Chapter 14
Rationally, Emma knew Patrick didn’t want her beyond a casual sex relationship, but in this moment, logic lost the battle.
She put her arms around his neck as renewed fervor settled in her bones. Every part of her relished his touch, and the sensations he elicited injected liquid fire in her veins—a fire that would surely burn her beyond measure in the end, and the sad part was she didn’t care.
Wanting more, she wove her fingers through his hair, and gravitated lower. Grasping him tighter around the neck, she angled her mouth for a deeper, hungrier kiss.
No guilt, no shame, she took what she’d been craving for days now. He groaned into her mouth and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. He gifted kisses to the skin above her breasts. She thrust her chest forward, willingly granting better access. She tilted her head back and, dear Lord, his lips felt good.
Then he took it one step further. Lowering his hands to her backside, he lifted her against him in a tighter, intimate fit, and she realized how affected he was. The ridge of his erection, hard as granite between them, sent warm, delicious flutters unfurling and fanning out in her belly, spreading downward, straight to the knowing rhythm between her legs—a rhythm that came alive with Patrick.
He’d been etched in her mind, and buried in her skin, for far too long now, carving himself into her DNA years ago.
She hadn’t let go and had paid the price.
Painful memories snagged against the sharp edges of the past, taunting her. His kisses lured her further away from reality as he moved from her lips to the edge of her jaw, traveling to her neck. He suckled on the earlobe. Gritting her teeth, she stifled a moan, because, damn, his lips . . .
She placed her hands on his chest and gave him a not-so-gentle shove, her shaky fingers fumbling for the light switch.
A fine sheen of sweat beaded at his forehead and he as appeared just as disheveled and out breath.
“Patrick, no, please. I can’t do casual.” Anger with herself made her voice sharper than intended, but she didn’t care. She’d too easily fallen under his spell.
He nodded, putting his hands on his hips, and her eyes roved to the obvious bulge in his pants. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look away, praying her appearance didn’t appear too disheveled, as she quickly buttoned up her shirt.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She nodded, and then with rubbery arms, she opened the door and walked away from him.
~ ~ ~
Patrick made his way home, where he changed out of his suit and tie then drove to meet Mike at a local bar for a game of pool and a much-needed beer, or maybe two or three beers.
Jesus, but the days at work had been hell.
First, he’d flat-out lied to Emma. Second, he’d hurt her. Third, my God, he was crazy about her, and that kiss in the supply closet should have never happened. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but whatever it was, it had not been with his brain.
That one kiss disturbed the tinder, had sparked the flames all over again.
Sweet, potent, seductive, Emma’d tasted as she always had, her curves lush and ripe against him.
He realized he’d do anything to protect her from pain, even though he’d just caused her pain.
An hour later, he arrived at the bar. A bell jangled overhead as he entered and The Rolling Stones played on the jukebox, blending with errant chatter and bottles clinking.
He spotted Mike, holding his cue stick.
His brother nodded in greeting. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Not much,” Patrick mumbled.
Mike frowned, handing him a stick and a beer from behind him. “You sure?”
Ignoring the question, Patrick leaned over and took the first shot, sending the balls scattering and clanking across the aged green felt. “I’m fine.”
He speared his brother with a shut the hell up glance, in no mood to talk. The push and pull going on inside made him cranky and irritable.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”
“Because you’re an idiot, man,” he barked.
Mike put both hands up and shook his head. “Dude, calm the fuck down. Do you want to tell me what heck is going on?”
“I’m no longer seeing Emma. I ended our . . .” He paused, the heat and smoke surely covered his face. “. . . relationship.”
The words felt bitter on the tip of his tongue. The still-fresh bleed in his heart clawed at his stomach as he remembered that morning.
“Why?”
“Because . . .” He took a swig of his cold brew. “I should know better than to get involved with someone at work.”
His brother scoffed, leaning over as he took his turn, and sent the striped orange ball flying into the corner pocket. “I call bullshit.” He straightened. “Now do you want to take a crack at the truth?”
Patrick took a swig of beer, and set it down. Finally, he took his shot before answering. “Because I love her.”
There, he’d said it out loud, and he had to admit, it felt amazing, even as a twist of guilt stabbed his gut.
Scared of having someone he loved taken away, again. Frankly, it’d hurt too damned much the first time. It’d hurt so much he never thought he would be able to love again.
A smile decorated his brother’s face. “Man, that’s awesome. I gotta say, I’m happy as hell for you. Have you told her how you feel?”
Patrick shook his head. “Nope.”
“Then why’d you lie to her?”
If he couldn’t be honest with Emma right now, he could at least be honest with Mike.
Swallowing a lump of pride, Patrick realized now was the time for honesty. “I’m scared to death.”
He did not divulge his dream where he’d held Emma, dead in his arms. The sharp mental image still messed with his mind and clung to his brain like a cobweb.
“Of?” Mike prodded.
Unable to put a coherent thought together, he took the easy way out. “I need a cigarette,” he blurted.
The answer took Mike aback, a surprised arch of his brows greeted his hairline, but he didn’t say a word as they walked outside.
Cool night air hit Patrick’s skin, soothing him, but it wasn’t nearly the kind of balm he needed. Digging a cigarette out of the pack of Marlboro Red’s in his back pocket, he put one to his lips, lit it, and took a long, smooth drag, filling his lungs. He blew the smoke out and closed his eyes then put it back to his lips and took another puff before Mike finally spoke.
“This is unlike you, man. I thought you’d quit smoking.”
Patrick turned to face him. “I did.” He took several more drags.
A look of concern crossed his brother’s features. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
After a few more calming puffs, Patrick threw the cigarette into the smoker’s tree, and finally decided he’d lay it all out on the line.
He swallowed the hard lump in his throat before speaking. “I’m afraid of the same thing happening to Emma. I’m afraid of getting hurt if something happened to her, because . . . I love her, and it would break my heart.”
Relief swamped through him as one by one, each confession poured out. Normally, he kept his feelings to himself but he’d been carrying this burden around for too long.
“I understand you’re scared. That you don’t want to get hurt, but you’re already hurting Emma by pushing her away.”
Patrick nodded, his brother hitting the nail right on the head. “Fuck, I know it.”
His brother assessed him. “Then tell her, bro. Tell her how you feel.”
Patrick nodded but knew it would be far easier said than done.
“Yeah, I know.”
Mike gave him a hearty whack on the back. “Now, what’s say we have another beer and finish our pool game?”
~ ~ ~
Emma curled up on her mom’s outdoor patio chair. The back deck offered a view of trees blending with late morning the sky and sunshine.
A soft, blue and white-checkered afghan covered her legs from the cool morning breeze, a peaceful calm of the country, far off from the city and its noisy companions. Here, the sound of birds and animals chattering and tweeting surrounded her.
Here, she could be truly alone with her thoughts, although Patrick never strayed too far from them, and it proved frustrating.
Sipping her second cup of coffee of the day, she felt the soothing liquid going down her throat.
Leaning her head back, she ran the last few days, weeks, and months through her mind.
Who knew that day on the elevator would change everything?
The last few days, still vibrant, the energy that surrounded her whenever Patrick was near, most especially remembering that kiss from a few days ago.
He may have said he couldn’t get involved beyond a physical relationship, but his actions bespoke another message. Kissing her forehead, and gently across the bridge of her nose, and cheeks. Then, good God Almighty, the way he’d kissed her, and not any ordinary kiss, a kiss that spoke directly to her heart. Each time in his arms proved magical.
Frustration gripped her insides and she dashed the images away. Bottom line? She needed some time away.
That kiss still haunted her.
Happy when the weekend arrived, she’d made her escape Friday night after work. She packed her bag and told Sarah she needed space.
Traveling the almost two-hour drive to Appleton to recoup at her mom’s, she acknowledged that she desired distance from her apartment, where flashes of memories scattered throughout the four walls. In her bedroom, in the kitchen, and even right down to the living room floor. Each square inch of the space held an essence of Patrick.
As the sliding door opened and shut behind her, she turned around and faked a smile.
“Good morning, honey. How are you holding up?” her mom asked and took a seat next to her, hazel eyes shining with sympathy.
Emma nodded. “Okay, I guess. I’ve been better.”
“You’re not fooling anybody. It’s Patrick, isn’t it?”
Heat stole up her neck. “No, Mom.”
Her mom laughed softly. “Emma, come on. You had the same lovesick expression on your face six years ago after your trip abroad. You’ve had that expression ever since you first laid eyes on him when we moved next door to the Taylors. Your sophomore year of high school, I remember it well.” Sadness tinged her voice.
Emma gave her mom a sideways glance. She didn’t recall telling her about their seven-night affair, so how did she know? Or for that matter, did she know?
Then, a nostalgic look crossed her mom’s features. “As soon as he’d learned I was a widow, Patrick offered to help me in any way he could, and pretty much right away. He was a gentleman, that boy.” She took a sip of her tea.
Emma smiled, recalling the early memories of him. She raised the mug to her lips and hoped to keep her feelings at bay. Although with her mom, that was a pretty tall order because she’d never been good at hiding her emotions and her mom was good at finding out what had really been on her mind.
“Have you told him how you feel?” her mom asked.
Guilty as charged, Emma shook her head, taking another sip of her coffee. “No.”
Her mom chuckled, pressing a comforting hand to her knee. “Sweetie, you need to tell him how you feel. At least lay it all out there, and then he’ll know. One way or the other.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Emma said, feeling better than she had in days.
“How about you and I get dressed and go do a little shopping? Have lunch? Maybe catch a movie?” her mom asked.
Emma nodded, feeling better already. “Yes, that sounds great.”
~ ~ ~
Despair and Saturday night proved a poisonous combination. A week passed since their fall out, and even if he’d been the one to break things off, Patrick missed her like crazy.
Two in the morning, he stumbled into his apartment, drunk to high heaven, with a willing brunette behind him. She was constantly grasping his rear end and wrapping her arms around his waist, and he didn’t bother flipping on the lights as they made their way inside. She forcefully backed him against the door. Her large breasts spilled out over her low-cut top and she licked her lips, zeroing in on his, tilting her head to make a landing.
Her lips were soft, and the warm pressure would’ve felt nice years ago, but he at the moment felt . . . nothing, because all he could picture was holding Emma, his sweet Emma, in his arms.
Her endearing face captured his mind. He wanted to hold her like the precious woman she was, to marry her and to watch her belly grow and swell with children.
The brunette’s kisses turned hungrier, even as his desire proved non-existent. She grasped him around the neck, moving to his shoulders, then his chest, and even lower until she grasped his rear end and squeezed. A hazy, drunken stupor clogged his brain. But he realized exactly what she was after.
She paused. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into the office, Patrick. And I’ll make this real easy for you. Take me to bed, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” she said, her voice a husky murmur.
Gently, he pushed her away and shook his head. “Caryn, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
As though she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, she grasped his groin, and tried to unbutton his jeans.
He removed her hand. “No, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
She frowned, her face covered with regret. She forcefully pulled him closer again, nibbling at his neck, before he gently, but with force, pushed her away.
“I think it’s best if you leave.”
A flash of anger crossed her features as she pursed her still-wet lips. She crossed her arms across her chest, nearly thrusting her large breasts out of her low-cut shirt, as if in invitation and in the hopes he’d change his mind.
He stepped aside and opened the door for her, stating another brief apology before she silently left his apartment.
What in the hell were you thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem.
First, going to a bar tonight, getting drunk to numb the pain, and unfortunately running into a woman from the office, and now.
This.
It was a disastrous choice to bring her home, and he should’ve taken a cab. She’d insisted on giving him a ride home, and he’d foolishly agreed.
He’d been thankful for the last tiny thread of common sense, even if his head felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton balls.
Stumbling his way to the bathroom, he hit the light then took a couple of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. After flipping the top of the bottle off, he filled a glass next to the sink, popped them into his mouth, and swallowed. He prayed it would help the throbbing of his skull.
Fully clothed, he crawled into bed to sleep off this nightmare of a night.
~ ~ ~
The weekend slipped by, and despite her own personal hell, Emma decided she would make the most of the situation.
She’d worn the new red button-down blouse she’d found while out shopping over the weekend, pairing it with her black pencil skirt and nude pumps. Red, a bold, bright color, was a good choice. Exactly what she needed to bolster her morale.
Recalling her mom’s words, Emma knew she needed to speak with Patrick. Though she didn’t know what she’d even begin to say, but she hoped the right words would form when the time came.
Cursing her memory, she realized as she stepped out of the elevator that she’d forgotten her coffee.
The coffee at work wasn’t the greatest but it would have to do. She quickly put her things in her office and made her way to the break room, where a group of four women huddled in the corner, chattering and giggling at an inside joke.
She walked past them, and after pouring her coffee, she grabbed two creamers, but the next words from Caryn’s mouth stopped her.
“I tell you, he’s an animal, like a damned tiger, in bed. Good Lord, he kept me up half the night with his antics.”
The lanky petite brunette regaled her friends of her weekend sexual escapades.
Emma ignored them. At least someone was getting lucky around there because it sure as hell wasn’t her anymore. Geez, had her life come to this? Being jealous of someone for getting laid, someone she only worked with and barely knew?
Really, how sad is that, Emma?
She held no ill will against the woman, or anyone for that matter, but right now, her jealousy consumed the room.
“Patrick is the best lover I’ve ever had.” The words came out much lower, in a near whisper, but by the time Emma realized whom they were talking about, her creamer had spilled onto the counter and pooled around the bottom of her cup.
She closed her eyes as her stomach roiled, and she tried to fight the tears. The knife wound her co-worker’s words had inflicted throbbed, and the one that had only just begun to heal split wide open. It burned like all hell, as if someone drowned it with an entire bottle of alcohol on the gaping flesh.
Her hopes of telling Patrick how she felt were dashed. She already knew how he felt. He’d moved on. The realization that he’d discarded her so quickly nearly made her lose the contents of her stomach.
With shaky fingers, she sopped up the mess and grabbed her coffee.
The brunette continued to describe, in graphic detail, her sexual escapades as she made her retreat and the sound of smothered giggles faded. Emma tried to stifle her sobs, as anger for the vile excuse of a man made its way from a low simmer to rolling boil.
Patrick had only been in it for the sex, right from the start.
Keeping her cool façade, she made it to her office and shut the door partway.
She set her cup down and took a seat, feeling like the world’s stupidest woman. She tried to digest everything she’d overheard, and the rational side of her told her it didn’t matter. Her heart told her a different story, thinking the worst of the man she’d fallen in love with. Of the man she’d been in love with for a long time now, longer than she cared to remember.
Piece by painful piece, she’d put herself back together then, and she’d do the same thing now. She needed to focus on the day ahead of her and pretend she didn’t hear that little piece of sickening information.
It would be so much easier said than done.
~ ~ ~
Baffling, that was what her behavior had been all day.
Emma had had him scratching his head since he’d strolled into the office. From scowls, to her dirty looks, to clipped, short responses, and now the cold shoulder.
Admit it. You were an ass, Patrick. That’s what wrong here.
Granted their fall-out happened a week ago, but today, her anger hit at an all-time new level, one he’d never seen before with sharper edges he knew could kill a man. An entirely different beast he had no clue how to tame.
He sat at his desk, fidgeting with an opened desk drawer as his eyes danced around the few people who remained in the nearly deserted office.
Finally, he worked up the nerve to confront her and made his way to her office. Tentatively, he knocked on her door.
“Come in,” came the curt reply.
The smile that played on her lips fell the minute she saw him. Her features hardened, and there it was, that wall of anger. A damned bulldozer couldn’t penetrate that sucker.
She scoffed and turned back to her computer, completely disregarding him.
“Hey, Emma. You got a minute?”
“For you? Not really.”
He sat on the edge of her desk, tired of walking on eggshells around her, tired of keeping his questions work-related, but right now they were alone. He would get to the bottom of it if it killed him. Hell, from the look on her face, it probably fucking would.
“I want to know what in hell is your problem.”
She snapped her laptop shut, leaned back in her chair, crossed those gorgeous legs, and used her fingers as a steeple, assessing him.
“Oh, that’s a good one. You come into my office, and demand to know what my problem is.”
“Yes, I’d like to know. You’ve been in a fucking mood all day,” he challenged.
Her chin raised a notch.
“What are you talking about?”
He gritted his teeth. “You know damned well what I’m talking about.”
She got up, palming her hands on the desk, and faced him. The direct, unwavering eye contact unsettled him, and he wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was the sheer amount of anger, the hurt, love, and desire behind the blue depths. The strong stance she took made his blood throb and boil in his veins. Normally a quiet, reserved woman, how he loved when her passionate nature dominated, especially the times she directed it at him in the bedroom.
The fire she radiated made a man look forward to getting burned, and such thoughts only made other parts of him react. He had to think of something, anything else to calm himself.
“What’s it to you?” she quipped.
Stubborn, mule-headed woman. He was getting no place very quickly. “Emma, please—”
She put her hand up to silence him. “No, really. I want to know, because I thought you and I were only casual. So again, I ask, what’s it to you?”
Patrick was in no mood for this. He stood and walked around her desk, gently grasping her by the arms, and turned her until they were face to face. And right there, that bravado, that spunk, slowly melted before she stood ramrod straight, her arms at her sides.
His chest innocently brushed against hers, re-igniting, and fanning the flames.
Years of memories gathered and danced around in his mind.
That balmy summer night, and the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
Honeysuckle, and fresh-cut grass had lingered in the air, and he’d been taking care of a chore for his mom. He heard soft cries, and following the sound, discovered Emma. Hunched over and body shaking. He remembered those vivid blue eyes, lashes fringed with tears, as she’d spoken about her dad’s passing.
Then when he’d accidentally stumble upon her, chewing on a pencil, and in deep thought in the library. The first time she’d come out of her mom’s house, all bundled, and ready to help him shovel knee-deep snow. Her eyes dancing with mirth, practically lighting up whenever he’d been around.
Only, he hadn’t recognized it as anything beyond a crush back then.
Their passionate weeklong fling abroad, to the years that’d separated them, and his regrets for letting her go. The passing years didn’t matter. The familiarity of her body, the lush, gentle, feminine curves beneath his palm stole all rational thought. Her laughter, her sense of humor, her head-strong loving personality, all those things and more made up the woman he’d fallen in love with, but he could not bring himself to say those three words.
“Because, it matters to me. That’s why,” he murmured against her lips.
He needed to leave. Before he did something foolish, like kiss her. Or worse, set her atop this desk and make love to her like he’d been desperate to do for over a week now. Ready to get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness, to ask her to marry him and make her his wife. To spend the rest of his life making her happy, as happy as she’d made him.
Darkness once more clouded her features. “I highly doubt that, considering I truly was another notch on your bedpost,” she bit off.
“What are you talking about?”
She laughed, but it held no humor as she pushed against his chest and stepped back. “Why don’t you ask Caryn? I’m sure she’d be delighted to sleep with you again.”
He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat. Even though he was innocent and had never shared more than a few kisses with the woman, the fact that Emma found out, or even thought he’d slept with her made his stomach turn. The look of utter heartbreak on Emma’s face tore at the still-raw, gaping wounds in his heart.
“I never slept with Caryn.”
Waving him away, Emma sat down at her desk and tuned him out. “Spare me, okay? Just get the hell out of my office.”
She didn’t look up when she spoke again. “Good night, Patrick.”
Spirits deflated and no longer in the mood to fight, he walked out of her office, shutting the door behind him. He lingered long enough to hear soft cries just behind the door before she gently blew her nose. His gut instinct told him to go back in and offer comfort, but he realized she would not welcome his arms around her.
As difficult as it was, he walked away.