by Emma Tharp
Grabbing little Maeve, my mom starts talking to her in a silly tone making baby noises at her. “Go ahead.”
Back in my tiny room, I open the closet and pull out a bag. I pack away as many of my supplies that I can fit to bring back to Patrick’s house, brushes, paint, a palette, graphite pencils, erasers, and drawing paper. My room there is three times the size of this room. Checking out the walls I painted in slate blue with my old paintings all around, you’d think I’d miss it here. But I don’t. I only miss seeing Jake every day, but he’s leaving soon, so it’s best that I get used to it now. When I get back, while Maeve sleeps, I’ll be able to get some work done. I haven’t decided what I want to paint yet, but I’ve had the itch to paint something.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I go back to the kitchen where my mom is singing about Old McDonald to Maeve and Jake is making himself a sandwich.
“Thanks for watching her,” I say as I grab Maeve from my mother. I put my nose in her little neck and breathe in her baby lotion goodness. She giggles. “We’ve got to get going. Please give me a call if you need anything.”
“We’re all set, sis.” Jake comes up and kisses my cheek, his five o’clock shadow tickling me. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers in my ear.
Jake is eighteen, I know he’s old enough to take care of himself, but it’s inherent in me to worry about him. I probably always will. He’s a smart guy, but when it comes to me, he’s overprotective. That’s why I need to keep him as far away from Cole as I can.
“Okay, I’ll see you both later,” I say as I take myself, Maeve, and my supplies and leave.
Scrolling through the channels, Patrick and I sit on the couch after he tucked Maeve in for bed. He’s got several premium channels. He stops on a movie from the eighties that neither of us have seen.
We’re sitting closer together tonight than we normally do to share the popcorn I made. Our legs are completely touching, skin to skin. My heart thuds loudly in my chest. It’s odd, but I’m acutely aware of my breathing. It’s like I’m on a first date, which is completely ridiculous. Our hands reach into popcorn bowl at the same time and we’re in an awkward handhold for a second. Looking down into the bowl, I let out an unnatural sounding giggle and pull my hand up in shock at the warmth spreading up my arm from the contact. Looking up, Patrick’s blue eyes darken and his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but no words come out.
Things begin to heat up in the movie. The couple’s sexual tension builds to the breaking point and when their lips finally come together in a kiss, I nearly moan. They begin to strip each other’s clothes off; his hands come up her sides and his tongue strokes her neck. She throws her head back and I can almost feel tingles of sensation along the side of my neck. Suddenly too hot, I remove my sweatshirt, realizing too late that I’m wearing a thin white tank top and no bra. Deciding it’s too late now, and if I don’t make a big deal out of it, Patrick might not notice, I keep the sweatshirt off.
Well, that was dumb. Heat spreads up my neck and over my face when I feel Patrick’s eyes on me. The couple on the screen is in a full-on sex scene with panting and moaning and hands everywhere with the sheets discreetly covering them. The actors are good-looking with beautiful bodies, such a sexy scene to watch. I’m barely breathing and fully aware of my nipples straining against my tank top and the tension building between my legs. I cross them to tame the craving, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. Lifting my water, I take several cooling swallows.
How long has it been since I’ve been touched like that? Never. Cole was my first and only and all I remember about sex with him is that it was over pretty much before it got started. I bet Patrick isn’t like that in bed.
I’m beyond thankful that the sexy scene comes to an end; there’s only so much I can take before I crawl onto Patrick’s lap and beg him for release, which would go against all of my well-laid plans. I avoid glancing at him at all costs for the rest of the movie. He’s looking too hot for his own good tonight in his shorts and form fitting t-shirt. His spiky salt and pepper hair is practically begging for me to run my fingers through it. My goodness, I’m going to need an ice cold shower as soon as the movie is over.
As the final credits roll, I bring my arms over my head and force out a yawn. “Good movie, but I’m exhausted. I’m going to head up. Goodnight,” I say without actually looking at him. I grab my sweatshirt and jump up off the couch and run up the stairs.
Note to self; quit watching hot sex movies with your super sexy boss.
5
Patrick
That was the worst night’s sleep I’ve had in forever. All night long all I could think about was how much I wanted to lay Carsen on the couch under me and press my body into hers until we were both panting and satisfied.
It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a woman. When Maggie left, it had been quite some time since we’d been intimate. With a new baby, we were both exhausted most of the time. It’s been at least a year. Fuck.
The movie last night was the wrong choice. The sexual tension was oozing out of the TV screen and landed squarely on my dick. It took every last ounce of restraint I had not to make a move on Carsen. Especially after she took her sweatshirt off and I could see her pink nipples straining through the thin material of her barely there tank top. I literally ached to touch her. My restraint was hanging by one tiny thread by the time the movie was over.
Last night brought on a new form of blue balls that no amount of jerking off can cure. I’m screwed.
It’s five-thirty in the morning and I’m drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen and going through emails on my laptop before I head into the office. My pulse quickens when Carsen pads into the kitchen with rumpled hair and sleepy eyes. She’s gorgeous even without makeup. She hasn’t gotten up this early so far and I was hoping to avoid her this morning. Last night was awkward to say the least, and if I look at her I’m afraid she’ll see the way she’s affecting me. I want her.
“Morning,” she says, her voice husky with sleep.
“Good morning.” My tone is colder than I mean it to be and I don’t even look up at her when I say it. I’ve seriously got to get my shit together and fast before she figures me out or thinks I’m a total asshole.
“Couldn’t sleep. I’m going to get some coffee.” She goes to the cupboard to get a mug. I watch her and can’t help but stare at her perfectly round ass in her pj shorts. They couldn’t get any shorter. Maybe I should ask her to wear more clothes when I’m around. Yeah, sure Patrick, that’ll go over well.
Gathering up my papers and laptop and putting them in my bag, I work as quickly as I can so I can get out of here and help us both avoid this torture. My mind is a cluster fuck at the moment and all I want to do is figure it out as soon as possible. I’ll have to call my counselor’s office. Maybe I can get in today. That would be perfect.
I put my mug in the dishwasher and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’ve got to run and I won’t be home until late. Don’t worry about making me dinner.” Chancing one look in her direction, it’s all I can do not to go to her and hug her and tell her I’m sorry for being so distant, but I can’t do that. I have to leave and process my bullshit before I get myself into something I’m not sure I could ever get myself out of.
Her eyes are sad and shoulders are slumped forward as she nods at me. “Okay. Have a good day, Patrick.”
I walk out before I do or say anything stupid.
My bad mood follows me to work. The first stop I make is Jackson’s office. I can’t believe he’s here this early, too, but I’m thankful for it. I don’t open up to anyone, well, not much, but if I do, it’s to my counselor or Jax.
He looks up at me and brings his coffee cup to his lips, but stops himself when he takes a good look at me. With furrowed brows, he says, “What’s up with you, big brother?”
Sitting down in the chair across from his messy desk, my shoulders are stiff and tight against the back of it, I prepare myself to come cle
an to Jax before I lose my shit. “My head is fucked up and I have to get it out and get over it.”
With wide eyes, Jax says, “Spill, dude. I’m all ears.”
Breathing in and out a harsh breath, I say, “It’s Carsen. I’m attracted to her. And not in a, she’s nice and I like her kind of way, more of a, I want to take her to bed every time we’re in the same room together. It has to stop.” My words spill out in a rambling tumble, but I’m powerless to stop them. “She’s beautiful and caring and amazing with Maeve. There’s a chemistry between us that I haven’t felt before, not even with Maggie. I want to touch her and worship her, but I’m eleven years older than she is, I’m her boss, and oh, yeah, I’m married.” Tension and fear roll off me in waves.
“Woah, Patrick. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack. What you’re feeling is normal.”
Squeezing the back of my neck with my hand to battle the mounting tension, I say, “Did you hear the last part, about how I’m older and married? How is this normal?”
“Your wife has been gone for a long time. And you don’t know where things stand with her. Now you’ve got someone living in your house that is caring for you and your daughter. Throw in that you’re attracted to her. How could there not be feelings there?”
“How come it feels wrong?” I ask.
Tapping a pen on his desk, Jax’s forehead wrinkles up. “I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I know you better than most people. Nothing you’ve ever done in your life has been done out of haste or without an intense amount of thinking. I think this is your problem. You’re over-thinking this. Just relax and go with it. If something happens between you two, then that’s what’s meant to be.” His tone is confident.
Jax makes some very valid points. I’ve always been someone who analyzes everything to death. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to turn it off. “Thanks for listening to me and not judging me like I’m a creepy old man looking to rob the cradle.”
“Hell, no. You’re a grown-up, not old or creepy. And it isn’t like she’s fifteen. She’s old enough and you told me she’s mature for her age. Get over it, man. You guys are two consenting adults.”
Damn. When he puts it like that. But still, I shouldn’t want her. Can’t have her.
“I see that look.” Jackson points his finger in my direction and waves it around in the direction of my face. “You’re all up in your head and asking you to not be is going to be hard for you, but you should try. Really hard. I don’t want to seem insensitive, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to start thinking about you and your happiness. Maggie is gone and nobody knows if she’s coming back. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
All I can do is nod. The mere fact that I’m having these feelings for Carsen tells me that, in a way, I am letting Maggie go. I can’t believe I’m even thinking it. She was the love of my life, my soul mate. At least that’s what I thought. For the first time since she left, maybe I’m starting to think about a future without her. “Thanks.”
“Hey, you’re welcome. And while I’m thinking of it, just an FYI, Brae was saying that Scarlette wants you to bring Carsen with you to the wedding. No pressure; it’s just that Lettie really likes Carsen and didn’t send her an invite since they’re trying to keep the wedding small and intimate. You know, since you two are friendly, why not ask her to go with you?” Jax raises his eyebrows up and down. Of course he’s going to egg me on. Jax is the risk taker, the most carefree of all the McLoughlin brothers.
“Why not, it’s a wedding. She loves Scarlette. I’ll ask her.” I do my best to sound casual, but deep down all I can think about is how awkward things got last night and this morning—I couldn’t even speak to her. I’m going to have to get my shit together.
“Good. You guys will have fun.”
“Okay, I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.” I stand and walk toward the door.
“Keep me posted on how things go with you.” He gives a grin that I know stole many women’s hearts over the years, but now that grin belongs to his fiancée, Amelia.
“Yup.” I leave with my head still in a haze of confusion.
Back in my office, first on my priority list is to make an appointment with my counselor. Of course he’s on vacation this week. I schedule for the beginning of next week, unsure of how I’m going to deal with this massive head fuck for this long. Next, I call to make an appointment with a divorce attorney. The rest of my day is full, so I’m going to have to tuck it all away for later.
Returning home, hours later than normal, I’m hoping beyond hope that Carsen will be in bed and I can deal with some of my shit in peace. When I get in the door, most of the lights are off, with the exception of the living room. Carsen has the dimmer switches turned almost all the way down. My heart jumps in my chest when I see her lying on the couch, looking at her phone. She’s in an old beat up t-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair up on top of her head in a knot. It’s useless to deny it to myself. I’ve got a huge crush on her. I just turned thirty-four, not thirteen.
A floorboard creaks and she looks up at me, giving me an apprehensive smile. “You’re home late.”
Stopping in my tracks, I say, “Yeah, I had to get some work done.” It comes out flat, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I’ll let you know if this is going to happen again.”
“There’s food in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.” She moves to sit up. “I can warm it up if you’d like.”
“No. Braeden ordered takeout. I had some. Thank you, though.” I walk toward the stairs and away from this awkward exchange.
“Patrick. Can you wait for a second?” Her tone is uneasy and a little sad.
Turning back toward her, her face is shadowed in the dim light, but I still notice the set of her downturned lips. She’s sad and it hurts me to see her this way, yet I’m powerless to fix it. “What is it?”
“Have I done something wrong?” It’s hard to hear her; she asks in just above a whisper.
Moving closer to her, but still keeping my distance, I try to reassure her. “No, you’re not doing anything wrong. If I’ve been off, it’s because of work. The stress is getting to me. I apologize for not being quite myself.”
How can she think she’s doing anything wrong? The problem is that everything about her is right. Dangerously so. I can only hope the lie convinces her and that I can get my head out of my ass sooner rather than later. The last thing I need is for her to quit because I’m being a cold prick.
She looks apprehensive. “Okay. I was just checking. I want to do a good job for you, so if I’m not, please let me know.”
“You’re doing a great job. Thank you. And if you’re not busy next weekend, would you like to go to Braeden and Lettie’s wedding?” Okay, so that was awkward. I just blurted it out and it sounded as nonchalant as if I were asking her to do a load of laundry.
Shaking her head with a mask of confusion on her face. “You want to take me?” Her hand comes to her chest and her mouth falls open.
“If you aren’t busy. Brae said that Lettie would like you to be there.” Shit, that didn’t come out right. She has to think I’m a complete idiot.
It takes her a second to collect herself and answer. “Oh, well, if Lettie wants me there, I can make it happen.”
I give her credit for not turning me down immediately. This could quite possibly be the most uninviting invitation I’ve ever heard. “Great. I’m exhausted. Goodnight.” This time I rush to the stairs like the room is on fire and run up them to my room.
Tonight’s going to be another sleepless night, I can feel it.
I’m such an asshole.
6
Carsen
Patrick McLoughlin has got dark and brooding down.
He was gone before I got up this morning, which is probably good because I might’ve said something that could have got me fired. Like, ‘what the hell is going on with you,’ or, ‘just talk to me and let’s get things on the table,’ or the least savory, ‘maybe if you
strip my clothes off and do me you’ll relax and feel better.’
Now that Maeve is down for her nap, all I have time to do is paint and stew about the way Patrick has been acting since the night we stayed up and watched the sexy movie. Don’t get me wrong, he is a reserved man who tends to lean toward quiet contemplation, but he’s taking that to another level. When he’s around me now, he’s tense and seems as if he doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me. I wish he’d just talk to me. If he was like this with Maggie, I can see how it’d be frustrating to be with someone so closed off.
After my conversation with Lettie and the way Patrick has been acting, my curiosity is at an all-time high. Setting my paintbrush down because I’m getting nowhere, I tiptoe up the stairs toward Patrick’s room. The door is ajar, like it always is. I don’t expect him to come home anytime soon. Should I do it? Boundaries and respect tell me to walk away, but my intense desire to understand this man propels me forward into his bedroom.
It’s a large room with pale gray walls and matching chevron curtains. The bed is king-sized with a fluffy gray comforter. The décor is tasteful, probably put together by the interior designer. I open his nightstand drawer and find a couple of old birthday and Valentine’s Day cards, a few condoms, and some books, one Stephen King novel and one Dan Brown. Nothing out of the ordinary, although who knows what I thought I’d find in there. In the other nightstand, Maggie’s, I find a tube of lubricant and a small notebook. It could be a journal. If it’s a journal, I shouldn’t open it. That’s just wrong. Can I really do this? My stomach sinks just thinking about it. I’ve never invaded anyone’s privacy like this; it’s incomprehensible, but she’s gone and such a mystery. What if there are answers to her whereabouts? Hesitantly, I check myself and my conscience and open it.
Flipping through the pages, I go to the back. Her handwriting is thin and neat, easy to read.