“You’re not mad, then?” he finally asked.
“Mikhail kind of deserved it.” Though she kind of wished she had been involved in the battle. She busied herself packing up the supplies, setting them neatly back into the travel case.
“Yeah, but I went and got a black eye the night before a competition.” He winced, and Anita wasn’t sure if it was his admission of wrongdoing or the injuries that caused it.
She suddenly realized she was still in her costume. Oh God, the way his hands felt as they tore off the overskirt.The ridiculously short silvery skirt hardly seemed to cover anything. Maybe she should surreptitiously find her sweatpants.
“Tanning spray and cosmetics can hide a lot. I’ve basically got a beauty store in my luggage.” Good job, Anita. Keeping it easy.
“I just—what he said about you.” Patrick looked straight at her then, and her heart caught in her throat. He looked so intense, so unlike the gentle man she knew. But it thrilled her, too, this side of him. This protector, this serious man. Patrick would never let her down. “How he insulted you. I couldn’t let it go. He was making it out that he was the good in your relationship, and I know that’s not true.”
“So do I. But I can fight my own battles.”
She filled another cloth with ice and pressed it to his ribs. His breathing increased suddenly, and heat flushed across his skin. “Are you okay?” She placed the back of her other hand against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, do you?”
****
Patrick couldn’t breathe. Not because of the pain. The pain was a bitch, for sure. But she was so close to him, her hands on the sensitive skin of his ribs, her face solicitous, caring, open.Anita.Patrick found he could not break his gaze from her eyes. The light in them sparked something in him, sun shafting across a lake.
“Are you okay?” She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
No, he wanted to reply.I got punched by a guy who probably knows Capoeira. I feel like my insides are on the outside.
Patrick also had never been in a fight before. Plenty had taunted him over the years for his interest in ballroom dance, the small-minded bigots, but he had always been able to one-up the other guys verbally. Clearly he had lost his mind.
He was losing it again.
He was just so tired, and she was just so close to him. He could smell her perspiration that had settled into her clothes. Her fingers had whispered lightly across his skin as she ministered to him, and he knew his body thrilled at her touch.
The whole thing was exhausting.
He didn’t want to fight anymore.The thought entered his fatigued brain, and he could not shake it, could not dislodge it. He could not escape the memory of her kiss, the way her body had molded perfectly to his. How could he when it felt so much like destiny? He could not leave town without telling her, at least once.
He reached a hand out and gently cupped the underside of her chin. “I’m in love with you.”
Patrick felt her stiffen beneath his touch, but he couldn’t look away from her. He had not quite known the words would actually leave his mouth this time. Maybe at times he had implied it, but he had never told her directly. And now it was out there. A real, true fledgling thing, seeing the sun for the first time.
It felt like relief.
“What are you talking about?” Anita whispered, her body still. God help him, she was still wearing the costume, the glittery bustier and short skirt that showed way too much of her skin.
“I love you.” His shoulders relaxed. “I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers.”
She moved away from him then, and his broken body suddenly felt crushed anew, like an elephant had sat on him. He was an idiot.Hadn’t he known that she didn’t feel the same way? Otherwise, wouldn’t she have said something earlier? Although when they had kissed last week, he had thought she felt it. She had kissed him back, deepened it, wrapped herself around him. That wasn’t nothing. He was sure he had felt it tonight. Or maybe she really was that good of an actress.
“Anita?” He stood, looking at her back, his hands slightly outstretched as if he could grasp something as elusive as her.
She turned her back to him, and his heart deflated again. She was crying, tears welling in her eyes and coursing silently down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Patrick, I’m so sorry. I just—I just can’t.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Anita closed the door and sank along the wood frame. She put her head in her hands and indulged in a good, solid cry. Helovedher? How could he tellhersomething like that?
He didn’t mean it. That had to be it.
She ripped the crystal headband from her hair, tearing at the braids held taut with hairspray.
