“Stop, Moira, stop!” He slid Helen a laughing look, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Surely he couldn’t have heard what they’d been saying and still look so unconcerned. “Any story about me and Jake ends the same way—with both of us having our hides tanned by our fathers for one crime or another.”
“Damn right.” Moira tilted back her chair and looked over at Helen, her eyes dancing with humor. “I swear, this brother of mine got into more mischief than the rest of us put together.”
“I don’t know about that, Moira. I remember a few times you got into some pretty spectacular trouble yourself.” He sat next to Helen and put his arm over the back of her chair, curling his hand around her shoulder.
The feel of his warm hand on her shoulder sent pleasure twisting through her body. It felt so natural, so good, having him touch her in this casual way. Almost as if theirs was a real relationship....
Helen bit her lip. Just why was he so casual about touching her in front of his sister? Was it possible that Moira was right? That he really did have feelings for her, that somewhere deep down, he wanted more than a temporary fling?
Helen pushed the thought away. She wouldn’t think about the future. About what might happen. Right now, she was here with Patrick. And that was enough.
She forced her attention back to Patrick and Moira. They were laughing and talking about someone named Brian, and then Moira glanced over at the coffeepot. “Coffee’s done. How do you take it, Helen?”
“Black, please.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Patrick said.
Helen caught her breath. For a moment the kitchen was still and utterly silent. She almost imagined she could hear the rapid beating of her own heart—and Patrick’s.
A smile lurked around Moira’s mouth. “Black, it is. Hope you don’t mind it pretty strong.”
“Uh, no,” Helen said, her voice suddenly low and husky. “Strong is—is good.” Her gaze slid involuntarily to Patrick.
He smiled, a slow beautiful smile that sent warmth racing through her blood. “Good.”
Her lips twitching, Moira walked over to the counter. Taking down three mugs, she poured the coffee and carried it back to the table. She handed them each a mug and sat down, curling her fingers around her own. “So, what brings you to Seattle? Is it the case?”
Patrick nodded. “We’re trying to track down the sister of a murder victim—the victim in the case Marty and I were working on when he was killed. Helen found a source who said the sister might be able to identify the killer.”
“The sister lives in Seattle?”
“Yeah—we think so, anyway.”
“Then you don’t know where to find her,” Moira said.
Helen shook her head. “No. We know her name and that she’s a stripper in a club down on Second. But that’s it.”
Moira gave a long, slow whistle. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
Patrick lifted his mug to his lips. “Sure do. And we have to get started pretty quick. Mind if we tie up your phone?”
Moira’s gaze swept from Patrick to Helen, including Helen in the warmth of her smile. “Like I said before, you’re family. Treat it like your own house. I have to work tonight, but if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
Family. The word shivered through Helen like a promise. For a fleeting instant she wondered again what it would be like to have a real family. But there was no point in dreaming about it. It was something she’d never had—and never would have. Even the Monaghans’s welcoming warmth wouldn’t last forever. It would be gone as soon as her relationship with Patrick ended.
Her mother was all the family she’d ever have.
Helen’s stomach tightened. She swallowed the last of her coffee and set her cup back on the table. “Thanks, Moira.” She glanced at Patrick and shoved back her chair. “I guess we’d better get to work.”
Chapter 13
Patrick hung up the phone in frustration. It was past seven, and he, Helen, and Moira had been on the phone all afternoon, trying to track down Candy Turner. Moira had finally left for work, but he and Helen were still hard at it. After calling every C. Turner in the phone book—and striking out completely—they’d started on the strip bars.
It was tedious, frustrating work.
Helen walked into the living room carrying fresh cups of coffee. “No luck?” she asked quietly.
Patrick heard the ragged edge of exhaustion in her voice and managed a smile. “Not yet. But we’ll find her.”
Helen set the cups down on the table. She looked tired and fragile, and Patrick’s heart panged. How much more of this could she take?
She turned back to him. “Have you finished the strip clubs on Second?”
“Just about.” He dragged both hands through his hair. “None of them would admit she worked there.”
“Don’t worry.” Helen sat and slid her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll just head down there and find her.”
The determination in her voice, the feel of her arm wrapped firmly around him, made his worry melt away. He’d almost forgotten about that core of steel inside her. No matter how tired or how defeated she felt, she would keep on fighting to the last.
He leaned forward to grab the Yellow Pages. “I’ve still got two more bars to call.”
Helen put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back onto the couch. “Why don’t I take another turn?” Her fingertips trailed down his shirt. “Looks like you could use a break.”
Patrick let her push him onto the couch, his lips curling in a smile. The touch of her fingers against his chest made his skin come alive with sensation, and goose bumps rose everywhere she touched. Even after she turned away to reach for the phone, his skin still tingled with an electric warmth.
He watched as she checked the phone book and picked up the phone. She was so beautiful, her movements smooth and graceful. Cradling the receiver against her shoulder, she twirled the dial with long, elegant fingers.
Simply watching her dial the telephone made Patrick want her so badly that he had the wild urge to flying her down on Moira’s couch and make love to her right here, right now.
He jerked his gaze away from her. This was definitely not the time, he told himself sternly. They had a job to do, a very serious job. One on which both their careers, and even their lives, might depend. And if he didn’t want to screw up—again—he’d better concentrate on that job. Not on Helen.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t agree with his brain. Patrick took a gulp of scalding coffee. It burned its way down his throat and into his stomach. Concentrating hard, he took another long swallow.
“Ms. Turner?” Helen said into the phone. “My name’s Helen Stewart.”
Patrick started. Boiling coffee spilled over his hand and splashed across his thigh. Had Helen found Candy?
“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you at work.” Helen’s voice was tight with excitement. “But it’s very important. It’s about your sister, Jamie Lee.”
A surge of elation raced through Patrick’s body. She’d definitely found Candy. He had to restrain the urge to leap off the couch and do a victory dance around the living room.
“Could we possibly meet tonight? It really is very important, and I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.” Helen made a noise of agreement. “That would be fine. Certainly. We’ll see you at one. Thank you very much, Ms. Turner.”
She hung up the phone with a whoop of victory. “We did it! Patrick, we did it!” She leaped off the couch and flung her arms in the air, fists clenched.
“She’ll talk to us?”
A huge grin spread over Helen’s face. “We have to meet her at an all-night coffee shop down by the Pike Place Market after she gets off her shift.”
Patrick jumped off the couch and grabbed Helen’s hand. “You did it!”
Helen threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.
“We’re going to get the killer.”
Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, but he heard the thread of steel in it. “We’re getting closer all the time. I can feel it.”
Patrick grinned and curled his hand around the back of her neck, burying his fingers in her silky hair. “You can feel it, can you?” he teased. “Is this the woman who said just a few days ago that she didn’t have any feelings when it came to her work—just logic and reason?”
She tilted back her head, her blue eyes darkening to the color of the sea in a storm. “And look where that got me,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Logic and reason didn’t help me keep my job.”
“And now?”
Her eyes softened, and her mouth curved in a smile. She stood on tiptoe, reaching up to him, her lips stopping only inches from his. “Now, I’m finally following my instincts. For the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want.”
Her breath was warm and sweet on his face, and his body responded instantly. He fought against the hard rush of desire, needing to be sure that this was really what she wanted.
“And what do you want?” he asked, his voice husky and low with need.
She swallowed. “I want...you.”
Her words exploded in his mind, and he hauled her against him, claiming her mouth in a fiery kiss. Her head fell back, her lips parting with a tiny, breathless moan. Patrick took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue past her sweet lips to tangle with hers in an intricate dance of desire.
He wanted to possess her. All of her. Not just her body, but her mind, and her soul. It was crazy, dangerous and crazy, but he wanted it—wanted her—more than anything he ever could have imagined....
Helen tugged the hem of his T-shirt from his jeans. He groaned at the sensuous feel of her warm hands sliding up his bare skin. Her fingers skimmed the muscles of his back and shoulders, testing his strength. When she pushed the shirt up his chest, he obliged her and broke the kiss to yank it over his head.
She leaned forward and kissed the hollow beneath his shoulder, her fingers tangling in the hair on his chest. “Mmm. You’re so beautiful.”
Her touch set him on fine. He stood there, eyes closed, head flung back, fighting for control as she slid her hands down his belly and across the rugged denim of his jeans to cup his male hardness. She outlined the shape of him with her fingers, and he grabbed her hands, feeling himself about to explode.
“No,” he rasped. “Not yet.”
Helen smiled, a woman’s secret smile that sent heat blazing through him. God, what was happening to him? She’d barely touched him, but he was already as randy as a teenage virgin. And her smile—it was like warm, sweet honey trickling through his body.
Deliberately, she leaned forward and kissed him again—a slow, sensuous kiss, a kiss that was a promise of things to come. Her tongue slid between his lips to explore the depths of his mouth, and Patrick held his breath, letting her take control, loving the strength he could feel in her.
She pulled him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the brightly woven cushions. Patrick flung his arm around her waist and brought her down onto his lap, balancing her against his chest. She sighed against his mouth as he slid his hands beneath her blouse, seeking her satin skin.
She was so soft. So beautiful. Her skin was smooth and delicate, but warm and alive. He pulled open the buttons of her blouse, wanting to feel her bare skin against his chest, needing to have no more barriers between them.
Beneath the blouse, she was wearing a wispy scrap of coffee-colored lace, and he discarded that, as well, flinging it onto the floor.
Half naked, Helen was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her perfection almost took his breath away, making his heart pound even faster, his head swim with longing and desire. He ran his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts gently, almost reverently. Her nipples hardened instantly, and her head fell back with a little moan as he plucked at them with his fingers.
She was so passionate. So responsive. And for now—for tonight—she was his. Only his. Her breasts fit his hands as though they were made for him. Her soft lips, the faint scent of lavender that rose from her skin, the feel of her rounded bottom against his thighs, were everything he ever could have dreamed of. -
Patrick leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth, loving the taste and feel of her. She gasped, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Need hit him like a fist, but he fought it down. He wanted her so badly, he knew he’d explode the minute he was inside her. Before he took her, he wanted to give her pleasure, to brand her with the force of her own passion.
He eased his hand downward and cupped her. Even through her skirt, he could feel the moist heat. He slid his fingers into her clothes, finding her slick, womanly folds. Helen was ready for him, burning with heat. He groaned, unable to resist sliding a finger inside her, and she cried out, jerking her hips forward, pushing against his hand.
“Now, Patrick.” she gasped on a ragged breath. “I can’t wait any longer. I want you now.”
Desire slammed into him, too hot and urgent to be denied any longer. He tore away the remainder of her clothes, while she jerked open the button fly of his jeans. Just in time, he remembered the protection in his wallet. Then, putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her, and she straddled him.
She looked straight into his eyes as she took his length inside her. He sank into her with a hoarse groan, burying himself in her tight, warm depths. She leaned forward to kiss him, her breasts brushing against his chest.
The kiss was his undoing. He thrust upward, and she gasped, moving against him as they found an urgent rhythm. Within seconds, she stiffened against him, tightening her legs around his waist and crying out as her body shuddered with release. He surged into her one final time, and in that instant of perfect connection, he poured himself into her at last.
Sleep eluded Helen as she lay with her head on Patrick’s shoulder, staring up at the colorful mural Moira had painted on the sloping ceiling of the spare bedroom.
After everything that had happened in the past few days, she knew she should be exhausted. She definitely needed to catch a few hours’ sleep before they got up and headed downtown. Downtown—to a coffee shop at Pike and First. Her mother’s neighborhood.
Tension jolted down Helen’s spine. What if they ran into her mother? The thought of Patrick meeting Lana made her stomach chum. But she wouldn’t worry about that now. She already had enough to worry about.
For now, she had to concentrate on getting to sleep.
Helen angled a glance at Patrick’s peaceful face. He lay sprawled on his back, the blankets bunched around his hips. Long black lashes swept against his cheeks. His chest rose and fell steadily, and his strong arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tightly against him. His skin smelled like clean soap and kisses, and she felt a fresh spurt of desire as she breathed in his scent.
Their lovemaking this evening had been even more explosive than last night. Every time Patrick touched her, the longing and need inside her seemed to twist deeper and hotter. After they’d made love downstairs, he’d carried her up here in his arms, and they’d made love again—slowly, gently, this time.
His touch made her feel as though she was the most precious person in the world. With his arms around her, she felt so protected, so safe. Deep inside, her heart whispered that she belonged here, with him.
But for how long? Helen winced at the thought. The case was drawing to a close. When it was over, Patrick would probably go back to flitting from woman to woman. He’d said his reputation was exaggerated, but she knew he’d never lack willing bedmates, women who wouldn’t ask more of him than he wanted to give.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the image of Patrick surrounded by other women out of her mind. She wouldn’t think about the future, she told herself for the hundredth time that day. She’d think only about the present. Being here with Patrick made her happy, happier than she’d ever been. She was finally following her instincts and her emotions—and t
here was no reason she shouldn’t.
Was there?
Helen squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the faint, taunting echo. She’s just like her mother.
“No,” she whispered. “Go away.”
Thankfully, the voice faded. Helen swallowed and turned toward Patrick, seeking his warmth, his strength. He murmured something sleepy, his strong arm tightening around her as he pulled her closer.
She curled against him, feeling her eyelids grow heavy and the world darken around her. At last, in the protected circle of his arms, she slipped into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Hand in hand, Patrick and Helen hurried through the downpour toward the coffee shop Candy had suggested as a meeting place. The Pike Place Market had closed hours before, but even after midnight, the area was far from deserted. Lights and raunchy music spilled out of strip joints and beer parlors. Tattooed men and hard-faced women hurried by, collars turned up against the rain. In the square outside the market, a few derelicts huddled together on a bench, newspapers spread across their legs for shelter.
Being there made Helen’s neck tighten with tension. The neighborhood reminded her too much of her childhood, of her mother. She hated coming back here, hated having to confront the memories that haunted her.
She cast a sideways glance at Patrick. Having him beside her, his warm hand holding hers, made it a little easier. When she looked at him, she could almost pretend that she hadn’t grown up beta—that they were just an ordinary couple, out for a night on the town.
Almost.
They paused outside die coffee shop, and Patrick squeezed her hand. “You ready?”
“I think so. Let’s go in.”
Patrick pushed open the door, and they walked inside. The rich smell of coffee and the hiss of an espresso machine dominated the small inferior. The room was crowded with people on their way home from the bars, and the windows were steamy. After the chilly rain outside, it was close and warm.
Motive, Means... And Marriage? Page 20