Was this supposed to make her feel warmer toward him? That cheesecake had better be damn good. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to,” she pointed out. “Nobody’s holding a gun to your head.”
“Damn it, that’s just it,” he snapped. “I did want to.”
She stopped getting the plates out, holding them in midair as she turned toward him. “So why are you so angry?”
He looked away, his anger seeping away as his shoulders sagged almost in defeat. “Because I did want to come,” he said. “I’m not good at relationships. I never have been, yet I seem to be getting sucked into this one whether I want to or not.”
She turned, getting the plates out and then the wineglasses. “Well, all I can say is that you certainly are a silver-tongued devil. I would never guess that you have trouble maintaining relationships, not with such flowery phrases at your disposal.”
He was behind her then, his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. His eyes bespoke of an inner torment that wanted to tear at her heart.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “In the past I’ve always ended up failing the people I care about. They need something from me I haven’t been able to give.”
“That can’t be true,” she said, shaking her head.
The touch of his hands on her seemed to befuddle her thoughts, make her mind work in slow motion. The anger that had been her protection was gone. She felt alone and vulnerable, exposed to all the wild winds of his hurt.
“I failed Angel,” he said. “I couldn’t make him see his life was going nowhere.”
“That’s one person, supposing what you say is even true.”
“I failed my father. He needed more than I could give him to make him stop drinking.”
“He made his own choices. He was an adult. You were a kid.”
“I was seventeen when I left.”
“You were a kid.” She slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer to her, closer to the heart that wanted to give him solace.
He seemed ready to take it. His arms pulled her even closer and he laid his head against hers. “I just don’t want to hurt you or the kids.”
She closed her eyes. His heart was beating so close to hers, racing along with an urgency that was soon echoed in her own. “How could you hurt us?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” His voice held a desperation. “I just don’t want to take a chance.”
She pulled back slightly so that he looked down at her. His lips were so near, so tempting. She reached up and lightly brushed them with hers. “You have to stop worrying so,” she told him. “No one’s asking anything of you.”
“Yes, they are. That’s what a relationship is.”
She loosened her hold on him slightly so that her hand could slide over his chest. She could feel how strong he was, how much a man. Yet there was a fear in his voice, a worry in his eyes that came from the little boy he once was.
“So what am I asking of you?”
He frowned. “Work with the kids. Help at the club.”
Her hand stopped its roaming, instead playing lightly with the top button of his shirt. “No, that’s the other me. The club director. I’m talking about me the woman, right now.”
His eyes met hers and seemed to drink deeply of all the messages that lay there, but he just shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said.
She just laughed and laid her head against his chest. “Neither am I,” she admitted. Sometimes the tenderness in her heart betrayed her, led her onto paths she wasn’t certain she should take. His embrace turned comfortable, a place of refuge from the contradictions of her soul.
“So what are you asking of me right now?” he asked.
“To stop grumping,” she said.
“Okay. Consider me stopped.”
She looked up into his eyes. A gentleness rested there that tore at her peace of mind. It was so tempting, just to walk softly and bask in that sweet caring.
“I want you to hold me for a while,” she said.
“I can do that.”
A need flickered in her heart. A boldness crept into her desires. “I want you to keep the demons away for just a night.”
His eyes darkened with sudden shadow.
“Not for forever,” she whispered. “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”
She wasn’t sure where the hunger had come from, or the fear suddenly of being alone. The fear that, even for a night, she would not find love.
“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“The demons always come back,” she said. “The fears. The worries. I just want tonight.”
“I can give you that.”
It was somehow enough and somehow everything. Where had this hunger come from? Where had these hidden needs sprouted from? She had been so content, so at ease with her life, and now suddenly, at the touch of his hands, her heart wanted to explode. She had to feel his warmth around her, had to live in his touch.
Pat’s lips came down to claim hers, setting her heart afire. She pressed closer to him, as her own mouth begged answers from his soul. As her spirit tried to find reason amid the madness of her desire. But his nearness only caused the flames to leap higher and higher, consuming any last shred of sanity that lingered.
“This is insane,” Pat murmured. His lips had moved from hers and were dancing across her cheeks, lighting flames along her forehead and breathing warmth and yearning into her soft curls.
“I know.”
And it was. But wonderful insanity. She had no fear in her heart, no worries about tomorrow. Just for a night, she needed to belong. She needed to trust and believe and throw off her fears.
“What do you say we get more comfortable?” she suggested and slipped loose of his arms, but only long enough to pull the plug from the electric frying pan.
“That’s getting more comfortable?” he teased, but his voice betrayed the heat raging in him.
His hunger was intense; she could feel his needs in the urgency of his touch, in the way his lips claimed hers once more in a blinding torrent of desire. It was as if she had suddenly awakened a ravenous lion or a forest fire that needed to consume everything in its path.
His touch lit a fire that she could not stop or even slow. There was nothing but Pat, nothing but the two of them and the night that lay ahead of them with sudden promises of joy.
“Maybe we really should get comfortable,” she said.
“Got another pot to unplug?”
“Watch it, fella,” she said with a laugh. It came out shaky as her voice quavered, but her sense of rightness and power and surety lent a strength to it also.
Trisha took Pat by the hand and led him into the bedroom. She silently closed the door and stayed leaning against it. Her eyes slowly caressed him, reveling in the certainty of her delight.
He took a step closer, his eyes glowing with his hunger even as his arms opened to her. She wasn’t aware of moving, but she was suddenly in his embrace and her heart was full. His hands owned her, moving with magical possession over her back, slipping under her blouse and unhooking her bra. There was a freedom in his passion that allowed hers to rise and dance with him in the heavens.
“Oh, sweet Trisha,” he murmured into the night.
But his hands on her bare skin were anything but murmuring. It was as if they were shouting of the wonder the two of them could create. Of the splendor that their embrace in love could bring. She closed her eyes, letting the magic swarm over her and swallow her up with its promises.
“Are you sure we ought to be doing this?” he asked.
She let her eyes open and slowly drank of the needs in his eyes, mixing them with the hungers of her own soul. “How can we not?”
“Easy. I go home and lie in the freezer.” His laugh was weak. “You can keep the cheesecake.”
She just reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. “Silly man,” she said. “Of course I keep the cheesecake. You gav
e it to me.”
“Did I?”
But his words were lost as their lips met again. They clung and drank and whispered phrases of love even as their hands built the fires into a raging storm that would not be denied. They moved as one toward the bed, leaving clothing as a trail to be followed back to sanity. But only if one wanted.
When they finally fell together onto the bed, their hearts were ready. His hands had taken possession of her soul, stealing it away so that she was able to answer only the dictates of her body, of that mindless hunger that wanted Pat to complete the missing half of her being.
She opened her heart to him and her body, taking him into the essence of her soul and letting his fire devour them both. His hands could not—would not—stop their glorious caressing. Together they soared higher and higher until they were above the night, above the world and its petty ties, above the fears that kept her awake in the darkness.
They were magic and wonder. They were splendor and rightness. Together their hearts were life itself, filled with a power that could know no bounds. Then the stars exploded around them, their souls danced and laughed and sang of magic, before slowly gliding back to earth on the gentlest of breezes.
Trisha closed her eyes and was more than content. She was happy.
* * *
Pat’s eyes flickered as he danced on the edge of wakefulness. Suddenly his breath stopped. He wasn’t in his own bedroom and it sure as hell wasn’t a motel. There was a soft ambience in the air that—
In the dim light sneaking around the closed blinds, he saw two golden eyes staring at him from about two inches away. No, they were glaring at him.
He edged back slightly and found that the eyes were attached to a cat. A cat? Where had a cat come from? He’d never heard of a ghost in the house, let alone a feline one.
Suddenly the cat moved and caught the light differently. It was Sniffles. And he didn’t seem approving.
Memory came washing back along with wakefulness. Pat was at Trisha’s apartment. He’d come over to apologize. She’d invited him for dinner, only that had gotten a little delayed. Then after dinner and a slow savoring of the cheesecake he’d brought, they’d fallen prey to those treacherous emotions again. A fact that didn’t seem to have slipped by Sniffles’s notice.
Pat turned gently on the bed so as not to waken Trisha. “All right, all right, I get the message,” he said under his breath to the cat. “This is your spot, not mine.”
As he turned, he caught a glimpse of the clock—3:40.
Oh, hell. He had barely an hour to get back home, take a shower and be on the road. He had a breakfast meeting in Indianapolis at eight o’clock.
He slipped out of bed, causing another protest as a sleepy little cat sat up where his legs had been. Lucy yawned, then muttered a squeaky complaint. Great—one was mad because he stayed, another was mad because he was leaving. He couldn’t make anybody happy. Story of his life.
Yet he was pretty sure he had made Trisha happy last night. He knew she’d sure turned his world upside down. The sex had been pretty near perfect.
Pat picked up his clothes, frowning into the darkness. That word sounded so clinical, as if Trisha were a nonperson. As if he’d been dancing with a stranger in one of those old-time, dime-a-dance clubs. Meet, touch, then never see each other again.
“We made love,” he whispered to Sniffles and grabbed his shoes.
But his heart quailed at the words. They seemed to imply an emotional union that sex was only a small part of. And he wasn’t ready for that. Certainly not now. Probably not ever.
He sneaked out into the living room and turned on a light. Both cats had followed him out. They did not bring any great wisdom with them.
“You guys didn’t have to get up, you know.”
Sniffles just glared.
“Hey,” Pat grumbled as he put on his jockeys. “It isn’t like I just had my way with her.”
Sniffles continued glaring, as if in disbelief. But Pat knew it hadn’t been just him wanting the closeness.
He picked up his shirt and slipped it on. “It was mutual desire. We both wanted it.”
Lucy began washing her face while Sniffles looked away.
“Who are you to complain, anyway?” Pat picked up his pants. “You’re just a cat. A pet.”
If looks could kill, Sniffles would have struck Pat dead in a second.
Pat pulled his pants on. “I mean, she likes you and all, but she might want more in her life, you know.”
The cat’s glare increased about a hundredfold, but Pat barely noticed. What if she did want more in her life? Just what did that mean? And was he prepared to be what she wanted? He decided that when he came back from his trip he’d start cutting ties, not make new ones.
He sat down to put on his shoes when a blur sped by him and became a light weight on his shoulders. Lucy had come aboard.
“See, Sniffles. Lucy likes me.”
The male cat looked away, and somehow Pat felt bound to explain things to him.
“I would never hurt Trisha,” Pat promised. “I care about her. I really do, and I wouldn’t hurt her any more than you would.”
Sniffles seemed to snort as if he’d been in on Pat’s thoughts over the past few days. As if he knew that the best way for Pat not to hurt people was for him to stay away from them.
“Hey, I know what I’ve been thinking,” he assured the cat. “That it would be better to pull away some. But that was with the club stuff. This is different. And I’ll be real careful not to let things get out of hand. That shouldn’t be too hard with me on the road so much.
“Speaking of which—” he glanced at his watch “—I’d better get off my butt or I’ll never make my breakfast meeting.”
Pat moved quietly back to the bedroom door. “Come on,” he said, motioning to the cats. “Keep your lady company.” He held the door open while both cats trotted in; then he went to Trisha’s side of the bed.
“Trisha.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Trisha.”
“Hmm?” She turned toward him and slid her arms around his neck, but he wasn’t sure if she’d opened her eyes.
“I gotta go.”
“Unnn.”
“I have to. Remember, I have that meeting in Indy?”
She moaned softly, deep down in her throat, causing Pat to look quickly at the clock. Then he shook his head. No way. He’d never make that meeting.
He bent down and kissed her, deep and long, then let her go. “I’ll call you later. Maybe we can have dinner if I’m back in time.” He stood up, and walked to the door.
“Pat?” Her voice was barely a breath on the night air.
He stopped, his hand on the door. “Yeah?”
“Drive safely.”
“I always do, kid. I always do.” Then he quickly—very quickly—made his way outside. It was a good thing he didn’t have to walk away from her every morning. He’d never get to the office, much less take a trip out of town.
Chapter Ten
Life was certainly interesting lately, Trisha thought as she munched on a french fry. Across the table from her, Pat was frowning in distaste as he nibbled at his hamburger. Next to them both, Angie and Rulli were wolfing down their dinner.
“I’m going to get a refill on my tea,” Pat asked. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks,” she replied.
She watched as he walked back to the counter of the fast-food restaurant, unable to keep her eyes from following him. Her emotions had been on a roller coaster the past few days. One minute she had been missing Pat while he was away, the next she was hurt and angry because of his attitude when he’d returned. The wonderful ecstasy they’d shared last night had been followed by gloom and uncertainty this morning. But when he’d called her late this afternoon about dinner, she’d forgotten everything except how much she was learning to care for him. That knowledge should have been scary, but somehow it was too right to be.
“Pat and Trisha sitting i
n a tree...” Angie sang out.
Trisha turned to smile at the girl. “What’s this? Dinner entertainment?”
Angie wasn’t to be deterred. “So what’s going on? You got the hots for Mr. Stuart?”
Trisha tried to keep the blush from washing over her cheeks, but knew she was unsuccessful. “Mr. Stuart and I are friends,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
They were, regardless of that knowing look in Angie’s eyes. Last night hadn’t changed that. Maybe it had strengthened the friendship, deepened the bond, but it hadn’t changed the basic relationship. Trisha didn’t think she was up to explaining that to Angie though, even supposing she wanted to. She was glad when Pat sat back down.
“Hey, Pat,” Angie said.
He looked across the table at her. “Yes, my dear?”
His voice was teasing, but Angie’s smile quickly turned to a frown. “You see any horns on my head?” she asked.
“No,” Pat replied carefully, cautiously, as if he were fearful of where he was suddenly treading. Rulli knelt up on his seat to stare at Angie’s head.
“That’s ‘cause I ain’t a deer,” she said. “Bambi’s a deer and you know what happened to him? He got shot.”
Pat’s eyes reflected a touch of tension. “I thought it was his mother that got killed.”
“Well, if he didn’t get shot, then something ate him,” Angie said. “That’s the way it works if you’re a deer.”
“Lady deer don’t have horns,” Pat said.
“I ain’t a lady, either,” Angie pointed out. “I’m a woman.”
Trisha tried to catch Pat’s eye, trying to warn him to just back off, but his gaze was on Angie. There was no winning these discussions, Trisha knew, but Pat so hated to let Angie have the last word.
“What’s the difference?” Pat asked.
Angie paused to suck in a mouthful of milkshake. “Ladies kiss butt. Women kick butt.”
Pat looked at Trisha but all she did was laugh. “You had to ask.”
Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1) Page 18
