Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 (18 page)

Clio’s gaze met his and her nose twitched in that adorable gesture she made when she was fighting back laughter.

“Where the drink flows freely,” he said, straight-faced, “fists have been known to fly.”

“How undignified.” The older woman sniffed. “I only came to lend Tammy moral support.”

“Didn’t they hold these fairs when you were a child?” Clio asked her mother. “Surely you came to a few with your family.”

“My father didn’t believe in parties of any kind.” Her mother’s mouth hardened. “He was rather strict. Speaking of people I used to know, I think I see a girl I went to school with over by the potted plants. My, hasn’t she aged?” With this parting remark, Helen swanned across the hall toward her hapless former classmate.

This time, Clio’s nose twitch gave way to a hearty laugh—deep, dirty, and oh so sexy. His trousers felt tight at the sound. It brought back very pleasant memories of their night at the hotel.

“How’s Tammy settling in at her new school?” He nodded toward a group of uniformed singers, keen to distract himself from X-rated visions of Clio mid orgasm.

Her gaze flitted to her daughter. “She’s finding it difficult to make friends, but it’s early days. Like my mother, I’m here for Tammy’s sake. She has a lovely singing voice but she loathes performing in public. I promised I’d come along if she was forced to attend.”

“The Reluctant Revelers,” he said with a grin. “We should form a band.”

“No chance. Tammy’s the one with the musical talent, and she certainly didn’t get that from me.”

“From her dad, then?” He was curious to know more about Clio’s past. She was always careful to steer the conversation away from any mention of her life before Ballybeg.

Her lips parted as if to answer. His gaze lingered on their soft pink surface, recalling the soft heat of her mouth on his. As if reading his thoughts, she licked them, and a searing jolt of awareness turned the tightness in his trousers into a full-blown hard-on. Not appropriate under the present circumstances. And yet he couldn’t look away.

“Yes. She gets her musical talent from her father.”

Taking a step back, she put an arm’s worth of distance between them, effectively ending both that particular conversation thread and the charged vibe between them in one movement. Seán exhaled the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.

The plump and cheery face of Mrs. Coombs bobbed before him, beaming from ear to ear, sliding unsubtle glances from him to Clio and back again. “Want to buy your girlfriend a Valentine’s Day rose, Sergeant Mackey?”

“I’m not—” Clio said at the same moment he said, “We’re not—”

Mrs. Coombs’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s for a good cause. All proceeds go to the breast cancer foundation.”

Seán slid a hand into his uniform pocket and retrieved his wallet. “I’ll take three,” he said, handing her a twenty-euro note.

“Oh, that’s very good of you, Sergeant.” The older woman turned to Clio. “I don’t think I’ve seen our Sergeant Mackey out with a girlfriend since he moved to Ballybeg. You’re a lucky woman.”

Clio’s every gesture brimmed with mirth. “He’s a lucky man.”

“Tut-tut,” he said once the woman was out of earshot. “By the time she’s finished spreading rumors, half Ballybeg will be planning our nuptials. That said”—he handed her one of the roses—“this is for you.”

“Why, thank you.” She buried her nose in the delicate bloom. “Mmm…at least I can say I got one Valentine this year.” She observed the other roses with curiosity. “Who are you planning to give those to?”

“They’re for Tammy and your mother.” He hesitated briefly, recalling her outburst in the Book Mark. “That is, if you don’t mind me giving one to Tammy. A flower might cheer her up.”

“No, that’s fine. It’s sweet of you, actually.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “I’m surprised you want to give one to my mother. I’ve gotten the distinct impression that she’s not your favorite person on the planet.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. I could hardly give you and Tammy roses and have none for her.”

“You’re a gentleman,” she teased. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”

He sucked in a breath, blinked rapidly. “My mother is dead.”

Shite.
She hadn’t expected that response. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he blinked a couple of times. “The vinyl collection Brian was teasing me about used to be my mother’s. That’s why I keep it. Playing her records reminds me of her swaying to her favorite songs.”

“That’s a lovely way to remember her, Seán,” she said softly, touching his arm and sending a frisson of awareness skittering over his skin

He cleared his throat. “I’d better check in with Brian. Also look for potential stalkers in your mother’s vicinity.”

Clio laughed and tossed her empty cup into a nearby rubbish bin. “She hasn’t even mentioned the stalker again. I’m convinced it was a figment of her imagination.”

“Well, we have to take these reports seriously. Wouldn’t do to have Ireland’s favorite agony aunt clipped before our very eyes.”

“Seán!” she said in faux outrage before dissolving into giggles.

“Sorry. Gallows humor. A job prerequisite.”

She scrunched her brow. “My mother has a few overzealous admirers, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her. At this point, her conservative views on family life are treated more as a joke than a threat.”

“Don’t let her hear you saying that. I get the impression Helen is as particular about her professional reputation as she is about her appearance.”

“The understatement of the year.” Clio’s laugh sounded hollow. “As you can imagine, I’m a bitter disappointment.”

Taking this as an excellent excuse to check out her assets, he allowed his gaze to roam over her tight-fitting pullover and skinny jeans. “Don’t be daft. You’re a good-looking woman.”

She jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “And you, Sergeant Mackey, are a shameless flatterer.”

“No flattery needed,” he said softly. “I’d take you over polished perfection any day.” On impulse, he reached out to smooth back a stray strand of red hair that had escaped her messy ponytail. His fingers lingered on her silky soft hair, brushing the tip of her ear.

“You’d better go and find Garda Glenn.” Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper that set his blood humming through his veins. “We Havelins are commandeering far too much of your time as it is.”

“Time spent with you is no hardship at all,” he murmured, mesmerized by her aura. In his mind, he shoved her against the wall, ripped off her clothes, and had mind-altering sex with her right there in the town hall, spectators be damned.

“Cliona!” A sharp voice cut through the electrically charged moment. Helen shoved her way through the crowd, clutching her handbag to her chest as though it were in imminent danger from thieves. “I’d like you to meet some of the people I’ve invited to the housewarming party.”

Seán dropped his hand to his side, the feel of her skin lingering on his fingertips.

“Coming, Mother.” Clio shifted awkwardly. “See you later, Seán. Thanks for the lift.”

“My pleasure.” He caught her arm as she moved to leave. Those full pink lips begged to be kissed. For a moment, he was tempted to throw caution to the wind and give in to the impulse. Her breath was warm and smelled sweetly of mulled wine and cloves. They stood there for a moment, caught in a weird electricity, the sparks between them dancing, ready to ignite.

“Cliona,” Helen demanded. “Are you coming?”

She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. “I really had better go. See you soon.”

Motionless, he watched her disappear into the crowd. He’d come close to kissing her in public. Too close. So long as he was supposed to keep an eye on Helen, her daughter was off limits. But once he was no longer Helen’s unofficial bodyguard…

The sound of raucous laughter made him spin round. “Oh, no,” he groaned when he registered the source of the laughter.

John-Joe Fitzgerald was holding court behind the hot whiskey stand. If his unsteady hands were a reliable indicator, he’d imbibed at least as much of the alcohol-laced beverage as he’d served. Much to a gathering throng’s amusement, he was having difficulty pouring the hot liquid into mugs. It splashed over the side, burning his hand.

“Who the hell put that eejit in charge of serving drink?” he said, thinking aloud. “In what universe did anyone think that was a good idea?”

Aunt Nora sidled up to him, wafting cheap perfume and lingering cigarette fumes. “He volunteered,” she said, pursing her lips. “It was either that or have him play Cupid. But after he got drunk at last year’s fair and had to be fished out of the fountain, he was banned from coming in costume.”

Cupid? Jaysus.
“I’m glad I was spared that sight.”

“As if his Elvis getup isn’t bad enough.” Nora shook her head and fiddled with her cigarette packet.

“Sorry, ma’am,” a pimply-faced usher said. “There’s no smoking in here.”

“Bugger off.” Nora lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, spidery lines snaking out around her puckered lips.

“Come on.” Seán took his aunt’s arm and steered her toward the exit. “Let’s chat outside.”

“It’s bloody freezing outside,” she muttered but allowed him to propel her through the crowd.

“I’ll get you one of John-Joe’s hot whiskies to warm you up. I can’t be seen tolerating someone flouting the smoking laws.”

“Wankers, the lot of them,” snapped Nora. “I hope they get hemorrhoids. We’re all going to die of something, aren’t we?”

“I suppose we are,” Seán said, stifling a grin.

Nora eyed him through the smoke. “You’ll be over for my birthday, I hope?”

“Over? You mean at your house?”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re family, and both our boys are working in Australia. I’d like to have someone to celebrate with other than my fool of a husband.”

“I—”

“It falls on a Sunday this year,” she continued. “I always serve Sunday dinner at two o’clock sharp. Whether or not John-Joe can rouse his fat arse out of his armchair to join us at the dining room table is another matter. He was snoring by noon last year.” Nora patted Seán on the arm. “At least I’ll have you for company this year.”

His shirt collar felt tight all of a sudden. “I might be on duty.”

“Nonsense. It’s not for another couple of weeks. Plenty of time to get that cheeky young nipper Brian Glenn to fill in for you.”

“Speaking of John-Joe, Helen Havelin wants to hire him to perform at her house party.”

Nora threw back her head and let out a hoot of laughter. “Does she know what she’s letting herself in for?”

“No, and I’m not going to enlighten her. If he wants the job, here’s her phone number.” After scribbling the number on the notepad he always kept in the front pocket of his shirt, he tore it off and handed it to his aunt.

“Thanks, J—Seán.” She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry, love. I keep forgetting your new name.” His aunt dropped her cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with her heel. After glancing at her watch, she said, “I’d better get going. Don’t want to miss my daily soap opera fix. My eejit of a husband can walk home. The air will do him good. With a bit of luck, it’ll piss rain on him.”

The picture of domestic bliss, Seán thought when his aunt climbed into her car and drove off. Had he really been roped into Sunday lunch with the outlaws? He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Nora had always been a ruthless manipulator, hence his determination to avoid her. Much easier said than done in a place the size of Ballybeg. Ah, well. It was just dinner. No promises of future happy family get-togethers. Perhaps it was time to confront his past and move on.

THE NEXT FEW days passed without incident. Clio didn’t hear anything more from Ray. Garda Glenn was assigned to watch over her mother on Sunday, thus sparing Clio a confrontation with her conflicted feelings over Seán Mackey. There was no denying that the chemistry between them was on an oh-my-effing-God scale. Why, of all the men she’d ever met, did
he
have to be the one to get under her skin?

On Wednesday morning, she went to meet Olivia and her friends on the promenade as arranged. Finding a parking space this early was easy. Outside the car, Clio clipped her water bottle into its holder on her little backpack and completed stretches before jogging over to the carousel. The weather was cold and crisp with a biting wind. The idea of a run to clear her head and get her blood pumping put a broad beam on her face. A beam that wavered when she saw
who
was waiting for her.

Seán stood beside Olivia, laughing at something she’d said. He wore running gear that accentuated his muscular legs. Shame she couldn’t catch a glimpse of his chest muscles through his zip-up shell jacket. The memory of his strong torso and washboard abs brought heat to her cheeks.

He glanced up when Clio jogged over to join them, his eyes widening perceptively and a smile curving his lips. “I didn’t know you were joining us.” His gaze darted behind her and an expression of relief settled over his handsome features.

She gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Mother isn’t coming. She prefers to work out in her home gym or with a personal trainer. She hates people to see her sweat.”

“Speaking of your mother,” Olivia said, “did you know she’s hired me to cater her party next Saturday?”

“No, I didn’t. You said you run a café, right?”

“Yes. You must stop by for a coffee. We’re on Curzon Street.” Olivia pointed to a small side street that led off from the promenade. “In addition to the café, I also do the odd catering job for parties. Bridie put in a good word for me.”

Clio laughed. “It sounds like Bridie takes care of her family.”

“Very much so. She’s married to my grandfather but she always looks out for the people she likes. Apparently, she likes you.”

“She went to school with your mother,” Seán said in a deceptively casual tone. “Did you know that?”

“No. Really?” The bookshop owner appeared to be several years older than her mother, but then Clio couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Helen without a carefully applied mask of cosmetics. “I know my mother knows your boss from years ago too.”