Love and Mistletoe

by Zara Keane

  “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.

  “If you take care of the criminal side of the research, I’ll focus on the psychological aspect. I attended a lecture by a forensic psychologist last semester on revenge porn. I’ll e-mail her to see if she’d be willing to have a chat with me.”

  To her amusement, Brian was scribbling notes with one hand while typing with the other.

  “How do you manage that?”

  “Huh?” He considered her for a second. “Oh, the writing-typing combo. Practice. I have to do a lot of paperwork as part of my job. Actually, I spend more hours on admin than I do out of the station. If I get promoted, I’ll have even more of it to do.”

  She leaned her elbows on the table and stared into his light blue eyes. They reminded her of the sky on a warm summer day. “Are you doing a degree to help you get ahead in the police force?”

  “Yeah. At least, that was my motivation for starting one. If I don’t get some sort of qualification, I’ll keep treading water and stay at the rank of garda until I retire.” He spun his pen between two fingers in a windmill fashion. He had nice hands. Big, strong, dependable. Sort of like the man himself.

  “How are you finding the academic side of it?”

  “Challenging, but I’m surprised at how much I’m enjoying it.” He set the pen down and drained the last of his tea before tossing the cup into the wastepaper basket beside their table. “What about you? Do you like psychology?”

  “Yeah, I do. I started out studying sociology but switched to psychology after my first semester. I’ll admit I haven’t always been a model student, but I’ve done well enough to scrape a pass in my exams. This year, though, it’ll be different.”

  “Because your mother died.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah. I told her I’d knuckle down and finish my degree. I need to think of my future. I don’t fancy staying on the farm and being treated like crap by my dad for the rest of my life, so I need to get a job that pays more than the minimum wage. Only way to do that these days is to have a degree. Even then…” She shrugged.

  “Most employers will tell you to get a postgrad degree,” he finished for her.

  “Exactly. At least with psychology, I can get part-time work at a clinic or children’s home while I’m getting my master’s.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.” He smiled again—a warm, wide grin that melted her insides and turned her mind to mush.

  “It’s all dependent on me getting good grades this year.” Not to mention escaping the farm and her father. If she didn’t get away from the caustic atmosphere, she’d fall apart before Christmas.

  “In that case, let’s make sure this research paper rocks.” Brian closed his laptop and slid it into its protective case. “Can I give you a lift back to Ballybeg? I need to squeeze in a couple of hours at the station.”

  “Thanks, but I have to hit the library.”

  “Sensible girl.” He stood, then hovered awkwardly, the self-possession of earlier ebbing away with each second. “I’m glad you’re my partner,” he said finally, a serious expression on his face. “I think we’ll work well together over the next few months.”

  “I’m delighted to be your new partner.” She let the innuendo linger in the air, noted the familiar blush stain his cheeks once he registered the double entendre. If she played her cards right, they’d be doing a lot more than working together. In her opinion, Garda Brian Glenn was in desperate need of a girlfriend who’d ignite his wild side. She fully intended to be that woman.

  Chapter Five

  WITHIN A COUPLE OF WEEKS of being partnered with Sharon for the semester project, Brian had fallen into the surprisingly comfortable pattern of studying with her twice a week. Sometimes, they’d go out to a café or a pub after they’d finished their work. Other times, they’d part on the steps of the study center. Regardless of where they took their leave of one another, there was always an odd, electrically charged tug-of-war between them. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming. He’d always had a crush on Sharon MacCarthy, even if he’d been loath to admit it to himself.

  Outside Ballybeg, she was a toned-down version of the brash, insouciant charmer who’d both fascinated and infuriated him in the four years he’d lived there. Her crazy dress sense was the same, regardless of the setting, but her humor was wittier, and her sharp intelligence was a pleasant surprise. By constantly telling him, herself, and—presumably—the world, that she’d never be as smart as her older brother, Sharon was selling herself short.

  “So,” he said, shutting his laptop, “want to relocate to a nonacademic environment?”

  Her throaty laugh was infectious. “I could murder a burger.”

  “Now, now. Careful what you say in front of a cop.” He returned her grin and sensed the heat between them as keenly as if it were an erotic caress. “How about the new place on Penrose Quay? My treat. They’re supposed to serve great gourmet burgers and American-style fries.”

  “My mouth is watering at the very thought.” She grabbed her book bag and followed him out into the crisp October evening. They took the bus into the city center. The Christmas lights would soon be out, and he couldn’t wait. Brian loved Christmas. The lead up to it, the day itself, and the aftermath. He also loved Cork City, which surprised him. He’d grown up on a farm in Donegal. His first exposure to a city was a day excursion to Belfast when he was eight. He’d hated the experience. The crowds were claustrophobic, the shops too large, the hustle and bustle too fast. Whether it was being an adult or a preference for the lazier pace, he liked Cork City, and the upstairs front row on the double-decker bus afforded him an excellent view of the River Lee.

  Sharon’s heel caught on the step as they alighted from the bus, sending her stumbling into him.

  He held her steady. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m not wearing bus-friendly footwear.”

  He grinned down at her sparkly blue stiletto heels. “I wouldn’t say those shoes are safe in any circ
umstances.”

  “What can I say? I like fancy shoes, even if they don’t always like me.”

  “Come on.” He linked arms with her, noting her surprise that was quickly followed by a teasing grin. He propelled her into motion. “Let’s find our restaurant. I’m starving.”

  They found Tommy’s Bar and Grill with ease. Despite it being packed, they didn’t have to wait longer than fifteen minutes to get a table.

  Sharon peered at him over the enormous menu. She’d opted for pink sparkly eye shadow today and navy eyelashes. It should have looked garish. And, in a way, it did. If any woman could pull off garish, it was Sharon. “What are you having?” she asked.

  “I’m debating between the double hamburger with avocado and bacon, or its Swiss cheese and relish equivalent.”

  She perused the menu. “I’m going for the blue cheese burger with a side order of crinkly fries.”

  “Sounds delicious. Are you having a drink? Might as well, seeing as we’re both taking public transport back to Ballybeg.”

  Her plump lips curved into a smile. “A glass of Merlot would go down nicely.”

  “In that case, I’ll order a bottle.”

  “Ooh,” she teased, “sounds like we’re making a night of it.”

  “I guess we are,” he said, suddenly serious.

  Their eyes met for an elongated moment. To his amazement, Sharon’s face grew pink. He reached out and stroked her cheek. The skin under his fingertips was silky soft. “Isn’t turning red as a fire engine supposed to be my role?”

  “I’m not blushing.” She fanned herself wildly. “It’s the heat in here.”

  “Yeah, right.” His fingers skimmed her chin. The sensation sent a jolt of longing vibrating through his body. From the way her eyes widened, then clouded with lust, he was having a similar effect on her. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering a few centimeters from hers.

  At that moment, the waiter materialized to take their order. Exhaling a whistle, Brian released Sharon’s chin and drew back. Within a couple of minutes, the waiter had furnished them with wine glasses and a carafe of rich red liquid.

  “Sláinte.” Brian clinked his glass against Sharon’s. When his fingers touched hers, her sharp intake of breath acted like a fan to his already inflamed libido. “I owe you an apology.”

  She blinked in surprise. “For what?”

  “For jumping to conclusions about you. The Book Mark vandalism, the bath bombs… I’m sorry.”

  “To be fair, I gave you plenty of reasons to suspect me of all sorts during your first couple of years in Ballybeg. I’m no saint.”

  He laughed. “No, you’re definitely not, but as far as I’m aware, you haven’t done anything illegal for over two years.”

  “Nothing you’ve caught me for.” Sharon grinned over the rim of her wine glass, then grew serious. “I don’t want to end up like my father and brothers. Apart from Ruairí, they’ve all done time. And I definitely don’t want to end up like my mother—married to a loser with a passel of kids and no money. A degree won’t guarantee I’ll have a better life than she did, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

  “Yes, it is.” He reached across the table and took her hands. “All the more reason to make sure our semester project is the best we can make it.”

  “Why are you doing a degree? Do you need one for work?”

  He nodded. “If I want a promotion, I need something to make me stand out. It’s not like I’ll get it through solving complicated crimes in Ballybeg.”

  “Do you want to become a detective or something? No offense, but you’ve never struck me as wildly ambitious.”

  “No offense taken. I’m not ambitious in the way Seán Mackey is. I don’t need a fancy office and a personal driver, and I actually like policing a small area like Ballybeg. I did my training in Dublin and hated it. Couldn’t wait to escape. I was delighted to be posted down here. I grew up in a village, and that’s the sort of community I want to live in.”

  “So why the driving need to get a degree?”

  “I don’t want to stay at the rank of garda for the rest of my career. Some day”—he felt himself blush to the roots of his red hair—“I’d like to settle down and have a family. Hard to raise kids on my current salary. A higher rank means better money.” It would also mean more esteem at the station. He was growing tired of the older reserve policemen taking the piss out of him even though he was a full-timer and outranked them.

  The waiter arrived with their order, and the meal passed in a haze of sensory impressions. The food more than lived up to the restaurant’s reputation. Every bite brought him closer to Sharon. Their hands brushed repeatedly, and he nearly shot out of his chair when she put a tentative hand on his thigh followed by a foot trailing up his calf. At some point during the meal, she must have slipped off those sexy blue sparkly shoes. He’d never seen her bare feet. Tonight, he intended to remedy that situation. “You sure you’re ready for this? It’s not too soon after your mother…”

  “Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “It’s inevitable. We’ve been leading one another on a merry dance these past few weeks. I’m starting to get dizzy.”

  He squeezed her hands. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re feeling vulnerable.”

  Sharon threw her head back and roared with laughter. “Vulnerable? Me? I’m tough as nails.”

  “You like to think you are at any rate. I don’t want you to—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a palm. The smile was still in place but her lips seemed frozen. “There’s a laundry list of reasons why we wouldn’t work, but who says we need to get serious? I’m too busy for a relationship. I’m guessing you are too.”

  “That not what I—” He broke off, sensing the unease form a barrier between them. Bringing up her mother’s death had been a mistake, but deleting the last few sentences wasn’t an option. What he’d intended to say was that he wasn’t a casual fling kind of guy, but if sex was all she wanted from him, he’d roll with the situation. He took her hand in his and stroked her inside wrist, feeling her pulse skitter under his fingertips. “We both know this is going to happen. I’m making a last-ditch attempt at being sensible.”

  Her foot scooted further up his thigh. “Being sensible is overrated.”

  His gaze skimmed her plump lips, smooth white neck, and creamy cleavage, then refocused on her warm brown eyes. “Okay, let’s take it one step at a time. Do you want to come back to my place?”

  Her lips parted in a squeal. “And get to see the Batcave? Definitely!”

  “Batcave?” he laughed. “You know where I live. Everyone in Ballybeg does. It’s no secret.”

  “True. But I’ve imagined all sorts of things about your house. You’re so sensible and correct. A secret sex dungeon is practically a given, complete with implements of torture.”

  “As I have no basement, you’re in for a disappointment. I do have an impressive liquor cabinet, though. I worked part-time in a cocktail bar while I was at police college.”

  “Can you make cocktails?”

  She’d lowered her voice to a husky whisper, sending his heart rate into acceleration mode.

  “I certainly can.”

  Sharon leaned closer and rubbed her nose against his, Eskimo-style. “Batcave, cocktails, and potentially mind-blowing sex? Let’s go!”

  Chapter Six

  THE BATCAVE PROVED to be a small two-up-two-down terrace house in the less-than-salubrious part of Ballybeg.

  “You live near my Uncle Buck,” Sharon said cheerfully. “Not to mention his pal John-Joe Fitzgerald. That must be fun for you.”

  Brian paused in the act of inserting his key in the door. “Oh, yeah. They’re fantastic neighbors. I’m constantly having to avert my eyes in case I see them up to something illegal on my day off. That pair of eejits is involved in every dodgy get-rich-quick scheme in Ballybeg.”

  He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. Sharon took off her coat and scar
f and surveyed her surroundings. The entrance hall was narrow and led to a small galley kitchen at the back of the house. A door to the right opened to reveal a tiny living room crammed with an overlarge sofa and two armchairs so stuffed they looked like they were on steroids.

  Brian closed the curtains and made a beeline for a large drinks cabinet next to a wide, flat-screen television. “What are you having? I don’t have much in the way of fruit, but there are a few limes and oranges in the kitchen.”

  “Can you make me a vodka gimlet?”

  He smiled, and when he did so, the corners of his eyes creased adorably, making her heart skip a beat. “I certainly can.” A few minutes later, he pressed a cocktail glass into her hand. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks. This looks delicious.” It tasted delicious too. She watched him mix his own cocktail. He’d opted for a whiskey sour with a slice of orange to decorate.

  “So,” he said, raising his glass. “To our research project. May we come top of the class.”

  “I’ll drink to that. I’m an eternal optimist.”

  Their glasses clinked, making a pleasant ringing noise. Instead of stepping apart, Brian closed the space between them and planted a soft kiss on her nose. Her breath caught as he trailed kisses lower before claiming her mouth with his. He tasted divine—whiskey mingled with peppermint gum. She pulled him closer, hungry for more, relishing the musky scent of his aftershave and the sensation of his thick red hair running through her fingers.

  The room spun around her, and she belatedly remembered she still had her eyes open, gawping like a teenager. She’d known he’d kiss her when he’d invited her back to his place, and she’d expected to like it. But she hadn’t anticipated a reaction this strong. She pressed her breasts against his chest and felt his heart beating, skimmed her hands down his shirt, noting the hard muscles beneath. He groaned and deepened the kiss.

  “We’d better get rid of these glasses,” she murmured into his neck.

  He whisked hers out of her hand and put both glasses on the coffee table. Pushing her back on the sofa, Brian applied himself to the task of making her swoon. He proved most adept at the job. She gasped when he trailed kisses down her neck and over her cleavage.