Sweet Caroline (16 page)

Two hours ago, he'd awakened at the sound of her climbing the front steps. He ran across his apartment but reached the peephole in his door too late to see if she'd come home alone. Hell, he was a guy and he knew what guys were like, even overblown windbags like Striker Foy. Outside his front window, Mick saw the Beamer and had lain awake since, brooding over the fact that Caroline and Striker were doing the deed approximately six feet away while he counted imaginary cracks in the ceiling tiles. At 2:30 a.m., he gave in to his Caroline-generated insomnia and threw aside the covers. Not bothering to turn on the lights, Mick paced from room to room. He didn't want to read, didn't want to watch cable, and he didn't want to go for a drive—at least not until he saw Striker sneaking out as the sun rose.

He was washing his hands in the bathroom when he heard Caroline's door open. He turned off the taps and grabbed a 150

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

hand towel. With any luck, he'd catch Striker tiptoeing down the steps and spoil
his
perfect evening, too. Instead of catching his nemesis on the prowl, Mick jumped back into the bathroom at the sound of resolute footsteps crossing the hall and the turn of the knob of his door. Instinctively, he killed the lights and threw aside the towel. He heard the door fly open and determined footsteps pass by the bathroom door. He opened it a crack and couldn't believe what he saw—Caroline Spring boldly walking into his living room, not a knock, not a hello, not anything. He looked down at himself. He stood buck naked, and she was turning on every light in the place. As much as he might have enjoyed shocking her, he was more curious to see what she was doing.

As quietly as possible, praying the bathroom door wouldn't squeak on its hinges, Mick opened it further and peered into the living room. Caroline had marched straight to the far wall, to the photographs of his family, the collage they'd dubbed the Mahoney Rogues Gallery.

After checking out several photos, Caroline appeared to fasten her attention on one, his favorite, the photo of Annie Mahoney. He never fancied himself a real photographer, but he knew that was the best picture he'd ever taken and he'd only been ten years old at the time. Definitely the high water mark of his accomplishments behind the lens. Unfortunately Annie had not been standing alone that day. With little success, Mick had tried to cut her partner out of the photo by almost standing in her face. When that failed, he'd edited the film, and managed to crop more away. If anyone 151

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

looked closely enough, as he saw Caroline looking now, they'd see someone had stood beside Annie, an arm slung around her shoulders, a proprietary hand dipping toward her breast. The picture still showed part of the top of that hand and a thumb.

Mick watched as Caroline stood riveted. He heard the seconds ticking away on the clock on the wall opposite from where he stood. The entire scene felt surreal—he, hiding in his own apartment while she stood there like she owned it. Suddenly, Caroline turned and began tossing the place. She pitched throw pillows aside, reached between the cushions on the couch, moved books and CDs, and finally, rummaged her way through his kitchen to the drawers of a buffet where he'd stored the miscellaneous things of life that didn't deserve a proper place. She was obviously looking for something, but what?

Apparently finished with the front rooms, Caroline headed toward the bedroom. Mick grabbed the closest bath towel, wrapped it around his hips and tiptoed after her.

* * * *

A RUMPLED BED. CAROLINE couldn't believe what she saw. Mick kept house like a spinster, with everything in its place or neatly folded and put away. Tonight, his bed looked like it had been slept in, and not on a particularly good night, either. The covers were tossed to one side and dragging on the floor, the pillows askew, the sheets balled.
Ha! So the man's not perfect after all.
152

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Other than a chance to view the wall of photos at her leisure, she'd come up with nothing more to show for her investigation than a big fat goose egg—nothing unusual, nothing incriminating, nothing period.

That aside, she was glad she'd had the chance to study the pre-convent photo of his aunt. It had fascinated her this morning, and now tonight as she studied the shadow, the light and the background, she knew she was still missing something, but what? It was an ordinary photo of the face of a happy, smiling young woman with a mischievous glint in her eyes. No more, no less—no halo, nothing beatific, nothing to cause the visceral sensation it had evoked in Caroline this morning and again tonight.

She decided to start with Mick's closet, wondering if she'd find the clothing jungle both Travis and Luke hid behind their closed closet doors.

Dang! His walk-in closet was as big as her kitchen at home. Mick had more clothes than she and three of her friends combined. The rack of one wall was filled with business suits, separated by color, weight and season, with tags marking each color. His shirts hung the same, and at least twenty pairs of shoes lined up like little beanie babies, all facing in the same direction, and placed in sections marked brown, black, cordovan.

As she had that morning, Caroline felt a stab of gloom. This compulsive neatness was the sign of a man who had a lived alone too long and liked it. Set in his ways and with no room for anyone to disturb his sense of order. She turned back to the rumpled bed. Except for that. 153

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Or maybe Mick had brought Mrs. Mustafa back here. Maybe they'd tossed about for hours, making love while Ian ate everything that didn't eat him first. Caroline set her jaw, swallowed her discontent and continued her search. Mick's dresser drawers were as neatly organized as his closet. Everything in place by color or function. The dress socks in one drawer—blues, blacks, browns, and tans, all labeled by color, casual in the same order, white athletic in a separate compartment. His underwear the same, by color and by style.

She picked through his jewelry, an odd assortment of cufflinks, tie tacks, a Phi Beta Kappa key, a couple of class rings, and two tiny keys that she'd bet fit locks lost long ago, an Indian head penny, and a genuine silver dollar. Nothing there—no bugs, no listening devices.

Next she went for the nightstands. Matching lamps stood on each of the two cabinets at the head of an extra-long, king-sized bed. Both had alarm clocks
and
clock radios. Apparently Dr. Mahoney was quite the heavy sleeper She started with the cabinet closest to the window. She opened the top drawer and to her amazement, found a bible and a rosary. A scientist, a scholar, a carouser, and now a man of religion. The more she learned about him, the more he surprised her.

The drawer below was empty.

She walked around the bed to the second nightstand. Beside the lamp, alarm clock and radio, she found a box of tissues and Grisham's latest novel. This had to be the side of the bed Mick favored. Nothing very telling here. 154

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

She opened the top drawer and reared back. She wasn't expecting a book of nursery rhymes, but she wasn't expecting a Ruger 9 mm. handgun either. She'd grown up with guns and could shoot as well as any man, but she hated them all the same.

She raised it to the light. At least Mick played by the rules and had removed the clip and stored it elsewhere, hopefully locked safely away from all those nephews and nieces he'd told her about today.

It didn't surprise Caroline that she found a box of condoms in the second drawer. She'd already braced herself for that, but not for this particular brand and size. The box was at least three times bigger than any she'd ever seen, covered in bright red and gold foil.

She turned on the lamp and read the "size" messages printed in huge bold type: SUPER EXTRA LARGE, LONGER

AND WIDER, GIANT-SIZED PROTECTION FOR A BIG MAN'S

PLEASURE.

"No way!"

The box was still sealed, but the end flap seemed loose. Knowing she shouldn't, but unable to resist, Caroline slipped a fingernail under the flap. The entire box of foil packets fell into her lap.

There were only six packages, 4" x 4". The first, according to the packet, was textured, feathered, and Juicy Fruitflavored.

"This I have to see." Caroline ripped open the packet and pulled out a circle of bright pink latex. When she stretched it, 155

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

she saw it was textured with zigzag ridges and a tiny plume at the tip, appropriately colored peacock blue. The condom itself was long enough and wide enough to fit her forearm. She stared at it several moments, and finally yelped, "Holy smokes!"

* * * *

FROM HIS VANTAGE point, Mick watched Caroline's invasion unobserved in the reflection of the mirror over his dresser. He'd seen her move among the clothes in his closet, then poke through his drawers. What was she looking for?

This search made no sense to him.

He knew he ought to stop her. Eventually, she'd realize he was watching. Would she be honest and tell him why? Or would she reel off some cockamamie story that neither of them believed?

Right now, she was digging a hole that was getting deeper with every drawer she opened, and so he allowed her to continue to violate his privacy, confident that she'd have tell him the truth eventually.

He'd forgotten about the condoms, a gag gift he'd bought for Brian's bachelor party next Thursday at the ranch. They weren't meant to be worn or even opened. Just something stupid to keep the party going if the rest of the guys ran out of lies and tall tales. Seeing Caroline's expression was icing on the cake. If she really thought the condoms belonged to him, all the better.

He had only a second to enjoy her shock. She recovered quickly, tossed the pink latex aside, and to his utter 156

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

amazement, dropped to her hands and knees. Standing, her nightshirt stopped an inch or two above her knees. Kneeling while she reached under his bed, it rose way up, giving him a perfect view of a swatch of red satin covering tight, hard little buns.

It's time to stop her, Mahoney.
But he was enjoying the view too much to move, and now she'd really piqued his curiosity. What in bloody hell was she looking for?

Trading the mirror's reflection for the real thing, Mick rounded the corner of the hallway until he stood smack in the middle of the doorway. So engrossed in her search, Caroline, he realized, had failed to sense his presence. Or if she had, she was so compelled to retrieve whatever she thought she'd found she didn't bother to notice. In order to give her more freedom of movement, she hiked up her nightshirt and bunched it around her waist while she slid, shoulders deep, under his bed.

Mick didn't know whether to call a halt to this ridiculous search by pulling her out by the ankles or to simply continue enjoying what was so delectably outlined by red satin and fringe. He chose a neutral stance. He picked up the stretched condom that she'd tossed aside and walked up behind her, until the soles of her bare feet were less than a foot from his toes. As if she were the ground hog, he waited for her to come out, mentally licking his chops for the moment she looked up and saw
his
shadow.

* * * *

157

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

"DANG IT!" CAROLINE groused while she stretched her fingertips toward what she was sure was a mate to the shank she'd found under her bed. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was easy to see, except that Mick's bed was a custom king, longer and wider than most. The space between the boxed springs and the floor was so narrow she had to turn her face sideways to breathe, yet she managed to grunt,

"Gotcha!" when her fingertips touched the wire. With the shank securely in her fist, Caroline inched her way back to freedom, using her elbows to propel her, and crying "ouch" and "oow" every time her hair tangled in the slats supporting the box springs.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw the light of the room. A few more pushes and she'd wriggle free. She drew a deep breath and pushed as hard as she could. Then froze in place. Something was impeding her progress, something she didn't remember being there when she started sliding under the frame. Drawing up on her knees, her bottom pointed straight in the air, Caroline gave a last pull and freed herself, but not before she banged her head on the rail of the frame.

"Damn it!" She'd turned to find her worst nightmare—bare feet, at least size 16, and long muscular legs covered with bright red hair. Unable to think of anything to say or do, Caroline groaned and buried her face in her arms.

"I prefer to find women
in
my bed rather than
under
it," Mick said. "So would you like to put this on me?" He stooped down and tickled the condom along the length of her leg. "Or shall I do it myself?"

158

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

Caroline leapt to her feet in one fluid motion, pushing away the hand Mick offered to help her. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What am
I
doing here? What are
you
doing here? Under my bed?"

With the shank clutched tightly in the hand she held behind her back, Caroline crept toward the door. "Where's that women you were with, that Mrs. Mustafa?" She heard the desperation in her voice as she tried to direct the conversation away from her.

"With Mr. Mustafa, I presume," he answered, and in one giant step, managed to block her way. "Ari was waiting in the car for us, Caroline. His foot's broken and in a cast. He didn't want to walk on it. They're long-time friends and clients. Now I'm going to ask nicely one more time, what in the hell are you doing?"

"I can explain everything." She was trying so hard to stay calm ... and failing so miserably.

Mick, wearing the expression of a warlord, now blocked the doorway, hands propped on his hips. "I'm all ears." She had to think quickly, she had to get out of there. "Not until you put on some pants."