His hands tangled in her hair, his lips brushing her forehead. “For the record, I haven’t completely made up my mind about your status at Silver Reflections. Plus, kissing will make us want other things.”
“Too late,” she said, breathless...longing. “I already want those other things, but I’m willing to settle for a kiss.”
“God, you’re a brat.”
Somehow, the way he said it turned the words into a husky compliment. “Shall I leave you alone, Patrick?”
His fingers tightened on her skull. “No. That’s not what I want at all.”
Before she could respond, he angled her head and found her mouth with his. The first kiss was barely perceptible...no more than a faint brush of lips to lips. Even so, she melted into him, stung by a wild burst of hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by anything less than full body contact.
The kiss deepened. Patrick muttered something, but she was too lost to translate it. They had done this once before. That “sort of an apology” kiss they had shared in the woods. But she hadn’t taken him seriously at the time. She’d thought he was just being nice. Charming. Offering sophisticated reparation for a thoughtless, hurtful mistake.
This was different. This was desperation. Need. Raw, unscripted masculine hunger.
Her fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, tearing at them until she could rest her cheek against hot male skin. She nipped a flat nipple with her teeth. “I’m getting used to the dark,” she whispered.
He groaned. “I’m not.” He did his own version of seek-and-find, palming her breasts and squeezing them gently. “I want to see you...all of you.”
There were no words to describe the feel of his hands on her bare flesh. It didn’t matter that his fingers were probably still mud streaked...or that she shivered with her shirt unbuttoned. She was drowning in pleasure.
Need became a demanding beast, telling her there was a way...insisting that the less-than-perfect circumstances weren’t as important as the yearning to take Patrick Kavanagh and make him hers. Her brain made a bid for common sense, reminding her that getting involved sexually with Patrick Kavanagh was a really bad idea.
But other parts of her body spoke more loudly. “How big is this tarp?” she asked, her fingers trembling as she unbuckled his belt.
* * *
Patrick found himself in uncharted territory. At any given moment he could find his way through a dense forest on a moonless night with no more than a compass and his knowledge of the mountains. Right now, however, he was a blind man struggling in quicksand.
This was insanity. Complete and utter disregard for the seriousness of their situation. He had to call a halt...
“Touch me,” he begged.
When Libby’s fingers closed around his erection, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“You fascinate me, Patrick,” she said softly, her firm touch on his body perfect in every way...as if they had been lovers forever and knew exactly what the other liked.
“I’m no different from any other guy,” he croaked, feeling his temperature rise as sweat broke out on his brow. “We see, we want, we take.”
“And what if I take you?”
His heart stopped. He tried to remember all the reasons why he was supposed to be a gentleman. The family connection. Libby’s recent losses. His mother’s disapproval.
Nothing worked. He wanted Libby. Badly. Enough to ignore his better judgment.
After that, it was only a matter of logistics. It could work. Not ideal, but doable. He fumbled with his pants, trying to lower them, but Libby was plastered against his chest, and he couldn’t bear to shove her away, even for a moment.
“Wait,” she cried. “Stop.”
“Damn it, woman, this was your idea.” He would stop if he had to, but why in the hell was she blowing hot and cold?
She put her hand over his mouth. “Listen,” she said, urgency in her tone. “I heard something.”
Patrick heard something, too. But it was the sound of his libido crying out in frustrated disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“Shut up and listen.”
Now she was making him mad.
And then he heard it. A scraping sound. And something else. Something human. Holy hell. “Button your blouse.”
He struggled with his own clothing, and then cursed when he needed her help to stand up. The pain meds had worn off, and his leg was one big ache. Funny how lust was a stunningly effective narcotic. Fumbling for the flashlight, he took Libby’s hand and they moved forward.
“We can’t get too close,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. “Cover your ears. I’m going to yell.
“We’re down here!” His plea echoed in their prison.
But from the other side of the mud and rock, a garbled response told him someone had heard the three simple words.
Libby’s fingernails dug into his palm. “Who do you think it is?”
“Does it matter? As long as it’s not the Grim Reaper, I’m a fan.”
They clung to each other, barely breathing.
Suddenly, an unwelcome sensation intruded. “Libby,” he said hoarsely. “My ankle is wet.”
She reached inside his jacket. “Is that a flashlight in your pocket, or are you glad to see me?” Dropping to her knees, she shone the light on his leg. “Oh, hell, Patrick. The butterfly strips came loose. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. We have to sit you down. Let me find the tarp.”
“No,” he muttered, feeling woozy. “A little dirt won’t hurt me.” Leaning on Libby with a death grip, he bent his knees and stumbled onto his butt, cursing when his leg cried out in agony.
She hovered at his side, crouching and combing her fingers through his hair. “Are you okay?”
“Never better.”
Without fanfare, a hole opened up in the mud. The unmistakable sounds of shoveling reverberated off the tunnel walls.
A voice, oddly disembodied, floated through the twelve-inch opening. “Patrick! You okay, man?”
Patrick swallowed. “I’m fine.”
He licked his lips, shaking all over. “That’s James, my brother. How did he know we were here?”
Libby put her arms around him, holding him close. “To quote a man I know, does it matter? Hang on, Patrick. It won’t be much longer.”
At last, the opening was large enough so they could lean through and allow themselves to be tugged out like bears from honey pots. Patrick staggered but made it to his feet. He blinked, seeing four of his brothers staring at him. He must look worse than he thought. “Thanks for coming, guys.”
And then his world went black.
* * *
Libby had her arm around Patrick’s waist, but she was no match for his deadweight when he lost consciousness. They both went down hard, despite the fact that James reached for his brother.
“What’s wrong with him?” James asked, alarm and consternation in his voice. Then he eased Patrick onto his back and saw the injury for himself.
Libby disentangled herself but stayed seated. “He’s lost a lot of blood. The cut will need stitches.”
After hasty introductions, Liam Kavanagh rescued the two backpacks from the mine. James and Dylan hoisted their injured sibling onto a portable litter and started back. Gavin gave her a weary smile. “I’m gonna piggyback you,” he said. “It will be faster that way.”
In the end, the trip through the forest took over two hours. The Kavanagh men had to be exhausted. It was four in the morning by the time they walked out of the woods and into the main lodge of Silver Reflections. Maeve was waiting for them, her face creased with worry.
The only brothers missing were Aidan, who, she learned, was out of town, and Conor who had gone to summon an ambulance. He’d kept his mother company during the rescue op
eration.
Maeve grabbed Libby into a huge hug. “Oh, my God. We’ve been out of our minds with worry.” She bit her lip, eyeing Patrick’s pale face as his brothers set the litter on a padded bench seat. “The ambulance is waiting.”
Liam had radioed ahead to let Maeve know they were on the way.
In the hustle and bustle that followed, Libby found herself curled into a deep, comfy armchair by a fire someone had been kind enough to build in the middle of the night. When all the men disappeared, Maeve touched her arm. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you back to the hotel before I follow them to the emergency room. Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”
“No, ma’am. I’m fine.”
Libby dozed in the car, waking up only as Maeve pulled up in front of Silver Beeches.
Maeve gazed at her, exhaustion on her face. “Do you need help getting upstairs?”
Libby knew her older friend was anxious to check on her son. “I’m fine, Maeve. Go see to Patrick. I’m going to bed as soon as I can get there.”
Looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror a short time later was a lesson in humility. Libby had seen corpses who had more color...and more fashion sense for that matter. Her clothes were filthy and torn, her hair was a tangled mess and, as an added indignity, her stomach rumbled loudly, making it known that sleep was going to have to wait.
The shower felt so good, she almost cried. After shampooing her hair three times and slathering it with conditioner, she used a washcloth to scrub away the grime from the rest of her body. She wove on her feet, fatigue weighting her limbs.
When she was clean and dry, she ordered room service. Six in the morning wasn’t too early for bacon and eggs. She had every intention of cleaning her plate, but she managed only half of the bounty before she shoved the tray aside and fell facedown onto the soft, welcoming bed.
Nine
Patrick wolfed down half of a sausage biscuit and watched as the female doc stitched up his leg. Thanks to several shots of numbing medicine, he was feeling no pain.
James leaned against the wall, as if guarding the room from unwanted intruders. Since they were the last people in the ER, Patrick was pretty sure any danger had been left behind at the mine. He and James had finally convinced all the others to go home and get some rest.
Patrick looked at his brother over the doctor’s head. “Thanks, bro. You want to explain to me how you knew where I was?”
James’s grin was tired but cocky. “I came up to Reflections yesterday to grab one of your gourmet lunches and see if you wanted to hike with me. The people at the front desk said you were in the forest teaching a new recruit the ropes. I set out around the mountain to catch up with you.”
“You know where the campsite is...but have you ever even been to the mine?”
“No...but I’ve heard you talk about it. So I used my Boy Scout tracker skills and followed your trail. I eventually stumbled across the landslide. The mud was thick and slimy and fresh. It was then I realized you might be in trouble.”
“Me and Libby...”
“Yeah. Since when do you camp out with pretty ladies?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I saw how she looked at you.”
“We’d been through a tough time. It was a bonding experience.” Patrick managed to keep his expression impassive, but his body was another story. “How did you dig us out?”
James grimaced. “That was the bad part. After I discovered I had nothing that was going to do the job, I ran back several miles to the knoll where we can usually get a phone signal and called Conor. He alerted everyone else. We all met up and brought the proper supplies.”
“I owe you one, baby brother.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll collect sooner or later. Like maybe an introduction to your newest employee?”
“I don’t think so,” Patrick snapped.
James raised an eyebrow. “Feeling a little territorial, are we?”
“She’s not your type.”
“Mom told me her story. She sounds like an amazing woman.”
“She is. But she’s had a tough time, and she doesn’t need strange guys sniffing around.”
“I’m not a strange guy... I’m your brother.”
The doctor looked up from her work and smiled. “Do I need to referee this squabble?”
Patrick looked down at the long, red, angry wound on his leg. He hadn’t needed a transfusion, but it was a close call. “No, Doc,” he said, shooting his brother a glare.
Fortunately, Patrick’s medical care wrapped up pretty quickly. In the car, James lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Am I taking you home?”
Patrick gazed out the window, feeling exhausted and surly. “I want to go up to the hotel and make sure Libby is okay.”
“She’ll be asleep by now.”
“Mom would give me a key.”
James drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I know the two of you just spent the night together in a creepy, dark tunnel, but that doesn’t give you the right to act like a stalker. Think, man. You can’t open her door and peek in on her. That’s way over the line.”
Patrick slumped into his seat. His selfish need to see her would have to wait. “I guess you’re right. Take me home.”
* * *
After a shower, a light meal and five hours of sleep, Patrick found himself awake and antsy. The cut was on his left leg, so he wasn’t limited as far as driving. When he couldn’t stand being inside his house for another minute, he drove to Silver Reflections. His employees seemed perplexed to see him after his ordeal, so he holed up in his office.
Liam had left the two backpacks inside Patrick’s door. Patrick dumped them out and started putting things away. One of the staff would take care of cleaning the tarps and other items. The rest Patrick stowed in specially labeled drawers along one wall of his suite.
When all of that was done, he couldn’t wait any longer. He sent a text to Libby.
Hope you’re feeling okay. You don’t have to go Friday if you’re not up to it. And stay home tomorrow...you deserve a rest...
He didn’t dare say what he was really thinking...that he needed time to figure out what to do about her.
He hit Send and spun around in his leather chair. Maybe he’d been more affected by the experience in the mine than he realized, because his concentration was shot. When someone knocked at his door, he frowned, tempted to pretend he wasn’t there.
But, after all, he was the boss. “Come in. It’s open.”
Libby was the last person he expected to see. She smiled. “I just got your text. Thanks for the consideration, but I couldn’t sleep all day. I’ve been in my office talking to a guest who’s disgruntled because he came here to relax and it’s too peaceful to sleep. Apparently he lives in a brownstone walk-up across the street from a fire station.”
“Ah. Maybe he needs more help than we can give.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m serious, Libby. Take tomorrow off. And do you still want to go to New York?”
“If you’ll have me.”
He would be damned glad to have her six ways to Sunday, but that wasn’t what she meant. “You’re welcome to come with me. As long as you know this isn’t a nod from me about the job. I’ll book you a hotel room this evening.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? I’ve been learning how to manage on a budget. One room is definitely cheaper than two.”
The challenging look in her eyes sent an unmistakable message. He stood up slowly and backed her against the door. “Are you sure it wasn’t the adrenaline rush of certain death that sent you into my arms?” He kissed the side of her neck to test his hypothesis. His hips nudged hers. She was soft where he was hard.
Libby sighed as their bodies aligned wit
h satisfying perfection. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but you’re a very sexy man.”
“It was the bloody leg, right? Women can’t resist a wounded hero.”
“To be exact, I believe James was the hero.”
She was taunting him deliberately. He knew that. And still, it pissed him off. “My brother is a great guy, but I doubt the two of you would get along.”
“And why is that? I found him quite charming.”
“If any Kavanagh is going to end up in your bed, it’s going to be me.” The declaration ended only a few decibels below a shout.
“Ooh...so intense. I have goose bumps. Still,” she said, drawing the single syllable out to make a point. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to sleep with the boss.”
“Then we won’t sleep,” he said. He kissed her wildly, feeling the press of her generous breasts against his chest. How had he ever thought she was meek and mousy?
Libby leaned into him, moaning when he deepened the kiss. “Your mother feels bad about our ordeal. She’s treating me to a spa day and a shopping trip tomorrow. But I’ll tell her no if you want me here. I’m not going to parlay this whole ‘stuck in a mine’ thing into special privileges.”
“I want you to stay away,” he said, entirely truthful. “I can’t concentrate when you’re around.”
“How nice of you to say so.”
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Be sure about this, sweet thing. If I do anything to hurt you, my mother will string me up by my ba—”
Libby clapped a hand over his mouth. “Watch your language, Mr. Kavanagh.” She rubbed her thumb over his bottom lip. The simple caress sent fire streaking to his groin. “Are you planning on hurting me?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Of course not.”
“Then relax and go with the flow. If nothing else in the last year, I’ve learned that’s the only way to live...”
* * *
Libby took Patrick at his word about staying home the next day. She’d suffered no lasting physical effects from their unfortunate incarceration, but she had been tormented by dark dreams Wednesday night. She needed employment. But she wanted Patrick. Climbing into bed with him was not going to be in her best interests. The conflicting desires went around and around in her head. She woke up feeling groggy and vaguely depressed.
How to Sleep with the Boss Page 8
