Page 63 of Bracing The Storm

“Another one of your facts?” His eyes flicker with something like challenge. I must be imagining things because Patrick Walsh isn’t interested in me. Not after ditching me without so much as a single text message. Not when he has women like Sinead clinging onto his arm, probably waiting to slip into pearl thongs and whatnot for him.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to catch something other than the air of arrogance surrounding him and the hint of amusement in his eyes. But for the life of me, I can’t read him. For all I know, he might just be made of stone. I can’t make senseof this enigma. One second he wants me out of his house, the next he makes me come more times than I can remember.

“Fact is, you don’t need to read about fictional people’s romantic lives,” Patrick says. “I can make all your fantasies come true and then some. Why don’t you call it a day? We could go back home. I’ll draw you a bath, open a nice bottle of wine, and then we can discuss ways to wipe that frown off your pretty forehead.”

Oh, my goodness.

He just offered to make all my fantasies come true. Talk about a cheap pickup line if I ever saw one.

I can’t believe it’s working!

Something pulses inside me, gathering in the depth of that special spot between my legs, right where his tongue was not too long ago. The memory’s so strong, I can almost feel him down there.

I cross my arms over my chest to hide the two peaks straining against the thin material of my shirt, begging for his instant attention. “Sounds like you’re offering me the special treatment. Tempting but no thanks. I can’t let Sinead down.” That’s a half-ass excuse, but I’m not going to ask “how high” whenever the guy tells me to jump.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? You wouldn’t regret it.” Patrick comes around the counter to whisper in my ear, “I like to take care of my woman. I like to treat her like royalty, both in and out of the bedroom.”

He’s standing so close, his breath is hot on my skin. My heart is beating like a drum in my ears. I stare at him, speechless, while the telltale heat of another major blush instantly rushes to my face. I’m not a prude, by no means, but coming from Patrick, any insinuation instantly turns me into a blushing, hormone-driven mess.

“Where were you the last three days?” The question rushes out before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Work. I had this idea for a new song, and I couldn’t wait to write it. Seems like I found my inspiration. The inspiration being you. I’d be happy to let you listen to it after I take care of you.”

Suddenly realizing the café is as silent as a tomb, I glance at the customers gathered in the door and find them staring at us. Even if they didn’t hear Patrick’s blatant attempt at getting me back home and into his bed over the ambient music playing in the background, I’m sure they’ve come to their own conclusion, put two and two together, and by the end of the day the whole village will know that Patrick and I are doing more than fighting to get the other out of the house. Come to think of it, my body doesn’t seem to want him out of the house anymore. I’d like him to stay as long as he wants, preferably in my bedroom. Or his. Or us both on the sofa. I’m not picky.

“Hey, Sinead. Would you mind if I borrowed Lori for the rest of the day?” Patrick calls out coolly, probably misinterpreting my reservation for indecisiveness. “We have important business to discuss back home.”

The way he emphasizes the word “business” makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and hide down there for the rest of my existence.

The meaning of it is too obvious.

Too insinuating.

Too out of the erotic novel I picked up this morning and left open on the counter.

Sinead appears in the doorway. “That’s fine. We’re not busy today. Besides, important business always comes first. Make sure you tell me all about it tomorrow, Lori.” There’s a glint in her eyes and her lips curve upward into a knowing smile.

Oh, my goodness. She knows! How will I be able to face her ever again and dodge the kind of questions I probably won’t have any answers to?

I mumble, “If I haven’t died of shame in the meantime,” and hurry for the staff room to get my handbag, keeping my head low to avoid the prodding looks. If I wasn’t the talk of the village until now I will be by the end of the day. Maybe another storm could bide me a day or two, what with people being stuck inside and hopefully minding their own business. But somehow that scenario sounds a little doubtful.

“Did youhaveto be so blatantly obvious about us?” I ask once I’m nestled safely in Patrick’s truck.

“I wouldn’t be exciting to you if I wasn’t a little trouble.” He winks. “Besides, they knew the moment I set foot in that café.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

He shrugs. “Because I don’t eat that stuff.”

I steal a glance down the front of his shirt, at the six-pack hidden beneath the thin material. That certainly makes sense. He probably follows a strict diet and fitness regime to look good on stage.

Note to self: You don’t look likethatgobbling down hot cross buns and sugary pastries.

“I thought you and Sinead might have been—maybe at one point, you two were—” I let the unspoken words linger in the air, waiting for him to get my drift.

Childhood sweethearts. Intimate. The perfect couple. Star-crossed lovers. None of these definitions sits well with me and sends my stomach into painful knots of jealousy. I turn away before he can see it all written across my face.

“You thought Sinead and I might have been more than friends at some point?” Patrick laughs, the sound sending a hot wave of pleasure through me. “You thought wrong. Sinead’s like the little sister I never had. She’s not my type. You, on the otherhand—” He breaks off and cups my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. He pulls me into a slow, lingering kiss that sends my brain into a different realm again, the one where it’s no longer working.

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