Page 70 of Bracing The Storm

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then shakes his head.

Not a fan of just opening up his heart and spilling it all out, this one. I can tell.

He’s stalling for time and I’m slowly starting to get impatient so I decide to help along a little. Besides, I love guessing. I have this innate talent for figuring out the mystery, usually a few minutes into a movie, long before the big reveal. It drives everyone crazy, including me, because I get bored and end up falling asleep halfway through.

I tap my finger against my lips as I try to come up with the most likely possibility. “You broke into your college at night and skinny-dipped in the pool.”

Patrick shakes his head. “What? No.”

I shrug. Granted, that wasn’t particularly creative, but my brain feels a little mushy and the room’s started to spin, courtesy of the storm still raging outside. Or maybe there’s an earthquake.

“It’s worse than that,” he says. “Skinny dipping in a public pool might be illegal, but it’s not hurting anyone. What I did is bound to cause a lot of pain.”

So he didn’t kill anyone but there’s bound to be a bit of pain.

I take another sip of my wine before I embark on my second attempt. And then it dawns on me. He hopes he’ll be forgiven even though he’s caused a lot of hurt.

All that springs to mind is?—

“You’re into all that Fifty Shades stuff?”

“Nothing of the sort, Lori. I?—”

“Oh, good.” A giggle erupts at the back of my throat. No idea where that one’s coming from. Must be relief that the hot guy isn’t into some weird sexual fetish after all. Having found the man of my dreams and realizing he has a big red room of things I couldn’t even identify would suck big time.

I finish my glass of wine and grab the bottle. He’s not keen on finishing it by the looks of it, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

It tastes even better than before.

Patrick’s eyes focus on me. I faintly recall he wanted to tell me something before the rescue mission. It sounded serious, maybe even bad news.

I hesitate as I regard him.

The light of the fire casts a beautiful glow on his face. He’s sitting so close I can smell the ocean on him. My stomach flutters.

“Lori.” His tone is solemn, full of meaning.

“Not now.”

Whatever it is he wants to talk about can wait because there’s no way I’m letting him spoil this special moment by some possible skeletons in his closet.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, all dark and troubled, or the alcohol running through my veins, but it’s turning me on to the point that I can’t help myself. A tingling sensation rushes through me and gathers between my legs. In a brief moment of poor judgment, I lean into him and press my mouth against his lips, taking him by surprise. He doesn’t respond for a second or two, and then his mouth opens and his tongue is inside my mouth, all hot and eager to explore. I moan against him and lean back against the pillows, pulling him on top of me, the big reveal instantly forgotten.

Oh, crap!

It’s happening again and I can’t help myself.

My hands fly up to tear off his clothes, touching him everywhere I can with the kind of urgency that rings huge alarm bells at the back of my mind. The man clearly has something to tell me, and something tells me it’s not going to be pretty. But I don’t care. All I want is to feel him on me, inside me.

I’ll deal with the consequences later.

“Patrick,” I moan into his mouth and trail my fingers down his jeans to the huge bulge already straining the front of them.

“Fuck, Lori. I actually wanted to talk,” he growls against my mouth.

“You can do that later.”

He’s hard and ready for me, eager to make me feel good again. I’m so soaking wet that I’m more than ready to let him. But damn those tiny buttons on his jeans! Whoever invented them and made them so small deserves to live in celibacy for the rest of their miserable existence. My fingers are too clumsy for the darn things.

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