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“You good?” he asked, lowering his hands and settling them on her thighs. “What do you need?”
With his fingers only centimeters from her sore sex, that was a dangerously loaded question. She shook her head as if that would dislodge her inappropriate thoughts. Even if they were for her husband.
Stop that, dammit.
She sighed. “I need you to be my friend right now. I need...” She groaned.
“Help,” he supplied. “You need help. It’s so hard for you to admit that.” He shook his head, a half smile riding the corner of his mouth. “Last I checked you weren’t in this by yourself. Look...” He rose, sitting beside her on the mattress. “First thing we do after we return home is go see a lawyer. See if this marriage is even legal. Because of the circumstances, it might not be.”
Hope trickled through her, and she straightened. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? We were both drunk and can’t even remember the wedding much less exchanging vows. That has to illegitimatize this whole thing.”
He nodded and stood, crossing the room to the table. Pulling the chair out, he dropped onto it and grabbed his shoes.
Head bent, he said, “As far as today, we do what most adults do when they’ve been caught doing wrong—we pretend shit didn’t happen.”
“Oh so we pulling a Shaggy. Wasn’t me. Got it.” She nodded and rose, too, clutching the lapels of her robe together.
Staring down at her magenta-painted toes that peeked out from under the robe’s hem, she hesitated. And because Patrick was who he was, his socked feet appeared in her line of vision.
“Brooklyn.”
He didn’t need to tell her to look at him this time. She lifted her head, obeying the silent command.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, sweetheart.” He slid a hand in the pocket of her robe and covered hers, gently squeezing.
Thatsweetheartshivered through her, and she felt its reverberationseverywhere. Had he called her that last night? While he kissed her? While he was inside her?
Best not to dwell on that.
Best not to dwell on the dark coil that unfurled low in her belly at the thought of whether or not he’d called Kayla that, too.
Not your business.
“I’m thinking you need to go back to your room so I can get dressed and downstairs to meet everyone else,” she said.
Deliberately, she stepped back, making his hands fall away from her. And she told herself that her skin didn’t tingle from the lost connection. That her body didn’t whine for him to put them right back on her.
She took another step back. And another until her thighs hit the edge of the mattress.
And from the slight narrowing of Patrick’s eyes, he didn’t miss her maneuver. Any other time, she would’ve bluffed her way out of this tension-filled moment with a slick comment. But she was desperate for air that wasn’t infused withhim.
“Okay.” He studied her for another long moment. “I’ll see you down there.”
He returned to the table, grabbed his shoes and headed for the door.
“Wait!” she called after him. Patrick stopped, turned around. “Your—” she cleared her throat “—ring. Can you please take that thing off?”
Patrick blinked then glanced down at his hand as if he’d forgotten the gaudy plastic jewelry still adorned his hand. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, he shook his head.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not one of those husbands who refuses to wear their ring. I’m proud of being your man.”
“Patrick,” she growled his name like a warning. No, a threat.
But the corner of his mouth quirked in a slight smirk, then he turned and continued down the hall and out of her room. She didn’t move, but stared at the space he used to occupy.
I’m proud of being your man.
Dueling emotions of fear and, God help her, pleasure, twisted together, snarling until she couldn’t separate one from the other. As his words echoed in her head, the two emotions became synonymous.
