Cavanaugh’s Woman

by Marie Ferrarella

  The officer bobbed his head up and down, absorbing every word as if it were pure gold. It was easy to see, even through his slightly unfocused eyes, that the other man was more than a little smitten with the actress.

  “Have you had any time alone with her?” the patrolman asked, turning to look at him. He leaned his head in, as if that somehow made the words secretive. “You know what I mean.”

  Shaw’s brain cleared a little. He thought of the kiss at her hotel door. Even thinking about it generated a sweet, tempting warmth that coursed over his body, reminding him that celibacy was highly overrated and he was overdue to leave its ranks.

  But not with her, he told himself.

  “No,” Shaw said firmly.

  “If it was me…” The officer didn’t have to finish. The leer on his face, in his voice, said it all.

  Shaw had no idea why, but he took offense for Moira. Or maybe it was the beer talking, stirring something akin of jealousy within him, sending it streaming through his veins.

  The very idea was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to shake free of its effects. His voice was low, dangerous. “But it’s not you, is it?”

  The officer took one look at Shaw’s face, picked up his mug and retreated.

  The next moment, Reese was back, filling the seat and the space. A fresh mug of ale was in his hand and he lifted it in Moira’s direction. “She blends in and stands out at the same time, doesn’t she?”

  Shaw blew out a breath. “What are you, her publicity agent suddenly?”

  “No, just a young man in love.” Reese pretended to sigh, then laughed as he looked at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not treading on your territory. I’ve just made some very impressive arrangements of my own to spend the rest of the evening with Officer Rhonda. Mind if I keep the car?” he asked, referring to the fact that he had been the one to drive the vehicle here.

  Shaw scowled, waving away the question. “Go ahead, knock yourself out.” The next moment, the rest of Reese’s statement replayed itself in his brain. “What the hell are you talking about?” If his partner was insinuating there was something going on between him and the actress, Reese was in a far more inebriated state than he was. “There’s nothing going on between us. There is no territory.”

  Reese hid his smile behind the mug. “She might have other ideas.” He raised his eyes to his partner’s stony face. “So would you if you let yourself be something other than Supercop for a while.”

  Shaw could only shake his head. “As your friend, I’m advising you to stop drinking now. It’s affecting your judgment.”

  Reese took another sip, then put down the mug. “What’s your excuse?”

  Maybe he had had too much to drink. Nothing Reese was saying was making any sense to him. “For what?”

  “For having lousy judgment.”

  Shaw waved a dismissive hand at his partner and got up off the bar stool. He’d had enough of inane conversation. It was time to go. He was vaguely aware of saying something in parting to Reese, but for the life of him, he wasn’t sure just what. Just as well, the man was probably too enamored with Moira to think or hear clearly.

  Not like him.

  Damn, but he felt as if his emotions were all over the place right now. Things like feelings just got in the way of doing a good job. But now, with his father going through hell, his mother making a reappearance in their lives after so many years and not knowing any of them, damn, it was enough to push any man over the brink.

  And that was without having to play nursemaid to a Hollywood celebrity. Someone should give him a medal, he thought.

  Shaw made it to the door before he became aware that there was anyone behind him. Moira fell into step with him as he pushed open the front door.

  “Feeling any better?”

  The cold air hit his face, making something inside of him snap to attention. Braced, he turned to look at her. What was she doing, walking out of the bar right behind him? Hadn’t he just left her in the middle of a gaggle of admirers?

  “What do you mean, better?”

  Moira decided to forego the banter they usually exchanged. This deserved a serious moment.

  “You had this awful look on your face when I came into the video room at the precinct. Like someone had been trying to suck out your soul. I thought that maybe if you hung around your friends, you’d feel better.”

  Stone sober or slightly less than that, she was a hard woman to get a handle on. Just what was her game? “Do you have this frustrated-mother thing going on?”

  His tone was defensive, but she wasn’t about to get into a war of words with him.

  “Maybe. I’ve always mothered people, as far back as I can remember.” It had begun with her father and sister. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t played the role. “And the only time I get frustrated is when people try to pretend they don’t need a little looking after.”

  He blew out a breath and found that he had to work at being indignant. “And you think I do.”

  “Everyone does.”

  He decided to turn the tables on her, fully expecting to hear her denial. “How about you? Do you need mothering?”

  She never looked away. Moira slipped her arm through his, thinking that she’d seen him looking steadier. “Everyone does,” she repeated.

  Chapter Ten

  An empty taxi drove down the darkened street, slowing down, then stopping at the light. Moira noticed Shaw looking toward it as if he were debating hailing the cab. She knew that his own car was in the lot. They’d come here in two cars. She’d driven herself over, following him and Reese.

  “Why don’t I drive you home?” Even as she made the offer, she wondered if he would take offense. But she knew for a fact that he’d had at least two beers, if not more. He wasn’t the reckless kind.

  The light had already turned and the cab was driving off, beyond hailing. Shaw slanted a glance at her as he buried his hands deep into his pockets. “Are you saying that you think I can’t drive?”

  Moira looked up at him, the soul of innocence. “I’m saying that I think you’re entertaining that thought. You were the one looking at a cab,” she pointed out.

  As far as evenings went, it had been an unusual one. None of his siblings or cousins had put in an appearance at the Shannon tonight except for Dax and he had left early, saying something about a date. Shaw had a hunch that the rest of his family were taking turns dropping by the house, giving his dad moral support. A sliver of guilt pricked at him.

  Maybe he’d go over tomorrow, he thought, but his afternoon had left a hollow place within him and he knew he wouldn’t be much company tonight.

  Shaw glanced back at the bar behind him. He supposed he could always have Reese drop him off, but from what he’d witnessed earlier, he had a feeling that his partner was going to be otherwise occupied for a while, possibly for the remainder of the night. Perhaps Reese was finally making some headway with the officer who’d caught his eye last month. Good for Reese.

  Not so good for him.

  His shoulders moved up and down in a careless shrug. “Better safe than sorry,” he agreed, banking down more than a little reluctance. “You appear to be more sober than I feel.”

  For her part, Moira had indulged in one mixed drink, a Mai Tai, then spent the evening with her fingers wrapped around a glass of ginger ale. She found that a clear head always served her best when she was trying to absorb information. And that was what this whole evening had been about—absorbing information.

  And maybe, just maybe, being around Shaw.

  She led the way to her car.

  “I didn’t think you’d be this sensible.” Moira paused, waiting until he buckled up before she turned the key in the ignition.

  Belatedly, Shaw reached over to his left. Finding no seat belt there, he frowned. He really was a little muddled, he upbraided himself. How the hell had that happened? He was usually good about policing himself.

  Swallowing a curse, he reached over to the rig
ht and pulled the seat belt around, buckling up. “Not used to sitting in this seat,” he muttered.

  “I had a feeling. Don’t worry—” she started up the car “—I’ll have you home soon.”

  She didn’t drive fast. That surprised him. His eyes shifted slightly in her direction. “You really do like to mother people, don’t you?”

  Moira shrugged as she just made it through the intersection before the light changed. “Honestly? I never much thought about it. It’s just something that comes naturally, I guess.” She could tell he wanted more. She decided she liked this slightly inebriated version of him. He was more human. “My father’s a wonderful man, but he was more of a friend than a parent to my sister and me. He let details slide.”

  “Details?”

  Everything but making money, she thought fondly. Where was her father these days? she wondered. More than once she’d regretted taking her stand with him—because it hadn’t made her father come around and it had cost her the pleasure of his company. She missed him. A lot.

  “Details,” she repeated. “Bills he forgot to pay, refrigerator shelves he forgot to fill, laundry he forgot to do. So, if Carrie and I didn’t want to be dirty and hungry with bill collectors banging on the door at all hours of the day and night, someone had to take over.”

  “And you volunteered.”

  She didn’t remember ever volunteering. It was something that had just happened. “Case of natural selection, really. Carrie had no head for figures, no patience. Besides,” she added philosophically, “I was older.”

  There wasn’t much traffic on the streets, and they were almost at his apartment. He liked being with her, he realized.

  Boy, he had to be worse off than he thought.

  “Eleven months doesn’t really count for that much unless you’re in the animal kingdom,” he pointed out.

  The comparison made her laugh. Moira stepped down on the accelerator, beating out another light about to turn red.

  She glanced at him, expecting a comment about her driving. But his expression didn’t change. “I guess in a way we were. Certainly involved survival of the fittest.” She saw him watching her. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved my life. Except for missing my mother, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

  “Nothing?”

  She smiled, sparing him a long glance before looking back at the road. “Well, maybe I would have stayed in Mrs. Brickman’s tenth-grade speech class a little longer, but nothing else.”

  Mrs. Brickman’s class. Shaw concentrated hard, staring at her profile. He still had trouble placing her in that scenario.

  Maybe it was the beer, but as he stared at her, he found that the curve of her lips, her smile, wove a spell over him.

  There was no other word for it. A spell.

  Magic.

  Tonight, for some reason, there was something incredibly intimate about sharing this car ride with her. The world beyond the vehicle was dark, with equally spaced-apart street lamps lighting the way.

  It was dark within the car, as well, a velvety darkness that stirred him and made his mind wander down roads Shaw knew he wouldn’t be traveling if he’d been stone-cold sober.

  He didn’t know if the beer had loosened his inhibitions, or just paralyzed what passed for his common sense, tossing it out the window. Or maybe he was just searching for a way to feel clean again after dealing with all the filth he’d had to sift through this afternoon.

  All he knew was that he wanted to be with Moira. To have her sitting beside him a while longer and be able to inhale that fragrance that he’d never smelled before, the one that took a swizzle stick to his blood and stirred it all up.

  Moira turned into his garden apartment complex. It looked different to her at night. Lonelier. Or maybe she was the one who was lonelier.

  She pushed away the thought.

  There was a guest space open right before his apartment. She wondered if it was an omen, then decided she was deliberately looking for one. An empty space was an empty space, nothing more. She pulled up into it, smooth as a butter knife cutting through whipped cream.

  “Looks like we’re here,” she announced brightly. “See, I told you this wouldn’t take long.”

  It had taken far too short a time. About to get out, Shaw hesitated, knowing full well that if he were in complete control of his faculties, he would have already been out of the car and halfway up the stairs.

  He wasn’t sure which was the good thing and which wasn’t.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked.

  She took his invitation the only way she felt she could, given the kind of man she’d found Shaw Cavanaugh to be. He wasn’t like some of the other officers she’d interacted with these past few days. He didn’t regard her as a movie star, or even, she had a hunch, as a woman. More than likely, he still viewed her as the albatross the chief of detectives had tied around his neck. That meant Shaw didn’t want to spend one extra minute in her company than he absolutely had to.

  Which in turn meant he was asking her to come up to his apartment for only one reason. “Do you need help negotiating the stairs?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “The stairs,” he finally said, “are not what I figure I’ll have trouble negotiating.”

  She was out of the car, moving around to his side, wondering if his pride was getting in the way of the truth. She hadn’t watched how many drinks he’d had or hadn’t had, but the fact that he’d allowed her to drive him home had spoken volumes to her.

  Whether he looked it or not, the man had to be three sheets to the wind and ready to be blown away.

  “Oh?” As he got out and rose to his feet, Moira subtly presented her shoulder to him just in case he felt the need to lean on something. “Then what will you have trouble negotiating?”

  Already his common sense, his sense of self-preservation, was stepping in, preventing him from leaving any side of himself exposed. And airing feelings, airing needs, meant leaving that flank vulnerable. He closed ranks.

  “I’m talking too much.” Shaw shook his head.

  Deftly, she positioned herself so that she was just beneath his arm, slipping it along her shoulders for leverage. That he left it in place told her he really needed help. She lightly grasped his wrist, anchoring him down as best she could.

  “Makes up for those bouts of silence you keep subjecting me to,” she countered cheerfully. Taking the stairs slowly, she managed to get Shaw up to his apartment door in less time than she thought it would take.

  Shaw stared at the door. His door, right? He was closer to feeling no pain than he’d thought. One minute they were in her car, the next, he was standing in front of his door. He’d thought he’d been careful and had not consumed too much tonight. Obviously, he was wrong. The fact that he was letting her help him like this told Shaw that he was worse off then he’d believed.

  She felt soft against him, soft and pliant, and he wanted her, he realized as they came to a stop before his door.

  Wanted her a great deal.

  Knock it off. She’s a movie star, a make-believe person.

  Shaw dug into his pocket and took out his keys. The proper one never made it into the keyhole. The ring of keys slipped through his fingers, landing before his feet with a soft thud as it came in contact with a flowery welcome mat.

  Moira bent down to pick the keys up, noting the design on the mat. She glanced at him as she rose back to her feet. “Not your style. A gift from a girlfriend?”

  He laughed. It had been a very long time since he’d had a relationship with a woman that lasted long enough for him to apply the title of “girlfriend” to her.

  “Callie, my sister,” he corrected. “She thinks I should be friendlier.”

  “She might be on to something there.”

  Taking the only key on the ring that looked as if it might fit, she slipped it into the lock. Turning it, Moira congratulated herself on guessing correctly. And then, turning around to hand the keys back to him, Moira suddenly f
ound herself the recipient of a warm, tender kiss that began its transformation the moment contact was made.

  It was anything but tender, anything but soft.

  Urgency arrived in an ambulance, accompanied by flashing lights and sirens.

  She forgot to breathe.

  Forgot to do anything but hold on for the ride of her life and hope that she would emerge whole once it was over. Or maybe that didn’t even matter, as long as she was there for the ride,

  For the life of him, Shaw couldn’t begin to explain what came over him. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his self-control had taken a holiday, leaving nothing in its place that remotely resembled it.

  Instead, he felt longing. Longing and desire and a myriad of urges he’d had no idea were lurking in the shadows, waiting for a chance to spring out.

  He had to kiss her. There was no other choice, no other path.

  Shaw didn’t remember opening the door, didn’t remember crossing the threshold. But somehow, while his lips were sealed to hers, while he was drawing life-affirming sustenance into his veins, he found himself within the apartment.

  The door slammed shut behind them.

  They were alone. A distant street lamp and the moonlight provided the only illumination within the small living room.

  If he’d ever wanted anyone this much before, he couldn’t remember when. It was almost as if, by being with her, by giving up control, he borrowed a little protection for himself. It allowed him to deny what he had endured this afternoon.

  Her heart doing a fair imitation of a basketball in play during a championship game, Moira pulled her head back. She had the vague sense of trying to collect shattered nerve endings that were scattered from here to God only knew where.

  She’d thought that he wanted no part of her. Boy, had she called this shot wrong.

  Moira tried for humor, for sanity, succeeding only marginally. “Good thing I was the one who drove you home. If you’d given this kind of a tip to the cabbie, you might have had a lot of explaining to do.”