Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
S hit. Why had she said that?
It had felt so right in his arms, so raw and consuming, that she hadn’t wanted him to stop.
Not ever.
She paced the room, restless, the air still thick with the scent of him, the taste of his mouth lingering on her lips. The hunger inside her hadn't waned. If anything, it had intensified.
A slow, liquid heat spread through her chest, down her stomach, pooling low, deep in her core. One kiss—that was all it had taken to make her ache for him. But in her defense, it had been a hell of a kiss.
Tender, yet filled with unspoken passion. A promise of what might be.
She exhaled sharply, peeled off her clothes, and draped them over the chair before slipping under the cool sheets. The scent of fresh linen filled her senses, but beneath it, faint and intoxicating, was him . The thought of Patrick stripping the bed for her, of his big, capable hands tucking the corners, sent a delicious shiver through her body.
For all his intensity, his battle-worn, warrior presence, there was something deeply considerate about him. It was in the way he looked after his team. The way he spoke to Izzy, flustered but gentle. The way he had shielded her with his body, risked his operation, his men, everything—for her.
That was a dangerous kind of man. The kind who made a woman feel things.
And, God help her, she liked it.
She always had.
It was a mystery why she’d married Adam—intellectual compatibility, maybe. But there had been no heat, no passion. No hunger that burned in the pit of her stomach and made her breath hitch at just the sight of him.
No, she had never felt anything remotely close to this .
Patrick could undo her with a look. He’d melted her with his kiss, sent her spiraling into a need so deep she couldn’t think straight.
And now?
She wanted more.
And she had been the one to pull away. Idiot.
Her fingers curled into the sheets. Carpe diem, Jasmine. Isn't that what they say?
Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. If Amir found her—or, worse, found Ryan—her life might be over.
Why waste this? Why deny herself the chance to be with someone who made her body sing, who made her feel alive ?
Slowly, she pushed back the covers and got out of bed.
Her heart pounded as she scanned the room, her gaze landing on a shirt draped over the wardrobe handle. She picked it up and slipped it over her head. It was too big, falling just past mid-thigh, and when she lifted the fabric to her nose, her breath hitched.
It smelled of him.
Warm. Masculine. Undeniably Patrick.
A slow heat curled in her belly.
God, she couldn’t believe she was actually going to do this.
But tonight, she didn’t want to be alone.
She wanted him.
Taking a steadying breath, she cracked the door open and stepped onto the landing.
Next door, she could hear him moving, punching the pillows into shape, the creak of the bed.
“Patrick,” she called softly.
The movement stopped.
Footsteps.
Then he appeared on the landing, and?—
Oh, sweet Lord.
He was wearing nothing but boxers.
Her breath stalled. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, taut abs that tapered into a deep V. A fine dusting of hair covered his torso, leading down to . . .
She swallowed. Damn.
She should say something, but her brain had short-circuited.
“You said to call if I needed anything,” she croaked, barely recognizing her own voice.
His gaze darkened. “Yes?”
She exhaled shakily. “I know this sounds crazy, especially since we haven’t known each other very long. But…” She bit her lip. “I need you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
She lifted her chin, summoning the last of her courage. “Will you hold me tonight?”
For a long, excruciating moment, he didn’t move.
Then, he grinned. A moment later, he’d pulled her into his arms, his body crushing against hers. “I thought you’d never ask.”