Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I pretend to busy myself with polishing the already spotless counter to perfection as I steal glances at Patrick. He’s hesitating in the doorway, as though unsure whether to come in while exchanging a few words with Sinead. Even though she’s taller than I am, her head is tilted back to look up at him, and there’s a smile playing on her lips. Her hand is resting on her hip, the way it usually is, but there’s something about her stance that screams she’s flirting with him.
Narrowing my eyes, I try to look away. I really am. But it’s all a bit like a train wreck that forces me to keep my gaze glued to the unnerving display even though I can feel everything inside me crumbling into a dirty heap.
Why did I sleep with him?
Not once, not even twice.
It was five times throughout the night, and then again in the morning. He had made me come more times than I could remember, and then left with a lingering kiss and something about a trip he needed to make. His proximity had rendered me unable to form a coherent thought. My mushy brain didn’t even consider questioning him on his whereabouts.
It’s three days later. Three days without a phone call, text message, or smoke signal.
Where has he been? Why do I even care?
Because you’re falling for him, dumdum! And falling hard.
My heart sinks as Patrick laughs at something Sinead says. The chemistry between them is undeniable. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the café catching fire any moment. I should have known better than to get involved with someone like him. He’s not only rich and sexy; he has the female population at his feet, vying for his attention. Why would he go for someone like me when he can have someone like her ?
He must sense my glare because his eyes turn to me and his smile freezes in place. He’s probably asking himself the same question and is regretting our night of passion. Before I can come up with an excuse and dash for the back of the café to lock myself up in the kitchen, the rest room, or anywhere with a lock on the door, Patrick’s reached me in a few long strides.
“I’ll be in the back, if you need anything,” Sinead says and disappears into the staff room aka kitchen aka everything else.
Damn! I’m alone with him.
I fix my gaze on the already sparkling counter, polishing until my arm feels like it’s made of jelly, but the pain is welcome. I deserve all the torture I can get.
“Learning how to play hard to get? Or are you in the market looking to land a husband?” Patrick says. His voice is deep and low and sends shivers through me. A tingle settles in my lower abdomen, reminding me just how much I crave his attention down there.
I look at him, confused. “What?”
His brows perk in amusement as he points at the romance novel on the counter. The cover shows a woman dressed in a gown and some guy who looks like he spends way too many hours at the gym. He has his arms wrapped around her possessively while she’s trying to turn her back on him. Needless to say, it’s a romance book and so unbelievable, under usual circumstances I wouldn’t be caught dead reading it. But I’m in the middle of nowhere and there’s something about the story that’s strangely captivating. Besides, everything else was already on borrow, what with the bad weather and no new book deliveries in a month. And I was in the mood for a bit of romance after my night with the one guy I clearly shouldn’t have hooked up with.
My cheeks flame up.
“I wasn’t—” I mumble, leaving the rest unspoken. I can’t pretend that I haven’t been reading it when my flushed face has most certainly given me away.
“I don’t think I’ve read that one but there’s only two ways it could go.” A smile flickers across his face. “My mother was a huge fan of romance novels. Since I didn’t have a sister and with my father being away on business trips most of the time I learned more about this stuff than any teenage boy needs to know. And let me tell you, every guy gets the girl in the end, no matter how much she resists."
There’s something about his words that annoys me. Maybe it’s his confidence, his ego, the way he speaks the last sentence with absolute certainty, as though his statement is a fact. Or maybe it’s the insinuation that I could be that girl, that he could have me if he so wanted.
I set my jaw and take a deep breath to stifle the anger bubbling beneath the surface. He’s so infuriating. I feel like pouring an entire mug of hot coffee in his lap, but that’s beneath me. Of course, he’s making small talk instead of apologizing for ghosting me for three whole days.
“Why would you assume all romance novels are the same?” I ask.
“Because they are…in the end. Half of the time, the heroine plays hard to get and the other half is about getting married. And by the end of the book there’s often a ring or a happily ever after.”
I shake my head in disbelief. The arrogance. “I wouldn’t know since I don’t usually have much time for reading. Maybe your theory applies to this particular book. For your interest, I’m not in the market for a husband. No man is worthy of a woman’s loyalty and dedication.”
I know I sound bitter, but I can’t help myself. I feel angry and betrayed, probably because deep inside me I actually hoped I would be more than a quick hook-up for him. How stupid of me to set my expectations sky-high only to see them dashed and crushed under his expensive shoes.
“No man?” His brows shoot up. “Is that so?”
I jut out my chin. “That is a fact. I also don’t need to learn how to play hard to get.” I pause for effect, letting my words sink in. “I am hard to get. Anyone who appreciates the wait will see I was worth it.”
“You’re right about that. I’m glad I didn’t persuade you to jump into bed with me on the first day. The wait was worth it.”
“Persuade me?” I laugh. “You couldn’t have even if you wanted to.”
“Another one of your facts?” His eyes flicker with something like challenge. I must be imagining things because Patrick Walsh isn’t interested in me. Not after ditching me without so much as a single text message. Not when he has women like Sinead clinging onto his arm, probably waiting to slip into pearl thongs and whatnot for him.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to catch something other than the air of arrogance surrounding him and the hint of amusement in his eyes. But for the life of me, I can’t read him. For all I know, he might just be made of stone. I can’t make sense of this enigma. One second he wants me out of his house, the next he makes me come more times than I can remember.
“Fact is, you don’t need to read about fictional people’s romantic lives,” Patrick says. “I can make all your fantasies come true and then some. Why don’t you call it a day? We could go back home. I’ll draw you a bath, open a nice bottle of wine, and then we can discuss ways to wipe that frown off your pretty forehead.”
Oh, my goodness.
He just offered to make all my fantasies come true. Talk about a cheap pickup line if I ever saw one.
I can’t believe it’s working!
Something pulses inside me, gathering in the depth of that special spot between my legs, right where his tongue was not too long ago. The memory’s so strong, I can almost feel him down there.
I cross my arms over my chest to hide the two peaks straining against the thin material of my shirt, begging for his instant attention. “Sounds like you’re offering me the special treatment. Tempting but no thanks. I can’t let Sinead down.” That’s a half-ass excuse, but I’m not going to ask “how high” whenever the guy tells me to jump.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? You wouldn’t regret it.” Patrick comes around the counter to whisper in my ear, “I like to take care of my woman. I like to treat her like royalty, both in and out of the bedroom.”
He’s standing so close, his breath is hot on my skin. My heart is beating like a drum in my ears. I stare at him, speechless, while the telltale heat of another major blush instantly rushes to my face. I’m not a prude, by no means, but coming from Patrick, any insinuation instantly turns me into a blushing, hormone-driven mess.
“Where were you the last three days?” The question rushes out before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Work. I had this idea for a new song, and I couldn’t wait to write it. Seems like I found my inspiration. The inspiration being you. I’d be happy to let you listen to it after I take care of you.”
Suddenly realizing the café is as silent as a tomb, I glance at the customers gathered in the door and find them staring at us. Even if they didn’t hear Patrick’s blatant attempt at getting me back home and into his bed over the ambient music playing in the background, I’m sure they’ve come to their own conclusion, put two and two together, and by the end of the day the whole village will know that Patrick and I are doing more than fighting to get the other out of the house. Come to think of it, my body doesn’t seem to want him out of the house anymore. I’d like him to stay as long as he wants, preferably in my bedroom. Or his. Or us both on the sofa. I’m not picky.
“Hey, Sinead. Would you mind if I borrowed Lori for the rest of the day?” Patrick calls out coolly, probably misinterpreting my reservation for indecisiveness. “We have important business to discuss back home.”
The way he emphasizes the word “business” makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and hide down there for the rest of my existence.
The meaning of it is too obvious.
Too insinuating.
Too out of the erotic novel I picked up this morning and left open on the counter.
Sinead appears in the doorway. “That’s fine. We’re not busy today. Besides, important business always comes first. Make sure you tell me all about it tomorrow, Lori.” There’s a glint in her eyes and her lips curve upward into a knowing smile.
Oh, my goodness. She knows! How will I be able to face her ever again and dodge the kind of questions I probably won’t have any answers to?
I mumble, “If I haven’t died of shame in the meantime,” and hurry for the staff room to get my handbag, keeping my head low to avoid the prodding looks. If I wasn’t the talk of the village until now I will be by the end of the day. Maybe another storm could bide me a day or two, what with people being stuck inside and hopefully minding their own business. But somehow that scenario sounds a little doubtful.
“Did you have to be so blatantly obvious about us?” I ask once I’m nestled safely in Patrick’s truck.
“I wouldn’t be exciting to you if I wasn’t a little trouble.” He winks. “Besides, they knew the moment I set foot in that café.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
He shrugs. “Because I don’t eat that stuff.”
I steal a glance down the front of his shirt, at the six-pack hidden beneath the thin material. That certainly makes sense. He probably follows a strict diet and fitness regime to look good on stage.
Note to self: You don’t look like that gobbling down hot cross buns and sugary pastries.
“I thought you and Sinead might have been—maybe at one point, you two were—” I let the unspoken words linger in the air, waiting for him to get my drift.
Childhood sweethearts. Intimate. The perfect couple. Star-crossed lovers. None of these definitions sits well with me and sends my stomach into painful knots of jealousy. I turn away before he can see it all written across my face.
“You thought Sinead and I might have been more than friends at some point?” Patrick laughs, the sound sending a hot wave of pleasure through me. “You thought wrong. Sinead’s like the little sister I never had. She’s not my type. You, on the other hand—” He breaks off and cups my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. He pulls me into a slow, lingering kiss that sends my brain into a different realm again, the one where it’s no longer working.
I’m his type. Not Sinead.
The sudden ping of his phone interrupts the moment. He breaks the kiss off too quickly and, after a glance at the screen, starts the engine.
“Let’s go home. We need to talk.” His tone is grave, instantly dissipating the sexual tension.
I open my mouth to ask questions when a strong gust of wind hits the side of the car, almost sending us off-road. At some point, the sky has turned a dark shade of charcoal and thick drops of rain start to splatter the windshield. I try to peek out the window, but the high humidity and sudden dark fog make it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
“This is bad,” Patrick says and revs the engine.
“I thought you said you’re used to stormy weather.”
“Yes. But not at this time of the year.”
I bite my lip, waiting for him to say more, but he keeps quiet, focused on the road. His absentmindedness gives me the opportunity to regard his profile without his noticing. His shoulders are tense. His hands clutch at the steering wheel, the skin taut over the knuckles. In spite of the worry line on his forehead, he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Completely out of my league and then some. I’ve never been particularly popular with the guys, not like Mia. And yet a famous rock star seems to see something in me.
Lost in thought, I only see the house as the car pulls into the garage. Patrick gets out and opens the passenger door for me.
I smile and mouth, “Thank you,” but his eyes are still distant. I can’t imagine it’s the storm that’s worrying him to this extent when he’s safely tucked inside a house that’s been standing for centuries. Then again, what do I know?
“Can you wait for me in the kitchen? We really need to talk before we go any further than we already have.” His tone is clipped. The question resembles a silent demand and does not leave room for objection.
Before I get a chance to respond, he’s disappeared through the adjoining door into the house, leaving me no other option than to do as bid.