds good. We’ll have to read some of the general texts and articles from our required reading list. Why don’t we divide them up and compare notes?”

“Between now and next week, I’ll compile a list of legal source material and police records we can use for the project. We’ll need permission to use some of it, but I can sort that out. Emma—my ex—works for the internet crime division. I might be able to swing an interview or two with the people in her department.”

His ex…
the butterflies in Sharon’s stomach took flight. Perhaps there was hope for her after all. She pulled her chair closer to Brian’s laptop on the pretense of getting a closer look at the notes he was typing. This time, he didn’t move away when her thigh pressed against his. She registered his sudden intake of breath and the flicker of awareness in his eyes.