There was nowhere else for him to go.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He could go to Lisa Canning’s, and be sure of a welcome. He’d succumbed a few times, when he was mad, when he was lonely, when he’d had too much to drink to be able to refuse what she so blatantly offered.
But Lisa wasn’t what he wanted. He knew what he wanted. She lay sound asleep in her bedroom back at Winter’s Edge, and he couldn’t have her. Wouldn’t have her.
Not if he had any sense of self-preservation. He was going to leave her strictly alone.
If he could.
Twelve
The door slammed open, ripping Molly from a sound sleep, and the light in the hall streamed in her room, silhouetting the tall, furious figure who stood there.
“What the hell do you mean by locking me out of my own house?” Patrick’s voice was dark with anger.
She turned to the little clock beside the bed, trying to squash down her initial panic. Three-thirty. “I assumed you weren’t coming home tonight,” she answered haughtily, pulling the sheets around her thinly clad shoulders. “I’m nervous when I’m left alone at night.” She switched on the light and met his angry gaze with a cool assurance that matched Lisa Canning’s most intimidating stare.
“Oh, but you weren’t alone, were you?” he demanded with mock sweetness, coming to stand by the bed. He was even more handsome than usual, the anger and frustration making his deep blue eyes glitter in the dim light. He’d been drinking, not enough to make him drunk, just enough to give him an edge. It should have frightened her, but instead she wanted to reach out and soothe away the angry lines in his forehead. She didn’t dare. Besides, she was equally furious.
“What do you mean by that?” she said stonily. “Of course I’ve been alone. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“Then why did I see Toby Pentick’s blue car driving away from here as I came in?” he demanded in a voice as cold as ice. “At three o’clock in the morning!”
“You’re crazy,” she snapped. “There was no one here, and even if there was, it’s none of your concern, now is it? It’s not as if you have any use for me.” She stared at him defiantly, trying to hide the pounding of her senses, the heavy, frightened beating of her heart.
“I suppose he’s been with you all afternoon and evening, ever since I left you. No wonder I couldn’t find him. I should have known if I left you alone you’d be up to your old tricks. Lisa warned me.”
“She certainly did, didn’t she?” she said tartly. She felt her mouth curve up in a taunting smile, almost of its own accord. “Why shouldn’t Toby spend the night?” she asked him slowly, mockingly. “After all, if my husband spends his night with a lover, why shouldn’t I?” So this was how rumors got started, she thought almost absently. By her own destructive mouth.
“I told you I wouldn’t have you whoring around anymore.” His voice was calmer now, almost frightening in its quiet fury. “I meant what I said.”
“This dog in the manger attitude is absurd. You don’t want me, but no one else can have me, is that it? Well, how are you planning to stop me?” She goaded him, goaded him purposefully. Perhaps she knew what would happen, what she was pushing him toward, perhaps she didn’t. Tension and violence were strong in the air, and she rose to meet them, mocking him.
There was something else in the air, something familiar yet foreign, in the sudden stillness of his angry blue eyes, the silky menace of his body that had nothing to do with violence.
“That’s the second time in the last minute you’ve accused me of not wanting you,” he said in a slow, mesmerizing voice. “Are you trying to tell me something, Molly?”
Now her fear had suddenly become real. “Listen to me, Patrick,” she said urgently, clutching vainly for the covers.
He’d reached down and yanked them away from her. “It’s a little too late for modesty, isn’t it?” he said with deceptive gentleness, undoing his shirt. “I assume you don’t mind if I take up where Toby left off.” He pulled the shirt from his jeans. “You’ve made it clear to me that every man in town has had you. I think it’s about time that your husband tried out your talents.”
Molly watched him in a daze as he went over and kicked the door shut. He yanked off his shirt, coming closer, and she looked up at him with a fierce panic mixed with an undeniable desire. He was strong, lean, muscled, with just a faint matting of hair on his chest. No wonder she hadn’t remembered making love with him. She never had. Never touched him. Never lay in his arms. And she’d wanted to. Quite desperately.
She wanted him now. But not with rage and contempt, not by pushing him so far into anger that he couldn’t pull back. “No, Patrick,” she whispered helplessly, trying to move back out of his reach. “Not this way.”
“ ‘No, Patrick,’ ” he mocked. “Why ever not, Molly?” He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her upright toward him. “You’ve always maintained you liked it rough.”
Curse my big mouth, she thought numbly, trying to jerk away, but he reached out and caught her, pulling her against the heat and hardness of him. The feel of his bare skin against her set off new sparks of longing and panic, and she pushed against him, not certain what she wanted. He was too strong, too determined, too furious. He pushed her down on the bed, and a moment later his body covered hers.
She almost gave up fighting then. He put his mouth over hers, and there was no denying the harsh, demanding sensuality of his lips, his tongue, thrusting against her.
He was aroused, angry, and she should have known better than to let her humiliation and anger get the better of her. She should have known better.
If she had any sense she’d tell him no. He might be furious, he might have been drinking, but she knew, instinctively, that all she had to say was no, one more time, and he’d walk away from the bed, from her.
And she didn’t want him to do that.
She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
