Page 74 of Bracing The Storm

“Like you have any feelings for me.”

He stares at me for a moment and then ever so slowly the corners of his lips turn up. “Who says I don’t? I’m deeply and utterly attracted to you.” He takes my hand, the one wearing the ring, as his eyes look at me with an intensity that makes me forget to breathe. “Lori. Some people don’t need years to decide. When it feels right, it just does. Why should I have declined your suggestion to get married when it just felt right?”

Mysuggestion? Oh, gosh.

“You still don’t think it was a mistake?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. You haven’t given me any reason to think that.”

A million thoughts race through my head. I have so many questions, but all I can squeeze out is, “What's going to happen next?”

“We didn’t have our wedding night yet. That should be our number one priority.” He smiles and leans in for a long, lingering kiss. “If I may make a suggestion, Mrs. Walsh.”

Mrs. Walsh?

My heart’s just dropped in my lap.

“I’d like to have some private time with my wife now.”

“Since you’re asking so nicely.” I smile and wrap my arms around him as he scoops me up and carries me up the stairs into his bedroom.

Our bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Who would have thought sex as newlyweds is even better? After another marathon run, my entire body feels like it’s had an entire year’s worth of exercise and then some. I’m glad for the breather when Patrick jumps out of bed, butt-naked and beautiful in all his glory, and heads for the shower while I get a chance to check my phone. At least twenty text messages from Mia are waiting to be dealt with, all demanding an explanation to various degrees, ranging from threatening to begging. The woman has the determination of a sniffer dog, I have to give her that. I can’t blame her curiosity. Three days have passed. Three days of wonderful bedroom bliss.

I type up another vague response.

Lori: Can’t get back to you right now. I’ll call you later with details.

Not that I’m much wiser than before, but that should buy me some time. Wrapping a sheet around my naked body, I get out of bed and start picking up our clothes. They’re scattered all over the floor, which says a lot about our last steamy session. We started making out as soon as we reached the door and barely made it into bed before the first throes of an orgasm threw meover the edge. Holding up my shirt, I consider putting it on, then decide, as his wife, it’s pretty much my duty to start wearing something of his.

Wife.

The word sounds so alien, it makes me smile.

I still can’t wrap my head around the circumstances surrounding our strange wedding.

So, what now?

I still have to figure that out. At some point, I know I’ll have to deal with it one way or another. Get to know my husband and just make it work.

Or…

The other possibility is too painful to even consider. I can’t let him go, not when he’s been adamant that once he gets married it’s going to be for life.

The water’s still running in the shower as I head for Patrick’s walk-in closet and push the door open. Just as I expected, there are rows of racks filled with clothes for every occasion, from suits to jeans and leather jackets. There’s a floor-to-ceiling shelf with shoes. Everything is tidy and organized. I reach for a white shirt and hold it up to inhale the clean fragrance of fresh laundry, then put it back because it won’t do. I want it to be something personal. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it.

I flick through the racks, discarding one piece of clothing after another. That’s when I catch a glimpse of a white box hidden behind a neatly folded stack of T-shirts. Even though it’s different in size, the embossed surface is unmistakable; it’s a carbon copy of the gift boxes left on my doorstep. My curiosity gets the better of me so I push the T-shirts aside to retrieve it and peer inside.

It contains a jewelry box with the most stunning bracelet I’ve ever seen. It’s delicate but studded with small diamondsthat sparkle in the daylight. A blank card accompanies it. My fingertips trail over the expensive paper that looks and feels just like the handwritten notes left with my gifts.

I stare at it, confused. I don’t know what to make of it. Why would Patrick hide women’s jewelry in his closet? And why is the box an exact replica of the ones left for me? What are the odds that both Patrick and Duncan purchased gifts from the same store?

The reasonable thing to do would be to ask him about it. Yet something holds me back.

Call it a gut feeling.

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