Page 13 of Taming Tesla

EIGHT

Patrick

It’s the first night I’ve slept in my own bed in days, and I hate it. I hate being away from her. Not having her next to me, even if I couldn’t reach for her, I felt her warmth, the weight of her and knew she was there. With her beside me, I can fool myself into believing we still have a chance to get it right.

Staring at the goddamned crack in the ceiling above my bed, all I can do is think about her. I want to hold her against me. Run my fingers through her hair. Tell her everything’s going to be okay, even though it might be a lie.

I’m worried about her. I know I’m worried about the wrong thing. I should be worried about the mess with Lisa. The fact that prison is a distinct possibility. That my uncle gave me the family fortune, and I could be responsible for losing it. That the charity I built from the ground up is in jeopardy. That being my business partner could ruin Declan. The fact that whatever Conner is doing to fix this mess could undoubtedly land him in prison.

That’s what I should be worried about right now.

My family. My future.

Instead, I’m laying here, staring at the ceiling, wondering what happened with Chase. How he took the news. If he blames her. I’m worried about how this whole mess is going to affect her job. If Chase will refuse to show her paintings because he doesn’t want to deal with the potential fallout. If Miranda will fire her for causing a scandal with one of her artists.

“Patrick?”

I raise myself on my elbows to find her standing at the foot of my bed, her caramel-colored hair glowing like a halo in the light of the hallway. “Are you okay?” I say, jerking the covers back so I can throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Did James—”

“No…” she sighs, the end of the sound lilting upward like a laugh. “I haven’t heard from him since…” she shrugs.

Relaxing a little I feel my shoulders slump, even though my adrenaline-soaked heart is thumping hard in my chest. I rest my elbows on my knees, running my hands through my hair. “Do you need something?” I say, trying to figure out why she’s here, standing at the foot of my bed at four o’clock in the morning.

She doesn’t answer me. She just stands there, her fingers twisting in the belt of the robe I gave her, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Come here,” I say softly, watching her as she rounds the foot of the bed to stand in front of me. Reaching for her, I wrap my arms around the back of her thighs to pull her close, her knees trapped between mine. “How did things go with Chase?”

“Good—better than I thought.” She lets go of her belt and lifts her hands to my shoulders. “He’s a good guy.”

He’s a good guy.

Hearing her say it is like a punch in the gut. Reminds me that I’ve been anything but these past few days. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, the top of my head pressed against her belly. “I should’ve told you about the money. I just—I don’t want it. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too much. I keep hoping my uncle will change his mind.” I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on the fact that she’s here. She’s listening. Giving me what I was too much of a selfish asshole to give her.

A chance to explain.

“It’s okay,” she says, her hands weave themselves through my hair. “I heard pretty much your entire conversation with Conner…” She makes a soft sound that sounds like a laugh. “Which is probably why Conner pushed you into having it in the first place.”

“Yeah,” I say, a soft shiver running down my spine at the way she’s touching me. “He loves to meddle. Mostly because he’s smarter than all of us put together—so, he naturally assumes he always knows what’s best.” I look up at her, chin pressed to her bellybutton. “He knows you’re not a gold-digger.”

“Maybe, but I’ve done a lot to be sorry for these last six months.” She traces the shell of my ear with her fingertip. I can hear humor in her voice, but there’s longing and arousal there too and the sound of it goes straight to my cock, and it begins to stir in response to her. “I’m sorry about the bet. It was stupid and wrong, and I’m sorry I hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted.”

“I hurt you too.” I drop my head again and her hands skate across the nape of my neck. “Forgive me?” I say, my voice thick. Hands fisted in the back of her robe. I’m doing everything I can to keep myself from tearing it off her. She’s had a hard day, both physically and emotionally. No matter with I think I hear or what I’m sensing in her, the last thing she needs is me putting my hands on her.

“Yes.” She moves, shifting one of her legs from between mine so that my knee is caught between her thighs. Her hands slide down the back of my head, her slim, cool fingers anchoring themselves behind my neck as she slowly lowers herself to sit on my leg. I have to suck in a groan when her skin makes contact with mine because she’s not wearing panties underneath her robe—my robe—and the feel of her bare pussy on my leg is nearly enough to unravel me. Suddenly her face is inches away, her mouth hovering in front of mine. “Do you forgive me?”

“Always.” Despite my affirmative response, I shake my head, my hands fit around her waist. Either to lift her up and send her back to her room or lift her up and slam her down on my rock-hard cock. I’m not sure. “You’ve had a really bad day,” I say, still trying to behave rationally. “Maybe we should just—” The rest of my argument ends in a groan as she grinds her soft, wet slit against my thigh while most of my good intentions get tossed out the window. “Cari.” It comes out half plea, half warning and the sound of my distress kicks up the curve of her mouth. My heart is racing, the pulse of it hammering through my veins, straight down to my cock.

“So, we forgive each other?” she says, her fingers tightening around the back of my neck, her breath catching in her throat as her hips make another rotation, rubbing herself against me. “We’re friends again?”

“Of course, we’re friends, Cari.” I drop my head to her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut because the feel of her against me is hard enough to resist but if I have to watch her get off on grinding on my leg, I’m going to forget what the right thing is. “What are you doing to me?” It’s something I’ve wondered a thousand times over the past week. The second I let myself touch her, the door to my self-control was kicked right off its hinges. I can’t close it between us again, no matter how much I want to. I can’t seem to do the right thing by her, no matter how hard I try.

Her hands slide down my shoulders, my arms, until her hands are on top of mine, pulling them loose. “I’m trying to fuck you, Patrick,” she says in my ear, her hips grinding forward, a small moan slipping from her mouth as she puts my hands on the still-knotted belt of her robe. “Let me fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ…” I turn my face into the crook of her neck, pressing my lips to the thrumming pulse in her throat. “Why can’t I do the right thing by you, Cari,” I say, my hands shaking because I want to touch her so bad I feel like I’m breaking apart inside. “Why can’t I just do the right fucking thing, for once?”

“This is the right thing,” she says, her voice soft and urgent in my ear, her hand slipping lower to wrap around the hard bulge of my cock. “This is what I want. What I need—give me what I need.”

“Fuck—” I jerk the belt of her robe open, slipping my hands inside, my dick giving a hard twitch in her grip when my hands make unfettered contact with her naked flesh. She smells like gardenias. Feels like sin. Her skin is soft and warm, and like that first night in my car, I’m drowning. Instead of fighting my way to the surface, I let myself sink into her. Push myself deeper.

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