by Ella Brooke
When Patrick let her go, she spun away from him and stormed through the restaurant. The street was dark and growing cold, and she started to walk.
Chapter Seven
Natalie knew that there was something wrong with going back to the townhouse after the fight that they had. She found herself putting it off as the minutes and hours ticked by. There was an insidious voice in the back of her mind that suggested that she avoid it entirely, just pick up and leave. She had her passport and her credit cards in her bag. It would have been more convenient to have more, but she knew that she could make do with just what she had on her.
Reluctantly, however, sometime after most of the crowds of Dublin had gone into their beds, she made her way back to the townhouse. She knew that leaving this way, after a single fight with a man who had done her so much good, was cowardly at best and downright manipulative at worst. She would never win an argument just by running away from it.
Coming into the darkened townhouse, she realized how much she had come to like the place. It was gorgeous, but there was something more than that. She had seen beautiful houses before, and still none of them had stirred her like this one did. This one was special. Somehow, against all the odds and against her own inclinations, it had become home.
The thought gave her a strange tug at her heart, but Natalie ignored it. She still wasn't sure quite what she was going to do, and that little tug was certainly not going to make things easier.
The house felt as dark and quiet as a tomb as she made her way through it, but that wasn't uncommon. Patrick tended to keep it on the dark side. She suspected that the man had excellent night vision given the way he could wander the townhouse in the dark after they had been up and talking with one another. That thought gave her another pang, that they would not do that again if she left, but she could not afford to think of it now.
Natalie was startled to see that the room her couch sat in was lit. The light from the Tiffany lamp above was soft, making it look almost romantic, and when Natalie was fully in the room, she realized that it was occupied.
Patrick was sprawled on the couch she had made into her bed. She was not a small woman, and there was plenty of space for her to stretch out. He was a large man, and when he stretched out like this, he looked even bigger. There was something unfocused about his gaze when he glanced up about her, not moving a muscle.
"So, you've returned," Patrick said, and his accent was deeper than ever. Natalie spared a thought for whether he kept it hidden purposefully or whether it was simply automatic now, the speech pattern of a man that knew that he was doing business in a place where his accent would be a liability.
"Did you think I wasn't going to?"
He shrugged one shoulder, never taking his eyes off of hers. In the warm light, they looked far darker than she knew they were, and she wondered if she saw a flash of sadness there. He looked away.
"Frankly, I have no idea what you are going to do from one moment to the next."
She opened her mouth to protest that, and he sighed reluctantly.
“That was unfair of me. I know that when you are on the job, you stay on it. You've become quite valuable to me at the office, you know. You work hard, I trust you, and I suppose I have only come to trust you more as these things go."
She drifted into the room, coming to stand by him. Almost absently, she ran a finger over his sleeve. He was slightly disheveled, his jacket discarded and his vest mostly unbuttoned. His shirt was open at the throat, and suddenly she was shocked by the idea of what his skin might taste like there, what it might be like to press her lips against his pulse to feel his life rushing through.
"You sound like you're giving me an exit interview," she said softly. "Reviewing all the ways I've been a good employee before cutting me lose."
"I don't want you to go." The words were uttered flatly and with no inflection at all. It was as if all of the emotion had been steamrolled right out of it.
"Patrick..."
Suddenly she found her hand taken in his. His grip was so warm and felt so good for a moment that she barely noticed how powerfully he grasped it. His touch was gentle, but she realized very quickly that she would not get out of it unless he wanted her to get out of it.
"I like the way you say my name," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "I like the way you do things at the office, and I like having you here. I don't want you to leave."
Now she was close enough that she could smell him, and finally, the penny dropped.
"You're drunk!" she exclaimed with surprise, and he chuckled a little.
"Close, I think. Close enough, anyway, that I believe I will likely be regretting it in the morning."
"That's not close, that's drunk," she said acidly. "Patrick, what in the world do you think—"
"I have been sitting here, wondering if you would come back for hours," he said, ignoring her. "In this time, I believe I have come to some great and absolute conclusions, and I also believe that I have come up with a solution that will suit us both."
"You throw me out on my ear and keep the dresses you bought me as some kind of strange reminder not to let strange women sleep on your couch?"
If he were a little less drunk, she thought he might have laughed at that. In this state, however, he only scowled at her. It occurred to her in a roundabout way that even like this, no matter how much larger he was, even as slightly slurred his speech, she felt absolutely no fear of him at all. It simply wasn't something that she could comprehend. She would never be afraid of Patrick, and Natalie didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad one.
"I have decided that we should simply keep on as we are. You are simply too valuable to... to the office to let you go. If an increase in pay is necessary, that can be arranged."
"God, Patrick, you can't believe that I was doing this all for money!"
He shrugged loosely, reminding her of an enormous lion shrugging off some small bird that had landed on his back.
"I did not think you were doing this for money at all. However, I have learned, completely and without fail, that money makes things easier. So much easier. After all, it dealt with that arse with the camera at the restaurant."
"Yeah, what was that all about?" Natalie asked, momentarily startled, but Patrick was already moving on.
"Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. But you are going to continue until the project is over. That's perhaps three weeks, let's say? You'll continue to live here because there is no reason to stop if you will not find a better accommodation, and I like having you here."
"You like having me here?"
He looked shocked at her question.
"Of course I do. God, do you think I let just anyone into this place? I might be an idiot at some points, but I am not a masochist, for God's sake.
"Anyway, you continue to live here, and if you do all that, I'll buy you a ticket to wherever you please. I figure that that would appeal to you more than a lump of cash, anyway."
"Even if it would be more useful?" she asked, smiling a little sadly.
He nodded, but he still would not let go of her hand.
"God, but you are lovely," he said, and with no more warning than that, he pulled her to him. He was strong enough that there was no chance of her pulling away, but there was nothing in her that wanted to pull away. There was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to be closer to the man who was pulling her near, and when she ended up half on top of him, Natalie could only take pleasure in how large his body was and how strong.
Patrick pulled her down for a kiss, and yes, she could taste something strong and smoky there. It was not unpleasant though, and when her head started to swim, she wondered dazedly if perhaps she could have sipped some of that alcohol from him, if it was making her a little loose and soft as well.
Then the kiss deepened and everything went out of her mind except the pleasure of it and the power of it. Patrick kissed her as if they were all alone at the end of the world, the moon rising over a wrecked Dub
lin that had only contained the two of them. She could feel his hands, one at the small of her back to hold her steady and one cradled against her jaw. Despite his strength, he held her as if she were a piece of porcelain, something infinitely breakable, infinitely precious.
The kiss itself sent shivers through her. He kissed her with absolutely no hurry, and Natalie let herself fall into the sensations that he was giving her. He was so strong, and it seemed almost a miracle that he could be gentle as well.
When his tongue sought entry to her mouth, she parted her lips willingly, and a deep pulse of heat echoed through her. He explored her mouth deliberately, and she imagined that clever wet tongue running all over her body, getting to know it, bringing her a pleasure that she could barely imagine. Natalie felt as if she was suffused with heat, and her head swam with all of the sensations that were running through her. It had been a while since she had been kissed, but it would not have mattered at all. She had never been kissed like this before, ever, and she wondered half-wildly if she would ever be kissed like this again.
"Oh God," she heard Patrick murmur, pulling back a little. "What you do to me..."
She felt his hand on her bare thigh, sliding her skirt up. Natalie caught her breath, because if there was a time to stop him, it was now. If they went further, who knew if he would stop. Who knew if she could get up the power to stop him, besieged as she was by the sensations that clamored through her?
She couldn't tell him to stop, and then her skirt was pulled up over her hips. She was bare underneath except for a pair of lacy panties, and her legs were sprawled to either side of Patrick's narrow hips. Underneath her, she could feel his manhood stirring against her, and that brought a new urgency to the heat between her legs. His hands roamed her legs and her hips, and Natalie couldn't help it. She rocked against him, whining a little, making small begging noises even as he continued to kiss her.
"You feel good," she whispered into his mouth. "You feel so good."
Patrick's laugh was harsh.
"You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this."
His kiss trailed to her throat, but as she leaned back for him to undo the buttons at her collar, he stopped, shaking his head.
"No," he said. "No, this is... We cannot do this..."
Natalie felt a pang of pure frustrated desire pass through her, but the pause allowed enough room for rational thought to seep in. In a moment, she realized exactly what was happening, and with a gasp, she scrambled off of his lap. This time, Patrick let her go, and she spent a frantic moment trying to put her dress in order.
"Oh my God," she muttered, her cheeks red. Her face felt as if it was on fire, and perhaps it would be one thing if it was just shame and embarrassment. However, she knew that it was desire that made it worse.
"I am sorry," he said, standing up from the couch. He still looked disheveled, but he was clearer-headed now. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to reach for her. She had no idea what would have happened if he had actually touched her, but fortunately, he pulled away. Separating from him felt almost like a physical pain. Natalie had to bite back a whimper.
"I think you should go to bed," Natalie said, keeping her voice as level as she could. "I think we should just pretend that this didn't happen."
Patrick was as still as a stone statue for a moment, and then he nodded, the expression on his face distant and cool.
"You are likely right. Goodnight, Natalie. And... Natalie, I am sorry."
"Go to bed," she said, because she wasn't sure how much longer she could see him and not do something that she regretted.
It was a sorry thing that she could not control herself when it came to him, but right now, she couldn't even think of it. If he stayed, she knew exactly what they would do, and she was beginning to have an idea of how good it would feel, but neither of them could take that.
When Natalie looked up, he was gone, and she didn't know if she wanted to scream and throw things or simply collapse on the couch and cry.
***
Patrick did go to bed, but once he was in his room, he didn't sleep. He wasn't sure that he was ever going to sleep again, despite the prodigious amount of alcohol that he drank before Natalie returned home.
He winced thinking of those hours, wondering if she had found some kind of trouble, wondering if she had gotten hurt running out into the Dublin night in that state of anger.
The visions where she had simply decided that this was all too much and simply hitched a ride somewhere else were better because at least she was safe, but they caused a pain like a sword to spear his heart.
Somehow, over the last few weeks, the little nomadic girl from the United States had taken his heart and wrapped it up in twine to play with. Now she dangled it from her pretty little fingers like a cat toy, and he didn't know what he was going to do.
Apparently, the answer that he had found was to disgrace himself with good whiskey and then to force himself on her.
Patrick could still feel how small and delicate her wrist was in his hand, remember how light she was when he pulled her down on top of him. His body roused guiltily at the way she had felt, how soft and perfect she was.
Guilt writhed like a dragon in his belly. What would he have done to her if he had been a little drunker? A little less inclined to listen?
Patrick had always thought of himself as a decent man, if not always a good one, and now it seemed that he could not claim that title anymore.
I need to stay away from her, he thought, but he knew that he had made that difficult for himself. A wise man might have given her the ticket that very night, let her move herself to safety in a world where she didn't live on his couch, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't have done that. He was strong enough to send her away at the end of the job, but he knew that he was certainly not strong enough to send her away beforehand.
Patrick stretched out on the bed, sleepless and wracked not with guilt, but with desire. The need he had for this woman made no sense, but it was something that he could not deny; could not ignore any longer. He learned very well tonight that ignoring it could have some dire consequences, and Natalie, lovely Natalie, would be the one to suffer through them.
He felt trapped. There was no way forward, no way back, and now all he could do was endure.
Chapter Eight
"Natalie! Where the hell are those files you were meant to get me?"
"They are right where I put them," she fired back. "Edge of your desk, on top of the last ones you shouted at me about."
She got no response to that, but she never expected to get one.
She looked back at Fiona, one of the research assistants from another floor who had come up to deliver some things. Fiona watched her with wide eyes, and Natalie felt a surge of guilt.
"I'm sorry, that was, um, pretty out of the blue when we were just talking about backpacking, wasn't it?"
Fiona shook her head, still looking a little awed.
"Oh, don't worry about it," she said. "I was just a little startled, that's all. The yelling is a bit of a surprise. Usually Mr. Adair doesn't bellow like that, but I think the bigger surprise is that you are still standing here."
"Because his voice strikes people dead where they stand?" Natalie asked in slow confusion, and Fiona laughed.
"No, because Mr. Adair is not a man who deals with insubordination all that happily. People have been fired on the spot for being as insolent as you were."
"I wasn't being insolent, I was just giving him a taste of his own medicine," she said grimly. "Honestly, the man cannot shout like that at someone who was just doing her job."
Fiona shrugged, and there was a smile on her face that was hard to understand.
"Well, I think that he has never quite shouted like that at anyone else before. Really, he's more the type to go all cold and distant before you find yourself fired by HR in a week."
Natalie made a face.
"So I guess I'm the only one who's getting thi
s hilariously funny treatment?
"I suppose so. Lucky you."
Natalie eyed her acquaintance suspiciously.
"Why are you calling me lucky? I admit that I don’t know a lot about how things work in Ireland, but where I’m from, we don't usually call it ‘lucky’ when the boss singles us out for special screaming duty."
"Oh, well, that's much the same here. But when the boss is someone like Patrick Adair, well, that makes things a little different, I suppose."
Natalie made a face.
"Not to me," she said. "Look, I know he's handsome, but I swear, it does not make up for the fact that he's being a jerk right now. Why in the world would anyone put up with that?"
Fiona looked a little startled at that.
"You mean you don't…?"
Before Fiona could finish her sentence, however, there was another bellow from the office.
"Natalie, I swear to God, if you have misplaced the files that I left on the side desk."
"I haven't!" she shouted back. "They're edged to the side, and they've been sorted by date, like you said you were going to be doing yesterday! You didn't get around to it, so I took some liberties."
Natalie waited to see if there was any kind of retort for that, but nothing else drifted down the stairs. Some days, it was quite fortunate that Patrick was all but quarantined up in his belfry office; it made her less likely to give in to the urge to punch him. She guessed that she might have done one or two dumber things in her life than punch her boss while she was in a foreign country, but not many. She would prefer to avoid if she could, but Patrick was making it difficult.
Ever since their encounter that late night, things had been strange. He was perfectly civil most of the time, if a little cold and distracted. He was even kind. The problem was the tension between them seemed to stretch out and keep stretching. It was as if there was a bond between them that was stretching to some kind of breaking point, and when it did, she imagined two ends of chain flying up and snapping back, ready fly off and flail at anyone who got in their way. It was terrifying in its own way, and she had no idea when that breaking point would be.
