Inconsolable (Love Triumphs 2)

The sky fell down on them, the rock shelf turned to ice and he told her the first of his crimes, whispering it between the rumbles of thunder into her ear. “My name is Patrick. My family always called me Trick.”

She lifted her face, he lowered his. She put her lips to his lips and said his name, and the

storm moved inside him, tearing at his lungs, blowing out his ears, phasing out his vision, and making his hands shake. He kissed her like she was forbidden and survival all at once.

Only the wind’s moan made him conscious of the danger, made him check the impulse to make forever of her lips. They weren’t safe here, too exposed. His heart hammered as the hailstones fell, thunking on the rock ledge, the size of golf balls. They could shatter a window, put a hole in a roof, destroy a garden, kill a man.

He held Foley close, his back to the wind and when it dropped suddenly, an uncanny quiet after the fury, he knew that was their chance. “We have to get out of here.”

She fumbled in her pocket for her car keys. But her old car wasn’t safe, she couldn’t drive in this, the storm wasn’t over, only regrouping for another assault. There was one place he could take her. “I know a safe place. Close. We can dry off, wait it out.”

They went up the ledge and hand in hand and ran across the park, while lightning flared out at sea. Then he took her up the narrow laneway as the hail started again. She didn’t question the driveway, the house, but when he pressed the code on the keypad she stopped him.

“Who lives here?”

He opened the door and they stepped into the empty four car garage. He strode across it to the other door, the one that gave into the house itself. He put his thumb to the keypad, the mechanism clicked in recognition and he opened the door. It was dark in the hallway, but he didn’t bother with lights. He kept moving, stripping off his coat, toeing off his sodden shoes, more of their canvas tearing. He’d unzipped the fleece before he realised she hadn’t followed him into vestibule. He went back down the hallway, barefoot and chilled through.

She was standing there frowning, a puddle of water forming around her feet. “Where are we?”

“There’s no one here. The house is empty.”

“You have a house?”

“I have a deal. I can use it on the rare occasions I need to.”

She frowned at him, stubborn, beautiful woman, dripping and shivering.

He held his hand out. “There’s hot water and a clothes dryer. I’ll find something you can wear.”

She stumbled forward and they entered the foyer together. With its big glass dome ceiling, there was enough light despite the grey skies.

“Who owns this place?”

“A guy I used to know.”

“Used to know. Have we just broken into to someone’s house? Hell, I don’t care, I’m freezing. Where’s the bathroom?”

He’d broken a rule bringing her here. He could show her to the shower in the downstairs laundry room, the one he used, or he could send her upstairs, but he couldn’t remember which of the bathrooms was best stocked. She was incredibly pale and shivering, huddled in on herself. The rules could bend. He took her upstairs, trying to recall what was left, if he could find her a robe to wear while he dried her clothes. He took her to the ensuite in the master bedroom.

She took off her coat and dumped it in the big bath. “This place is amazing.” She bent to deal with her boots and staggered, knocking her shoulder into the vanity. Almost out the door, he wasn’t close enough to grab her and she slid to the floor.

“I don’t feel very well.”

He went to his knees in front of her and undid the zipper of her boot and eased it off. “You’ll feel better when you’re warm and dry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s something I ate from one of the vendors at the ice rink. Been making me feel off all afternoon.”

He took her other boot and both her socks off. “Bath or shower? Then I’ll put you to bed.”

“Thank you.” She touched his hair. She looked miserable.

He fixed the shower for her, found soap, shampoo and conditioner. Showed her where the towels were and brought a robe from the bedroom. She sat on the closed toilet seat, her arms wrapped around her middle. He didn’t know if he should help her undress further; she solved the problem.

She stood. “I’ll be fine.” She made a shoo movement with both hands and he picked up her coat, boots and socks.

He’d closed the door when she vomited. He hesitated, then called, “Are you all right?”

He got no response so he dumped her gear and opened the door. She was hunched over the toilet. “Go away.”