I took Jo to Walmart after I picked her up from school to grab some clothes and toiletries. It seems obvious that I should have gotten some things for myself, but my mind has been a hazy mess all day long.
Pat grins, as close to full-wattage as I’ve seen since I brought Jo home. “Check the built-in dresser in the closet.”
I make my way to the walk-in closet, and to a row of built-in drawers I hadn’t paid much attention to when Pat first showed me the loft. I find an array of pajamas in one of the drawers. Pat has bought me everything from flannel to soft cotton to—
I hold up a lacy black negligee, one eyebrow raised. Pat only shrugs, his cheeks flushing an adorable pink.
“I figured I’d cover all the bases,” he says.
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, all the bases. First base, second base, third base …”
“Touchdown?” He gives me an adorably boyish grin.
“I think you’re mixing your metaphors, Mr. Graham.” I tuck the negligee back into the drawer, wishing it were that easy to set aside my desire. “Another night?”
His voice is low and husky, but he keeps his distance. “I certainly hope so.”
Though the giant tub is calling my name, I’m too exhausted even for a bath. I choose one of the pajama sets in a deep blue in a soft material with long pants and a short-sleeved top. Even though it’s almost as full coverage as I can get, Pat’s eyes darken as I join him in the bedroom. He’s already in bed, propped up against the pillows and—surprise, surprise—shirtless.
“That’s not really playing fair,” I tell him, pointing to his bare chest, still standing by the edge of the bed.
“What? This old thing? You’ve seen this dozens of times,” he teases.
But I haven’t spent the night snuggled up against his warm, bare skin, and that is completely different. I haven’t kissed him while he’s not wearing a shirt either, and it’s a totally different experience when Pat pulls me into bed and brushes his lips over mine. What starts soft and teasing quickly turns into something spinning out of control.
Pat pulls away when my hands start to explore his skin, my fingernails scraping over the big, square muscles in his chest. A soft groan falls from his lips. Before I can even protest, he picks me up, turning me away from him and spooning me.
“This might be safer,” he says, practically a growl.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust either of us.”
“Thank you,” I say, running my hands over his arms, feeling the muscles flex there.
“For what?”
“Where do I start? For chasing after me, even when I tried to chase you away. For marrying me. For all the things you fixed. For all the surprises, like this one. For loving Jo. For loving me so well, even when I don’t deserve it.”
“You do,” he insists, nuzzling his face into my hair. “You deserve so many good things, Lindy. You are my solid ground. My place of rest. My forever home.”
“That sounds a little like a description of a grave.”
Pat laughs, my whole body shaking with his. Then he shifts, reaching back to click off the lamp beside the bed, and the room plunges into darkness. Though I didn’t think it was possible given the worries in my mind and the tumult of my day, I start to drift into sleep. Pat’s breaths rise and fall in perfect rhythm with my own.
The last thing I hear is Pat whispering, “I love you,” against my hair.
I love you too, I think, and then I tumble into the dark curtain of sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three