When Patrick reached the dock, Ray helped him tie up the boat, then reached for Patrick’s hand with a strong grip. “I owe you, son.”
Patrick gave the old man an embrace. “If you start getting restless being retired, you can go out with me anytime.”
Ray grinned. “I might just take you up on that,” he said, then cast a guilty glance toward the gray-haired woman standing on the dock with tears streaming down her face. “Assuming Janey ever lets me out of her sight again.”
Patrick held back as Ray went to his wife and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks before putting his arm around her and leading her toward Jess’s, where the town traditionally gathered in the aftermath of a storm that threatened the lives of the local fishermen.
After they’d gone, Patrick jumped onto the dock, only to walk straight into a shove that caught him off guard and almost landed him on his backside. Seemed like today was destined to be full of unexpected shocks. His gaze narrowed with speculation as he looked into Alice’s flashing eyes.
“You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said accusingly, her expression filled with a mix of anger and relief. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Patrick Devaney.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You were worried?”
“Look at me,” she said, gesturing toward her soaked clothes and dripping hair. “I’ve been here for hours. I was terrified.” Then the tears began rolling down her cheeks, a reaction every bit as heartfelt as Janey Stover’s had been.
Shaken by the sight of Alice’s tears, Patrick reached for her. “I’m here,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Ah, darlin’, don’t cry, I’m here now.”
She poked him in the chest, though with slightly less force than her earlier shove. “You scared me,” she repeated.
He tucked a finger under her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. This is what I do.”
She sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. “I know.”
He decided to share some of his own discoveries made during the storm. “It did occur to me as I was sitting out there in the dark with the winds howling and the rain coming down that maybe I’ve been just a little hardheaded about the sex thing,” he said casually.
Her gaze shot up to clash with his. “Meaning?”
Patrick felt himself drowning in those golden pools of light, still shimmering with tears. If he hadn’t already been certain, one look into her eyes would have convinced him. “I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, then added, “that is, if you’re still interested.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, leaving no doubt at all in his mind about her response. That kiss could have melted steel, he thought, then wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be worth weathering a storm every day to have a homecoming like this.
Alice apparently had no intention of giving Patrick one single second to change his mind, he concluded as she gave his chest a gentle nudge.
“Back on the boat,” she ordered.
“I think I’ve had about all the bobbing around on the water I can take for one evening,” he countered. “I had in mind a nice, warm bed on dry land.”
“If you’re considering mine, it’s too far away.”
“It’s a few blocks,” he pointed out.
“Too far,” she repeated.
“There’s always the room above Jess’s,” he suggested.
She gave him an incredulous look. “Are you crazy? We’d never hear the end of it,” Alice said. “Okay, you win. My place, but let’s make it snappy.”
“I don’t suppose I could grab a bite to eat first,” he said.
She glowered at him. “If that isn’t the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. ‘Darling, I’d really love to sleep with you after holding out forever, but I’d like my dinner first.”’
“You want me to have a little stamina, don’t you?” he teased.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Okay, my place, I feed you and then no more stalling.”
Patrick grinned. “No more stalling,” he agreed.
As they walked up the hill to her cottage, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her in an attempt to stop her shivering. As they neared, he spotted the warm light glowing in the front window.
“I thought you hadn’t been home,” he said. “There’s a light on.”
“It’s on a timer,” she explained. “I don’t like coming home to a dark house.”
Patrick sighed, unable to recall the last time he’d come home to a welcoming light in the window. Most nights his boat was dark as pitch when he got back from Jess’s. Until he’d seen the light in Alice’s window, he hadn’t realized just how depressing the darkness could be.
Walking through the door of her cottage for the first time, he got the oddest sensation in his chest. It felt as if he were coming home. She’d made the place cozy, even on a night like this. The fireplace was ready for the touch of a match. The walls were a soft shade of yellow, the furniture covered in blue-and-white prints and solids. There were fresh flowers in an old cobalt-blue jar on the coffee table next to a pile of books, and a bright-yellow chenille throw had been tossed over the back of the sofa. Patrick could instantly imagine Alice snuggled beneath the yellow fabric, the fire blazing and a book in her hands. He could just as easily imagine her wearing that soft throw and nothing else.
Best not to go there just yet, he admonished himself. To put a little distance between them, he said, “Why don’t you go take a hot shower before you catch pneumonia? I’ll see what I can rustle up in the kitchen.”
She gave him one of those long, lingering looks that could vaporize water, then said, “Sure you don’t want to come take that shower with me?”
Oh, yeah, he thought, feeling a little frantic. That was exactly what he wanted, but if he touched her now, if he so much as caught a glimpse of her naked, they’d be in her bed before either of them could say a word. He didn’t want it to happen that way, not the first time they were together. He wanted to give her tenderness and romance and long, slow, tormenting caresses.
“I’ll pass,” he said mildly.
She gave him a grin that only a practiced vamp could have perfected. “Your loss.”
“I’m sure it is,” he murmured, turning away to go in search of the kitchen.
Compared to his own, Alice’s kitchen was well stocked with homemade soup, the makings for a variety of sandwiches and even a leftover roasted chicken with plenty of meat still on its bones. Patrick’s mouth watered as he pulled away a chunk of tender white meat and munched on that while pondering all the other choices.
He put the beef vegetable soup on to heat, then made two thick sandwiches of ham, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes on homemade bread. After pouring two glasses of milk, he set the feast on the kitchen table. He was about to take his first bite, when the faint floral scent of Alice’s perfume caught his attention. He glanced up, and his mouth went dry.
She was standing in the kitchen doorway wearing a perfectly respectable robe—that is, if fabric that draped and clung to outline every curve could be described as respectable. It was the same golden-bronze shade as her eyes and it caught the light in much the same way, shimmering provocatively. Suddenly the only thought on his mind was slowly, ever so slowly, stripping that robe off her and letting it slide to the floor.
“Alice, what are you trying to do to me?” he asked, his breath hitching.
She tried to fight a smile, but it escaped, anyway. She fingered the edge of the robe. “What? This old thing?”
“That old thing could drive a man wild.”
She seemed genuinely surprised by the vehemence in his voice. “Really?”
“Yes, and you damn well know it,” he accused.
Her smile was full-blown now. “I could take it off.”
Patrick forgot all about food, forgot everything, including his own name, as his blood turned to fire. “Okay,” he murmured, when he could find breath enough to speak.
&nbs
p; She blinked once. “Okay?”
He nodded and reached for the loosely tied belt on the robe. “That’s what I said, okay. Take it off.”
One tug on the belt untied it and had the front of the robe gaping open to reveal a body still glowing from her shower and slightly pink, though he couldn’t be certain if the color was due to a thorough scrubbing or embarrassment.
“You take my breath away,” he told her with total honesty.
“That’s only fair,” she said, sliding onto his lap. “You’ve been stealing mine since the day we met.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
She grazed her knuckles along his cheek. “We could start with this,” she said, lowering her mouth to cover his.
His pulse ricocheted wildly as he gave himself up to the kiss. She’d clearly intended it to be a light, teasing contact, but it turned greedy and all consuming in a flash. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he bunched a handful of that delicate, silky fabric into a wad to keep from putting his hands all over her.
How could he want her this much? he wondered with a hint of desperation. How had he allowed himself to need anyone this much? Did it even matter?
“Sweetheart, I think a kitchen chair is the wrong place for this,” he said, scooping her up as he stood and heading for the door. “Where’s the bedroom?”
Her head tucked on his shoulder, her breath fanning against his cheek, she directed him down the hall to her room. The colors in here were as soothing as those in the living room, Patrick noted vaguely as he settled her in the middle of a double bed on which the sheets had already been turned down. She regarded him with a lazy look.
“You’re not climbing in here unless you lose some of those clothes, Devaney.”
He grinned. “Which ones? Any preference about where I start?”
She studied him thoughtfully. “The shoes and socks first, I think, then the shirt. After that, I’ll give it some more thought.”
Patrick kicked off his shoes and stripped away his socks, then dragged his flannel shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton more than the top two buttons. “Next?”
“The belt, I think. Slowly, please.”
He bit back a grin. “You sure you don’t want a little background music for this striptease?”
“Nope. You’re doing fine. Now, lose the T-shirt.”
“Okay, then,” he said, when he was standing before her, bare-chested and surprisingly self-conscious. “There’s not a lot left. Do the jeans go or stay for now?”
“They go, of course.”
Getting into the spirit of it and enjoying the mischievous pleasure shining in her eyes, he unsnapped the jeans then took his own sweet time unzipping them. He executed a little twirl before sliding them off and kicking them across the room.
Alice laughed. “Nice touch. I like the jockeys, by the way. Red is definitely your color.”
“Probably matches my cheeks about now,” he said, kneeling on the bed to press a kiss to her lips.
Alice cupped his face in her hands. “You aren’t embarrassed, are you?”
“Darlin’, what I am is hot and bothered.”
Her smile spread. “Well, then, come on over here and let’s see what we can do about that.”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Yes, I imagine you do.”
He studied her expression, then chuckled. “But we’re doing this your way, am I right?”
She reached for the waistband of his jockeys, her fingers grazing his belly. “Oh, yeah,” she said, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“Then, go for it,” he said, closing his eyes and lying back against the pillows. “I’m all yours.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her murmur something that sounded a lot like “If only,” but then her hands were playing their wicked games, and Patrick completely lost himself in her touch.
Chapter Twelve
Alice had waited too long for Patrick to make love to her to want to rush through it. She intended to torment him until he was at least half as crazy with desire as she’d been for a couple of weeks now.
She sat back on her heels, her robe spilling open to display more bare flesh than she’d exposed to anyone except her doctor in a long time. Patrick was reclining against her pillows, clad in nothing except those bright-red jockey shorts, and she intended to savor the sight. The man was hard as a rock, every muscle well defined, not from working out in a gym but from his daily life. She reached out and ran her fingers over his abdomen and felt the muscles jerk at her touch. She could also see the effect on another well-defined portion of his anatomy, which his jockeys did nothing to disguise.
“Interesting,” she murmured, as if she were conducting an experiment.
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Having fun yet?”
“Absolutely,” she said, moving on to the warm skin of his broad chest. She tangled her fingers in the shadowing of dark hair that curled tightly against tanned skin. She could feel the heat radiating from him and uttered a little sigh of satisfaction. She hadn’t realized how much she missed touching a man like this, how much she missed the closeness with another human being.
Even so, the closeness felt different somehow, more intense. More complete. She realized that because her feelings for Patrick ran deeper, she craved more than physical intimacy with him. She craved the emotional connection that had been building between them.
Not that the physical was all bad. No, indeed, she thought as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the base of his throat and felt his pulse leap. Then he clamped his hand on the back of her neck and held her still.
“Enough,” he said just before closing his mouth over hers.
His tongue invaded in a heartbeat, stirring sensations low in her belly. Even as his kiss deepened and devastated, his hand was exploring, slip-sliding over silky fabric, rubbing it over nipples already taut and sensitive. She was aching and anxious by the time his clever fingers moved lower to dip into moist heat and send her jolting off the mattress.
The man was a wizard, his touch magic. She felt herself convulse from just one delicate flick across the tight bud of her arousal. Waves of pleasure washed over her.
Patrick waited, letting her ride them out, before starting all over again. The buildup was even faster this time, and far more intense. Her already aroused body responded to each caress, to each kiss, with restless movements that quickly turned more frenzied and demanding.
“Not just yet,” he said, holding back, his gaze locked with hers.
“I need you now,” she insisted, thinking she might die of anticipation if he insisted on waiting another moment. She lifted her hips, seeking the joining he was denying her. “Patrick, please. Inside me.”
He smoothed a hand over her brow as if soothing an anxious child. “When the time is right.”
Alice bit back a gasp as he swirled his tongue around one nipple, then another, before tugging hard and sending sensation slamming through her. Her hips lifted off the bed, once more seeking relief, seeking him…but still he remained beyond reach.
Those clever fingers tormented and teased and inflamed until she thought she’d scream from the sheer wonder of it. Every muscle in her body strained for release, every inch of her skin was hot and aching for a touch that he now passed out with stingy deliberation. Her nerves were raw, her body achy and needy, when at last he thrust into her and took her breath away.
She felt her body stretch, then mold to his, felt the friction as he moved inside her and then the quick rise of sensation, the overwhelming tide of pleasure as heat and desire exploded. Rather than shattering them into a million fragments, the explosion melded them into one single unit, like the fusion of metals into something so strong, so powerful it could withstand the test of time.
Alice clung to Patrick’s shoulders and rode out the waves of sensation until, at last, peace followed. And with peace came the certainty that this love she felt for Patrick Devaney would last a life
time.
If only he would let it.
Morning came too darn soon. Patrick would have stayed right here, Alice warm and flushed in his arms, if there hadn’t been the outside world and all its demands to consider. He might be master of his own fate, but she wasn’t. She had a classroom full of five-year-olds who were counting on her. He glanced at the clock, noted it was only six and concluded they had at least a little time before Alice would need to start on her workday.
He brushed a finger lightly across her lush lips, then felt the soft whisper of a sigh as she snuggled against him. “Hey, darlin’, if you wake up now like a good girl, there’s time to be bad before the day gets underway.”
“Bad?” she murmured. Then her eyes snapped open, alight with interest. “How bad?”
He grinned at her instantaneous eagerness. That was just one of things he’d come to love about her during the long night. Alice held nothing back. There was no pretense of reticence, no game playing. When it came to making love, they were completely, shatteringly attuned.
He leaned close to whisper in her ear, the taunt designed to make her cheeks flame and her hands rove. She slid on top of him in a heartbeat, taking him into her and riding him, her head thrown back, her expression triumphant, as another climax tore through them both.
She collapsed on top of him, her breath coming in gasps. “There’s a very good chance I won’t be able to move for the rest of my life,” she murmured eventually.
Patrick grinned. There was far more satisfaction than dismay in her tone. “I think you’d better,” he advised lightly. “I’m not sure you want to try explaining away an absence from school today.”
She groaned and rolled over. “You could call in for me.”
“And say what?” he teased. “That you spent the night making mad, passionate love with me and can’t even crawl out of bed?”
“It would be the truth,” she said, her eyes still closed, a smile on her lips.
“And it would be all over town by suppertime. It just might give some parents second thoughts about entrusting their precious kindergarten students to you.”
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