Chapter Ten
From the closet and dresser drawers, I made quick selections and crammed a few days’ worth of clothes into a duffle bag I wished was bigger. On top, I squeezed in a small tote of toiletries.
I stepped out into the mild evening air. Patrick finished speaking with two detectives and then jogged over and took my bag.
“So, how do you want to do this? Do you want to follow me in your car?”
“That’ll work.”
He put my bag into the trunk of my car and, as a gentleman, opened the door to seat me inside. He then got into his cruiser.
I put the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine started fine, but then a knocking sounded under the hood. Patrick pulled away, and I shifted into drive. I tapped the gas, but the engine sputtered and shut off. I turned the key, but my car wouldn’t start up again. Patrick parked and got out.
“It died,” I said.
He tried to start the motor, but without success. “Have you had previous engine trouble?”
“No, none.”
“It’s getting late. Do you want to drive with me, and we can send for a tow tomorrow?”
“Okay,” I said, realizing there wasn’t much choice in the matter. My insides sunk. Had my old reliable car seen its last days?
We retrieved my bag from the trunk and then got into Patrick’s squad car.
He smiled. “Let’s try this again.”
I appreciated his attempt to put me at ease with his kind disposition, though the post break-in feeling of violation still lingered. “So, what did you and the detectives do in the basement?”
“We looked around, snapped some shots, and lifted a few prints and a partial shoe tread.”
Patrick scanned the streets as he drove. We talked a little more. He reached over and put a reassuring hand on my knee. No touch of his was lost on me. Its warmth helped dissipate my anxiousness.
We drove down a country road. Perhaps ten miles out, Patrick turned onto a driveway and parked in front of a ranch farmhouse. He guided me out of the car and carried my bag up the walkway.
“Watch your footing. I’ve been meaning to fix some loose flagstones.”
“Patrick, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” I said and noticed how weary my voice sounded.
He stopped. “Of course. I’m here for you, babe.” The country night sky was like a black abyss dotted with countless stars, and I realized I heard chirping crickets for the first time in a long time. A subtle tranquility flowed through me as I inhaled clean air and earthen smells.
Patrick let me into the house and flicked on the light.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said and placed my bag on the bench.
“Thank you for having me.” I admired the wood interior, high ceilings, and overhead beams. I took off my shoes and put them on the weaved mat.
We walked on weathered pine flooring into the living area with a tan sectional sofa. A folded afghan was draped on the backrest. My toes sunk into the soft jute area rug as I waited for Patrick to turn on brass floor lamps. A rich wooden staircase and railing spiraled up to a loft.
He followed the direction of my gaze. “My bedroom is up there, in the loft.”
“It’s lovely here, Patrick.”
“Thank you. Please, make yourself at home.”
I sat and tucked my feet under me and put an elbow on the armrest. I watched Patrick with captivation. He crouched at a natural stone fireplace with masonry up to the high ceiling. A sheet at a time, he crumpled newspaper and crammed them under the grate. He added kindling and a couple of logs and struck a long match, igniting several areas of the paper. Almost immediately, flames were ablaze. Patrick continued pushing scrunched paper under the grate with a wrought iron poker until all the wood burned.
“Would you like some wine? Or some brandy to warm you?”
His attentiveness had already warmed me.
“I wouldn’t mind a splash of brandy.” I didn’t understand why I had asked for something I’d never drunk before.
“I’ll be right back.”
The flames mesmerized and lulled. I gravitated to the stone hearth. The heat soothed my soul, and stressful thoughts faded. Patrick joined me with two glasses of amber fluid. He held one out for me and the reflection of the fire danced in the liquid.
“I’d been saving this Remy Martin. Won it at a stag after a fierce coin toss competition.” He chuckled.
I carefully took the glass from him, feeling a little tipsy already. He sat beside me and rested his forearms on his knees. He swirled his drink. Unexplainably, his mere presence calmed me, grounded me, assured me. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I said.
“I won’t rest until we figure out what is happening. I don’t want you to be afraid.”
I shook my head. “I’m not afraid. Not now.” I believed every word he said, because I knew he meant them. And I realized I believed everything he said because I trusted him.
“You’re brave, June. And you’ve remained composed after everything you’ve been through this past week.”
“Well, I sure fooled you.” I smiled and took a drink of the Remy. Liquid fire ran from my mouth to my belly. I watched Patrick’s profile. Without effort, he could overpower me, but all he’d shown was concern, support, and passion. He embodied everything I’d longed for, so why was I still so fearful of letting my guard down?
“As you can see, my place is more or less an open concept. Would you like a tour of the rest of the house?” It took a couple of seconds for my thoughts to recede and Patrick’s words to register.
“Hmm. I’d love that,” I said.
We placed the empty glasses into the double basin sink. “This is the kitchen and eating area. Obviously.”
“That’s a lovely table,” I said.
“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.” He moved the curtain aside. “It’s too dark out, but this window has a view of the rear yard and woods.”
I put my nose to the window and saw only blackness. “I can’t wait to see your property in daylight. Oh, I think I just saw a pair of eyes.”
He chuckled. “You probably did. It could have been a racoon or a skunk. Though coyotes make appearances as well. Don’t worry. They won’t bother us. Come.”
It’d be easy for a person to hide out there, too. I pushed the idea from my mind.
He pointed. “Those stairs lead to the loft, and the en suite.” Along the main floor hallway, he opened a door. “This here is a bathroom. And the laundry/mud room is next to it.”
“I like the laundry on the main floor,” I said.
He listened intently and understood. “Yes, it is. Are you hungry? I can fix you something.”
“I’m fine, thank you. You have a beautiful home, Patrick. I really love it.”
He smiled. “I hoped you would.”
I put a hand to my mouth and stifled a yawn.
“I’ll show you upstairs, and we can call it a night.”
He grabbed my duffel bag from the hallway, and we climbed the stairs to the loft. On the night table, he turned on a lamp that better illuminated the simple layout. He had a large dresser, a king-size bed, and a television mounted on the wall. The skylight made the room appear more spacious and added a touch of calm with the boundless view.
He put down my luggage. “That door leads to the bathroom.”
I sat on the bed and sank into the cushiony-soft black-and-white striped comforter.
“Make yourself comfortable, June. Through the railing you’ll have a view of me on the couch below. Holler if you need anything. I’ll be listening.”
“What?” Had I heard right? “You’re going down there to sleep?”
“I know you need your rest, and I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
How could he think of leaving me now? Downstairs was too far away.
“Wait.” I jumped up and stood in front of him. He stood statuesque, powerful, and bronzed in the soft light. “Please stay here.” I rested my fingertips on his chest. The more time I spent with him, spoke with him, kissed him, the more I wanted him. I unbuttoned his shirt and slid it over his shoulders. I kissed where my fingers had been, and his chest expanded. He encircled me with his arms. I wanted to break the rule I had created for myself, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I reached around and withdrew Patrick’s arms.
“June,” he breathed. “Tell me what you want. What you really want. Tell me, and I’ll do it for you.”
I couldn’t quantify my desire for this man. No unit of measure could rate this all-consuming feeling. But I had to retain some measure of control, or I would become totally lost in him. My fingers trembled as I undid Patrick’s belt and pulled it from the loops.
“Could you put your hands behind your back?” I said in a hushed tone, shyly requesting dominance.
He did as I asked.
I looped the belt around his wrists to secure them. I unbuttoned his pants and coaxed down the zipper. His slacks slid down. I slipped off my clothes and tossed them aside. I lunged forward and kissed his taut chest, neck, and mouth. Skin-to-skin, I pressed closer, but it still wasn’t close enough.
I slid Patrick’s boxers down, and with featherlight kisses, I brushed my lips over him. His thighs flexed. He shifted as if trying to free his hands from behind his back. I looked up and met his gaze. Stormy and passionate.
I reclaimed his mouth and lifted a leg to hook it around him. My kisses remained hungry, and I positioned myself, ready to get as close as physically possible. And then I stopped.
“June? What is it?” he whispered.
A realization flooded through me. No matter what I did, I knew why I felt like I couldn’t get close enough. By binding his hands, I had put up a blockade. To get closer, for true intimacy, there could be no restrictions, and no barriers.
The chemical reaction had to happen.
Patrick had shown me time and time again he was all in for me. He’d been patient. And tolerant with my “conditions.” I couldn’t ask for more. My heart swelled and busted down the wall. I was ready to let go of the past and move forward. To find love no matter the risk.
With my whole being, I trusted Patrick.
“June?”
I reached behind him and unwrapped the belt from his wrists. He stood untethered. Confusion crossed his face until he realized the choice I’d made.
He brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers and then followed with a tentative kiss. His hands moved gradually, haltingly, along my back as if waiting for me to put on the brakes. Not this time. My heart beat wildly, waiting for what would happen next. In a fluid motion, Patrick swooped me up into his secure arms and carried me to bed.