Page 71 of Bracing The Storm

“Let me,” Patrick says and tears down his jeans, probably sending a few of those buttons flying in the process.

Taking charge, I push him onto his back and peel off my panties, then straddle him, barely leaving him time to roll on a condom before I slide down his entire length. My walls close around him, protesting at the sheer size of him. I throw back my head as ecstasy starts surging through my body. I’m so close I can feel it. He thrusts up and that one movement hits just the right spot. My legs tense, my core catches fire. I’m faintly aware of Patrick’s own release, but the intensity of my orgasm is too incredible to care about anything or anyone else.

I close my eyes and roll with it, taking all I can from the man who’s taken more from me than I was ever prepared to give him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Itry to hide the perma-smile on my face as I think back to last night. After jumping his bones I only remember bits and pieces, but damn! Those are some good memories, and my lower body twitches in eager response. As it seems, Patrick Walsh is going down—a lot—though not in the sense I expected.

It hasn’t even been a few weeks and I’ve already thrown all caution to the wind and gotten involved with the guy I was trying to kick out of the house. Worse yet, I’m falling for him, hard and fast. He didn’t even have to try very hard. His looks did most of the work, and his bedroom skills finished the job.

In the end, I don’t think it’s about the house anymore. Sure, his mother wanted me to have it. But deep down I can feel that snatching it away from him isn’t right. Itishis place. I have no right to it.

I have to call Duncan and communicate my decision, preferably before the judge signs on the papers.

The thought strikes me somewhere between taking a bite of my eggs Benedict and swallowing it all down with a big gulp of coffee to mask the stinging aftertaste of way too much chili. My mouth is on fire and my eyes start to tear up.

“Are you okay?” Patrick drops his fork and jumps up, immediately reaching for a glass of milk.

“What in the name of—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because my lips and throat are burning.

“Sorry, old habits, I guess. I forgot that I switched the salt with the chili peppers. Drink this and just ride it out. It’s not as bad as it feels.” He hands me the glass of milk with an apologetic smile, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not used to spicy food, are you? Or alcohol, for that matter.”

I glare at him and keep the long string of all the things you shouldn’t say to your new crush tucked well hidden in my mind. Luckily, my phone pings with an incoming message, drawing my attention to it.

“It’s Mia.” I frown as I quickly scroll through her message, then slow down to try and make sense of her gibberish.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick prompts.

I shake my head. “Not sure. Something about me sending her a cryptic message about getting hitched to The Storm last night and to explain myself or she’ll be on the first ferry over to whoop my ass for eloping and not inviting her to my wedding.” I look up from the phone and meet his questioning gaze. I shake my head again as my brain struggles to figure out what she’s saying.

She must have been typing it up half-asleep. There is no other logical explanation.

“Lori, I—” He takes a breath and lets it out slowly as though to brace himself for whatever he has to say.

I hold up my hand to stop him.

Seriously, I get it. No need to spell out the obvious. We’ve known each other for all of five minutes. There’s no way in hell someone like him would jump onboard the marriage train so quickly.

But still!

“We need to talk,” Patrick says, his tone serious.

A distant memory rings at the back of my mind. Wasn’t he trying to tell me something last night, right before I had a little too much of that delicious wine and basically let him make lots of my fantasies come true?

“There was something you wanted to say yesterday. Can it wait?” I hold up my phone. “I need to check on her first.”

“Forget the other day. We need to talk about this.” He gestures at us.

“Oh.” I blink, realizing what he’s trying to tell me. The message got him spooked. “I know the text is BS. It isn’t real, Patrick. Don’t worry. I didn’t think it was.” To make sure he understands I add for good measure, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not looking to get married. Not now. Not anytime soon.”

“Lori.” He hesitates.

I hold up my hand again, a little annoyed with his reaction. Even though it makes sense, does hehaveto look so averse to the idea of a futureus?

“Let me sort this out,” I say, pointing at the phone. “Either Mia’s pranking me or she’s hit her head and is suffering from a concussion. Let’s hope it’s not the latter. I can’t have her stay over here for longer than a few days. She can be such a pain when she’s bored. I love her to bits but that woman needs more entertainment than a five-year-old, and this place doesn’t exactly boast a buzzing nightlife.”

“We have plenty of cultural activities to choose from.” Do I catch a hint of indignation there?

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