Patrick did not let her go. She found his gaze, dark, flames licking the glint of gold in those heavenly blue eyes. It was too intense, too primal.
She needed to shut this down. She shifted slightly, biting her bottom lip, and Patrick’s gaze dropped to her open mouth.
What was happening? She couldn’t—couldn’t do this. This was Patrick.Patrick. Sweet, funny, caring, sexy AF Patrick.
She wanted him.
God help her, she wanted him.
She brought her gaze to meet his, the smolder in her meeting his fire. Her heart ceased its Wagnerian pounding and fluttered instead, a caged bird flapping to be released.
A rush of images flooded through her, and she pulled herself out of his warm embrace.Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.
It was a long few moments before she regained control of her heartbeat, her breath. She really needed to find the air conditioning. Power bill be damned.
At length, she steeled her spine and turned. Patrick still sat on the floor where he had held her. His handsome features were contorted with…confusion? Regret? Anger?
She desperately hoped it was not disappointment. “I’m sorry.” He was her best friend, and that was all she could muster. She squirmed, pulled the sleeves of her well-worn cardigan down over her hands, scrunched the cuffs into her fists.
Patrick would not look at her. Why should he? She was a mess. She had shown her vulnerabilities, and now he would leave. Tears threatened again, but she stifled them. It wasn’t her fault someone had murdered a poor defenseless bird on her stoop. But this was wrong. She could—no, sheneededto be better. Stronger.
She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Bit by bit she would reconstruct her armor. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Good, that sounded better. Less like she was apologizing for shoving him away instead of kissing him senseless.
Now she needed that thought out of her head.
Which was a lot more difficult now that Patrick was looking at her again. He had his hands on his knees, his pose contemplative.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he finally asked, his voice low, almost dangerous, like a sexy growl. It sent a thrill of heat through her again. She bristled.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you seriously apologizing for needing a mini breakdown after cleaning up a dead bird?”
Oh, right. Good, he had not been about to kiss me a few minutes before. Great. Perfect. World in order again.
“You should not have had to see that.” Lame, but not quite as lame as a sorry-I-almost-jumped-you apology.
Patrick shook his head and stood to his full height. She loved how tall he was, not dwarfing her but not at eye level. Just the right amount of tilt.
Focus.
“We’re friends.” He hesitated on the last word but reached out and took her hands in his.Friends. Right. Good.Anita inhaled deeply to calm her breath. “Whoever did this is doing it to both of us, right?”
Anita nodded. Was it hot in there again? Maybe it was just something in the way he held her hands, just the way he held her when they danced. Gentle but firm. A leader.
But he was right. Damn it, he was right.
She pushed the sinking feeling from her stomach and pulled her hands from his. “Of course. We need to split up.”
Patrick laughed, and a frisson of—hope? embarrassment?—coursed through her.
“Have you seriously never seen one horror movie? Nature documentary?”
Wait, what? She had once done five pirouettes in a cha-cha routine and had not been this dizzy.
Patrick was still laughing. “Anita. When there is a threat, you do not want to get separated from the pack. Stronger together.”
“Oh.” The word escaped her, thrust from her mouth by a crush of conflicting images and emotions. She and Patrick spending more time together. A lot more time. Close. Dancing, whatnot, close. Close to those eyes, those hands…
