Page 30 of Bracing The Storm

He’s ignoring me. I can tell from the annoying smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The cheek!

“Dude!” I yell.

No reaction.

I throw my hand up in exasperation when I spy the cables connecting the concoction of drums to a computer and a huge box I think could be an amplifier. Figuring where there are cables there must also be a power cord, I crawl on all fours beneath the table with the computer. I pull at the cord with a vengeance, almost ripping the socket out of the wall, as I yell, “I said turn down the bass!”

The noise instantly dies down.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Silence has never felt so serene. Crawling back from under the table, I rise to my feet and find myself inches from Patrick’s hard chest. My mouth goes dry and my breath hitches in my throat. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt that emphasizes his broad shoulders and clings to his muscles. Drops of sweat are glistening on his skin. As he shifts a little, the neck opening of his T-shirt offers a little glimpse of his tribal tattoo and for a moment I think I literally forget to breathe.

My body starts to tingle all over and heat gathers in all the places I’d rather not pay attention to in his presence. I want to see more of him; more ofeverything.

I grimace, both disappointed and annoyed.

What’s wrong with me?

I don’t get my ridiculous reaction to him. I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself salivating. My attraction to him is annoying the hell out of me.

“My face is up here,” Patrick says, jerking me back to reality.

I look up into his eyes and instantly regret it.

The guy is drop-dead sexy, but it’s his eyes that would sway any woman beyond the bedroom and onto swooning territory.That blue-gray reminds me of heavy clouds gathering over an ocean. Deep, dark, dangerous. There’s something about them that I can’t quite pinpoint. A hidden layer of mystery and allure, both enigmatic yet strangely familiar. I’m sure we haven’t met before; I never forget a face and surely not one as striking as Patrick’s, and yet?—

“For your interest, they’re percussion instruments.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize my mind must have drifted away. It seems to do that a lot around him.

I frown. “What?”

He motions around him, speaking slowly. “You requested that I turn off thebass. They’re percussion instruments. There’s a big difference.”

“Semantics. You call those whatever. I call them noise pollution.”

His lips twitch with arrogance. “Clearly, you have no idea who played on them.”

“Even if it were the Queen of Ireland, I couldn’t care less.”

“If it were Northern Ireland, that would be a king, love. We have neither a queen nor a king, because the Republic of Ireland is arepublic. Off-topic, as far as I remember the deceased British Queen used to play the piano,” Patrick says. “Not sure about the king’s wife as I haven’t met her yet.”

No idea whether he’s making fun of me or he just so happens to know useless tidbits of information no grown-up person needs to know. But the man’s so irritating I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, dude. Just make it stop and keep it that way. I prefer my house free of noise and anything irritating. That includes men.”

His brows shoot up. “You don’t do men?”

I sigh.

Patrick Walsh seems to be a big fan of endless discussions and mindless chatter. I’m not.

“Honestly, I can’t deal with you right now. Just don’t do whatever you were doing in there for as long as we’re living under the same roof.” I dash past him, eager to get away. I’ve barely squeezed through the open door when I realize he’s following close behind me. Obviously, he’s clueless to the usual end of discussion signs and doesn’t get the “leave me alone” signals. I sense that’s going to be one of the many things I’ll have to teach him. It’s only been a few days, but I’m slowly starting to feel like I could write a whole thesis about this man’s personality, and it wouldn’t be a pretty read.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Patrick says.

I stop mid-stride and turn around to face him, instantly harboring the ridiculous belief he’s talking about not being able to live in the same house with me. My spirits both rise and fall at the same time. Iwanthim gone for obvious reasons. Yet the thought he might not be around for much longer is also strangely upsetting.

Women are probably tripping over their feet to get his attention. But as long as I’m around I entertain the ridiculous notion that my presence might keep them away.

“I sound like an insect repellent,” I mumble and let my gaze sweep over him.

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