Page 19 of Bracing The Storm

He shrugs, eyes glinting. “Some friends have decided to pop over. I thought I might let them stay for a day or two. A week, tops.”

“Friends?”

“Verygood friends.” Patrick raises his brows meaningfully and his eyes sparkle again.

They must be having a party. Or why else would he have so many people over?

My gaze sweeps over the suitcases lining up the driveway. There’s at least half a dozen of them, and the bus driver hasn’t finished unloading.

Something like a sense of foreboding settles in the pit of my stomach as I realize people don’t usually bring half the contents of their wardrobe to a party.

“Where are they staying?” I peer from the driver to the women who seem to have calmed down a little as they’re typing furiously on their phones and holding them up to take snapshots. That’s when I notice the huge guy with arms the size of my waist blocking the way between them and Patrick. For someone so huge, he certainly knows how to blend right in with his surroundings. I can’t believe I missed him.

Patrick leans into me and whispers in my ear, “That’s Hector. I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you. He eats a dozen raw eggs for breakfast.” Which certainly explains the circumference of his arms. But I can’t focus on Hector or why Patrick would share his friend’s breakfast habits with me. All I can think about is the guy’s hot breath on my earlobe and the tingle it’s sending down my spine, cutting off my air supply.

It’s been long, too long, since a man’s been this close to me, and it wasn’t even someone remotely of Patrick’s caliber in the looks department. I might not like him, but my hormones aren’t immune to a hot guy.

Taking a step back to put some much-needed distance between us, I force myself to focus on anything but Patrick and the way he seems way too comfortable with proximity. Hector seems like a good choice. He’s talking to the women. Even though I can’t make out the words, I can tell they’remonosyllabic but quite powerful in keeping them away from the object of their delusions.

Aka Patrick.

“You haven’t answered my question. Where is yourharemstaying?” I shoot him a sideways glance and instantly regret it. His eyes are on me,reallytaking me in.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “No need to worry about that. There’s plenty of room for everyone.”

I frown, trying to wrap my mind around what the hell he’s hinting at. That’s when the proverbial penny drops. “Oh, my goodness! Are you referring tomyhouse?”

“Technically, it’s still mine. I can have anyone I want over. And I’m a very social person. Always have been. There’s never a dull day with me…or night, for that matter.” He winks and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his insinuation. “You don’t like it, you know where the door is, love.”

Waves of anger begin to shoot through me, rendering me speechless for a moment or two. But that’s enough for Patrick to seize the opportunity to make his grand departure. He bows before me, like the world is his own personal stage, and heads down the driveway toward the main house.

The cheek!

I stare at his back. His white shirt does nothing to hide the long strings of muscles flexing beneath the thin fabric, stretching it to the max as he moves. There’s something about the way he walks—a confidence I’ve never seen in any man before, and it’s sexy as hell.

“It’smyhouse,” I yell after him, but my voice sounds weak and insecure. If he’s even heard me, he doesn’t bother to turn around and acknowledge it. The only reaction I’m getting is from the women who suddenly all turn to me with looks that betray both curiosity and something else.

Jealousy, I realize.

I rub my arms over the fabric of my top.

If looks could kill, I’d probably be six feet under right about now.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want him,” I yell at the women. “He and I are nothing. He’s a very rude person.Very rude. What woman in her right mind would want to date someone like that?”

A group of people start to head toward me and cameras begin to flash in my direction. I stare at them, caught off-guard. Why are they taking pictures of me?

“What’s your name again?” an older woman calls out.

“What’s your connection to Paddy?” another woman asks, her tone dripping ice picks—theBasic Instinctkind.

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut because everyone’s attention seems to be on me now. I set my jaw and dash for the guesthouse before these basket cases can take any more photos.

After the disaster back home the last thing I want is attention. In fact, I’d rather avoid it like the plague.

Chapter Six

Ihaven’t seen Patrick Walsh in three days. That’s seventy-two hours of pure bliss. I stretch my legs under the covers, enjoying the luxury cotton for a few extra minutes before the inevitable can no longer be delayed.

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