She stared at the ceiling and hugged herself as she played back their night together in her mind. She shivered with remembered pleasure. Dear God, the pleasure. She felt as though she’d immersed herself in sensation after sensation. And in Sean. He was…well, he was perfect. For her. Could being with someone be this simple? She honestly didn’t think so. Alan was proof of that. It had to be the island, the escape from real life, from any real responsibilities or stress.
She grinned. Of course that hadn’t stopped her from agreeing to see Sean again tonight. Much less staying in his bed and snoozing half the morning away after he’d dressed and gone to work. But multiple orgasms, as she was learning, weakened a woman’s ability to say no.
She wasn’t really complaining.
She sat up and spied the small gift-store bag lying at the foot of the bed. She dumped it out…and laughed at the pile of tropical-print silk bikini underwear. Then she read the note that had been tucked in with them. “Don’t plan on having any of these left by the time you fly back to the States. Yours, Sean.”
She grinned, she blushed…she got aroused all over again.
She dragged the covers back and climbed out of bed. What a wanton she’d become, she thought as she padded naked to the bathroom and flipped on the shower. She stretched as steam filled the room. But it felt so damn good, she thought. She’d needed this. The trip away, the wild sex, the fast flirtation, the laughter…the falling a little bit in love.
She froze as that last part tripped through her brain, then laughed. But it sounded phony even to her own ears. Falling in love. Well, okay, falling in lust, that much she’d admit to. But she probably could fall for Sean. They’d talked long into the night last night. He’d told her about his family, about his work for the Marshals Service. He’d sounded so dedicated, it was obvious it was his whole life. She could identify with that.
She grinned, remembering when he’d told her about being part of the Special Operations team, remembering his expression when she’d laughed, telling him she’d already suspected he’d had a bit more than the average training. He’d enjoyed that. She’d told him she’d enjoy having him show her just what other special skills he had.
She’d finished telling him about her judicial ancestry, her father and how proud she was to be part of the Patrick tradition. She didn’t talk about her mom, or her unrest with her job and her childhood dreams of being a mother and wife that were still nudging at her. She didn’t tell him about Alan and how unsettling his attentions had become. With any luck, that would all be over anyway by the time she got home. Besides, it wasn’t the right time for those kinds of confessions, so early in a relation—
She stopped halfway through soaping her hair. Okay, she thought, so maybe you’re falling into a bit more than lust. The fact was he lived in Denver. She was in Louisiana. Yes, he was from there—a wonderful bonus. He had family there. But she wasn’t going to be able to sustain a long-distance relationship on the occasional holiday visit. She sighed, realizing just how ridiculous she’d sound if she were mulling this over with a friend. For God’s sake, she’d just met the man twenty-four hours ago and she was already planning some kind of long-term thing.
And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Sean’s quick smile, his laugh, the intense way he looked at her when he spoke…the things he said to her between the soft gasps they made as they pleasured each other. And she knew it wasn’t silly to dream of what could be. It was wonderful.
Maybe this was a sign, she thought as she got out and dried herself off. Meeting him here, yet sharing similar roots. She smiled as she slid a pair of the tropical-print panties up her legs, then straightened the impossibly thin little straps over her hips. Was meeting him, wanting him, being tantalized by the possibilities, a sign that she was ready for her life to move in a new direction?
Whoa. “You’re taking this way too far.” It was an island fling with a man who simply needed a break as badly as she did. Nothing more.
She didn’t want to hear that truth, even in her own head. Right now, right here, in Sean Gannon’s hotel bathroom, she wanted to dream, she wanted to explore what might be, instead of accept what had to be.
She shifted then, looked at herself in the mirror…and burst out laughing. The steam on the mirror revealed a large heart that Sean must have drawn when he’d showered before leaving for work. In the middle of the heart it read, “C U 2 Nite.”
She sighed, feeling more confused than ever. What if this wasn’t too much too soon? What if this was just two people helplessly attracted to one another? Island fling be damned. She’d take the week, see where it went. See what kinds of talks they had with one another. See what kinds of decisions they’d want to make when it was time to leave.
Right now was the time for having fun, the time for letting go, for not thinking about anything but the moment.
And maybe falling a little bit in love.
She managed to sustain that fantasy all the way back to the ferry dock. She was humming to herself as she got out of the island taxi and paid the driver. Already thinking about how she was going to while the day away before Sean met her here at the dock at five-thirty. Maybe she’d try snorkeling. There was a bounce in her step as she walked toward the dock. She could see the water taxi just coming in. Perfect timing.
She paused, then stumbled to a complete stop as a man waiting for the taxi turned and spied her. No. No, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening.
“Laurel!” he called, a smile splitting across his too perfect face. “Can you believe I’m here? After I got your note, I knew I had to. I cleared my schedule so we could spend some time alone together, work things out.”
Alan Bentley walked up to her and hugged her as she stood there, frozen in place.
6
SEAN PULLED onto the main road and headed toward downtown Alexandria. A lot had happened in four weeks. He’d made a lot of decisions, and because of those decisions, his whole life had changed. For the better, he thought, remembering how thrilled his parents had been at the news, how much he was enjoying the challenge of being one of the handful of trainers for the Special Operations program run by the U.S. Marshals at Camp Beauregard. But as he headed toward his new quarters, a small two-bedroom home on the outskirts of Alexandria, his thoughts weren’t on any of the changes he had made but on the one change he’d had no control over. Laurel Patrick walking out of his life without looking back.
Was she at the courthouse right now hearing a case? He’d seen her name in the newspapers, in the multitude of columns discussing the big Rochambeau trial she was to preside over, slated to begin in less than a month if there were no further delays. District Attorney Alan Bentley was going after a prominent member of the crime family, Jack Rochambeau, and the whole parish was talking about it. About Bentley’s run for public office in next year’s election and using this very public trial as his springboard into politics. About the controversial way he’d zoomed up the ladder in the past five years, with many a whispered comment—and some more baldly spoken—that he’d had this judge or that judge somehow pave the way for him.
About the new rumors of a brief involvement with Judge Laurel Patrick nine months earlier, and whether she was the judge whose help would carry him all the way to the state senate. She’d refused to comment on the case, or her personal life. Grainy photos had surfaced, causing a new uproar, but Judge Patrick had continued to refuse to make public comment, other than stating that she wouldn’t recuse herself from the case and that her judgment was not in question. Naturally the media was making a circus out of the whole thing. The more Laurel refused to discuss it, the more everyone else did.
Sean just wished they would stop talking about it around him. He’d told no one about his brief involvement with the young justice and didn’t intend to. He wanted to forget her. Had spent four weeks trying.
He could sooner forget his middle name. He wanted to be angry with her…and he had been, at first. Then he’d moved here and seen the fro
nt-page stories and heard the back-page whispers. Was Alan Bentley the reason Laurel had checked herself out of her hotel hours after she’d left his bed that morning? Was he the “personal crisis” that she had mentioned in the hurried note she’d left at his hotel on her way to the airport? Or was it her father, the state supreme court justice, once a beloved judge in this very parish? Seamus Patrick’s tenure on the bench was almost up and there was talk that he’d be casting his hat into the political ring, maybe against the very man currently trying his case in front of Patrick’s daughter.
Sean wished he could laugh at the soap opera being played out in the papers and on the news, as so many had before and would no doubt continue to be in the future. Louisiana was nothing if not colorful, both with its characters and its politics. He wished he could remain detached, shrug off the niggling concerns that made the back of his neck itch. His gut instinct told him that something more was going on here…something dark and murky just below the surface—another Louisiana specialty—and that Laurel was likely right smack in the middle of it.
What would she say, he wondered, if he wandered into the courthouse and knocked on the door to her chambers? Would she be surprised in a good way? Or would it upset her that her island lover was waltzing back into her life when it was obviously on the verge of scandal? Would she even agree to see him at all?
He slowed as he reached the turnoff that would take him right by the courthouse. “Move on, Gannon. Get over her,” he muttered, not for the first time. But somehow, this time, his car made the turn. And the next thing he knew he was standing outside the door of her chambers, talking to one of the clerks.
“I’m sorry, she’s hearing motions at the moment. Is this in regard to one of her cases?” The young man noted the U.S. Marshals insignia on Sean’s shirt.
It was sort of a tricky question, Sean thought. It was a case, an upcoming one in particular, that had led him to this spot. “In a way. I do need to speak with her.” He’d decided this was the only way he was going to be able to move on, to put their explosive timeout-of-time experience in St. Thomas behind him. And just thinking about it that way made him cringe inwardly. An island romance where the woman left the man high and dry…and the guy couldn’t stop panting over what was never going to be. How pathetic and clichéd could he be?
“And your name, sir?” the clerk asked.
It had been a mistake coming here. Of course, his last name was on the name tag on his shirt, so it was likely Laurel was going to hear about his visit anyway. But if he turned around right now, walked out of the building, the—
“Sean?”
His head whipped around so fast he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. How many times in the past four weeks had he heard that voice in his dreams? He’d lost count. “Laurel.” She looked the same…and yet completely different. Same face, same expressive eyes, but there was a haunted look about her. No, hunted. Was it because of him?
His instincts said no, that she’d carried that look before she’d seen him in the hallway. Probably borne of the intense media scrutiny of the past few weeks.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone was more surprised than terse, but there was no real hint of welcome in it.
There must have been a million different things he had wanted to say to her, ask her, demand of her. Not a single one came to mind at the moment. He was too busy drinking her in, like a man too long in the desert without water, staring at a sparkling fountain.
They both seemed to notice the more-than-minimally interested clerk at the same time. “Why don’t we take this in chambers?” she said quietly, making it sound as if he were there on official business, when she had to know damn well it was anything but.
He merely nodded and followed her inside. Her judicial chamber was small, but tastefully appointed. She immediately walked behind her stately mahogany desk. As if she needed to put a physical barrier between them. Well, she could toss up a brick wall for all he was concerned. Now that he’d come to her, he wasn’t leaving without some answers.
Only he couldn’t seem to remember the questions.
“Why are you here, Sean?” she repeated quietly. It was then he noted the subtle hint of desperation edging her expression, if not her words.
“I didn’t come to make trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, irritated without quite knowing why. “Seems like you found enough of that all by yourself.”
There was quick flash of surprise, maybe a little hurt, then her expression was once again smooth, removed. “Sometimes it comes with the job,” she said coolly.
How had he ever doubted she could be impassive? His irritation flashed brighter. Dammit, she could remove herself emotionally from the rest of the world, but not from him. Not after what they’d shared.
That ridiculously sappy thought should have sent him striding out of the office right then and there. But he’d been one of the two people in that hotel room back in St. Thomas. And sentiment be damned, they had shared something out of the ordinary. And because they had, he didn’t hammer her with questions. He simply told her the truth. “I’m here because I’ve missed you.”
Her expression faltered and emotion—the passion he remembered so vividly—flickered briefly to life in her eyes. It was shuttered far too quickly. “I—I’m sorry. About the way things ended.”
He wanted to grab her, shake her, kiss the living daylights out of her, force her to admit to—to deal with—the electricity bouncing between them even now. He forcibly relaxed his hands, his posture. “Whatever it was that sent you running…you didn’t have to run alone, Laurel.”
“I didn’t run. I had to return home.”
“Because of this trial?”
“My work is like that sometimes. I’m sure you, of all people, understand.”
He wanted to shout at her, to demand to know how she could stand there, mere feet away, and not want to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her. Because God knew it was killing him not to touch her. “I do understand. In fact, I made some decisions specifically because my job didn’t allow much of a stable lifestyle.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the alarmed look that flickered across her lovely features. “Don’t worry. I made these decisions before I met you. Although I won’t lie and say I wasn’t less unsure of them once I had. If you’d stayed, I would have explained.”
“Explain now. What decisions?”
“I didn’t come all the way from Denver to play the lonely puppy begging for attention. I live here now.”
Her eyes popped wide and, in that instant, he was absolutely certain he’d been right earlier. Hunted was exactly the emotion he’d seen in her eyes. Along with a healthy dose of fear. Of him? That was ridiculous. But it hurt a great deal more than he was willing to admit. “I’m not stalking you, Laurel. I was offered a permanent training position out at Beauregard. I’d been considering it for some time, and after coming home for my younger brother’s wedding, I’d pretty much made up my mind to say yes. Then I met you and it seemed like fate was sending me a neon sign. But it’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I had hoped—” He broke off, suddenly wishing he’d never done this. It was obvious she wasn’t happy to see him, that he’d completely misread everything that had happened in St. Thomas.
Idiot. Brett’s getting married and Carly becoming a mother had obviously affected him to a far greater degree than he’d realized. He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important now.” He turned, walked to the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned back, needing—no matter how pathetic—one last look at her. “I just wanted you to know that I would have been there for you, Laurel,” he said quietly. “What we had, despite the brevity, affected me on some level that…” God, could he not just leave this woman’s life without making a complete and total fool of himself? Apparently not, because he finished by saying, “If you ever need someone you can trust, no matter the reason, call me.”
He supposed he’d hoped, in some corner
of his mind, that she’d stop him from leaving. Rush out into the hall, tell him she’d made a stupid mistake, that she’d been afraid. Well, that last part at least was true, he thought as he climbed angrily into his car and slammed the door. She was afraid, and if he wasn’t so upset with himself for that stupid schoolboy show he’d just put on, he’d have wondered at the real source of it. Because he was right about that hunted look. And that it had likely been there since she’d returned to Louisiana. Long before he’d stepped back into her life. The question was, once he cooled off, what—if anything—was he going to do about it?
LAUREL STOOD THERE, hands braced on the back of her chair, staring at the door of her chambers for long, long minutes after Sean had closed it behind him. Part of her was still stunned—by his sudden appearance, by his shocking announcement that he was now in Louisiana on a permanent basis. He’d known, he said, about the job offer, even before he’d met her. Before they’d sat on his hotel balcony, talking about family and work. And he hadn’t told her.
“Well, of course he didn’t,” she muttered. He’d only just met her, didn’t trust her enough to discuss that, and was probably worried that telling her would make her feel unduly pressured in some way. But he would have told her at some point. She knew that now. If she’d stayed. Of course, there was no way of knowing what all he would have shared, but she knew without doubt that Sean Gannon was an honest man. A man with integrity, a man who honored his word, who expected respect and handed it out easily when it was deserved.
Did she deserve it? He’d been angry with her, that much was clear. And she couldn’t say she blamed him. It shouldn’t have, but the fact that he’d tracked her down, just to tell her he missed her, made her feel better than she had in weeks. Yet it also shamed her. But what else could she have done?
Sean Page 7