Page 88 of Book and Ladder
“Maybe my car has a thing for your driveways,” he says.
Is he …flirting?No. Definitely not.
I make a show of bringing my hand up to my chest and gasping. Then I draw a line I actually mean from the bottom of my heart. “Your car and my driveway will never be friends. Ever.”
Okay. That made more sense in my head.
Patrick laughs softly. I barely believe what comes out of his mouth next. “Or maybe I just … like being where you are.” He clears his throat and his composure slips just the slightest. “I mean—uh …”
My eyes narrow. “We both know you don’t mean that. Unless you’re talking about plopping your family’s development on my front porch.”
Patrick shakes his head, pushing off the side of the car and striding toward me. “When you look at me like that …”
He looks … determined. Reckless. His eyes lock onto mine.
My heart lodges in my throat. Why is he still coming closer? He stops and bends toward me until our faces are inches apart.
“Like what?” I croak.What is wrong with me?
“Like you’re deciding whether to fight me or …”
I swallow hard. Is Patrick actually insinuating I want tokisshim?
My eyes betray me, darting to his lips. That full bottom lip. That stubbly jawline.
No.Absolutely not.
Warmth radiates off him, his gaze tracking mine.
His lips twitch into a satisfied half-smile.
I press my hand to his chest to shove him back, but the contact jolts me—heat, muscle, and those eyes, only inches away. My breath snags in my throat. My hand doesn’t budge. Instead, I’m riveted—his heartbeat strong beneath my palm like the ticking metronome of a hypnotist.
In one swift movement he catches my wrist. His fingers close around me, firm and warm. Everything inside me stutters to a halt. My protest dies unspoken, strangled by the shock sparking from our single point of contact.
My lips are dry. I lick them. My heart pounds, breath shallow. He’s going to?—
I brace—unable to retreat—at war with him and myself.
Instead of his lips brushing my mouth, his cheek grazes mine, his whisper a hot caress across my ear.
“You drive me crazy, Daisy Clark.”
A shiver ripples through me.
“And you return the favor, Patrick O’Connell.” The words sputter out, unsteady and ragged.
He drags his cheek backward, across the same tender skin, torturing me and unleashing something in a move far too intimate—a taunt, a tease, a promise. One he won’t keep.
He doesn’t step back. He remains inches from me. For a beat, we’re frozen—eyes wide, breath colliding in the narrow space between us. Then I stumble forward or he leans in, and our mouths collide in a kiss so inevitable, so wholly consuming, I lose—the fight, myself, time, place.
Every nerve detonates with the shock of him—his mouth urgent, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, holding melike I might vanish. I grip his shirt, hanging on to him, this moment, my sanity.
My lungs forget how to work; my heart pounds as if trying to break free of my chest. I forget the past, my own name, who I’m with. No. I know. With every movement of our mouths, I know. It’s Patrick kissing me. And I’m kissing him back. Nothing has ever felt so right. And so wrong …
No! No. No. No. No. No.
This time when I place my palm on his chest, I wrench away, ripping free from his hold, my lips blazing, my wrist still tingling where his skin touched mine. My lungs claw for air like I’ve been underwater too long.
