by Rose Lange
The heartbreaking sound, and sight, of Patrick in distress, made her ache, and she couldn’t shake that feeling.
After casting aside the sheets, she dangled her feet over the bed, grabbed her ponytail holder from the nightstand, and threw her hair up in a messy bun. She plucked his T-shirt off the floor and put it on, finally making her way out of bed.
Today is a new day, Emma. Today will be better.
A photo propped on his dresser caught her attention, but it couldn’t be. Not after all these years.
Her mouth fell open as she got a closer look, seeing the photo of herself, in Greece, kneeling in the sand. She wore white shorts and a red halter-top. The sun shone in her face and hair, her long, wavy blonde locks hung past her shoulders.
A smile teased her lips as she fingered the slightly age-worn edges. He’d kept this photograph after all these years.
Her mind brought her back to the day before they’d departed the island. She’d forced her smiles because it would break her heart to leave him, and it had been on the tip of her tongue many times to tell him her true feelings, but she was no fool.
He was two years older and would probably seek other pastures.
She shook the painful memory loose. As she turned, another photo lying on the dresser caught her eye, one she’d never seen before. This one taken at dusk with the last remnants of the sun behind her. Her arms were in the air, her hair swept over her face, and the sides of her naked breasts, hidden in semi-shadows. A flowery, wispy sarong covered her bottom half. She hadn’t even been aware he’d taken this one.
She sat back on the bed, further getting carried away in the past, when his voice sounded into the room.
“You looked so beautiful, so carefree that night. I just had to capture it.”
The photos slipped from her hands as she turned. He stood leaning against the bathroom’s doorjamb, a towel wrapped around his mid-section.
“Then again, you looked beautiful every day,” he murmured, coming closer.
She held her breath, unsure of what he had in mind. Especially after last night, and most especially after what he’d told her yesterday. Her bravery cowered in a dark corner, unable to bring herself to question or probe further. Patrick was a puzzle she’d probably never figure out. He took a seat next to her and the heat of his legs seared into hers through the towel.
“I-I didn’t even know you took this picture.” Her voice quivered slightly.
He gently pulled off the hair tie, sending her hair scattering around her shoulders. Cupping her cheek, he drew her close, but hesitated. She drew her lower lip between her teeth and held her breath, her chest tightening with uncertainty, need, and love.
Tentatively, she closed the gap and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His body stiffened at first, then relaxed before he broke the barrier, entangling his fingers in her hair. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. A kiss that felt like the last kiss, and as if he’d been starving. His tongue lightly brushed against hers, and a soft moan escaped into his mouth before she could stop it.
This kiss differed from others in its ferocious intensity. Hunger sang through her veins, unfurling and spreading to her extremities. His lips tasted like sunshine and fire, a fire she’d welcome.
He paused, his breathing rough and heavy, before he recaptured her mouth, this time more demanding, as he leaned into her until she was flat on her back. While his mouth made another delicious landing, his hand went beneath the shirt and palmed one of her breasts, finding the nipple already tightened with arousal.
The savage intensity of Patrick’s mouth and tongue only tempted her to take more. Lowering her hand, she brushed past his swollen erection and tried to remove his towel. He broke the kiss, his hand closed over hers.
His face was now devoid of the lighthearted, mischievous Patrick, the shadow of last night’s terror took center stage, his eyes looking, but not seeing her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and sat forward. “Yeah, I’m fine, and I’m sorry for getting carried away. I’ll take you home.” With this, he rose, walked to the bathroom, and shut the door.
Lying there, she stared at the ceiling, pressed a palm to her forehead, and wondered what was going through his mind. She wished he would confide in her, but for now, she would allow him to work through whatever he was working through. She hadn’t exactly been forthright in her feelings either, so it was a learning curve for both of them, she supposed.
She followed suit and made her way to the bathroom, knocking gently.
“Come in,” he said.
He was shaving when she entered, still wearing that delicious towel. His strong arms and chest were on display as he tilted his head, shaving one side of his face, before moving toward his neck. His skin, slightly damp, glistened against the soft lighting. His bare feet nestled comfortably against the navy-blue bath rug.
When his eyes met hers in the mirror, she looked away and grabbed a towel. Proceeding to the shower, she undressed.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him glance her way more than a few times, the hunger most evident within the green depths, but just as quickly, he averted his stare.
As she stepped in, the warm steam and soothing spray was more than welcome. She said a small prayer of thanks that the dark curtain would obscure him from view.
As silly as it sounded, she couldn’t continue watching him do something as simple as shave because she only envisioned joining him. Getting comfortably close, she’d sit next to him on the counter, and gently grasp his strong chin, moving along the neck and jawline with precise strokes.
Then her mind wandered, picturing him whipping aside the razor and making himself right at home, pressing swift kisses to her mouth, before he traveled further, leaving shaving cream trails along the way, toward her neck, and between her breasts, before going lower still.
A voice broke into her daydreams.
“Emma? I’m going to start breakfast.”
“O-Okay.” She inwardly chastised herself for the obvious quiver in her voice.
How long had she been standing under the warm spray, foolishly daydreaming?
She shook the thoughts free and resumed her morning routine.
Twenty minutes later, she finished, dressed, and made her way to the kitchen. The scrumptious smells of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon wafted to her nostrils.
Breakfast was just as the rest of the morning had been: silent, and devoid of anything but small-talk, inane discussions about the weather, the project at work.
He spoke as if they hadn’t spent an amazing, and damn, that word didn’t even seem to cover it, fucking fantastic weekend together. Her body and soul connected with Patrick. The bond solidified with each day, and that was what hurt the most right now, the sudden and overnight shift.
An hour later, they arrived at her apartment building, but again, he said nothing.
“Well, I had a very nice time. Thank you, Patrick.”
“Yeah, so did I.” He glanced at her briefly before turning away.
Enough was enough.
“Patrick, what is the matter? Please talk to me.”
He shook his head, but still did not face her.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you Monday, Emma.”
Not in the mood to argue, or try to understand what was going on, she gave up. With shaky legs, she grabbed her belongings and exited the vehicle, not looking back, even though she felt his gaze trailing after her.
As she made her into her apartment, she couldn’t help but wonder, what in hell had just happened?
~ ~ ~
Monday morning was odd.
Arriving at work, the same email stared her in the face for the last ten minutes, but she could not process a single damned word. Her thoughts continual
ly drifted to Patrick, and she hit a brick wall each time.
The way he’d completely shut himself off, and erected an invisible, tough-as-granite nothing-was-getting-through wall.
Moments later, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Patrick appeared in the doorway, a half-hearted smile on his face.
“Morning, Emma.”
“Hey there.”
He entered and allowed the door to stay partially open as he took a seat across from her.
One of them had to voice the issue between them, and obviously, he wasn’t going to talk about it. She shut her laptop and gathered her thoughts.
“Patrick, can we talk about this weekend?”
A blank expression greeted her, as though she’d just recited the Chinese alphabet to him.
“What do you mean?”
She lowered her voice, attempting to override her irritation. “You know exactly what I mean, so please stop pretending.”
“We’re not having this discussion here, Emma. Case closed.”
Her temper continued rising to the surface, but she tamped it down. “How am I supposed to know what’s wrong if you don’t tell me?”
The next few seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow, but not as painful as the next words out of his mouth. “I’m not sure what you had in mind, but I wasn’t interested in anything beyond sex. I’m sorry.”
Her throat tightened, and a sick feeling grew in her stomach as the magnitude of his words crushed her under their mighty weight. Painful memories of the past resurfaced like slap to the face, and it stung.
“Excuse me?” she asked, disbelieving.
He shrugged. “This was a casual fling. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”
What the actual fuck?
The past replayed itself in her mind. Blasted tears burned her eyes and threatened to fall. Gritting her teeth, she decided she would not fall apart in front of him, even if his words cut deep.
How foolish she’d been to allow this to happen. Again. How foolish she’d been to fall for a man’s lies for the third time. Third time. Her mind reeled at the magnitude of this nightmarish situation, but she would deal with her feelings later.
Now was not the time.
“Casual. I take it I was the next notch on your bedpost,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me. How many other co-workers did you end up screwing, and how did I rate?”
Anger flared behind those emerald depths. “Knock it off, Emma. There was never anybody else.”
One, two, three four . . . She counted all the way through ten. It was either that or doing him bodily harm, which sounded appealing too.
Finally, she found her words. “Oh, you’re funny. Mr. Comedian over here, telling me to knock it off.”
“I told you this was not the time or the place.” He stood, and she followed suit.
“But that conference room fuck. That was okay? You know, for old time’s sake?”
A brief flash of desire danced in his eyes but quickly vanished. He couldn’t hide the tenseness through his shoulders. Her words had hit a nerve.
Good.
He frustrated and confused hell out of her.
No, Emma, this time would be different.
Older, wiser, and stronger, she refused to crumble.
“Are you quite finished?”
“You’re an ass, Patrick.”
His jaw ticked as he leaned closer. “Think what you want, call me whatever names you’d like, but those are the facts. Now are you finished?”
“What would you call these last few weeks, then? Tell me. All lies, I suppose? You know you’re a marvelously good actor, Patrick.”
His face darkened, and the tension in his neck, jaw, and shoulders increased. “As I said before, think what you want to think.”
More lies? She couldn’t for the life of her understand why she continued to stand here. Maybe the heat, or maybe the pain in his eyes kept her rooted. Maybe she was a foolish woman in love and reading Patrick all wrong.
Her stomach fluttered as perspiration gathered at the nape of her neck. She hated her body for reacting to him, but despite his words had cutting deep and pissing her off, she would always love him. And with that realization, her heart sank further.
“Go to hell, Patrick, and take your lies with you.”
~ ~ ~
Lunch proved an escape as Patrick took a stroll around the block, gathering himself. He couldn’t help but feel like the total and utter ass she’d called him. He’d earned much stronger words, he was sure, because his actions this morning proved cowardly.
His mind hummed with thoughts of this morning, of the last few days, and nights with Emma, of this morning. When the poison passed his lips and he spilled out lies.
Whatever she’d been feeling this morning, other than anger, Emma had hidden it well.
Since she’d dropped back into his life, everything felt off and he couldn’t make the merry-go-round in his mind, stop. Fighting his emotions, and feelings from the start, had been time wasted.
In all his wildest dreams, he never imagined he’d see her again. That she’d come back and upturned his life.
Hell, she’d upturned everything, starting with his head, working her way down to his brain, and landing with a permanent stickiness to his heart.
Nothing had been the same that day first day in the elevator.
Nothing had been the same since he’d first met her, so many years ago, and what had started as nothing more than an innocent friendship, blossomed into more. His heart softened with memories of her.
Her beauty, her goodness, and her heart, hell, everything, little by little, drew him in.
He knew he wanted that in his life, only he’d been too young, and stupid to grasp it.
His mind drifted back to the present, and this morning at his apartment, when Emma joined him in the bathroom. Those lovely naked curves for him to feast on, the little minx had given him quiet a spectacular show.
Dear God, he didn’t know how he turned her away. He deserved a fucking medal for that performance because that was just what it was: a performance. Pretending as though she had zero effect on him, when all he really wanted to do?
Press her against the shower wall and bury himself deep until his eyes rolled back and he shook with need. He wanted to love her over, and over, and over again. He wanted to tell her he loved her, to cherish her for the rest of his life. Even if he felt undeserving.
Worse yet, he pictured marrying her, envisioning her in a gauzy, flowing white dress. Her bare feet, walking in the sand, the orange yellow sun would be setting, as an aquamarine sky shimmered with stars.
Greece.
They would wed and honeymoon in Greece, and as he remembered those magical nights with her on the island, his heart beat an erratic rhythm, because honestly? He could never get his fill of Emma, and never wanted to hurt her.
Only this morning, he’d done just that.
Patrick, you’re the world’s biggest ass.
Fifteen minutes later, he walked back to the office, not bothering to stop for anything to eat.
~ ~ ~
The next few days passed uneventfully, thank God.
Pretty much since that morning, Emma found she had been looking forward to going home, getting into her pajamas, hunkering down on the couch with comfort food, and binge-watching Friends episodes.
In the middle of typing her email, her gaze drifted, spotting Patrick across the lobby. Because, let’s face it, he looked incredible, even with the haunted look in his eyes. A look she could spot a mile away, even though nobody else could. She did, because she knew Patrick.
Damn it, but the man looked sexy in that charcoal-gray suit. The tie long gone and one button undone. Hair tousled as though he’d just rolled
out of bed, though tension lined his face.
Her vantage point didn’t allow her to see, but he smiled at someone. The smile hit her square in the gut, traveling to her . . . recalling being woken to that smile, highly addictive kisses, and morning sex. She wanted to spread him on a Ritz cracker and devour, but let’s face it. The feelings for him went beyond physical.
She rubbed her temples, wishing her heart had never gotten involved. Because that was what made this hurt so much, even if she tried, the feelings he’d brought out in her were something she couldn’t explain.
God, I hate feeling this way.
She rose, needing a few precious moments to gather her thoughts, a small fraction of time where she didn’t have to look at him.
She exited her office, unable to help but notice Patrick’s eyes trailing her, but she disregarded him. She made a beeline for the supply closet and found it empty.
Shutting the door, she left the light off and leaned her against the frame, closing her eyes.
She hated herself as the tears gathered and rolled down, slipping past her nose and mouth, hitting her blouse. How in hell was she supposed to do her job if it seemed every minute he infiltrated her thoughts?
Pull it together, Emma, she silently chastised, and reminded herself she was not a naïve college girl anymore. Nevertheless, the powerful hold he had on her was something she’d probably never be rid of.
A soft knock sounded directly behind her ear.
Shaking her head, she swiped the moisture from her face, and assuming it was another co-worker in need of something, opened the door.
Her shoulders slumped as she came face to face with Patrick. The proximity sent a swift, fresh wave of pain through her. His expression was full of remorse, hurt, need, desire, and something else she could not place.
“Did you need something?” she croaked.
