Cavanaugh’s Woman

by Marie Ferrarella

  He framed her face with his hands. He’d noticed from the start that she was beautiful, but beautiful had never had much of an effect on him. So why was it that the very sight of her jarred him clear down to the bone? “The cabbie wouldn’t have made me feel as if I’m in the center of a whirlpool, paddling madly to save myself from certain destruction.”

  “And I do?”

  His eyes remained on hers. Right now, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why he was still standing, not when his knees felt as if they were made of cotton swabs. Wet cotton swabs.

  “You do.”

  Moira pressed her lips together. It was hard to hear herself think above the wild pounding of her heart. “I don’t know whether I am being complimented or insulted.”

  “You don’t have to be, either. Just be,” he whispered, the words, the plea, dancing along her lips a moment before he kissed her again.

  He was numbing and inflaming her senses all at the same time. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t tell which way was up, which way was down, only that she couldn’t breathe and that she didn’t care.

  The only thing she wanted was for this to go on. For him to make love to her. With her.

  She wanted to rip the shirt off his body. Instead, Moira wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back for all she was worth. Feeling her body tingling, anticipating, wanting. His body was hard against hers, silently telling her that he wasn’t made of stone, that she had affected him as much as he had affected her.

  The difference was, she knew, that her effect on him was strictly physical while his on her… Well, it went beyond things that could be seen, that could be touched. Something within her was reacting to him on a level she’d thought she’d shut down a long time ago.

  The land of make-believe was perfect for her, because any time she had an excess of emotions, she could spend them there, invest them in a character and work her way through those emotions until they were completely gone again. Until she could go on, unencumbered.

  Acting kept her safe, out of harm’s way. Because loving someone put her directly in the path of harm. She’d had her heart broken once, by someone who’d just used her. Once was all it took to convince her. Never again.

  She wasn’t so convinced now.

  And she wasn’t playing a part now, either. Not yet. She was herself, she was Moira McCormick and she had needs that refused to wait.

  Oh, they might have, had this tall, dark, brooding police detective not done this, had he not broken down the door to her private, inner sanctum and pulled her out of hiding.

  But he had, and there was no use in speculating about what might have happened if things were different. If he hadn’t laid his lips to hers. If he hadn’t made the blood rush through her veins.

  If he hadn’t made her want him.

  Eager, her body heating at an incredible rate, she rushed into the pleasure he generated. Rushed to take shelter in his arms, in his ardor, and pretended, just for a little while, that here was someone to take care of her for a change, someone who could take the lead and make her feel protected, safe.

  Cared for.

  Thousands of fans adored her, loved her, sent tons of letters saying as much, but none of it was real. It was the persona they followed, they adored—not her. Because the real Moira McCormick was not the larger-than-life actress who adorned the movie screens; she wasn’t the take-charge woman others looked to for guidance and leadership. The real Moira McCormick was still a frightened child, waiting for her father to come home to her and her sister to wise up.

  Her arms tightened around Shaw.

  The press of her body against his was causing wild, delicious sensations to race up and down and all through him, breeding more sensations until he couldn’t keep track of them, couldn’t think. Could only react.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. The more he kissed her, the more he needed to.

  Without thinking things through, without putting roadblocks up for himself that he knew were necessary in order to maintain who and what he was, Shaw allowed himself to live just for the moment.

  Because this moment was wondrous.

  She made him feel as if he were on fire and she was both his salvation and his doom.

  But that was for a thinking man to reason out and he couldn’t even remember his social security number or how to tie his shoes. All he remembered, all he knew, was that she was here with him and he wanted her. Wanted to make love with her and feel every inch of her body, hot, throbbing, moist, against his.

  Clothing disappeared as the eagerness within him mounted at a prodigious rate. By the way Moira twisted and turned against him, he knew she felt the same way. She returned his urgent kisses with eager ones of her own.

  Undergarments went flying, tangling together as the silent race continued. Until they were both dressed only in desire.

  She took his breath away.

  Her body was firm, taut and pliant, just as he knew it would be. It inflamed him just to touch her, to pass his hands over her tender flesh, curbing the urgency that rushed through him. Seeking to caress, to arouse, to worship. She felt so delicate, he was afraid that he would hurt her.

  Moira felt him drawing his hand away. She arched against his palm, holding it in place against her breasts. Loving the way it felt against her skin.

  “I won’t break,” she murmured against his mouth.

  “But I might,” he whispered back. She made him ache so much, he was surprised that he hadn’t shattered into a million pieces already. He would work through the insanity of this situation later. All he knew now was that if he had to stop, if he couldn’t have her, he would explode.

  Pulling her onto the floor, he continued kissing her, continued familiarizing himself with every inch of her. And as he did so, he knew he was drawing a life force from her that infused him with a sense of power and humility that made his head spin.

  Lacing his fingers through hers, Shaw shifted his body until he was over her, kissing her over and over again. He felt her opening for him, felt her arching her hips in a silent, heated invitation.

  Shaw plunged himself into her, initiating a rhythm she echoed. He felt her gasp against him as the tempo increased, felt as if a blazing chariot raced after him as he hurried to find the summit he sought.

  Her nails dug into the back of his hands, urging him on. She made noises against his mouth. Whether they were words, his name, he didn’t know. They tasted of sweetness and sex.

  And triumph as the moment carried them both away, then let them find their own ground.

  Chapter Eleven

  Euphoria slowly melted back into the shadows, leaving the stark shades of reality in its wake. Moira felt a chill slipping around her shoulders.

  Turning her head, she looked at Shaw. He was beside her on the floor, his arm tucked around her. His profile gave no indication of the thoughts that were going on inside his head.

  What was he thinking? That he’d just made it with a movie star? That she had sex indiscriminately with any man who was available whenever the whim hit? More than anything, she didn’t want him believing that. As far as sex went, she was almost a novice.

  “I just want you to know, I don’t do this normally.” Her voice was small.

  His mouth curved slightly as he slanted a glance at her face. “Seemed normal to me.”

  She raised herself up on her elbow, not sure whether he was teasing her. “No. I mean I don’t sleep around. Despite what you might think about people in my profession, this isn’t the way I usually behave.”

  Shaw laughed softly to himself. “Then I guess I got lucky.”

  “Shaw—”

  He cut her off. This wasn’t a time for apologies or explanations. “Moira.”

  Flustered, not sure whether she was saying too much or not enough, Moira bit the word off and spat it out. “What?”

  “Shut up.” Before she could protest, he’d brought her face down to his and kissed her. When she drew back, confused, he said, “You d
on’t have to explain anything. This doesn’t need subtitles.”

  This had meant something to her. She didn’t want him thinking that she expected anything, but she wanted him to know that. That this night had been different. “I just want you to know—”

  She looked as if she were in agony, searching for the right words. Some things were best left unsaid. He laid a finger to her lips, stopping the flow.

  “I know.”

  Moira looked at him uncertainly. “You do?”

  Shaw cupped her cheek. A strange fondness poured through his veins. “Hey, I’m a police detective. That means I do have some working instincts. Intuition, if you will.”

  Something inside her felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “I thought that was a female thing.”

  He ran his hand along her body, his eyes smiling softly into hers. She couldn’t begin to guess at what he was thinking and told herself that maybe it was better that way. Better to enjoy rather than to have everything orchestrated ahead of time.

  “Definitely a female thing,” he murmured, his mind definitely not on a thought process.

  Lowering her back onto the floor, Shaw drew her to him, his body hungry again. He knew this was a single night and that tomorrow things would be different. But he didn’t want to let tonight go, didn’t want to move on just yet. Not when he wanted her again, wanted the sensation she created within him again. She made him feel as if he were going over the falls in a barrel. No other woman had ever done that for him and he wanted to savor the wild ride one more time.

  But as he felt his body heating, the sound of ringing penetrated the mist about his brain. Duty above pleasure. Reluctantly, he drew his head back, listening. It was ringing.

  “Damn it.” From his vantage point above her, Shaw looked around, trying to locate his jacket. He was vaguely aware of leaving his cell phone in one of the pockets.

  With equal reluctance, Moira rejoined the world. A moment later, she identified the sound. “No, that’s my ‘Damn it,’ not yours.” He looked at her curiously. “My cell phone rings like Morse code,” she explained.

  Placing her hands against his chest, Moira pushed lightly. He obliged by moving out of her way. Sitting up, she zeroed in on the sound as the phone rang again.

  Her phone was in her purse, which was buried under the heap comprised of his clothes and hers. Digging, Moira located the bag and drew it over to her, aware that he was watching her every move.

  Aware that his gaze made her hotter by the moment.

  It took effort to collect her thoughts and concentrate on the cell phone in her hand. “Hello?”

  “Moira, I’m sorry.”

  She stiffened, recognizing her sister’s voice. Recognizing the abject misery in it. Something was very, very wrong. Had she gone back to Simon? She saw Shaw looking at her, the detective in him coming alive.

  “Sorry?” Moira tried to sound as upbeat as possible. “Sorry about what, Carrie? What’s the matter?”

  She heard her sister crying on the other end before Carrie finally hiccuped and said, “I messed up, I messed up bad.”

  Moira’s mind scrambled over a dozen different scenarios, swiftly examining and discarding all of them. There was no point in speculating. Whatever she feared had to be put side. Carrie needed her strength. “Listen to me, Carrie. There’s nothing that you’ve done that can’t be undone or fixed.”

  She heard Carrie sob on the other end. “No, no, you can’t fix this, Moira. Only I can. And I will. I won’t be a problem to you anymore.”

  Fear gripped her heart. This sounded bad, very bad. In this frame of mind, Carrie could do something drastic. Moira knew that. “Where are you, baby? Talk to me, Carrie. Where are you?” She struggled to keep her own hysteria out of her voice.

  She heard Carrie gulp. “I’m at the hotel, but I won’t be a problem much longer, Moira. I promise.”

  Oh, God, was she going to do something to herself? Moira gripped the cell with both hands, as if that could somehow keep Carrie from doing herself harm.

  “You’re not a problem, you’re my sister. I love you.” She searched for the right combination of words that would bring her sister around. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.” Quickly, she began getting dressed, holding the cell against her shoulder with her ear. “Just stay there. I’ll be right over. Promise me you won’t do anything until I get there. Do you hear me? Carrie? Carrie?”

  The line went dead.

  Dazed, scared, Moira looked up and saw that Shaw was already dressed, without a hint of softness in his eyes. He handed over her skirt and shoes. “Let’s go,” he told her.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “From the sound of it, you could do with a detective clearing your path for you.” Shaw strapped his service revolver on.

  From nowhere, tears materialized in her eyes, fighting to spill out. “Thank you.”

  Grabbing his keys, he eased her out and closed the door behind him. “Don’t,” he warned. “It’s just part of my job.”

  But she knew it wasn’t.

  Moira’s heart was in her throat the entire short-lived trip to the hotel. True to his word, Shaw got them there in an incredibly short amount of time. Her heart still felt like a boulder lodged in a tight space.

  She had no idea what to expect when she burst into her hotel suite. All the calls she’d placed to the room from the time Carrie had hung up on her until they’d reached the hotel had gone unanswered. Had Carrie left? And how had she left—using the door or by other means?

  Moira was afraid to let her mind stray too far from the moment, from the thought that she had to reach Carrie before something terrible happened.

  She refused to allow herself to believe that it already had.

  “Carrie, Carrie, where are you?” she called to her sister the second she was in the suite. Trying to sound calm, Moira felt utterly frantic inside.

  There was no answer.

  And then Shaw tapped on her shoulder, pointing to the billowing curtains.

  The window was open.

  Fear squeezed her heart as she raced to the window. She couldn’t remember her mouth ever feeling this dry.

  “Carrie?”

  Looking out the window, she saw that her sister was standing on the ledge a little more than ten feet away from her. Carrie’s body trembled as she stared straight ahead. When she looked toward the window, she wavered slightly. Moira swallowed a gasp, afraid to make any sudden noises.

  “Go away, Moira,” Carrie pleaded. “I’ve got to make things right.”

  Sheer terror seized Moira. She was only vaguely aware of Shaw being behind her in the room. She couldn’t believe that this was happening. Not with Carrie at the center of this drama. Carrie had always been so happy-go-lucky, so full of life. What had that bastard done to break her sister’s spirit this way?

  “By jumping?” Moira demanded.

  “It’s the only way.”

  Moira leaned out the window, not knowing what her next move was, only that she had to save Carrie somehow. And then she felt two strong hands on either side of her waist, moving her back into the room as if she weighed nothing. She glared at Shaw. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  Shaw didn’t waste time answering her. Instead, he took her place at the window. And then the next moment, he was climbing out onto the ledge.

  “Are you crazy?” Moira cried.

  Carrie turned her head to see what was happening. Her eyes widened when she saw the man who had come to her sister’s rescue the other night.

  “Go away. Please go away,” Carrie begged.

  “You don’t want to jump, Carrie.” Shaw’s voice was low, soothing. Authoritative.

  Tears slid down Carrie’s cheeks. She turned her face forward. “Yes, I do. This is the only way I can fix everything.”

  “You’re not fixing anything,” he told her. “You jump, your pain will be over, but Moira’s will haunt her until the moment she takes her last breath.”
/>   “I’m doing this for Moira,” Carrie sobbed. “This isn’t her fault. It’s mine and I have to make it right.”

  Ever so slightly, so that he didn’t call attention to the fact, Shaw moved a little closer to the woman. “You know better than that. Moira won’t see it that way. You jump, she’ll think she failed you somehow.”

  “No, me,” Carrie cried. “I failed me. I failed her.” Her voice broke.

  Moira thought her heart would break. How could everything suddenly be falling apart like this? An hour ago, she’d been happier than she ever remembered being, now everything threatened to turn into ashes around her.

  “Why are you doing this, Carrie?” she cried, leaning out the window.

  Carrie tried to see her and almost lost her footing. With a scream, she pressed herself against the building. “Because I’m pregnant, Moira. I’m pregnant.”

  That bastard, Moira thought. “Does Simon know?”

  Carrie sobbed. “Simon doesn’t want the baby, doesn’t want me. He said he only wanted me because he thought that it was a way to get to you, to your money. When I told him there was no way, he left.” Despair echoed in every syllable she uttered. “I’m sorry, Moira. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry that you’ve got lousy taste in men?” Moira made it sound completely inconsequential. “We’ll work on it. But I’ve always wanted to be an aunt. Please, Carrie, please come in. I’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of the baby. Please don’t do this.”

  Carrie took a deep breath, as if she were wrestling with herself. And then, finally, she murmured, “All right.”

  But then nothing happened.

  Her sister looked like a deer frozen in the glare of the headlights of an oncoming car. “Carrie?”

  “I can’t move, Moira,” Carrie cried. “I can’t move.”

  “Don’t look down, Carrie,” Shaw ordered. “Look straight ahead.” There was about four feet between them. “I’m coming to get you.”

  “No, no,” Carrie cried, panicking. “Stay where you are. We’ll both fall.”