“You can’t do that!” she cried.

“That’s the conclusion I came to also. Please, Briana, I’m asking you as a man in pain, please consider another job.”

“But we agreed to wait until after-”

“I know. But you could put in for a transfer and we could post your position. You wouldn’t have to leave the mayor’s office for a month or so.”

What could she do? She was only human, and she knew his need so well because it was the same as her own. Now that he was here, the temptation was too great. “I wish you hadn’t come.”

“I couldn’t stand being in that house all by myself when I knew damn well, just as you did, that Shannon pulled that stunt so we’d have some time together.”

“It was pretty high-handed of her. Not to mention inappropriate.”

He snorted. “Get used to it. That’s my sister.”

“Patrick, I…” She what? Didn’t want him? Thought her job as an admin assistant was more important than the most promising relationship she’d had in her life?

Maybe it was time for the truth. Part of the truth, anyway. “Until this crisis is resolved, I’m staying.” She rose and brought her copy of the grainy newspaper photo and handed it to him. After he’d looked at it, he put the paper down on the table with an expression of distaste.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked.

She wouldn’t lie. She’d keep her uncle’s role confidential but she wouldn’t lie. “I’ve been doing some research. I think this photo is one of the reasons Cecil Thomson is your enemy on council.”

Patrick stared up at her. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”

She chose her words carefully. “But the article did come out right at a crucial moment in the election campaign. Cecil Thomson was predicted to win easily, and then this article and the photo were published and you won by a landslide.”

Patrick was frowning at her. “Are you suggesting I sent that article to the Sentinel? What, you thought I had an old photo lying around of Thomson getting a blowjob from a hooker? How could-”

“No. No. Not you. But maybe someone who badly wanted you to win. You have to admit it was unfortunate timing.”

“I never liked Cecil Thomson much, but I wouldn’t have believed he’d act like that. I’ve lived in Courage Bay my whole life. You get to know things. There are a lot of things I don’t like about Thomson, but he’s never been a man you’d figure to have skeletons in his closet. I was as shocked as anyone.”

She picked up the photocopy and stared at it. “Are you sure it’s real?”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “You think someone faked this? Briana, this isn’t a race for the White House. It’s a city mayor’s job. Thomson’s bank job probably pays more. The only reason he wanted to be mayor was for the prestige and power. I was a reluctant candidate from the start. No. I don’t believe anyone faked the photo. Why are you so interested in Cecil Thomson’s dirty laundry, anyway?”

She put the photo back on the table so she could avoid looking at Patrick. “I was trying to find a way to end the antipathy between the two of you.”

“Well, your chances aren’t great.” He sighed and leaned back. “We talk about this stuff all day at work. Can we have a Saturday night off?”

“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Can I just say one more thing? On Monday, I’m going to put in for a transfer. If you want to put in a good word for me with Max Zirinsky, I know there are a few positions in the police department that I’d enjoy.”

Patrick grinned at her, relief and plain joy shining from his eyes. “I’ve got some positions you might enjoy, too.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. “Come here.”

She was delighted to comply.

She rose slowly, irresistibly pulled toward him. How had they managed to hold off all the days and nights since the elevator escapade?

Since she didn’t think the arm of her upholstered wicker armchair would hold her weight-at least that’s the excuse she gave herself-she eased onto Patrick’s lap and kissed him.

It was an easy kiss, meant to be the prelude to something very different from what they’d experienced in the elevator. For one thing, they had her apartment to spread out in, and for another, they weren’t feeling their lives were in danger. But perhaps best of all, they had all night.

As though he’d read her mind, Patrick said, “You know what’s been driving me crazy?”

Wanting her, she hoped. “What?”

“I don’t know what you look like.” His voice was already husky. “I know what you feel like, I know the scent of you, the taste of you.” He nibbled her ear to illustrate his point. “But I have no idea what you look like naked.”

She bent awkwardly as she tried to kiss him. They were going to either end up on her living room floor or make a move for the bed before it was too late.

Maybe later she’d go for the living room floor. This time, she wanted all the comforts.

So she took his hand and hauled him to his feet, then led him to her room.

Once more she congratulated herself on her housecleaning binge this morning. The sheets on the bed were fresh, the bathroom sparkled and all her junk was put away. She didn’t live like a slob by any means, but today her place was as neat as it ever got. Not that Patrick seemed bothered about her decor. She suspected that if she put her hands over his eyes and asked him to describe anything about her apartment, he’d be stumped.

And for all the right reasons. Since he’d entered her home, he’d had eyes only for her.

His gaze was so intense that she shivered as he stepped close to her and reached for her shirt.

They undressed each other slowly. Watching him watch her strip off her blouse was as erotic as the most exquisite foreplay. He traced the lacy cups of her bra with a fingertip, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, then slid the shirt slowly off her shoulders so it slipped to the floor like a dropped handkerchief.

He seemed undecided whether to go for bra or skirt next. She thought about reaching down for his belt buckle while he was busy making up his mind, but she felt curiously lazy, and decided she’d wait her turn.

The same index finger traced the line where her breasts met, tracked down over the bra and then followed the center line of her ribs in an invisible path that crossed her belly button and ended at the waistband of her short denim skirt.

He unzipped the skirt and she wriggled it past her hips.

He kissed her again, rubbing against her, and she decided he had far too many clothes on, when she was wearing so few. With a tug and a yank, she had his T-shirt out of his shorts and halfway up his belly. He stepped back a little and raised his arms so she could finish the job.

Mmm. Oh, yes. Mmm-hmm. She loved a hairy chest, and he had a terrific one. Lots of dark curls from his collarbone spreading over his nicely developed pecs and tapering down to his ribs.

A gold medallion of some sort nestled against his sternum. “What’s this?” she asked, touching the medal.

“St. Christopher.”

“It’s nice.” And it was. Intricately detailed, and warm from his body.

While she admired the medallion, he unsnapped her bra and pulled it away before she realized he was going to.

“Apricot,” he mumbled with satisfaction.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Apricot. I had a bet with myself what color your nipples would be. They’re a little more on the brown side than I’d guessed, but I had the right general palette.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been thinking about the color of my nipples.”

He grinned at her. “They match the color of your cheeks when you blush.”

As she was doing now.

He flipped back the bedcover and laid her on her back, then he slid his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and eased them down.

A single shiver passed over her from crown to toe as the silky material slid down her legs. The sheets were cool and crisp to the touch, smelling faintly of lavender linen spray.