Page 34 of Bracing The Storm

Something like heat rushes through me, pooling between my legs in that tugging sensation that tells me I must have lost my marbles. The guy’s sexual innuendos are so out of the blue and cheap I should feel disgusted. And they disgust me, obviously, but not as much as they turn me on. It’s clear the guy is a player, and probably a successful one at that.

Through the thin fabric of my top, my nipples stand on high alert, though I can’t tell whether it’s from the cold breeze or the way his gaze seems drawn to my chest. He’s staring at my breasts, sporting a hint of a smile, not caring that I am actually watching him doing it so blatantly. I cross my arms over my chest to cover the traitors, but only manage to push them farther up.

“Can I help you with anything?” Patrick asks.

Why does everything that comes out of his man’s mouth sound like an open invitation to join him in his bed? Or maybe it’s just my dirty imagination that’s running rampant around him, and I can’t even blame Mia for it because she’s not around to point out just how gorgeous the guy is.

Maybe the jet lag’s still messing with my hormones.

I clear my throat and turn around to gaze at the garden, at anything but him. Maybe that will keep me from turning into a lusty teenage girl before the end of the week. “Yes, you can. I need you to do me a favor.”

He shifts behind me, his proximity instantly sending my senses into overdrive. I can feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck as he says, “What’s that favor you need? Tell me and I’ll be more than happy to oblige. I like to take care of my roses almost as much as I like to take care of my woman.”

My breath catches in my throat.

His woman.

Singular.

Who is he actually talking about? And is he a one-woman guy after all? My curiosity’s killing me but I bite my lip to stop myself from asking. Patrick Walsh’s love life is none of my freaking business. He’s probably far from being a saint…or single. I don’t need to know the number of his conquests, past or present. What’s bothering me though is the way his mouth seems to hover inches from my skin, sending strong jolts of deliciousness through my body.

There’s an insinuation there, plain obvious in the way he seems to caress my body without so much as a single touch.

He likes to take care of his woman.

He can’t possibly be talking about me because I doubt he even remembers my last name. Is it possible that he might be scared I’ll actually get ownership of the house and in order to stay, he has to stay on my good side?

It’s conceivable but not very likely. I can’t imagine Patrick Walsh sucking up to anyone.

It’s probably just a ploy to get into my panties. He’s trying to see how far he can go, toy with me a little, make me drop my guard, and then swoop in and get rid of me.

That’s not happening. Not in a million years.

Two can play that game. His brazenness is no match for mine.

I take a step aside to put some much-needed distance between us, then turn to face him.

“I need you to take me shopping,” I say.

He glances at the watch around his wrist, like he needs to be somewhere soon. “When?”

“Now. And make sure you cancel all other appointments. It might take a while. After all, you take good care of your woman, or so you claim.” I narrow my eyes in challenge, waiting to see whether he’ll put me right by revealing who this mystery woman is.

It certainly can’t be me.

“I don’tclaimthings. I stick to my word,” Patrick proclaims with a glint of determination in his eyes. His arrogance is just as monumental as his pride. I can’t help but wonder whether it’s an Irish thing. “Get your handbag or fanny pack or whatever it is you carry while I get the truck ready. And don’t dawdle.”

Fanny pack? He must be messing with me again. The guy has a bit of a sense of humor, I’ll give him that.

“I’m happy to inform you that I do noteverdawdle.” I bounce back to the house. Maybe the whole temporary house sharing isn’t so bad after all. It does come with a few perks, like my own chauffeur now that I think I’ve figured out his soft spot.

His ego.

I’m giddy with excitement at the thought that I’ve just won one of our little battles. The feeling only lasts until Patrick callsafter me, “And put a jacket on. We wouldn’t want the entire male population in the village having wet dreams about your hard nipples just because I have that effect on you.”

I’m glad my back’s turned to him and he can’t see my face catching fire.

He noticed. Argh!

---