Sweet Caroline (27 page)

"Don't you think there's something very familiar about the garden behind us, too. And the wall?" Sheila took the postcard from her son. "I can't seem to place it." She glanced at Caroline, who saw both concern and doubt in her eyes.

"You're right, child, someone's playin' a trick on you, and one on us as well." She slid the postcard back to Caroline, then placed a hand over hers once again. "Caroline, whether Mick's smart enough to tell you so himself, I know he's awfully glad you're here, too." She pushed her chair back and stood.

"Now, darlings, there's a pack of hungry Mahoneys I'll be hearin' from soon, demandin' their lunch. I'm sure you have other things you'd rather do, but you're welcome to stay. This 259

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evenin', of course, we'll be havin' a little send off for Brian and Ramona."

"Thanks, but I have to go into the office today—" said Caroline. Sheila waved aside her excuse. "I don't blame you. I'd be up to here with Mahoneys, too, if I'd had to suffer through what you did last night—Monsignor and all." Caroline smiled. "I had a lot of fun, though they were intimidating at first."

"I know that bunch almost as well as I know my own kids, and they still intimidate me at times." She turned to her son.

"Mick, will you be needin' anything else?" He looked first at Caroline then at Sheila. "No, Mum," he answered, "I think we have all we need."

* * * *

CAROLINE DIDN'T KNOW what she expected on the return trip. Mick stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Her hand rested on the leather grip at the bottom of the gearshift, only an inch away from his. Still, she might as well have been sitting in another vehicle for as much attention as he paid to her.

"Compared to yesterday, it's really cool today, isn't it?" she said, hating how ridiculously pointless that sounded, especially after they'd beaten the weather to death on the drive over. At least her words created some sound. Two hours ago, he'd been shouting at the top of his voice because she hadn't spend the night with him. Now that they'd been given the genetic green light, he said nothing. Kept his eyes trained on the road and his hands glued to the steering wheel. With a sinking heart, Caroline wondered if Mick craved the chase 260

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more than the deed. Would they be spending the night together, or had he lost interest now they it had become a

"done deal?"

I really do have to go to the office today,
she tried to convince herself. She tugged at the seatbelt that had crept too high, then folded her arms. She could be equally inscrutable.

Traffic was heavier than Caroline had expected for a Saturday morning. They'd crept along until Mick stopped at the curb in front of the Mahoney Building. He unsnapped his seatbelt, turned sideways in his seat, and stared at her. When her stomach began to churn on the taste of orange juice quickly souring, she knew she'd had enough of his silent scrutiny. "What? Do I have cream cheese on my nose, or lettuce in my teeth?"

He shook his head.

"You didn't say a word for the entire drive."

"We have too much to say and not enough time to say it now," he answered, using the excuse she'd relied on each time he'd tried to get to the truth. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, lightly dusting the pads of her fingertips with a kiss. "Tonight. Six o'clock. My place. No more excuses, no more lies."

Dizzy with relief, she slipped her hand away and raised it to her lips, tasting the scent of cologne that lingered from his touch. Over the quiver of anticipation that sizzled around inside her, Caroline smiled. "I'll be there with bells on—" She looked Mick straight in the eyes. "And very little else."

* * * *

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ZYQYX, MUCH TO Caroline's surprise buzzed with activity. Everyone who'd left early the afternoon before to prepare for Brian and Ramona's wedding showed up today to make up their lost time.

Amazed, she watched the staff troop in, some still a little bleary-eyed, but most jolly, dropping tidbits they'd gleaned from guests and each other, and settling into the work they'd come to finish.

Caroline remembered what she thought the first time she walked into the lobby and saw the women she now knew very well, chatting and happy. ZyQyx was then and, two weeks later, a great place to work. These were truly happy employees. What a shame Ian didn't recognize it. Unlike the rest, Caroline's heart was not into the tasks at hand. She checked her programs and reconfirmed her findings of the last two days before beginning to draft an outline of her final report, the one Ian would use in deciding whether to bring charges against Brian Mahoney. Caroline had temporarily plugged the leak. It was only a matter of time before the people who were stealing funds stopped altogether or waged a new assault. Although the

"evidence" against Brian still loomed, she'd planned to make a strong case that he'd been set-up and that Ian needed to involve the high tech crimes divisions of law enforcement to find the real perpetrators. They had the equipment, technology, and authority to take the investigation to the next level, far beyond her expertise. She feared however, that if parts of the report were taken out of context, and she had to 262

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trust that Ian would never stoop to that, her findings would send Brian Mahoney away for a long, long time. An hour later, she still had not completed the first paragraph of the report. Her mind had simply refused to stop thinking about Mick and the night that lay ahead for them.

"That's it," she said, turned off her computer, and picked up the phone. Between now—a little past three, and six this evening—she was going to be massaged, styled, waxed and manicured until she glowed. "Sorry, Ian, tomorrow's another day."

* * * *

MICK SPENT HIS day working, too. He alternated between a microscope and advanced scientific equations that concerned his latest project, the implosion in Saudi that had gone terribly awry.

At three, the driver from a Bay Area parcel service knocked at his door with a package Mick had been expecting all day, from Lisette Mustafa. That in hand, he closed the books on the day's labor and left his office to pick up the last few things critical to the evening ahead.

He returned in less than an hour, and by five-thirty, had to force himself to stop pacing. Caroline had promised to meet him at six, yet there'd been no sign of her all day. Was he the only one looking forward to this evening with such anticipation? Had he misread her? Was this nothing more than a casual encounter?

Mick liked to think of himself as a worldly man, certainly not a Don Juan, and certainly not as experienced as his 263

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reputation, but he'd lived life with gusto and enjoyed sharing what he'd learned to bring pleasure to the woman he was with. None of them were lasting relationships and that suited him fine. Then he'd met Caroline, and he'd wanted her from the first moment he saw her, when he'd opened his eyes on the plane staring straight at her slender thighs. For a few seconds, until he'd found his bearings, he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Later that day, he'd walked in the back door of the Calla Lily Inn and saw her sitting in the bar, fingers flying across the keyboard of her laptop. He knew then that one day he'd have her. As the days and nights unfolded, with Caroline just a few feet across a hallway, his fantasies grew, until now. Tonight he'd face the challenge of making reality better than a dream for both of them.

* * * *

CAROLINE RAN THROUGH two amber lights to make it home in time, but at 5:45 p.m., pampered and purring from an afternoon at the spa, and loaded down with packages containing things she'd never consider buying if she were in her right mind, she raced up the steps.

At the top of the stairs, she saw a large white box leaning against her door. It was wrapped with an elegant velvet ribbon a shade not quite cerise but close, trimmed with matching lace. She forgot her own packages and took only the white box inside with her.

No card, but none was needed. She separated the tissue paper until her fingertips touched something as soft and 264

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smooth as the down of a gosling, in the same shade of pink as the velvet ribbon. Gently she lifted it and held it high. It was full length silk caftan, with intricate beading sewn along the front panel covering the tiny silk bows that held the two pieces of the bodice together—or not. She turned on a light to see the color better, then held it up to her shoulders in the mirror. Immediately, her skin looked softer and smoother, and her eyes, a deeper shade a violet. Caroline had seen color make dramatic differences in others, never before in herself.

In the afternoon light, she saw that each tiny bead, mostly seed pearls, had been hand-sewn separately and with such care, she could only imagine how many hours it had taken. This was far more than a fabulous garment, it was a piece of art.

With that discovery, she knew the white satin teddy and jacket she'd picked up on her shopping spree looked garish and tawdry by comparison. Not that garish and tawdry didn't have their place, she thought, just not tonight. With the caftan, Mick had set the mood—elegant and sensual, not hot and hip.

She opened the closet, found a hanger for the caftan then started to close the box when she found something else. A thong made of exactly the same fabric as the caftan.

"Mick, you rascal." To elegant and sensual, he'd added a dash of hot and hip.

* * * *

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AT THE SOUND of Caroline racing up the steps, Mick breathed a heavy sigh of relief, almost enough to extinguish the fifty-odd candles he'd placed around the living room and in a trail that led to his bed. He couldn't believe he'd done that either. It seemed almost too much and at the same time, just right. There were slivers of dark chocolate melting in a small dish near a bowl of fresh strawberries, and a vintage Dom chilling in ice on the breakfast bar, next to two crystal champagne flutes.

The weather was cooperating, too. A storm was heading down from Canada, bringing with it a chilly mist and heavy fog. Enough that after lighting the candles, Mick would touch the match to the kindling in the fireplace, and with one log, chase away the chill from the windows he'd purposely left open.

At the time Caroline was picking up the box that held his gift, he was watching through the peephole, feeling only a tiny bit guilty for spying. Well, it wasn't really spying, and the payoff came when she ignored her own packages in favor of his. A few minutes later, she'd raced back out and collected the things she'd left in the hall.

He'd smiled and walked to his room to finish dressing, humming Sweet Caroline as he did.

* * * *

CAROLINE SHOWERED QUICKLY. As part of her spa treatment, they'd trimmed and shampooed her hair, so she didn't have to bother with that now. They'd waxed just about every inch of her, leaving no razor cuts to deal with either. 266

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Under the spray of a steaming hot shower, she slathered on enough scented bath jell to chase away the remnants of the massage oil. She stepped out the tub smelling like a bouquet of summer flowers with skin as smooth and soft as the petals of a rose.

Make-up just right, hair doing as she'd hoped, Caroline picked up the thong and stepped into the strings that passed for leg holes and slid the silk confection up onto her hips, grateful now that she'd gone for the momentary pain of a hot bikini wax. The cerise patch didn't cover much, leaving her doubly grateful that weight control had never been a problem and that she'd kept religiously to her daily workouts. She slipped the caftan over her head and saw why the thong had been included. The silk was so thin and delicate that a panty line would have shown no matter how high the cut of the bikinis she'd planned to wear. There wasn't room for a bra either, which suited her fine. Her breasts were small, a trait she had never been ashamed of as so many of her high school friends had been, sixteen-year-olds who had breast augmentation to enhance their self-esteem. Caroline had thought they were idiots and told them so. "Try being a foot taller than anyone but the jocks," she complained one day.

"Then come talk to me about your breasts and self-esteem." She didn't know if all small-breasted women shared the same benefit, but hers never failed to react to the touch of soft fabric, feathery kisses, or a soft, warm palm. Tonight her senses were in high gear. The moment the cerise silk brushed against her nipples, they hardened and sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

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She checked her make-up one last time, then pushed her hair back, holding the two coppery skeins in place with gold and pearl barrettes. One last look in the mirror told her she was ready, just as the clock on the wall chimed six. 268

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WITH HIS DOOR open wide, Mick leaned against the bar watching for the moment Caroline stepped into the hallway. Nothing had prepared him for the thrill at his first glimpse of her. Even from a distance of several yards, he saw how the silk sculpted her body, moving with her as she took each step. "Easy, boy, easy," he whispered, as if he cautioning an overanxious pet.

He met her at the threshold, where she took his hand and stepped inside. She'd left her door open behind her, not as a route of easy escape but as a natural extension of their shared freedom.

"You look incredible," he whispered, soaking in every inch of her from the gold and pearl barrettes that held her hair in place to the tiny peaks of her nipples that stood erect against the dark pink silk.

"You do, too," she managed, although it sounded more like a croak than a whisper.

Under the scrutiny of those violet eyes, Caroline suddenly felt shy and vulnerable. For days she'd waited for this moment, the time she could walk into Mick's arms, open and unafraid. Now all the insecurities of a lifetime seemed to be popping out of nowhere. Why would a man, a total Adonis, want to make love to a purple-eyed pumpkin head?