Internal Affair

by Marie Ferrarella

Patrick blew out a breath. The verdict was in. Coming here had not been a good idea. “Patience never learned to think before she spoke,” he growled as he glared at his sister.

  “That’s okay, I like spontaneous,” Maggi told the younger woman. She felt herself hitting it off with Patience instantly. “I get to find out a lot more that way.”

  “So, how do you like working with my brother?” Patience shifted so that her body blocked Patrick’s. “You can be honest. I had to grow up with him.”

  Maggi crossed the minefield cautiously. “It’s interesting.”

  Patience glanced over her shoulder at her brother. She nodded her approval. “Tactful, too. I think this one’s a keeper, big brother.” She turned back to Maggi. “Most of his partners start talking to their guns by the second week. Transfers usually come by the second month.”

  “Can’t budge her with a crowbar,” Patrick muttered as he picked up another wineglass. It was hours before he had to drive home. Right now he was thinking that he’d done smarter things in his life. Bringing Maggi here was a mistake.

  Patience leaned into Maggi. “You hang in there, girl,” she cheered the other woman on. “He’s got a rough surface, but once you scratch it, there’s a pussycat underneath.”

  Maggi laughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of a mountain lion.”

  “Oh?” Patience raised an interested eyebrow in Maggi’s direction. She looked from the woman to her brother and then smiled impishly. “Excuse me, I think I need some more wine.”

  “Less,” Patrick informed her tersely as she started to walk away. “You need less wine.”

  Patience shook her head. “He never stops trying to boss me around. I’m twenty-six years old, Patrick,” she told him fondly, then brushed a kiss across his cheek, “and can stand on my own two feet.”

  “Too much wine and you’ll wind up not standing at all,” he called after his sister’s retreating form.

  When he looked back at Maggi, she had that cat-got-into-the-cream look on her face.

  “I’m glad you brought me. I’m finding out a lot about you.” When he scowled at her, she just kept on talking. “For instance, I never would have thought you were the protective type.”

  Definitely a bad idea. Next time he had an impulse, he was going to sit on it until it passed. “I didn’t bring you here so that you could spin theories about me.”

  She cocked her head. “Why did you bring me here?”

  He struggled against a very strong desire that could not be acted upon here. Fortunately. “Does everything have to have a reason with you?”

  Maggi’s expression was the very personification of innocence. “I thought you liked logic.”

  He reached for the glass in her hand. “Let me go refill your glass.”

  Maggi looked down at her glass. “It’s not empty yet.”

  But Patrick made his claim. He needed a couple of minutes to himself. Away from her. “No rule that it has to be.” With that, he walked off.

  Maggi sighed, staying where she was.

  “Never saw him this skittish before. He must really like you.”

  The deep male voice was right behind her. Maggi turned around and found herself gazing up into Andrew’s eyes. She shook her head. He read far too much into this. “I think I just rub him the wrong way.”

  “Then he wouldn’t have brought you here, would he?”

  “I’m afraid I really don’t know quite what your nephew is capable of.” She shrugged half-helplessly.

  For now, Andrew decided to leave the subject alone. It was enough that Patrick had brought her. If it was meant to be, the rest would work itself out. Maybe with a little help from him, but not yet. All in all, she was a lovely young woman, just the kind he’d envisioned for his nephew. Her being in law enforcement didn’t hurt, either.

  Andrew regarded her thoughtfully. “McKenna, I used to know a McKenna. Matthew McKenna. Great cop.”

  Pleasure lit up within her. It always did when she heard something nice about her father. “Thank you, I’ll tell him you said that. He’s my father.”

  Andrew laughed, pleased. “Small world. Tell him hello for me. Better still, bring him around sometime.” He gestured about the teeming area. “Always room.”

  She didn’t want to get ahead of herself.

  What ahead? Once reports are filed and he finds out what you’ve been up to, you’re never going to see him again. He’ll make sure of it.

  She smiled politely. “Thank you, I really appreciate the invitation, but I think that depends on how Patrick feels.”

  He understood her reticence. Patrick was not always the easiest man to get along with. “He’s a good kid. Turned out all right seeing as how he was always butting his head against a wall.”

  Her interest piqued, she looked at the older man. “Excuse me?”

  Andrew couched it as well as he could. “My brother Mike had trouble with the ground rules when it came to raising kids. He never realized that you needed to praise ’em as well as correct them.” He nodded at a late arrival who called out to him. “Nothing Patrick did was ever good enough. A lot of kids turn out bad with that kind of background.”

  “But he had you.” Her observation caught him by surprise, but as he started to demur, Maggi said, “Anyone can see how he feels about you. Personally, I think you worked miracles with him.” She kept an eye on the kitchen doorway, waiting for Patrick to return. She didn’t want him to hear her talking to his uncle about him. “When I first met him, I wouldn’t have guessed that he had any family ties at all.”

  “He runs deeper than most people know,” Andrew told her.

  Just then, she saw Patrick working his way toward them. He held a drink in each hand. He’d not only topped off her glass, but gotten a new one of his own as well. “I think I see my drink coming.”

  One of the things Andrew attributed his longevity to was his keen sense of survival. “I’d better slip away before he thinks we’re conspiring against him.” He smiled at her. “Nice talking to you.”

  By the time she said, “Same here,” Andrew had already disappeared into the crowd.

  But not soon enough for Patrick to miss his presence. He handed Maggi her glass. “What were you and Uncle Andrew talking about?”

  She surprised herself with how easily she could slip into a lie.

  “My dad.” Maggi consoled herself with the fact that she hadn’t told him a complete lie. Andrew had mentioned her father. “The two of them worked together a time or two.”

  Patrick groaned.

  She didn’t think what she’d said merited that kind of response. “What’s wrong?”

  “Cousins, six o’clock. A whole flock of them.”

  Before she knew it, Patrick took her hand and ushered her toward the patio door and the yard that lay beyond. But their path of escape was cut off. Too many bodies in the way to reach the exit in time.

  His cousins descended on him before he ever had a chance.

  Left with no choice, Patrick surrendered. He introduced her to his uncle Andrew’s daughters, Callie, Teri and Rayne and braced himself.

  The next five hours slipped by faster than she thought possible. And then she was saying good-night, promising to return some other day as Patrick all but hurried her into his car.

  She didn’t stop smiling all the way to her house, but she had to admit, when they arrived there, she half expected Patrick to stop his car only long enough for her to get out. When he cut off the engine and walked her to her door, she knew she believed in the miracle of Christmas.

  Maggi took out her key. “I had a wonderful time, Cavanaugh. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You already said that,” he reminded her. “In the car.”

  The man did not take thanks graciously, she thought. “Maybe it bears repeating.”

  There was a leaf in her hair. She’d brushed against a tree branch getting into his car. Patrick removed it, his fingers touching her hair. Needs rose a little higher. “And maybe you�
�re just nervous.”

  Breathe, Mag, breathe. “What would I have to be nervous about?”

  He nodded at the door behind her. He noticed she wasn’t opening it. “Maybe you’re afraid I’ll ask myself in.”

  “And maybe I’m afraid you won’t,” she countered.

  Somehow his hands found themselves around her waist. Even through the coat, she felt small. “Anybody ever tell you you’re pushy?”

  “I get that all the time.” She took a breath. Mistake number five hundred and twelve. “So, would you like to come in?”

  Yes, his brain responded. Which was exactly why he tried to refuse. “It’s late. I’d better not.”

  He was wavering, she could see it. He was as uncertain about all this as she was. Two people in a boat made out of paper, approaching the rapids. She turned her face up to his. “Whatever you say.”

  He started to leave, he really did. His foot was poised to pivot away from her and take the first step that would lead him from the apartment door to his car.

  But somehow, he couldn’t push off. Not when the moonlight was glistening along her lips. Not when every fiber of his being wanted him to kiss her.

  “How come you don’t have any mistletoe?”

  She blinked. Had she heard him right? “What?”

  “In your doorway. You have the door gift-wrapped with a wreath smack in the middle, but you don’t have any mistletoe.”

  “I thought it might be overkill.” She raised herself up ever so slightly, bringing her mouth even closer. Tantalizing him. “But if you’d like, you could pretend there’s a mistletoe hanging right there.” She pointed overhead.

  He never took his eyes off her. “Works for me.”

  The next moment, he’d enveloped her in an embrace that shut out the world and opened the door to a far more intimate, dangerous place.

  Chapter 18

  As he assaulted her senses with openmouthed kisses, Patrick took the key from her. Though it felt as if his hands never left her body, somehow he managed to open her front door.

  The instant he did, he moved them inside, away from prying eyes. She heard the door shut, felt the warm flare of intimacy taking hold.

  The whole room was spinning as if she’d consumed more than her share of alcohol instead of the very little that she had. Maggi drew her head back, dragging in the air she so badly needed.

  Something was happening here, she thought. Something very special. She didn’t want to name it.

  Maggi draped her arms around his neck. “Smooth,” she commented, as her eyes indicated the door.

  He turned on the light. He wanted to see her, all of her.

  The soft nap of the velvet aroused him as it moved against his palms.

  “Necessary.” Where was the zipper on this thing? He couldn’t find one. “You don’t want to be arrested on Christmas Eve for indecent exposure.”

  Unable to hold back, Maggi rained kisses on his face, his throat. The eagerness built. Her heart started to hammer faster again. “Am I going to be indecently exposed?”

  “Just as fast as I can figure out how to get this dress off you,” he breathed.

  Maggi took a step back. She smiled up into his eyes as she reached behind her neck and undid three tiny hooks that held her gown close to her. The two ends parted, sighing as they slid from her shoulders.

  Patrick felt his body tighten like a string being drawn across the bridge of a violin. He tugged on the fabric still hugging her waist. The top of her dress sagged the rest of the way down to her hips. He placed his hands over them, bringing Maggi closer to him as his mouth covered hers.

  The velvet moved from her hips and sank to the floor. When he finally looked at her an eon later, she stood before him wearing only her heels and a small gold locket around her neck.

  Perfect.

  Swallowing did nothing to alleviate the dryness in his mouth.

  “Nothing indecent about this,” he murmured.

  The look in his eyes made her feel beautiful. And so eager she could barely stand it. Her hands flew as she unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled, bringing him to the same stage of undress as her within several hard heartbeats.

  The rest became a blur of pleasuring, of reexploring and reclaiming. It was both familiar and new. And very, very special.

  Trembling, she cleaved her body to his. Soft against hard. Desire spiked through her like an erratic pulse. She was certain he was going to take her right there, before the darkened Christmas tree. Heat traveling through her at lightning speed, she reached for him.

  He chose that moment to sweep her from the floor and pick her up in his arms. His voice was low, raspy. “Your bedroom.”

  She wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him. There was this rushing noise in her ears again and all she wanted was to make love with him right here, right now.

  “What?”

  “Your bedroom, woman,” he growled. He didn’t want to take her a second time on the floor, as if he was some kind of animal that couldn’t contain himself. The least he could do was offer her the nicety of a bed. “Where is it?”

  “Where I left it.” For just a beat, her mind went blank. “Back there.” She pointed vaguely to the rear, then framed his face with her hands as she kissed him hard, excitement racing through her at speeds so great Maggi didn’t think she would ever catch her breath again.

  As she felt him cross the threshold, she remembered the state in which she’d left the room. There were clothes all over the bed and draped on the chairs.

  “It’s messy,” she warned.

  “It’s about to get messier.”

  Without looking, he used his elbow to clear away a space as he laid her down. The next second, he was there beside her, his body twining with hers.

  She had no time to protest. Patrick’s mouth was over hers, his hands sweeping along her body, making it hum songs she never thought it knew.

  Clothes tumbled to the floor as she and Patrick twisted and turned, finding new places along each other’s bodies, finding new highs.

  She wanted this to go on forever. No tomorrows, no yesterdays; they were both framed in lies. All she wanted was now. Forever now.

  Now was pure.

  She tightened around him when he entered her, lifting her hips from the bed, losing herself entirely in the act. Praying that he would remember this moment when the rest happened.

  “You keep looking at your watch, Mag-pie. You still have something in the oven?”

  Preoccupied, Maggie had entered the kitchen to get a bottle of cider from the refrigerator. A few feet away was a long dining room table, formally set. Twelve close friends, both her father’s and hers, milled around, catching up and waiting for dinner to be served.

  But Patrick wasn’t among them.

  He’s not coming. What did you expect? Flowers? Christmas presents? Snap out of it, Mag. You’re a modern woman, not some Victorian wuss.

  Her hormones were all over the board today. She felt like crying, like laughing. Like running to the window to watch for him. Like throwing up because she was so nervous.

  All morning, she’d been completely out of synch. She chalked it up to rushing around so much. But she’d wanted everything to be perfect.

  As if it mattered. The people out there didn’t care. They were her friends.

  And he was…

  He was a definite unknown in all this.

  Patrick had left her apartment shortly before two, despite the fact that she’d harbored the secret hope he would spend the night. But that would have meant waking up next to her on Christmas morning. Too much commitment on his part, she supposed.

  Apparently so was showing up for Christmas dinner.

  She turned around, sparkling cider bottle in hand. She wasn’t about to lie to her father, even if she couldn’t tell him the full story.

  “No, Dad, I thought maybe my partner and his sister would show up.” She closed the door. “I invited them over.”

  Matthew quietly studied his daughter a
s she spoke. “So you’re getting along with him, this new partner of yours?”

  She thought of last night. Of the way Cavanaugh had made her body sing. “Yes, Dad, I’m getting along with him.”

  Matthew’s eyes never left his daughter’s face. Something in her voice gave him pause. “But it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

  She sighed, shaking her head, an amused smile on her lips. “Once in a while I wish you were a little less intuitive.”

  The microwave oven bell went off. Since he was closer, he opened the door and looked in. The rolls were ready. “I have to be. You never tell me anything. When you were a girl, you had all those girlie secrets of yours and I wasn’t allowed in. Now that you’re on the force, it’s even worse.”

  She brushed a kiss across his cheek impulsively. She was more grateful for his existence in her life than she could ever put into words. “You know I can’t talk about a case.”

  “I thought we were talking about your partner—” Matthew’s eyebrows drew together. The light came on. “He’s your case? You’re working with Mike Cavanaugh’s kid, aren’t you?”

  “You know I am.”

  She looked at her watch again. Cavanaugh was more than half an hour late. Something told her he wasn’t going to show up no matter how long she held dinner. Maybe last night had scared him off. God knows the teeth-jarring intensity of making love with him scared the hell out of her. Even so, she had to resist the temptation to call him and demand to know why he was standing her up. If she did that, he’d have an inkling that having him over for dinner meant something more to her than another place setting at the table. The less she gave away, the better.

  A little late for that, wouldn’t you say, Mag?

  She bet the bastard hadn’t even told his sister she’d invited them.

  Suddenly she squared her shoulders. She had guests who were waiting and a turkey to carve. “C’mon, Dad, it’s time to eat. I’m not about to keep everyone else waiting for one rude man.”

  But as she began to walk out of the kitchen, Matthew drew her aside for one last father-daughter moment. “Men are funny, Mag-pie. Sometimes, when they stumble onto a good thing, instead of embracing it, they run.”