Internal Memo: Courage Bay City Council

From: Mayor Patrick O’Shea

Re: Increased Funding to Emergency Services

The recent aftershock that struck Courage Bay has brought home to me once again the urgency in gaining council’s approval for increased spending for the city’s emergency services.

As you know, I spent many years as a firefighter for the city, but never before has the need for extra funding been illustrated so clearly to me as the night of the aftershock. My administrative assistant, Briana Bliss, and I spent almost ten hours in a disabled elevator waiting for rescue. We requested that we be placed on low priority because we knew we were in no immediate danger. However, as you know, not all citizens of Courage Bay were as fortunate that night.

It is my belief that extra funding to our emergency services would result in quicker response times and a decrease in casualties. This past year has been a tough one for our city. We’ve had storms, forest fires, earthquakes and mudslides.

The police, fire and medical services have all been pressuring the city for larger budgets. It is hard for me to understand how anyone who loves this city as much as I do could think twice about increasing the funding. If we delay any longer, more lives will be lost. Now is the time to act.

About the Author

NANCY WARREN

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest where her hobbies include walking her border collie in the rain, hunting for antiques and mixing martinis. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Harlequin Books and has won numerous awards. Visit her at www.nancywarren.net.

Aftershocks
Nancy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

This is my first ever continuity, and I have to say it’s been a wonderful experience. As an author, I found it a real challenge to write about characters I hadn’t created and a plot that wasn’t my invention, but the minute I “met” Patrick and Briana, I knew we were going to have some fun together.

The other thrill about writing for the Code Red continuity was having a chance to work with authors I love, whether they normally write for the Intrigue, Superromance or Blaze line. It was a fun, supportive group. I hope you enjoy your time in Courage Bay as much as I enjoyed mine.

Hearing from readers is one of the best parts of my job. If you’d like to drop me a line, come visit me on the Web at www.nancywarren.net.

Happy reading,

Nancy

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

PATRICK O’SHEA wanted the one thing he couldn’t have.

The knowledge burned inside him from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon every weekday—which were the hours his admin assistant, Briana Bliss, worked, plus a whole load of overtime.

It was Briana he wanted. Even admitting to himself how badly he lusted after her was dangerous. She was out of bounds. Verboten. Untouchable.

Yes, untouchable. And he wanted to touch her so badly that their constant proximity was torture.

The last time he’d wanted a woman this badly he’d married her. Patrick glanced at the picture on his desk, at the smiling face of the woman he’d loved faithfully for more than a decade, including the three years she’d been gone.

“Are you laughing, Janie?” he asked softly, tightening his tie and slipping on his suit jacket. At first when he’d started talking to the framed photo, he’d thought grief might be making him insane, but now he realized it was his way of staying in touch with his memories. Janie’s laugh had been light and quick, and he imagined she’d laugh now if she could see him.

Here he was, finally registering signs of vitality in that part of his anatomy he’d thought had died with his wife, and the woman who’d brought them rushing back was the one woman he couldn’t have. Not without going against his principles and destroying his career, his credibility and his reputation.

“Honey, you never should have left,” he told Janie, knowing that he’d never have thought about Briana sexually if he were married. Janie knew it, too.

She’d been a warm and generous woman who would never want her children to remain motherless for long—or her husband a widower.

“Maybe this is a sign I’m ready to look around? Maybe lots of women would get to me this way?”

Janie didn’t reply, merely stared back, forever young, forever smiling.

A soft knock sounded, and the oak door of his office opened. He didn’t have to turn to know who had entered. Every male atom in his body—and they were all male—quivered to attention.

He turned and, even though he’d known it was Briana, was still slammed by the force of attraction. God, she was beautiful. Blond and green-eyed, she had a generous mouth and a determined chin. Her blouse wasn’t tight or revealing, yet her spectacular curves made it seem both. Her skirt was straight and hung to below her knees, but he had enough imagination to sketch in what couldn’t be seen.

At six foot three, he was used to looking down on women, but Briana was tall. Six feet, probably, when she wore those sexy high heels he loved. Like the ones she had on today.

“You’ve got to hurry,” she told him with a quick smile. “Don’t want to keep the chief of police waiting for his dinner.”

“I hope Max is more worried about how to make this city safer than he is about what’s on his plate,” Patrick grumbled. Still, he patted his pockets rapidly to make sure he had his wallet, then grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, holding it so Briana could pass through ahead of him. She stopped to pick up her shoulder bag on the way out, which meant she was going home, too. Good. Too often, it seemed, she worked more hours than he did.

The scent of her reached him. Not her perfume—he didn’t think she wore any—but some kind of skin lotion that smelled like the sea air out here in Courage Bay right after it rained. Clean and fresh and bracing.

The scent wasn’t remotely sexy, but it turned his libido inside out. He shook his head as he shut the door behind him. The door didn’t fit perfectly into the frame and he had to shove it with his hip before he could lock it—one more reminder of last month’s earthquake. The way things were going, he doubted the city would ever get around to fixing the minor damage done to city hall. The mayor’s door was definitely at the bottom of the list.

At the top of Patrick’s list was increasing emergency crews and bettering response times. That’s what he’d be discussing over dinner tonight.

He glanced at Briana’s swaying hips as she walked ahead of him on those perky heels, and he wished like hell he was having dinner with her. The conversation would be a lot more fun, and so would the view. And then, maybe afterward…

He shook his head as though he could shake his fierce attraction right out his ears. The rash of disasters and tragedies that had struck his town in recent months ought to have him thinking of something other than sex, but somehow, the added stress of being mayor of Courage Bay, California—which ought to be renamed Bad Luck Bay—hadn’t lessened his desire for his assistant. As disaster after disaster struck, he’d worked grueling hours, and Briana had worked right alongside him.

You learned a lot about a person during times of stress, and what he’d learned about Briana was that underneath her megababe exterior was a focused, quick intelligence and a sentimental heart.

She was, in fact, as fine a person on the inside as she was on the outside.

Patrick normally ran down the three levels of stairs from his office to the main foyer of city hall, but a glance at those heels Briana was wearing had him punching the elevator button.

She was holding the printout of his schedule for tomorrow. “Depending on how your dinner goes tonight,” she said, tapping her pen against her chin, “I can free up some time tomorrow for a press conference if you need it.”

Patrick snorted. “You have more faith in my powers of persuasion than I do. Max and I will talk and argue. We both agree we need more manpower, but I’ve got a budget to worry about and a council to convince.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the knots of tension there. “I’ll call you if…”

No, he wouldn’t. Calling Briana at home, at night, was emotionally pathetic and politically asinine. “Scratch that. If a press conference is necessary, which I doubt, I’ll call Archie—he’s the media guy. He can pull together a scrum.”

The elevator whirred to a stop and the doors slid open. Patrick sent a semidesperate glance down the corridor, only too happy to hold the elevator for anyone—anyone at all—but not so much as the tip of a shoe showed. The corridor was empty, the floor quiet. As usual, he and Briana had outworked the rest of the staff.

Normally, he avoided being alone in closed spaces with Briana, partly because he didn’t want to torment himself unnecessarily. He was no more of a sucker for punishment than the next guy.

But there was another reason.

Patrick had been sick to his stomach last year when he saw the grainy footage on the TV news station of then mayor Herman Carter—the married mayor—getting it on with his admin assistant in a sleazy motel.

After the footage aired, the assistant slapped him with a sexual harassment suit, Carter’s wife filed for divorce. His inappropriate behavior cost the man his job, his marriage and, according to local gossip, most of his money.

Not that Patrick wanted to benefit from another man’s misfortune, even if it was self-inflicted, but that sex scandal had eventually led to Patrick himself getting the mayor’s job.

He’d been fire chief then, still grieving the loss of his wife and questioning a lot of things. He knew he’d spouted his mouth off a little more vigorously than he might have had he not been furious that a man with a living, healthy wife would screw around, while Patrick, who’d barely peeked at another woman in all his years of marriage, should lose his young wife to a sudden brain aneurysm.

He and Briana stepped into the elevator and he took up a position behind and a step away from temptation. To a stranger, his rapt attention might appear to be on tomorrow’s appointments, but really, he was mesmerized by the blond fall of hair, the way it curled provocatively against her cheekbones and teased her jaw.

How much more of this could a red-blooded man take?

“Why don’t you let me put in a word for you tonight with Max?” he asked. “The police department has far more challenging positions than anything I can offer you. I hate to see you wasting your talents on scheduling my speeches to the rotary club and presenting service medals to school kids. You’re overqualified for what you’re doing.” Indeed, he’d been amazed that she’d applied for the job. Before coming to Courage Bay she’d been the city manager of a small town in the Midwest. She was so much more qualified than the other applicants that he’d been grateful she was even interested in the position. He still was grateful to have her working with him—except it meant he couldn’t ask her out.

She glanced up, startled. Probably he’d sounded more vehement than he’d intended. He could have sworn a light blush warmed her face. As he gazed into her bright green eyes, intense sexual awareness passed between them—and not for the first time. He couldn’t come right out and make his position clear—that he wanted her to take a promotion so he could ask her for a date—but damn, he wished she’d take the hint.

As usual, she didn’t.

Her lips tilted slightly and she glanced away, as though denying the attraction that hovered in the air. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“You know I’m not.” Quite the opposite. For a very smart lady, Briana was acting pretty dumb. Or else she simply wasn’t interested in him, and all those sizzling glances were the product of his overheated imagination. He was so out of practice with women, he wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

A slight shudder ran through him. He’d pledged the people of Courage Bay his integrity and his morality and he took his promises seriously. Getting involved with an employee was a bad, bad idea. Getting involved with his admin assistant would be like taking a gun and shooting himself in the foot.

He wanted to touch her so badly he had to shove his fisted hands in his pockets.

She passed him a computer printout and he was forced to take the thing. “What’s this?”

“I ran some numbers for you. If Chief Zirinsky starts throwing statistics at you, you’ll be able to check them for accuracy.”

He chuckled. “A cheat sheet.”

She shot him a glance of shock. “I can’t believe you’d even know that term.” She widened her stance and dropped her voice, slowing her usual quick speech. “A man is only as good as his ethics.”

Since it was a favorite saying of his, he had to assume she was imitating him. Still, her teasing only reminded him that he’d allowed his campaign team to hoist him onto a damn white horse. A Mayor with Morals had been his slogan. Now he had to live with the consequences.

While he scanned the stats, trying to concentrate, he was keenly aware that he wanted to bury his nose in Briana’s hair, run his lips down the curve of her throat—

Abruptly, all visions of Briana fled from his mind, and it wasn’t the rising number of suspicious homicides or the increasing delays in 911 response times that grabbed his attention.

It was the lurch of the elevator. It banged and shuddered like a children’s carnival ride, throwing Briana and Patrick against the back corner. He hit first, jarring his shoulder against the faux wood panel. Instinctively, he put his arms out to brace Briana when she landed, with a sharp cry of panic, against his body.

He held her tight against him, then dragged them both to the floor, rolling her on top of him. With only two floors to drop, there was a good chance she’d survive, especially if he cushioned her with his body.

She didn’t argue, or struggle, but let him maneuver them until her body pressed his from breast to ankle. Like lovers.

They clung together while the world shook and trembled around them. Each second seemed like a year. After the earthquake last month, he knew the signs well. Was this going to be another major quake or a milder aftershock?

First came a shudder, then a rumbling noise as the elevator swayed and their bodies rolled back and forth like surfers waiting for a wave.

He held her tight against him, every muscle and nerve tensed for the cable to snap and the elevator to plunge.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The thunderous noise stopped. The elevator stilled.

The cable had held.

Still, they remained unmoving, pressed together. He heard the thump of her heart, felt her body so soft and womanly against his.

“Aftershock,” she whispered, her breath soft against his ear. He heard the tremor in her voice, and felt it throughout her body, but she had herself in control. She wasn’t going to scream or freak out on him.

“Nothing too serious,” he said softly in the same tone he used to soothe Fiona, his five-year-old daughter.

“Are we out of danger?” she asked, rising up on her elbows to stare down into his face.

He grinned up at her. “I think so.”

Relief made him light-headed. His kids weren’t going to lose him. He was alive, healthy, reasonably young, and it looked as though he and Briana were going to see another day.

He was also lying beneath a warm, wonderful, sexy woman.

“You okay?” he asked, running his hands up her arms and lightly over her back.

She made a sound in the back of her throat and he felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with fear.

Her gaze was locked on his, the clear green clouding with passion. Her lips, soft and full, opened slightly in a silent plea.

His own body hardened immediately in response to the expression in her eyes and the press of her body against his. Their minds might have dozens of reasons why intimacy was a bad idea, but their bodies didn’t care.

Patrick thrust his hands into her hair, pulled her head down to his and kissed her. He couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate life.

The heat that flared between them was amazing. Hotter than he could have imagined. With a soft sigh, Briana flicked her tongue into his mouth, making him half crazy with excitement.

It was as though all the electricity that surged between them was too much for the city’s power grid. As he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer against him, they were plunged into darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

BRIANA CLOSED her eyes. Not that it changed anything. They were trapped in a pitch-black elevator, and she couldn’t see anything whether her eyes were open or shut.

But closing her eyes was an automatic response to the passion roaring through her system. She wanted to hold it to her, shut it in tight, let it bubble and boil behind her eyelids.

She wanted Patrick to kiss her and keep on kissing her.

She’d wanted it for weeks.

But she’d never imagined anything could feel so good.

So lost was she in the sensations of his lips moving on hers, his hands in her hair, his body hard and muscular beneath hers that she almost forgot her purpose. The one thing she’d strived for in the two months she’d worked here.

Her purse had tumbled from her shoulder when Patrick had thrown them both to the floor. Hanging on to a thread of sanity, she groped around and found her bag. Slipping a hand inside, she automatically identified objects. The rectangular smooth item was her wallet, the flat metal object was…no, that was her cell phone. Her fingertips continued to search even as desire built within her.

Ah, there. Larger, wider, metal. Her tape recorder. With a moan that was only half-feigned to cover the click, she pushed the On button.

Now they had Patrick.

That handy, high-powered tape machine was going to record a lot of inappropriate behavior in this elevator—moaning and sighing. Kissing noises, for sure. If she was lucky, words of lust and carnal intent. She intended to record the entire incident. No one could call it sexual harassment—she was an adult and at the moment couldn’t be more consenting—but the tape would damage Saint Patrick, as her uncle derisively called him, and his credibility.

Naturally, she had no intention of actually having sex with Patrick—not to help her uncle achieve his revenge, anyway.

In fact, if it were anyone else who’d told her that Patrick had manufactured the lies that had cost her uncle—Councilor Cecil Thomson—the mayor’s office, she wouldn’t have believed him.

Her uncle had been Briana’s biggest fan since her own parents were killed in a car accident when she was five.

She owed her upbringing, food, clothes and shelter to her mother’s sister, Aunt Shirley, and her husband, Uncle Dennis; they’d given her a loving home and brought her up as their own.

But it was her mother’s brother, Cecil, and his wife, Irene, who had financed her education, gymnastics instruction and piano lessons, even a couple of trips to Europe. And the extras that her legal guardians couldn’t afford for her.

Her aunt and uncle back in Ohio had given her love and security when she was so lost and alone. From them she’d learned the values of hard work and frugality and the importance of honesty and loyalty. But Briana had had to share them with their own children.

Cecil and Irene had no children, so they always said Briana was like their own daughter. And there were times, she had to admit, when she’d cheerfully have changed her guardianship from the good, decent Dennis and Shirley to the charming and successful Cecil and Irene. Cecil was a big man with a bluff manner and a hearty laugh. He treated her like a princess and she adored him. She’d often wondered if she’d inherited her love of politics from him.

Briana had no interest in running for office, but the behind-the-scenes machinations of government fascinated her. And she’d discovered that small-scale government allowed her better scope for her talents. She could really make a difference. Cecil had guided her career, helping her attain the position of city manager in a small Midwest town.

Uncle Cecil had worked hard as a Courage Bay councilor for years. Of course, he had a full-time job as a banker, but she knew he got a lot more pleasure from politics than from banking. After the last mayor left office in disgrace, Uncle Cecil had discussed his plans with her to run for mayor himself and she’d eagerly offered to fly out and help with his campaign.

He’d chuckled. “Honey, I’ve lived in this town all my life. Managed the biggest local bank, served on council. There’s nobody even running against me but a cocky young firefighter whose campaign donations couldn’t fill his fireman’s hat. When I’m mayor, I’ll hire you as city manager.”

But the call she’d received just a couple of weeks later hadn’t been to tell her of his victory, but to warn her not to believe the lies that were being spread about him.

“That lying weasel fireman didn’t have a hope. Not a goddamn hope of winning enough votes. So he and his cop buddies cooked up a story. I won’t dirty your ears with hearing it, but let me tell you, the opposition’s underhanded tactics have destroyed my chances. Worse, your aunt Irene was devastated.” His voice had wavered as he told her the last part, and her heart went out to him. She knew how much he loved his wife.

Briana was furious. “How could anyone destroy a man’s reputation and his marriage over a municipal election?” she’d cried, tears of rage almost choking her.

“They’re lies, honey. All lies. I would never do…never do that to your aunt.”

Of course, the minute she’d gotten off the phone with her uncle she’d started searching the Internet. It didn’t take her long to access the electronic version of the Courage Bay Sentinel, the town’s daily newspaper.

The paper had printed an old arrest photo of a man, supposedly her uncle, being booked for public lewdness. In fact, the twenty-year-old incident suggested her uncle had been caught having sex with a prostitute in a public place.

A man who would treat his niece with such love and generosity and who’d always had a close and loving relationship with his wife wouldn’t do such a thing. Briana was sure of it, and if her uncle insisted the paper had printed lies, she believed him.

The next day, when she was calmer, she’d called him and suggested he sue the paper for libel and the police department for…well, she wasn’t certain of the law, but there was obviously gross wrongdoing there, as well.

He’d heard her out, and then, in a voice that sounded old and defeated, said, “There’s a record there, honey. It’s false. I know it and you know it, but there’s no way to prove that. O’Shea—” he spat the word “—with his connections to the police, could easily pull this off. They’ve faked that photo and the arrest file, but it would be my word against theirs. I’ll only hurt your aunt more by trying to fight their lies.”

“But…but the prosti—the woman involved. Surely she’ll testify on your behalf.”

“She might, if she hadn’t died more than five years ago. She was a drunk. Drove her car off the road.” He laughed mirthlessly. “They set me up pretty good.”

“This isn’t right, Uncle Cecil. There must be something we can do to stop this injustice. Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

At the time, she’d had in mind letters to congress to initiate some kind of internal inquiry within the Courage Bay police department, getting the media involved, but her uncle stopped her. “I’ll only make a fool of myself if I try to fight these boys. No. I’ll never be mayor now.” He sighed heavily and in that moment she knew how much becoming mayor had meant to him. “But revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold. Your support means the world to me, honey. I’ll let you know when I need you.”

And two months ago he’d done just that. Patrick O’Shea, the man who’d beaten her uncle by a landslide at the polls, needed a new administrative assistant. Her uncle was chuckling with glee at his perfect plan to arrange for the new mayor to be forced to resign for the same reasons as the former mayor. “As soon as he makes a pass at my beautiful niece, we’ve got him.”

Although Briana was happy to do almost anything for her uncle, she wasn’t at all keen on the idea of tempting a man sexually to destroy his political career. “I’m a feminist, Uncle Cecil. This sounds like something from the fifties.”

“Darling girl, I’m not asking you to seduce him. If he’s the moral saint he pretends to be, then nothing will happen. You’ll do the job, I’ll naturally make up the salary difference between your current salary and this one, and in, say, six months, if he hasn’t acted inappropriately or made a pass at you, then we drop it.”

Briana hadn’t felt nearly as confident. But she did want to help her uncle, and she’d wanted to move to California, where she felt there were better employment opportunities, for a long time. “And if he does make a pass?”

“We’ll have the tape to the media faster than you can say Monica Lewinsky.”

“I’ve always pictured myself more as the Hillary Clinton type.”

“Of course. You’re bright and ambitious. You’ll go places. But I know you’re also deeply concerned about justice, and hate dirty politics. I’m offering you a chance to see justice done, and one ugly political wrong put right.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t like the plan. Didn’t want to bring a man down. But she owed her uncle her loyalty. And he was right about her love of justice. Besides, if her new boss was an honorable man, he wouldn’t make a pass at a female employee.

But if Patrick O’Shea was an honorable man, he never would have faked evidence against a decent, good person like her uncle. She’d do what her uncle asked in the name of justice and family loyalty, help clear up some civic corruption and then move on. With her work record, glowing letters of recommendation from former employers and an honors degree in government studies, she wouldn’t have much trouble obtaining a challenging position, maybe in Los Angeles or Sacramento. Reluctantly, she agreed to Uncle Cecil’s plan.

Briana hadn’t been thrilled about the part she was to play before she arrived in Courage Bay and interviewed for the job, but she was even less happy when she met Patrick O’Shea and felt her mouth go dry.

The man was gorgeous in an understated, rugged, pick-a-woman-up-and-carry-her-across-a-raging-river kind of way. He had black hair with a few silver strands beginning to show, and Irish blue eyes that could twinkle with amusement or turn a hard, cold pewter when there was trouble. When he gazed at her, his eyes darkened in intensity. He might not say anything, but she knew what he was thinking. She didn’t think seducing him would be much of a trial.

Men came on to her all the time. It was something she’d been used to since she was a teenager. With her Nordic genes and statuesque body, she was accustomed to male attention. However, it was unusual for her to respond as forcefully as she did to Patrick O’Shea. She was only sorry that someone she found so attractive should be so corrupt.

Of course, whatever his standards, she considered herself a woman of integrity. She wouldn’t make the first move. It was up to him. But her tape recorder was always in her purse and the batteries fresh.

She’d discovered in the first week of working for the mayor that when he was out of the office, he sometimes made notes into a small personal recorder. Periodically, he’d give her the recorder and ask her to transcribe his notes, which ranged from budget issues to ideas for future speeches.

The recorder was common enough, and by the second week of her employment, she owned an identical one. She reasoned that if Patrick ever caught sight of hers, he’d naturally think it was his own. Not that she intended for him to notice she had a tape recorder, but she believed in covering all her bases.

In two months, nothing had happened.

Nothing that you could put on tape, anyway. Things like sizzling eye contact. A sudden rise in air temperature that had nothing to do with a faulty air conditioner. And a longing deep inside her that was as rare as it was potent.

Briana had never found herself in a worse predicament. She wanted Patrick O’Shea. She wanted to run her fingers over the rugged planes of his face, trace the shape of his ears, the scar that bisected one eyebrow.

Even though his next birthday would be his fortieth, he still had the lean hard body of an active firefighter. She knew he trained frequently at the gym with the guys from his former station.

She wanted to touch that powerfully built body. She had fantasies of coming together with him naked. Fantasies that shamed her because he was her boss and it was inappropriate for her to think about having sex with him.

The curse of her situation was that if he did make a pass, she’d know he was as hot for her as she was for him.

And if he made a pass, she’d also know that he was a hypocrite. A man who would make sexual overtures to a female employee after promising to act with squeaky clean ethics was beneath contempt.

But now here they were, in this dark elevator, and it was Briana’s body, not her brain, that was in charge. Still thrumming with adrenaline after their brush with death, she suddenly didn’t care much about ethics or campaign promises.

As his lips crushed hers, Briana responded helplessly, even as she wished deep down that Patrick had turned out to be a better man.

Five minutes. She’d give him five minutes. Enough time to get some moaning and groaning recorded. If he was like every other man she’d ever kissed, he’d try to get her out of her clothes.

She’d say no.

He’d beg her for sex.

And she’d have him. On tape.

The man is a hypocrite and a liar, she reminded herself as Patrick’s lips found her throat and she tipped her chin to give him better access.

Five minutes. She traced the shape of his eyebrow, noting the indent of his scar, then let her hands roam his face, his shoulders. His arousal strained against her, hard, seeking her softest parts, and she couldn’t stop the rush of longing.

Stuck there in the dark, suspended between floors was like being caught between reality and fantasy.

Patrick O’Shea was a bad man.

She knew it. He’d destroyed her uncle’s chances of ever becoming mayor of the town he’d served for a quarter of a century. Now, the minute they were stuck in an elevator together, he was jumping her bones. Intellectually, she knew he was a hypocrite and a liar. But the trouble was, her body didn’t care. Her flesh and blood responded to him in a purely physical sense that had nothing to do with morals or ethics, elections or earthquakes.

Well, earthquakes maybe, in their crudest “the earth moved” definition.

“I want you so much,” he murmured against her neck.

Damn. Too soft for the tape recorder.

Her breathing shallow, she raised her head and spoke as clearly as she could. “What did you say?”

“I want you so much, Briana,” he repeated. “I want to make love with you.”

“Yes,” she said, not certain whether she meant yes as in Yes! I got it on tape, or Yes! He wants me, he wants me.

Patrick seemed to take it as Yes, she wants me. He went back to kissing her neck, which was fine, because she did want him. More than she ever remembered wanting anything.

He made it to the base of her throat, and she found herself arching up to give him easier access to her breasts.

His hands, so capable and strong, cupped her breasts with hot abandon, surprising a moan out of her.

As though impatient to reach bare skin—and he couldn’t be more impatient for it than she was—he plunged a hand into the vee of her blouse, then cursed in frustration.

“Buttons,” she cried, desperate to feel his hands on her. She’d have undone them herself, but her arms were supporting her and they trembled beneath her.

He made such clumsy work of her buttons that Briana realized he was shaking as badly as she was.

The tape, she recalled dimly. It would be impossible to register what he was doing on tape.

“Are you taking off my blouse?”

A low chuckle answered her. “I’m trying, but damn it, I’m out of practice.”

That blunt admission gave her pause. Of course, she knew he’d been a widower for three years, but surely…He was a man. He must have…

Anyway, none of that mattered. What mattered was getting him to incriminate himself on tape so she could do her buttons back up and be done with this unpleasant task of entrapping a man she’d grown to like.

Even if her judgment was suspect, she did like him. She wanted to get this over with. Record the incident. Get out of here alive. Give the tape to her uncle and leave town.

Playing this devious undercover game was no fun. She’d discovered within hours of meeting Patrick that she wasn’t cut out for entrapment. She liked plain dealing and honesty. He might be a lying, devious career-destroyer, but at this moment, so was she, no matter how she tried to justify her actions.

Mentally, she reviewed the tape. There’d be kissing sounds, heavy breathing, Patrick admitting he wanted her…

That would have to be enough. She couldn’t do this anymore.

She opened her mouth to stop him but at the same moment he managed to unsnap her bra. In the dark, her nipples tightened, then she gasped as his hot tongue slid across her aching flesh.

“Oh,” she cried, her entire body shuddering. “That feels so good.”

His tongue curled around one nipple and he sucked the tip of her breast right into his mouth. He was so greedy, so eager, and his obvious delight in her thrilled her more than any refined technique.

From one breast to the other he moved eagerly, as though he’d been in prison for years and had only now rediscovered women.

He was panting, she was panting. The tape must be moving into R-rated territory.

His hand was working its way under her skirt. She was supposed to stop him, she had to say…

“No.”

The word was a piteous groan, and Briana realized it hadn’t come from her.

“God, Briana, I’m sorry.” It was Patrick who’d spoken.

“No?” She felt stunned, rejected. “What do you mean, no?”

He stroked her hair, touched her cheek.

“I want to make love to you right now, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But—”

“No buts.” Her body burned for him, her flesh felt as though steam must be rising from it. They’d obviously denied the powerful attraction of each other’s pheromones for too long.

She kissed him, hard and deep, teasing his lips with her tongue, the sensations so much stronger in the dark.

“But I—”

A finger across his lips silenced him. “I believe in fate,” she told him. “Fate stuck us in this elevator and turned out the lights. What happens tomorrow doesn’t matter. Hell, Patrick, we almost didn’t have a tomorrow.”

“I know, but—”

“I don’t want to think about how long we’re going to be trapped here. I don’t want to think about how awful it would be to develop claustrophobia in the next ten minutes. The best way to fight boredom and fear is to occupy your mind.”

“You think?” Reluctant humor threaded his tone.

“I know.” She smiled in the dark, smug, knowing she’d won.

“I…You’re still a female employee.”

She loosened his tie. “So fire me.”

That surprised laughter out of him. She felt it rumble up his throat beneath her fingers. “Fire you? You’re phenomenal. Competent, smart, hardworking. Hell, why would I fire you?”

“So we can have sex. It’s temporary. You can rehire me whenever we get out of here.”

There was a long pause, and she could almost hear him thinking. She held her breath. She hadn’t been entirely joking about needing to take her mind off their current situation.

She wasn’t claustrophobic, but she knew that Patrick was keeping her thoughts and feelings more pleasantly engaged. As it was, the reality of being trapped in a warm black box tickled the edges of her mind. And that box was hanging from a cable that had sustained a major earthquake and some hefty aftershocks in the past month. Who knew how long it would hold?

No. She needed a distraction. And sex with Patrick was about the best damn distraction she could imagine.

“Briana?”

“Yes?”

“You’re fired.”

A great rush of pent-up breath left her chest, and the next second she wished she’d saved a little, for Patrick was kissing the life out of her.

Somehow she was on her back, the elevator tile hard beneath her spine, but as for the rest of her…oh my. Now that Patrick had let himself go, he was all over her.

He kissed her hungrily while his hands roamed everywhere. She heard a small tear and then the bounce of a plastic button on the tile.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice so husky with passion she barely recognized it.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, loving his eagerness, finding the clumsiness endearing. He was so gorgeous and confident it hadn’t occurred to her that his technique would be less than smooth.

Then his mouth found her breast again and she put all rational thought away.

“Oh, yes.” Her body arched beneath him.

His hand was warm, slightly leathery as it slid beneath her skirt and trailed up, up to where she was so very hot.

Even as he cupped her through her panties, she felt everything tighten, all those wonderfully concentrated sensation centers started tuning up ready to sing.

Her blouse was open, her bra gaping, but he was still dressed. She attacked his buttons with barely more finesse than he’d shown. She wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. Wanted the warm roughness against her sensitive skin.

She got the buttons out of the way and parted his shirt, running her hands over the strong muscular planes of his stomach, the bulge of his pecs, lightly fuzzed with hair.

She pulled him to her, rubbing against him like a cat against a favorite couch. He was fuzzy, warm, strong and so very alive.

His fingers slipped inside her panties and she jerked her hips up against him, begging wordlessly and shamelessly to be touched.

As his fingers played over her, she began to sigh, her breath coming in panting gasps.

“I want you inside me,” she cried.

His fingers slowed and he kissed her softly. “I don’t have anything with me.”

“Hmm?” she murmured, feeling slightly muzzy.

“Protection. Condoms. I don’t—”

“Oh. Right.” She was on the pill, but still, a condom was sensible. That’s why she always carried a few. “I think I have some in my purse.” Once again she dug around in her bag.

Briana wasn’t a promiscuous woman, but she believed in being prepared. She had a discreet little zip-up bag in blue Chinese silk in there somewhere.

Trouble was, a woman as prepared as she was tended to have a lot of other junk filling her bag, as well. Cell phone…she paused with her hand on it. She could at least try to phone out, maybe get them rescued sooner. But then she’d miss her chance to make love with Patrick, and right now her body’s urges were overpowering her common sense ten to one.

She dug deeper, fingertips searching for the touch of silk. She felt the tape recorder. Once again her hand stilled. Oh, lord. She’d forgotten all about the tape. She bit her lip in the dark. She should turn it off. After all, Patrick had fired her temporarily so they could avoid any hint of scandal.

But…

She’d think about that later. She could always erase the tape.

She kept digging, feeling Patrick’s breath on her belly, his hands roving with growing confidence, warm and sure as they drove her slowly, but inevitably higher.

He put his mouth on her nipple and she drew in a sharp breath. Longing rippled through her. She couldn’t hang on much longer.

Silk. Purse. There it was, right at the bottom. She pulled it out, along with a travel pack of tissues, and handed it to him.

She heard the zip as he opened the silk pouch. Then she heard the rustle of plastic tearing.

“What the—”

“What is it?” Briana asked.

“I know I’m out of practice, but have condoms changed?” He sounded not only puzzled but mildly grossed out.

“What are you—”

He shoved the small package in her hand and she felt inside. At first she registered only confusion as her fingers touched something soft, wet and cold. Then the spring-fresh scent hit her and she giggled. “That’s not a condom. It’s a travel wipe.”

A pause. Even in the dark she felt him staring at her.

“You’re kidding me.”

She stifled another giggle. He sounded amazed and put out at the same time. “I keep them in the same bag. I like to be prepared.”

“You got cigarettes and brandy in there for afterward?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she teased, digging in to the silk pouch and identifying a packet that definitely contained a condom. “Here.”

This time the ripping sound was much slower, and she could tell he was examining the condom before withdrawing it from its package.

He must have been satisfied, for she felt a movement beside her that suggested he was putting it on.

It was so dark, and he felt so good, she wouldn’t think about tomorrow—or even tonight, after they were rescued.

There was only now. Her body yearned for him, open and wanting, their isolation only increasing the sense of intimacy and mystery.

Because there was no light, she learned his body by touch, as he learned hers.

Darkness, she discovered, was a potent aphrodisiac.

CHAPTER THREE

PATRICK KNEW that as long as he lived, he’d never forget this night.

The dream that had haunted him for two months since Briana walked into his office was turning into a reality. She was so warm and soft, womanly and exciting, so exactly as he’d imagined.

She smelled like fresh rain, felt like soft velvet, and her skin tasted like warm, willing woman. With a rush of potent longing he wanted to taste all of her. But right at this moment he needed to bury himself deep inside her body more than he needed to breathe.

And she was begging him to do exactly that.

“Please…” Her voice was trembling with excitement. “Come inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Whatever the lady wants,” he said softly, settling between her thighs.

He kissed her deeply. He wanted her to know what this meant to him, what she meant to him.

“Briana, I—”

“Now, please.” She grasped his shaft and placed him at the hot slick entrance to her body.

Raw need took hold of him and he thrust hard and deep into heaven.

Her wordless cry of pleasure filled his ears, her warmth surrounded him, her scent delighted him as he thrust, wishing he could prolong this sensual buildup forever, knowing he’d be done in an embarrassingly short time.

It had been so long.

As her body arched to meet him, as she thrashed mindlessly against him, he slipped a hand between their bodies and touched her. The timbre of her cries changed, becoming deeper, more guttural. Knowing she was close, he let himself go a little more, riding her hard, loving the way she hooked her legs around him and stayed with him all the way.

He felt the moment she surrendered, felt her body clench around his shaft, and he lost his own control, feeling the surge of powerful pleasure as he emptied himself into her.

Then he collapsed, damp and spent against her, and she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.

Finally, he thought dimly, after two months of torment. Finally.

He kissed her softly, thinking he’d never ride this elevator again without remembering….

Along with an awkwardness that his knees felt bruised from rubbing on the hard floor of the elevator came a reminder of his responsibilities. His first thought was for his kids. Had they been scared? He wished he’d been there when the ground started to shake. At least he had a reliable housekeeper. Then he turned his mind to the emergency crews. What was going on in his city while he was stuck in this dangling box?

PATRICK GLANCED at his watch. Even in the dark, Briana knew what he was doing. She could see the pale green numbers glowing in the dark. Did he want to be rid of her already?

An hour or so ago, when they’d rebuttoned themselves, he’d tried the emergency phone installed in the elevator, but it wasn’t working. He’d cursed, frustration coming off him in waves, and she’d thought to herself, Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Since then, they’d sat side by side on the hard floor. He’d become fidgety and morose. He checked his watch again. She felt his impatience, heard it echo around in the dark elevator as his feet tapped the floor.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Hmm?” For the third time he turned his wrist to stare at his watch.

“Ten-fifteen.” His breath exploded out of him. “The baby-sitter is expecting me home. What’s she going to do when I don’t show up?”

Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached out, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.

He wasn’t acting this way because he wanted to be rid of her now they’d had sex. Patrick was a single dad. A fact that she’d allowed herself to forget. He had responsibilities, children who needed him home.

She hung her head, knowing he couldn’t see her guilty face in the dark. Inside her bag was her cell phone—a fact she hadn’t bothered sharing with him because she’d been so busy trying to lure him into indiscretion.

She had a choice.

She could continue to pretend there was no phone in her bag.

Or she could admit to the phone, hoping her acting abilities were good enough that he’d believe she’d forgotten the stupid thing or simply assumed it wouldn’t work.

A long, silent minute ensued. She felt his urgency and her own conflicted feelings.

But most of all, she found herself remembering how it felt to be parentless. That sense of utter desolation—that you didn’t belong to anyone anymore. That the place where you were safest and most special was gone forever, along with those who’d loved you best.

Patrick’s son, Dylan, was nine, little Fiona five. She’d met them a couple of times at the office and she’d liked them. They were quiet, well-behaved kids. Both times they’d come with their Aunt Shannon, Patrick’s firefighter sister, and the four of them had gone out for lunch. She could see that lunch with Dad was a big treat.

They must have been so young when their mother died.

She took a deep breath. He was never going to believe she’d forgotten she had her phone. She’d have to go with the brainless angle, which irked her.

“Is there a chance my cell phone would work?” she asked simply.

The silence thickened. “You have a cell phone on you?”

“In my bag. Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Because I wanted you to seduce me so I could ruin your political career. She couldn’t say that, so she stuck with dumb. “But surely all the phone lines will be affected by the aftershock.”

“Briana, cell phones work by satellite. It might not work in an elevator, but let’s give it a try.”

She dug into her bag, pulled out her cell and handed it to him.

She felt his haste and then saw the eerie green glow as he flipped open the phone.

As he punched numbers and the call went through, she felt more and more like an evil woman keeping a single father from the children who needed him.

“Mrs. Simpson? It’s Patrick. How’s everyone? Are the kids safe? Did the earthquake scare them?”

He must have liked the answers he was getting because she felt him relax, and his tone became less urgent.

“Look, I’m going to be late. I’m stuck in an elevator at work. That’s right. No. I’m fine. Can you stay? It could be morning before we get out of here. Depends what the damage is like.”

She heard him give a sigh of relief. “Are Fiona and Dylan asleep? Good. Please go ahead and sleep in the guest room. I’m sorry about this. Right. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up and blew out a long breath. “The baby-sitter can stay,” he said, handing her back the phone. “Thank God everyone’s all right.”

Then he sank back against the elevator wall.

She chuckled. She couldn’t stop herself.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m thinking, since the cell phone works, maybe we should make a second call. Like to 911, to get us out of here.”

He laughed right along with her, a deep, rich sound, as though she’d made the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Sorry, I got so caught up in my kids I wasn’t thinking straight.” And that, she thought, ought to let her off the hook for not telling him about her cell phone earlier. After an earthquake, not thinking straight seemed a perfectly acceptable excuse. For a lot of things.

Thank goodness it was dark, so Patrick couldn’t see her smile. Once he knew his kids were fine, he was obviously so happy to stay stuck here with her that it didn’t matter to him when they were rescued. Truth was, she was just as happy.

Right now, her body still pulsing with its own aftershocks of remembered pleasure, she could simply enjoy her new lover’s closeness, reach out and touch him if she liked, lean into him and inhale the all male scent of his skin.

She heard Patrick’s voice on the phone to the 911 operator. He called her by name. Dorothy. Of course, he probably knew all the 911 operators from his days as fire chief. Whatever he’d done to get the job, he was a good mayor. He asked about the damage elsewhere in the city.

She heard his tone change, and he uttered a sharp-edged curse.

“No, Dorothy,” he said. “We’re fine. Put us on lowest priority. I don’t care. I want the full crew on that basement suite fire. Any idea how many people are inside?”

Briana’s warm and fuzzy postcoital glow faded fast. She’d been so caught up with her own predicament, she hadn’t considered that there were other people in town who hadn’t fared as well as she had.

“What else is going on, Dorothy? Come on. No BS. I need to know.”

She didn’t even think, but reached out to grab his free hand, knowing he was hearing bad news and was powerless to do anything to help.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I take my kids to that corner store for Saturday afternoon treats after Dylan’s baseball games. Is the fatality confirmed?”

He sighed deeply and she knew the answer. “Just the one?”

Here she and Patrick had been celebrating their own escape from disaster, and someone had been killed.

“No…just a minute.” He turned to Briana. “There are some fires and a collapsed building in town. Okay with you if we go to the bottom of the list? We’ll be rescued by morning, but I’m not sure exactly when.”

Well, her bladder would start complaining at some point, and she could use a meal, but she wasn’t all that uncomfortable, and it was tough to ask for priority treatment when people were in a lot more desperate straits than she was. So Briana squeezed his hand as a thank-you for asking. “Of course, I’m fine.”

He squeezed back. “You’re one in a million,” he said, then turned back to the phone. “We’re fine, Dorothy. I’ll give you the cell phone number here. We’ll call again if anything changes, but so far we’re stable.”

He ended the call and handed Briana her phone. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. Even if she’d owned up to her phone earlier, nothing would have changed. She knew Patrick would have made the same decision then that he’d made now. The people of Courage Bay came first.

She sighed, and leaned into him. “How bad is it?”

“One confirmed fatality. The convenience store near my house collapsed tonight. A woman died when a falling beam hit her. She’s unidentified so far. Probably the cashier.”

She touched his shoulder in comfort. If the convenience store was near his home, chances were that Patrick knew the woman.

“And you said something about a fire?”

“Yes. House fire. Looks to be contained in a basement suite over on Eighth. The fire crew’s still working on it. No idea yet if there was anyone inside.” He cursed, softly and viciously. “If council hadn’t vetoed my motions to add to the emergency forces, maybe we could have responded quicker.”

Briana swallowed an unpleasant lump in her throat. She knew as well as anyone that it was her uncle Cecil who was leading the pack that kept vetoing Patrick’s proposals. Uncle Cecil referred to the new mayor as a hothead, and Patrick was just young enough, and passionate enough, that the notion took with the primarily older, established members of council. They had voted with her uncle against Patrick.

“None of the councilors have ever gone through anything like this before,” she said hesitantly, instinctively defending her uncle’s actions, even though Patrick had no notion of her close relationship to his bitter enemy.

“Well, it’s time they dragged their heads out of their asses and took a look around. People have died needlessly because we couldn’t respond effectively when they needed help.”

She noticed he said “we” when he referred to the rescue teams, and Briana realized that even though he was mayor now, Patrick still identified with the emergency personnel.

Following her train of thought, she asked, “Why did you give up being fire chief to go for the mayor’s job?” Even to her own ears, she sounded wistful. For a moment she daydreamed that he hadn’t ever done such a thing. Then her uncle would be mayor and she would undoubtedly have come to Courage Bay for a visit, or to work for Uncle Cecil, as he’d planned.

In a city of eighty-five thousand, she might easily have met Patrick O’Shea the fire chief, and how different everything would have been. She was single; he was single. There would have been no reason for them to deny the instant and powerful attraction that had sprung up between them.

“I was mad as hell,” he said. “The former mayor made a joke out of our town. I got on my high horse and told anyone who wanted to listen my ideas for how to improve Courage Bay.”

He laughed softly. “Some of my friends got together and raised a few bucks for a campaign and put my name forward. I was already a declared candidate before I’d even made up my mind.”

“Do you miss being a firefighter?” she asked.

“I miss the action. I miss being able to do something right now that’s going to save a life. I’d rather face a twenty-foot wall of fire than some of the council meetings I’ve been stuck in lately. But I’ve got kids and…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but she immediately guessed the real reason behind the switch. Once his wife had died, he didn’t want to continue in a dangerous job and risk orphaning his kids. Good for him.

“How about you?” he asked her. “You know as well as I do that you’re overqualified for this job. In fact, you almost didn’t get it because of that fact.”

“Really? Who wanted to pass on me, you or Archie?” Archie Weld, the communications manager for the city, had interviewed her first. Only the final candidates had gone on to interviews with Patrick.

“Don’t hit me, but I was the one with concerns.”

Smart guy.

“Archie talked me into hiring you. He said the way things were going in our city this past year with the mudslides, the fires, the earthquakes and murders that I’d be crazy not to jump on you.” He cleared his throat and said, with a touch of humor, “Figuratively speaking of course.”

“Of course.”

“I assumed you were taking the job to get a foot in the door, and then you’d start applying for more challenging positions. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I still can’t figure out why you took the job.”

She was on shaky ground, but she wanted to be as honest as she could with the man she’d just made love with. “I wanted a change from the Midwest. I’ve always loved California. So, you’re right in one way. But I won’t start looking for another job right away. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, but based on what—”

“Then don’t argue,” she said, cutting him off with a kiss. It took her a few times to find his mouth. First she kissed his cheek, the bump of his nose and finally his lips. When she finally pulled back, she said, “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while longer.” Her voice dropped to a sexy whisper. “Just the two of us, in the dark.” She ran her index finger up his arm. “I can think of one way to help pass the time.”

Even as she tipped her head toward him, his hand was cradling the back of her head and his lips covered hers. Give the man credit, he wasn’t slow on the uptake.

“PATRICK? BRIANA? You okay?” The strong clear female voice jerked Briana awake. She heard the welcome whirr of the generator and then the sound of thumping and banging.

As she lifted her head from Patrick’s shoulder, which she’d used as a pillow, a sharp crick in her neck had her stifling a howl of pain. She rubbed her neck while Patrick squeezed her shoulder, then rose to his feet and moved toward the front of the elevator.

“Hey, Shannon!” he yelled. “Hope we didn’t haul you out of bed for this.”

“For that crack, you get to buy the coffee.”

“Get us out of here and I’ll buy you breakfast. Anything you want.” He turned to Briana. “My sister, Shannon,” he said, overly cheerful. “She’s a truckie on Engine One. She’s the best.”

“Great,” Briana said, equally hearty as she struggled to her feet.

Already the real world was close and awkwardness crowded in as they stood together listening to the noises indicating imminent rescue.

Suddenly Patrick pulled her to him and kissed her hot and hard.

He took her hands and held them loosely. She wished she could see his face, but even though the generator was thrumming, the elevator was still in darkness. “I’m going to have to give you your job back now. Are you sure you want it?”

Silence pressed against her chest. She understood what he was saying. The minute she accepted her job back, the affair ended.

She could leave the mayor’s staff now that she had the tape, of course. But after tonight, she knew she’d never use it. No. What had happened between them had been as unexpected and bizarre as the aftershock that had trapped them in the elevator.

There’d been a lot of time in the night to think. She’d intended to tape Patrick making an inappropriate pass. She would say no, loud and clear, then record him trying to talk her into having sex. The reality was pretty much the opposite. Patrick had tried to say no and Briana had thrown herself at him. She knew her uncle believed Patrick had faked the evidence that destroyed Cecil’s chances of ever becoming mayor. She’d believed it, too. Who else had anything to gain by publishing a doctored picture and leaking a bogus story? Now, however, she was beginning to wonder if Patrick actually had anything to do with leaking false evidence against his rival Maybe someone on his campaign team had done the deed. Possibly, they hadn’t even told him.

Okay, it was a slim chance, but she’d just made love with the man. She wanted him to be as decent as he’d seemed in the two months she’d worked for him.

One way or another, she’d find out who had blackened her uncle’s name. If that person was Patrick, then she’d do what she had to do.

She owed her uncle her loyalty.

But after tonight, she felt she owed Patrick some, too.

“I can’t stay fired,” she told him with real regret. “You need me.”

He touched her face, and she felt tenderness in his fingertips. “You have no idea how much,” he said.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SOUNDS OF their approaching rescuers had Briana and Patrick pulling reluctantly apart.

“Okay, guys, stand back now,” Shannon’s voice came through the metal door, and before Briana could take a step backward, Patrick was reaching for her hand. Not that she was scared anymore, but it was nice to have the comfort of his warm hand in hers. A loud bang sounded, then a creak, followed by the screech of metal pulling against metal.

As light flooded the elevator, Briana freed her hand from Patrick’s and shaded her eyes.

“Good to see you, kid,” Patrick said to his sister. Anyone could tell they were related, Briana thought every time she saw the siblings together. Both were tall, athletic, black-haired and blue-eyed. They shared the trademark O’Shea grin she’d also seen in his children.

The grin on both faces was particularly broad this time. Briana knew that not all Shannon’s rescues turned out this well, yet she risked her life day after day, as her brother had done in his previous career.

In full uniform, Shannon seemed tough, and she was, but Briana knew she had a soft heart under all the protective gear.

The elevator had come to a stop about three feet above the main floor, so they had to bend down and jump to get out. Patrick naturally gestured for Briana to go first. She did, pulling off her high-heeled shoes and clutching the hands of Shannon and another firefighter. She managed to land on her feet without any injury, other than to her pride.

“I think you lost a button in there,” Shannon said in an undertone just after Briana landed.

A quick glance down showed her blouse gaping open to display a good bit of cleavage and the ice-blue silk of her bra. Briana grabbed the front of her blouse to cover the gap, forcing back the blush that threatened. It didn’t help that she caught one of the male firefighters checking her out with an interested expression on his face. She gave him the ice-queen don’t-even-think-about-it look she’d perfected in high school and turned back to Patrick’s sister.

“It must have come off when the elevator lurched and threw us to the ground,” she said.

“Must have,” Shannon replied in a dry tone, giving Briana a look that suggested more than her button was missing.

Briana knew she must appear mussed and hastily put back together. She detected the same telltale pewter color in Shannon’s eyes that were a dead giveaway in Patrick’s that he was angry about something. In this case, Briana realized that Shannon had made an educated guess at what had happened in that dark elevator and she didn’t like it one bit.

Patrick landed beside Briana a moment later and she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him, seeing him in the light for the first time since they’d made love.

The blush she’d managed to suppress a minute ago swept over her cheeks now as she read the passion, intimacy and some other emotion she didn’t want to name deep in Patrick’s eyes. His weren’t pewter now, but the deepest Irish-Sea-on-a-sunny-day blue she’d ever seen them.

Her heart seemed to stutter as the full impact of what she’d done hit.

“Patrick, I—”

“You forgot your purse,” Shannon said, reaching up into the elevator to haul Briana’s bag off the floor and hand it to her.

“Thanks,” Briana said shortly, grabbing the thing. Her bag hid so much. The evidence of their passion, tucked neatly away, and that tape recorder, which she’d managed to switch off before their second bout of lovemaking.

“Well, I guess you missed your meeting with the police chief,” she said to Patrick.

“Yes.” He grimaced. “I doubt he even noticed. I bet he’s had a busier night than I did.”

She stared at him, and he must have realized what he’d said, for it was his turn to display ruddy cheeks. She and Patrick had not been idle in that elevator.

They were saved from awkwardness by the second firefighter, who said, “It’s been a busy night for EMS all right. Another one.”

It was no longer night but morning now, Briana realized. Almost 3:00 a.m. If she weren’t torn between elation and guilt over what had transpired in that elevator, she’d probably be pretty tired.

“What’s happening out there?” Patrick asked his sister, reverting from the tender loving man of the past few hours to the mayor of a town once again facing disaster.

“Not good,” Shannon told him, her voice neutral. It was a tone Briana had come to associate with emergency personnel who were sometimes forced to give the worst news possible. “One woman was killed in the convenience store collapse. She’d been pinned under a beam, and by the time we got there…” She shook her head. “There was a second woman, a fire victim. We pulled her out of the basement suite still alive, but I wouldn’t put her chances of recovery past fair.”

Shannon’s emotionless delivery almost fooled Briana into thinking Shannon was taking the violent deaths in her stride, but not her brother.

“Hey, kid. I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his sister in for a hug, regardless of her bulky uniform and helmet.

Amazingly, the tough, strong woman of a second ago let herself lean on her older brother. “Yeah,” she said, and in that one word Briana heard fatigue, despair and anger. “If we weren’t so stretched, and all of us running on too little sleep, maybe we could have got there sooner. Maybe—”

“You can’t beat yourself up over this. You know that. Sometimes there are fatalities.” Patrick spoke with the authority of a former firefighter who’d been there and seen it all, but he still held his sister in his arms.

Shannon couldn’t see his face, but Briana could, and almost as though she’d read his mind, she knew he was doing exactly what he’d told Shannon not to do. Blaming himself for the stretched resources, the exhausted emergency crews—the deaths of two more Courage Bay’s citizens.

Their brief romantic idyll, Briana realized, was over.

“I’m going to go home and get some sleep,” she announced. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Patrick said. “Let me drive you home.”

She smiled at him, wishing it were that easy. Wishing she could just say yes. “No. My car’s in the lot. You get home and check on your kids. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” The words were urgent, the meaning behind them obvious to Briana, but, she hoped, not to the other ears listening in. He was asking if she really wanted to keep working for him. Since her other choice was sleeping with him, it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done when she said, “Yes. I’m sure.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Sleep in tomorrow morning.” He shook his head. “I guess I mean this morning. Come in to work when you can. I’d give you the whole day off, but frankly, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Briana knew that the phone was going to be ringing like crazy tomorrow as city residents phoned in to complain about the latest disaster and the city’s response.

The media would hound Patrick; councilors would be calling, as would the fire chief and the police chief. On top of that, she had a pretty good notion that once the story spread that he’d been trapped in the elevator, his family and friends would be on the hotline making sure he was okay. It was going to be a busy day. As kind as it was of her boss to offer her the morning off, Briana knew she wouldn’t take him up on it.

He needed her.

As soon as she’d given her car a quick check, Briana drove carefully through the quiet streets. She went more slowly than usual, since a couple of the traffic lights were out, probably due to the aftershock. Maybe it was a result of being cooped up in that dark elevator so long, but the first thing she’d done when she started the engine was to roll down all the windows. She decided to take the route that hugged the coastline on the outskirts of the city, and as she drove, she could hear the quiet shush of the ocean, smell the clean air coming off the bay. She tried not to think too much about what had happened to her personally tonight.

She’d vowed not to sleep with the man she was trying to topple, so how had she come to do it?

It was easy to blame circumstances. The euphoria following their escape from serious injury or death. The intimacy of being together for all those hours. Briana knew she could have managed to get through a hurtling fall in an elevator and a few hours in the dark with any other man and not jump his bones. But Patrick O’Shea was not most men. And the plain truth was, their attraction had been immediate and intense from the first moment they’d met.

As she drove home, she tried to convince herself that nothing monumental had happened. That it was only sex. And that everything would go back to the way it had been before the aftershock.

When she finally reached the apartment she rented on the main floor of a house, she was still keyed up. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while.

Besides, her stomach reminded her that she’d missed dinner. Unable to face cooking, she toasted whole-wheat bread, dished up a bowl of yogurt and sliced a banana into it. She poured a glass of apple cider to accompany “dinner.” While she ate, she flipped through the day’s mail. A couple of bills, a promotional flyer from a high-end fashion store and this month’s copy of Gourmet Magazine, which she subscribed to, even though she barely had time to cook for herself these days, never mind entertain.

Still, there was something about reading up on other people’s elegant dinner parties, checking out the international destinations featured, and imagining she was tasting all those wonderfully photographed dishes that made up in a small way for the fact that too many of her meals lately had been like this one.

She had dinner tidied away by 4:00 a.m. and was no more tired than she had been earlier. So she drew a hot bath, throwing a few handfuls of lavender milk crystals under the running faucet. While the tub was filling, she fetched a clean nightgown and her slippers.

When at last she eased herself into the warm, silky milk bath, magazine at hand, Briana breathed deeply of the lavender, in dire need of its soothing aromatherapy benefits.

She was in the middle of reading about a romantic springtime feast for two, when she caught herself changing places with the attractive couple in the magazine. She projected Patrick into the photo with her, fantasizing about him sitting across the cozy round table, toasting her with the California sauvignon blanc, eating the food she’d cooked and staring warmly into her eyes.

Smiling slightly to herself, she went back over their evening. Her spine was a little sore in places, and there was definitely some incipient whisker burn on the slope of one breast. She touched the spot. Next time, they’d have to find a bed.

Next time…

She got out of the bath with more haste than grace, slopping water on her magazine in her agitation. What the hell was she doing? Patrick was a good man. She was sure of it.

Drying off and pulling on her robe, she reminded herself that Uncle Cecil was a good man, too. But Patrick couldn’t have deliberately damaged her uncle’s career and her aunt’s peace of mind. There had to be another explanation.

Someone had done it, though, and Briana was going to find out who.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth and crawled into bed, knowing she’d be crawling out again in three hours. She only hoped she could manage to sleep some of the time.

Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

PATRICK STAYED at city hall long enough to make sure the fire department had put up emergency tape over the elevator doors.

“Thanks for getting us out of there,” Patrick had said to the crew as they left. Since he knew them all, he hadn’t bothered with the formality of handshakes, but slapped them on the back and joked around a little. Shannon had hung back and made sure she had a minute alone with her brother.

“You okay?” she’d asked.

“Sure. I don’t think I even got bruised when the elevator jolted.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, big bro. You know what I’m talking about. You and your model-gorgeous secretary looked like you were rolling out of bed when you got out of the elevator.”

“So we fell asleep while we were waiting. Get your nose out of my business.”

Whatever she’d guessed had gone on in that elevator, it was only a guess. He didn’t feel like talking about what had really happened, why and what he felt about it, because he wasn’t even sure himself.

Like most of his family, Shannon had urged him to get back out and start dating again. But he didn’t think sex in the elevator with his admin assistant was quite what she’d had in mind.

It wasn’t what he’d had in mind, either. But he had a feeling fate had taken a hand in his love life. And he was feeling pretty damned grateful to fate.

“I’m fine,” he said to his sister, and she knew him well enough to know that if he didn’t feel like saying more, he wouldn’t.

“You don’t look fine. You look like an eager boy with his first crush.”

“I can handle it.” He grinned ruefully. “At least I think I can. Speaking of nosy questions about love, how’s John?”

Shannon’s tired eyes brightened at the mention of John Forester, the man she’d fallen for last summer. He was still living in New York and they were making do with a long-distance relationship. She sighed. “He asked me to move in with him.”

“In New York?”

She nodded. “Don’t say anything to anyone else. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“Can’t he be a modern man and move out here where all your family and friends are?” Patrick couldn’t imagine not seeing Shannon for months at a time, which would happen if she moved clear across the country.

“He can’t leave his mother. She’s…sick. Oh, hell, the woman’s a hopeless alcoholic, and she couldn’t function without him.”

Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets and wished he knew the right thing to say. Probably there wasn’t a right thing. “What are you going to do?”

“Think about it. John’s coming up for a visit in a few weeks. I guess we’ll have to decide then.”

“I’d miss you like crazy.”

“Hey, I love you,” she said.

“Back at you.” He’d given her a thumbs-up and sent her on her way.

Before he left, he called the building superintendent at home. “Sorry to bother you, Bert. I’m not sure if you heard, but the aftershock messed up the elevator at city hall.”

Bert Wilson sounded gravel-voiced with sleep. “I didn’t know about the elevator. I was planning to get in early anyway. I’ll do a post-incident property inspection before any of the employees arrive for the day.”

“Thanks, Bert. Give me a call if you find anything, will you?”

“You bet.”

Patrick would have made do with the leather couch in his outer office for a bed if it weren’t for the kids. But there was no way he could let them wake up without him being there when he hadn’t been able to tuck them in the night before.

Patrick never pretended to himself or anyone else that he was managing to be both father and mother to his kids, because it wasn’t true. He hoped he was doing his best, but with the string of disasters Courage Bay had faced, he’d been home less than he’d liked, even if Janie were still alive. Without her there, he had to rely on his housekeeper and sitters more than he wanted to. He always tried to be home to put Dylan and Fiona to bed, and not to leave for work before they woke. This morning, he was determined to eat breakfast with his children.

As he drove home through the dark, now quiet streets, he was conscious that he’d moved another step away from his wife. For the first time since she’d died, he’d made love to another woman. For all the euphoria that had pumped through his blood when he’d been with Briana, in the back of his mind and heart had been the knowledge that he was breaking another tie to the woman with whom he’d hoped to grow old.

“Oh, Janie,” he said into the silence of his car. “I hope I haven’t messed things up.”

When he’d finally seen Briana in the light after they’d been rescued, he wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but it was clear it wasn’t all champagne and roses. Of course, she’d looked a little shy when they’d first made eye contact after what they’d shared in the dark elevator, but she’d also looked…troubled.

She’d been as eager as he was in the elevator, though. Briana was the one who’d begged him to fire her temporarily so there’d be no sense of impropriety in what they were doing. Of course, her temporary dismissal was about as legal as a polygamous marriage, but right at that moment, neither of them had worried too much about workplace ethics. She’d wanted him as fiercely as he’d wanted her. What bothered him was afterward. How doggedly she’d insisted on staying on his staff. She was as good as telling him they wouldn’t be sleeping together again in the near future.

Patrick was no expert on the subject, but he had a feeling that now that his body had enjoyed sex with a warm and wonderful woman again after three years of celibacy, that same body was going to remind him with annoying frequency that it wanted more—lots and lots more—sex.

If he weren’t such a responsible guy, he’d almost have considered quitting his job so he could take his relationship with Briana out into the light. That’s how strongly he felt that the two of them could make a future together.

Of course, Briana shouldn’t have to quit her job for the sake of their sex life. She’d made it clear that she felt committed to Courage Bay. A sense of duty was rare these days, and that kind of high-minded attitude only made him want her more.

Well, as soon as he got the extra staff and funding that the emergency teams so desperately needed, and as soon as natural disasters started happening somewhere else on the globe for a change, Patrick was going to make sure one of them started looking for a new job.

However, at the moment he couldn’t forget about the job he did hold. He drove home by way of the convenience store, his belly knotting when he saw the mess. The roof had caved in, one wall was mostly rubble, and the windows had blown out.

On impulse, he pulled over and stopped the car.

The physical damage didn’t worry him so much. Walls and roofs and windows could be replaced. A human life never could.

He recalled the older woman who’d served him and his family. She always had a kind word for the children, and often a couple of lollipops would find their way from the jar she kept behind the till into two eager little fists.

God, the kids could have been there when the shaking began. Anyone’s kids could have. The corner store was a popular after-school hangout. If he could be grateful for anything, it would be that there weren’t more casualties.

It wasn’t much comfort, because even one death was a tragedy, but he’d have been less than human if he didn’t say a quick thanks that the children of Courage Bay, including his, were now sleeping peacefully at home.

He drove to his house, then entered as quietly as he could through the door that led from the garage into the laundry room. From there he crept into the kitchen. He headed for Fiona’s room first.

His heart squeezed as he gazed down at his little girl. She’d only been two when Janie died, and she didn’t remember her mother at all. In sleep she was angelic, her soft brown curls framing her round face, her lips opening and closing slightly as she breathed. She held her favorite stuffed hippo in her arms.

Patrick straightened the covers on her bed, kissed her forehead and went next door to his son’s room. Dylan wore baseball pyjamas and had kicked all his covers onto the floor. Patrick picked them up and replaced them, though he knew they’d be back on the floor by morning. He swore his son got more exercise when asleep than he did running around or playing sports.

He tousled the black hair that stuck out in tufts behind Dylan’s ears, just as Patrick’s had when he was a kid.

Returning to the kitchen, Patrick opened the fridge. Often the housekeeper left him a plate of dinner to microwave if he was late coming home, but since he’d planned to dine with Max Zirinsky, the police chief, there was nothing for him.

Most of the food in the fridge had been bought to appeal to people under the age of ten. Patrick passed on the hot dogs, the gelatin jigglers, the yogurt tubes, the peanut butter and the cheese strings. The mixed tropical fruit juice was no doubt healthy, but right now he didn’t want to drink anything quite that color.

Instead, he cracked open a beer, found some crackers and a block of cheddar. He made short work of all three, before taking himself off for the world’s quickest shower. In minutes he was falling into bed.

Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day.

CHAPTER FIVE

PATRICK WALKED into his office next morning at nine, having taken the time to have breakfast with Dylan and Fiona, and to thank Mrs. Simpson for staying the night. She’d had to run home and feed her cat and change clothes before returning for the day.

He knew he could call his parents, or his brother, Sean, or Sean’s wife, Linda, to help out when these emergencies arose. They would be there in a flash, if he called. But all of them had their own lives, their own responsibilities. And from the way Dylan and Fiona had climbed all over him and talked his ear off in their excitement to have their father to themselves for a morning, Patrick knew that he was the one his children needed to have around.

Sure, Courage Bay needed him, too, but his kids came first. He pledged right there at the kitchen table over the Cheerios and milk and grapefruit sections that he was going to find more time for Fiona and Dylan.

In his fantasy world, he could work from eight to five and come home to enjoy a civilized family dinner. His job often required him to be out again in the evening for civic meetings, award presentations, any number of social and business functions, but he wanted to be a good father, as well as a good mayor.

In reality, with all the pressures of the past year, it was rare for him to see his kids for more than an hour or two a day, even during the weekends, and that lack of parental involvement was beginning to show in their behavior. The truth was, he could work twenty-four hours a day and still not get everything done either at work or at home.

If only Fiona and Dylan had a mother, he thought, and he had a partner with whom he could share the joys and trials of parenting.

Well, he didn’t. If the image of Briana rose to taunt him, he resolutely banished it. He realized now that if she wouldn’t leave her position as his admin assistant, there wasn’t much of a future for them.

Once Mrs. Simpson returned to the house, he dropped a kiss on Fiona’s head. The housekeeper would drop her at her kindergarten class later in the day. He and Dylan got into his car and headed for Dylan’s school. Patrick made sure to choose a route that wouldn’t take them past the ruined convenience store.

No doubt the collapsed store would be a big topic of discussion at school, but Patrick didn’t feel up to explaining to his son that the nice lady who worked at the store had died last night. He didn’t trust himself. He was too angry that the emergency response time had been slow. If the paramedics had reached Mrs. Harper sooner, maybe she would have been saved. He didn’t want Dylan to pick up on his anger and frustration. Later, when he got home, he’d answer all the questions he knew his kids would pepper him with.

When he arrived at his office, he noted the door was already open and the light on. He wasn’t surprised. He’d told Briana to take the morning off, but deep down he’d known she’d ignore the offer. Her work ethic was one of the attributes that made her such a terrific assistant—along with her smarts, her initiative and her ideas.

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