Page 4 of Patrick

“Wear the jacket.” We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I could swear our eyes have an entire conversation, saying everything we don’t speak out loud. How I want to protect her from everything bad or wrong or even uncomfortable in life, how awestruck and grateful and honored she is, and how much she wants to soothe all the wrongs in my life and make it sweeter.

At least that’s what my Cupid-struck brain spins, almost making me dizzy with want and… I don’t know what else, something indefinable, something more. When I finally shake myself free from our silent conversation, I turn, and she shrugs into my too-large jacket.

I want to turn and see her wearing it, but the steely strength of self-preservation asserts itself, and I don’t. Instead, I start the engine and carefully move forward as she grips me tight. The warmth of her arms around my shirt keeps me immune from the meaningless chill in the air.

Heading for the ocean, it only takes a minute for the tang of sea air to fill my nostrils, flooding me with spectacular memories and feelings. I verge on sensory overload when the ocean comes into view with the sound of waves crashing. Driving along the beach a short distance, I find the pull-over spot where rocks overlook the water.

It’s empty this time of year and this time of day, the dinner hour. Powering the bike down, I stomp on the kickstand and nod to Fifi to get off first. She holds my shoulders and swings off the bike in a smooth move like she’s been doing it all her life. I sit there and watch her as she pulls off the helmet and shakes out her luxurious dark hair, making my fingers cry to reach out and touch.

She meets my awestruck gaze with a sun-drenched golden glow lighting her up and a smile that out-dazzles the sunset.

“What are you looking at?” she says, half laughing at me.

Without answering her, I take the helmet from her and hop off the bike, leaving it on the seat in my place. Then I take her hand and walk her to the rocks.

“I don’t think I’m dressed for a hike on the rocks, Trick.”

I look at her again, now that I’ve regained some sanity with a few deep inhales of the bracing air.

“Are you dressed to sit on the perfect rock with an extra killer view of crashing waves?”

“I think I can manage that.” She doesn’t sound enthusiastic, and I’m not sure if she’s worried about getting her skirt dirty or if it’s me she’s having second thoughts about.

“It’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”

She nods as we climb, and I hold onto her hand, then help her jump to another boulder faintly outlined with a splash.

“Don’t worry, we won’t get wet here. The tide is going out.”

“I wasn’t worried about the water,” she says, stopping and looking at me.

I stop and stare back at her, letting her words sift in around my appreciation of her beauty, of how she looks wearing my jacket.

“What is it? Not me?” I manage to wisecrack in spite of the real chink in my armor of self-confidence she’s making.

She laughs and tugs my hand. I don’t need any more invitation than that to step closer to her.

“You must be cold.” Her voice is breathy, and I don’t miss the shudder as her hair blows in the breeze, flying across her face in disarray and making her look even more sexy. If I had a right to, I’d take a picture of her right now.

Then I remember to answer her question. “If I’m cold, does that mean you’ll offer to keep me warm?” I step closer and put an arm around her, rubbing her back since she’s the one wearing a skirt and obviously chilled.

She stares up at me, her big hazel eyes half-lidded, telling me all kinds of things that make my dick swell.

“You always make me feel warm, Patrick.”

The way she says my full name sends a surge of blood from my head down below, leaving a buzz of dizziness in its wake. I forget how to talk, but I don’t forget what her lips feel like against mine, and I lower my head, brushing my mouth across hers, breathing in her scent, designer and expensive and earthy all at once, all Fifi, a crazy mix of innocent and wild, sophisticated and sweet.

“Your lips feel warm.” I nibble to test her, and she parts for me. Plunging in like I’m cliff diving into nirvana, I lose whatever’s left of my mind and explore her mouth, drink in her taste, press her to me. She’s soft and yielding as she wraps her arms around me, leaning against me, and when she makes a whispery moaning sound, I clutch a hand in her hair and pull back to look at her face, to see her eyes, to read what she’s feeling, to see if it’s the same want I feel.

Like I’ve been thunderstruck by Cupid with a perfect slapshot to the heart.

“I…” she whispers and trails off, showing me everything I want to see.

“Fifi, we…” I pause to gather my wits as a strong breeze cools my head, the briny air having its effect, bringing me back to my reality. I’m a poor fisherman’s son who’s a wannabe hockey player, not fit for the likes of Fifi, rich if not spoiled and so smart and ambitious that the world is literally her oyster.

And that doesn’t even count the fact that her father would hunt me down and kill me if he knew what I wanted from her right now.

I drop my hands and step back. She shivers as she lets me go.