She involuntarily licked her lips. His gaze honed in on her tongue.
“Yeah? Are you sure it’s not that you wanted me to take you in my room and make you a man?”
“I’m man enough already.”
Her stomach gave a quick, giddy shiver.
He wasn’t bragging. She’d seen the size of his big bulge, and her nose remembered his chest’s crushing strength. The image of that chest sheened with sweat as she dug her nails into his pecs and threw her ass into the grind... her breath quickened. Good lord, she needed smelling salts.
She’d had her fair share of one-night stands. That cute bartender at The Watering Hole. Gael—the hottest surfer in Baja. A guy she picked up at a concert. The rock climber in Colorado Springs. The idea wasn’t to be denied on principle.
“Now that you know, you aren’t interested.” He didn’t ask a question. It was a statement of fact.
“Look,” she hesitated. “I’ve never taken a guy’s virginity. It feels like a responsibility., as if I need to prepare you for a lifetime of emotionally rewarding and physically satisfying sexual experiences.”
“I got an idea.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Reserve the urge to punch me until after hearing me out.”
Chapter Eight
Margot listened to Patch stumble through his idea without getting her knuckles bloody. In fact... far from it. After he quit talking and waited for her answer, lungs threatening to explode, she’d said okay.
Shit.
Talk about being careful what you wish for.
But wasn’t this the same way that he’d gotten out of Southie? By wishing? Wanting? Having faith?
Faith.
There’s a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. Then today of all days, dangling at the end of a rapidly fraying rope—out of luck and out of options, he’d come across this woman, and was gripped by this unshakeable sense that he was meant to meet her. That there was some mysterious plan and promise to their paths crossing.
This was the first time in his life that he’d ever felt the passion everyone else seemed to think was normal. The moment that he set eyes on her, he had a moment of cellular recognition, like his atoms went, “Ah. It’s you. You’re the one.”
He couldn’t explain the phenomenon, but that didn’t make it any less real.
All he knew was that he was going to stand here on the side of Margot Kowalski’s pretty bed, covered with a blue quilt and light green pillows, and give thanks for this unexpected miracle.
“Can I try and pleasure you?” is all he had said. He’d never been with a woman. Anywhere. Any way. And if he was going to start, this seemed like the smartest way.
He’d never believed in the idea of “the one.” The concept had seemed about as cliché as finding a needle in a haystack. And yet here he was, with his needle, and she pierced his defenses with a single look.
She raised her brows a fraction, enough to wrinkle her brow. “Are you going to stand there all day?”
“I like looking at you.”
“Do you now?” A pleased smile tugged the corner of her mouth.
“Never seen anything like you before.”
“Flattery gets you everywhere.” Her chest shook with a shaky breath. “Especially when you stare at me with those eyes. Those are some baby blues. My compliments to your genetics.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll pass along the memo.”
Their banter faded.
“You sure you want to do this?” she asked.
He nodded. “I want to start by giving. Not taking.”
