Sweet Caroline (10 page)

by Micqui Miller

"CAROLINE!"

"I said I'm coming." She stood and shook the kinks out of her legs from sitting in a crossed position too long and walked to the door. She opened it only an inch. "What's wrong? It's after midnight."

"I want Striker Foy. Send him out here."
Ian?
"Get a grip, Mick, Ian's not here."

"Don't lie to me, Caroline. His car's out front." He placed a hand on the frame of the door, as if to steady himself. "Send him out, or I'll come in and get him." Caroline had to stop herself from laughing. Those violet eyes with their enlarged pupils, and Mick's deepening brogue told her he'd had at least one ale too many. But it wasn't his tipsy condition that amused her. It was the possibility that a man who could snap his fingers and have any woman anywhere was jealous of Ian Foy. "You've had too much to drink."

"I have not!"

"Then why are you looking for my boss in my apartment?"

"You left with him. That's his car."

"Oh, Mick, you are too much." She rolled her eyes and opened the door wide. "Come in," she invited. "See for yourself. If Ian's here, so is Elvis." She didn't have to repeat the invitation. In two giant strides, Mick cleared the length of her living room en route to the bedroom.

Caroline thought about following him and decided against it. She plopped down on the loveseat and switched off her laptop. She folded her arms across her chest to hide the 91

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

outline of her breasts under the worn fabric of her nightshirt, and waited. She didn't know what little bee was buzzing

'round in Mick Mahoney's tipsy little bonnet, but she was glad she wouldn't have his headache in the morning. Over the next few minutes, she heard closet doors opening and closing, accompanied by angry words grumbled in a language she didn't understand. Finished with her room, he headed for the bath. She couldn't suppress a giggle. Did he really think he'd find Ian hiding behind the shower curtain?

Then there was silence.

Caroline waited.

Twenty seconds. Forty seconds. A minute. Still not a sound. Another twenty seconds.

"Are you all right?" she asked, speaking only loudly enough to make sure he heard. He must have shifted positions. She caught the faint sound of cloth rubbing against plastic. "Mick, are you okay?"

Another minute dragged by, and just about the time she decided he might have passed out in her tub, she heard him declare softly, "I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are," she agreed. "Now come out here and tell me what the hell is going on."

* * * *

IN SLOW STEPS, and with a grin Mick hoped passed for boyish and charming, not drunk and stupid, he rounded the corner and walked into the living room. Caroline sat across from where he stood, arms folded, a condemning look on her face but a glint of humor in her eyes.

92

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

He noticed that she'd scrubbed her face free of make-up and had unbraided her hair, which fell in damp soft waves to her shoulders. It looked as yielding as titian silk. Mick closed his eyes, unable to stop the image of the Caroline lying on a bed of the finest Irish lace, her fiery red hair glowing against a pristine white pillow. A groan slipped past his lips.

"If you're going to fall asleep standing up, go home!" Mick opened his eyes. If she'd only known how far from sleep his thoughts had traveled she would have conked him on the head with her laptop.

"What's going on?"

Mick shifted from foot to foot, feeling more foolish than he had as a third grader when the water fountain on the playground squirted out of control, soaking the front of his pants just as the bell sounded the end of recess. He looked down at his shoes, not knowing how to begin. Outside, he heard an eighteen-wheeler lumber away from the traffic signal on the corner, and a car door slam. Caroline sat quietly, her knees clamped modestly together, one ankle over the other.

With each tick of the second hand of the clock in the hallway, Mick's discomfort grew. "Striker's car is parked out front—"

"The one under the street lamp?" she interrupted.

"The blue one."

"For your information,
Doctor
Mahoney, the car outside is silver, not blue." She stood and tugged on the hem of her nightshirt, which Mick noticed, stopped well above her knees. 93

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

He also noticed her folded arms, meant to cover her breasts, pushed them up instead and revealed that her nipples stood invitingly erect.

"Besides," she continued despite the fact that his gaze was locked on her chest, "That car's been there since yesterday morning. Hasn't moved. I don't know how a forensic scientist can be so unobservant. Or colorblind."

"You left with Striker."

"I went to the post office to mail a letter after the party. I presume Ian went home. I have not seen him since we said good night in the parking lot and drove off in different directions."

He wondered if they'd kissed. The thought infuriated him, but not as much as he'd infuriate Caroline if he asked. Mick lowered his head and tried to sound properly repentant. "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry." He looked up with the grin that had never failed him before. Not so this time.

"Apology accepted." She crossed the room, passing close enough that he caught the fresh scent of soap mingled with jasmine and bath powder. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks to keep from snatching her wrist. Caroline strode to the front door, gripped the handle, and turned to him. "It's late. Please go home." Mick intended to leave, but his wounded pride stopped him. He'd stay until she confessed that she would rather have left with him. Feet firmly planted inside the threshold, he said, "It's not too late for a wee brandy. Might help you sleep."

94

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

She shook her head. "I have no trouble sleeping, and you've had too much to drink already." He leaned against the doorway, his spirits buoyed. She hadn't shouted, "Get out!" yet.

"Some coffee then?" His right hand had somehow meandered out of his pocket and rested on her forearm. She didn't swat it.

"Sorry, don't have any."

He saw her watching his hand, but not pulling back. In fact, he felt goosebumps rising beneath his fingertips.

"Tea?" Boldly, he slid his hand to her shoulder and traced the outline of her jaw with his forefinger.

"Nope." The hint of a shiver belied her negative response. Neither said anything. Mick had never seen lips so inviting, so ready to be kissed. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. She was holding her breath, and her lids were lowering. Saints be praised, she wanted to be kissed as much as he wanted to kiss her.

Cradling her face tenderly, he lowered his mouth toward hers. Bliss was inches away. KABOOM. Caroline pushed his hands away and propelled him backward until he slammed into the doorframe.

"Mick Mahoney, you are a piece of work," she cried. "You smell like a brewery and you're acting like an oaf."
Flamin' hell, she'd been testing him, to see how far he'd
go.

"I don't have any soda, either." She pointed to his door.

"Go home!"

He tried one last boyishly charming grin. "Fruit juice?" 95

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

"Oh for heaven's sake!" She spun on her heels and headed for the kitchen. She returned in a second, carrying a quartsized jug of orange juice that she smashed into his belly. "Get out!"

You win some, you lose some.
But at least he hadn't lost to Striker Foy. "You're right, I'm sorry." He held the orange juice between them. "Sleep tight, lass," he said as she pushed him farther into the hallway. "Don't let the bed bugs bite." His good wishes were lost. She slammed and locked the door behind him.

* * * *

BZZZZT. BZZZZT. BZZZZT.

Caroline's eyelids flew open. Still disoriented from a heavy sleep, she didn't recognize her surroundings at first or the annoying sound filtering into her bedroom.

Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt. Bzzzzt!

Someone was ringing a doorbell.
Her
doorbell. She flopped back down on her pillow and covered her eyes with the palm of her hand. "It's Saturday," she said in a voice somewhere between a groan and a whine. "It's only seven o'clock."

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

"Knock it off, would you?" She threw back the covers and slipped her feet into a pair of shower thongs. "I'm coming, I'm coming." She swept the hair back from her face and savagely yanked on the doorknob. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" No one was there.

96

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

She saw that Mick's apartment door stood open wide with carefully arranged breakfast treats spanning the distance between their two flats.

She stooped and picked up the wicker basket nearest her door. She unwrapped the loosely tied, bright green linen napkin inside it. The fragrance of freshly baked cranberry muffins wafted up at her before she parted the pleats. Next, she found a carton of chilled fresh eggs and in front of that, a silver tray with a matching sugar bowl and creamer. A tray of jams and preserves stood an inch or two outside his doorway, and inside, a pitcher of orange juice she suspected might belong to her.

Oh ... my ... gosh. A road to breakfast.
So taken by the charming gesture, she didn't register the footsteps quietly climbing the stairs. She felt a pair of warm, strong hands on her shoulders and realized Mick stood behind her. As he bent close, she felt his breath on a wisp of hair that curled around her ear and hoped he didn't sense the shivers racing through her.

"Good mornin', darlin'," he drawled and waved a little white flag on a stick. "It's not much in the way of reparations, but if you'll forgive me for last night, I'll cook you the best breakfast you've ever had."

While he spoke, he pulled her closer, or maybe she'd wantonly moved back against him. Little separated them, only the thin cotton of her nightshirt and the rough denim of his jeans. Caroline covered her heart with her hand afraid he might hear it thumping in double time.

97

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Since last night, when he'd cradled her cheek with his palm and run his thumb tenderly across her mouth, she knew she wanted to stand like this, exploring the length of him with her body.

Until the practical part of her mind started waving a flag, too, one ten times the size of Mick's and as red as a strawberry at harvest.
Get out, get out now!
it warned her.
This man could be your brother!

98

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

ONE MOMENT CAROLINE leaned against Mick, pliant and warm, her hair seductively tousled like she'd just risen from a night of lovemaking. The next, she went rigid and jumped away from him so quickly, he nearly teetered forward.

"What ... what's wrong?" Was she still angry about last night? "I know I acted like a fool." She shook her head no but thrust out both hands in a gesture meant to stop him from taking another step closer.

"Caroline, if I've done something to offend you, I'm—"

"Oh, no, Mick, it's not you." A blush crawled up that lovely dancer's neck. Caroline looked everywhere, except into his eyes then she rubbed her forearms as if a chill had coursed through her, although the hallway was warm from the summer morning. "I thought of something I'd forgotten to take care of," she said at last.

"You don't have time for breakfast?" He watched her closely, seeing indecision and hesitation. Then as quickly as if a hypnotist had snapped his fingers and released her from a trance, she relaxed and gave him a dazzling smile. "To heck with what I had to do," she said with a rich laugh. "Of course I have time for breakfast." Surprising him even more, she took both of his hands in hers. "In fact, I have all day."

That simple gesture, her soft palms caressing his, forced Mick to exercise all of his willpower not to snatch her into his arms and plant the kiss of a lifetime on that sweet soft 99

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

mouth. He knew he had to move slowly. If an invitation to breakfast caused her such indecision, he'd likely never see her again if he gave in to his fondest desire.

"Terrific. Coffee's ready, right this way."

"Not like this." She slipped her hands out of his. "Give me twenty minutes."

"I'll be waiting.

* * * *

"ONCE INSIDE HER apartment, Caroline closed the door, leaned her head against it, and wondered how much longer she could tempt fate without crossing the line. She'd never been so drawn to another man as she was to Mick. Last night, he'd almost kissed her. She knew it, and she'd wanted him to, although the frightening undercurrent that they might be related made her push him away.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair wondering how she'd ever resist the magnetism between them. It was so strong that she'd rushed to him the night he'd cried out for help. They'd known each other less than twenty-four hours, but she'd shot out of bed and knew exactly what to do. He'd clung to her, not as a lover, but as someone desperately seeking an anchor. That night, she was his anchor. It frightened her right down to her toes, as much as it thrilled her. Now she
had
to know, and could not forget why she'd accepted the assignment at ZyQyx in the first place. This was her journey of discovery. So far she'd stumbled on a tangled web of accusations for which she found no basis, a deep and abiding dislike and distrust between two of the principal 100

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

players in this quasi-game—Mick and Ian—and a family that held such a natural attraction to her, she wanted to prove their kinship as much as she wanted to deny it.

"Heaven help me," she murmured. "I've got to find the answers and put my fears to rest. I've got to do it now." Before she and Mick did something unspeakable that went beyond forgiveness.

* * * *