Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
I try 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. It is his 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 he have to look so averse to the idea of a future us ?
“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?
“Sure you do. But saving drunken fishermen from drowning in raging waters might not be Mia’s definition of it.” I type up a quick response to tell her I’ve no idea what she’s talking about. Her response comes back almost instantly.
Mia: Check your pics and the rambling to go with them. Care to explain?
“What is she saying?” Patrick leans over the table to get a look at the screen. So much for privacy!
Ignoring him, I open the photos app and find a folder dated last night. The first few photos are blurry, as though they were taken through a window from inside a moving car. There’s one of a beach. The moonlight’s reflecting on the surface of the water. It must be freezing, but the man stripping off his clothes doesn’t seem to mind. Of course, I can’t tell for sure who that is because his head is cut off, but that body! I’d recognize those rows of muscles from a mile.
My head feels dizzy as I keep scrolling. There’s one of a church, white-washed walls shimmering in the moonlight peeking through dark clouds.
I frown. When did I take a photo of a church and why is there a middle-aged man leaning through an open window on the upper floor?
Patrick steps behind me, his hot breath grazing the skin on my neck.
“That’s the pastor.” Patrick clears his throat, his lips twitching. “He didn’t seem very keen on being woken at three in the morning.”
I turn around, looking at him in disbelief.
“You know about this?” For the first time, I really look at him and realize he doesn’t seem confused or surprised. In fact, he’s a little too calm and collected.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
His expression is a little pinched as he takes the cell phone out of my hands and pushes it across the table. I can’t help but think he’s keeping it out of my reach in case I might decide to hit him upside the head with it.
“How much do you remember from last night?”
My brain goes into overdrive, but there isn’t much to retrieve, just bits and pieces. Lots of moaning and clutching at the sheets, before Patrick jumped into the shower and I finished that wine bottle while he wasn’t looking. By that time I suspect I was already a little tipsy. What follows after are fragments of memories that make no sense.
“I had a bit of wine and then we—” I gesture with my hand, leaving the obvious unspoken, as heat rushes to my face.
“What else?”
“After that? Nothing.” I start to shake my head but stop midway. “Wait! A beach.”
He nods. “You wanted to go to the beach. Dared me to skinny dip at night.”
“I don’t remember any of that.” Seriously, what did that wine do to me? “And? Did you?”
“I told you we’ll save that for summer when there’s less of a likelihood of catching hypothermia, but you wouldn’t have any of it. And then”—he takes a deep breath, his lips twitching in the process—“you started talking about neither of us getting any younger and life being too short.”
“Boy, I must have been on a roll there.”
Patrick nods. “But that’s not all. Just wait for it. You really were on a roll, and very persuasive.” He shrugs casually, “In the end, we decided to get married, which explains the church.”
I stare at him. My jaw’s probably hit the floor—not a flattering look on anyone. Did he just say we decided to get married as in?—
Hitched?
Tied the knot?
“We—”
“Surely you noticed that.” He clears his throat and points at my ring finger. I lift my hand to peer at the delicate gold band with a tiny sparkling diamond. How did I not see it before?
It must be the orgasm-induced bubble that’s made me feel as though I’m floating on cloud nine.
“I—” I open my mouth to speak, then snap it shut again, resembling a fish out of the water. My mind’s reeling, unable to process what’s happening. I’m lost and confused and unsure what to make of this. “We didn’t really—” My voice breaks.
He nods. “We did. That’s my grandmother’s ring. It was only fitting that the woman I marry should wear it.”
The woman he marries.
I keep staring at him, my brain unable to process his words. It must be a joke. He must be messing with me, just like he’s been messing with the hot water and the heating. I wait for him to break into a fit of laughter, but his expression remains solemn and a little sheepish.
And there’s something in his eyes—a glint I can’t interpret.
“You remember everything?” I ask, incredulous.
“Not everything, but most certainly more than you do.”
“But it’s not legal, is it? We didn’t have a license so it can’t possibly be.”
“Lori.” He leans over the table and takes my hand, his gaze boring into me as he says, “It’s as legal as it gets. Our pastor doubles as a registrar. Usually, there’s a three-month minimum notice to give but there are exemptions for that. You were yelling in front of his window for the entire village to hear how much we were in love and how we couldn’t wait that long to consummate the relationship. Needless to say, as a man of the cloth, he filled out all the necessary forms and married us straight away.”
I shake my head in disbelief as the shame begins to burn its way up my neck. Did I really tell the whole world I was in love with the guy? I can’t remember a thing and it really doesn’t sound like me at all. But Patrick’s brought out sides of me I never knew I had.
Like a sexual appetite only he’s been able to satisfy.
He’s so collected—too collected—while I can’t wrap my mind around the whole thing.
“It’s so hard to believe.” I reach for my cell phone to flick through the photos again. Maybe it’s all a mistake and this isn’t real. But the more proof I see, the more memories start to flood my mind: a church, Patrick and I holding hands, our gazes interlocked, as though we’re a real couple.
My breath catches in my throat as I get to the one photo that holds all the proof I need. Smiling at the camera, I’m holding up my hand to show a ring on my finger. The same ring I'm wearing now.
There’s no denying the obvious.
“Lori.” Patrick’s tone exudes patience. “It happened.”
I take a deep breath, letting it all sink in. “We’re barely more than strangers. We don’t know each other. Your fans most certainly know more about you than I do. I don’t even know your age or whether you’re allergic to shellfish. Yet you’re not rushing to annul the whole thing. You’re not calling it a mistake. Why?”
He hesitates, then shrugs as his eyes bore into me. “Because it doesn’t feel like one. Granted, it’s all a bit unconventional. But the tried and tested is overrated anyway.”
I look at him blankly. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m trying to say.”
I shake my head, even though I have a faint idea. But that can’t be. “I think you’ll need to spell it out.”
“Why not give it a shot, Lori? It’s not like we have anything to lose. Besides, I’ve done crazier things than this.”
My blood rushes through my veins. He wants to give it a shot. My stupid heart does a somersault. I shouldn’t feel as happy as I am, and yet I can’t help myself. Time to change the subject before he realizes I’m ecstatic at the prospect of being with him.
“Yeah? You’ve done crazier things? Like what?” I ask in the hope the playful question will explain the sudden grin on my face.
He smiles that lopsided smile of his that sends my pulse into a frenzy. “I could answer all your questions right now but why the rush? We have our whole lives ahead of us to find out everything there is to know about each other.”
Our whole lives.
His expression is earnest, as though he means every word.
“I don’t know what to say.” I search his gaze, eager to let him take control. I want him to lead because this is one situation I’m not sure I know how to handle. Marriage never featured in my plans for the future. Yet here I am, apparently married to a world-famous rock star and the sexiest guy I’ve ever met.
“You remember,” I say. “All of it. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you went along with it. I don’t understand. It’s not like…” I break off, not daring to speak out the words.
It's not like you’re in love with me.
“It’s not like what?” Patrick prods.
“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?”
My suggestion? 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.