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Annie. God, she hadn’t thought of Annie at all, honestly, and that was mortifying. “I was thinking about Liam. Wouldn’t want to scandalize him. ”
“A little scandal would do him a world of good,” Patrick said. “And don’t worry, he wouldn’t have heard unless he was just outside. I’m sure he’d be polite enough to walk away, in that case. Or at least be discreet about it. ”
“Thank God. Uh…does he have to be discreet often?”
Patrick’s warm, slow smile sparked more heat. “Not as often as all that. Are we into the confessions portion of the evening?”
“Depends on how much you have to confess. Judging from how well that just went, I’m guessing it might be a long story. ”
He didn’t affirm or deny it, just kept smiling. She gave him an irritated shove on the shoulder, but that got her nothing except her wrist captured in his hand…and then he pulled her closer, and said, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you seemed like a woman who hadn’t been properly satisfied in a long time. From the…intensity. ”
Had she been blushing before? Because it felt like a bonfire in her face now. “Well, you know. It’s been a while. ”
“And if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve not had very good experiences. Which is a real pity, because you deserve them. ” He kissed her, slow and warm and languorous, and she was torn between the hot magic of his mouth and the teasing sensation of her hard nipples brushing against his chest. And his hand, leaving her wrist to slide slowly down her waist and hip. “So. In the morning, are we just friends?”
She pulled back, staring at him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I don’t know. I don’t know if you want this to be…something else, or just the pleasant thing it is. You live here, Bryn. I don’t want you uncomfortable. Or feeling you owe me anything. ”
“You’ve just given me the best orgasms of my life,” she said. “I do owe you. ”
“I think that was more of an in-kind trade, not a gift. ”
“Do you want it to be…something else?”
He regarded her with a sudden, sharp focus. “The first day I met you, I thought you were complicated and dangerous. No matter how far I go with you, it seems there’s more to find. So yes. I’d lik
e it to be more, but I can’t be the only one to think so or this won’t work. It’ll end badly. ” He said that with so much conviction she was sure it had ended badly for him before. “I’m not rushing you. Tonight is…tonight. And tomorrow you can be my platonic friend, my friend with benefits, or my lover, but they’re very different things. ”
“Friends with benefits? Somehow, I never pegged you as one of those guys. ”
“I’m just saying that if you don’t want any emotional commitments, I’m not sure I can totally oblige you, but I’d try very, very hard. ” He looked wickedly watchful, and she didn’t miss the double entendre or the direction his hand had taken, stroking gently at the curve of her hip. “Would you like me to try?”
“Maybe, if you’re going to try very hard,” she said, and closed her eyes on a sigh as his hand moved down. “Oh. Oh. ”
He did a great deal more than try, and if this was what being friends with benefits meant, she decided that she could settle for it, gladly, at least for a while. There was something dark and unromantic about the whole thing, but the benefits were…amazing.
After, though…after the second time, which was so different in tone from the first, but no less breathtaking, she lay curled in his arms, filled to bursting with a kind of peace she’d never really felt before. Her mind was still and quiet—no regrets, no criticisms, no apologies. There was just a simple comfort to it, a trust she couldn’t quite wrap her head around because she had never expected to feel this, not for Patrick, not for anyone.
Especially not after she’d died.
She dropped off into a childlike, trusting sleep, and the last conscious thought she had was, He is just not the kind of man you sleep with and stay just friends.
Bryn had no idea how long it was between when she’d slid off into sleep, relaxed and comfortable, and when she woke, but it was a sharp, focused sort of waking—not just the normal thing of rousing when a strange bed partner moves, but a tense, tingling sense of purely instinctive alarm.
It was because of the way she’d felt Patrick react. It wasn’t a slow, sleepy gesture, it was something that spoke of alerts and danger, and though he didn’t stir again, she knew he was completely awake and alert.
And so was she.
There was a crack of dim light coming through the door. The windows showed no signs of dawn; it was, according to the digital clock on the nightstand, just about four in the morning.
Bryn heard a very faint creak of wood, and felt Patrick’s hand press lightly in warning, and then move slowly off her skin without stirring the covers. His breathing remained deep and regular, and she had to force herself to try to mimic it. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong here. …They both felt it.
And then it was too late to try to think, or plan. She only had time to react.
A light blazed on right in Bryn’s face, halogen-bright, and she sensed the attacker lunging at her. Something sharp flashed in the light. Bryn didn’t stop to think, just moved forward, blocked what was coming down at them, then met the attacker’s rush with one of her own. The flashlight went flying in a spiraling arc that showed color, wood, a confusing whirl of shadows. …
She grabbed the intruder more by luck than skill, and held both his arms away from her body as she used her momentum to drive him backward into a waist-high heavy table. She expected it to be Fast Freddy Watson, her nightmare bogeyman, or, possibly worse, Jonathan Mercer. …
