Tempting Tricks (Tempting Nights #2)

Chapter Seventeen

~Annabelle~

“ B elle, will you go ask your dad to help with the groceries?” My mom set two bags on the kitchen table and begin unpacking one of them.

“Sure thing.” I tug my coat off, dumping it unceremoniously on one of the chairs, which results in an eye roll from my mother.

“Really, Belle?” she chides.

“Fine.” I huff, grabbing it off the chair, and hang it on a hook next to the door as I go in search of my dad. His office is in the basement, so I start there, assuming that’s where he most likely is.

I open the door to the stairs, noting the lights are on and call out his name as I descend the stairs. “Dad?” I pause halfway down when he doesn’t answer. My nose picks up a strange, coppery scent, wrinkling at the smell.

I tramp down the remainder of the steps, calling to him in a sing-song voice, “Daddy-O! We’re home, and we have grocer ? —”

I turn the corner, noticing red and pink splatters on the wall first. My eyes dart lower to the pool of blood seeping in a large circle from behind my father’s desk, white chunks floating in it. I run around the desk, my gaze locking onto the gun in my father’s hand, sprawled beside his body, and I scream.

“Belle!” My eyes flutter open as I feel my body being shaken. I shoot to a sitting position, blinking rapidly, not recognizing my surroundings, my heart thundering against my chest.

“Belle?” I turn toward the cautious voice and remember I’m at Patrick’s. I’m in his bed. I nod, my breathing erratic. “Are you okay? You were yelling for your mother.”

I fling the covers off my body and slide out of the bed. When I glance down, I realize I’m naked and scan the dark room in search of the shirt I borrowed earlier from Patrick. I hear him rise from the bed, then feel the heat of his body as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me up against his chest.

I let out a strangled sob, wrapping my arms around him, clinging to him, tears cascading down my face. He squeezes me tighter, one hand caressing down the length of my hair. “I’ve got you.” I let him hold me because it feels good, and because, honestly, no one has held me like this in a really long time. His lips press against the top of my head, his arms not letting me go, his voice soothing as he just keeps telling me I’m okay.

When I feel like I have a handle on my emotions, I move my arms to his chest and push gently to extract myself from him. I peek up under my wet lashes, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”

His brow crinkles as his mouth pulls down. “For what?” He lowers his lips to mine, brushing a tender kiss to them. “For having a nightmare? ”

I nod, looking down in an attempt to hide my flaming cheeks. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.” I spin around, searching for that shirt again.

“Hey.” He wraps a hand around my arm, turning me back to face him. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t even think about leaving.” He tugs me back into his arms. “Talk to me.”

I chuckle. “I thought I was the shrink.”

“I’m whatever you need me to be.” His voice is strong and calm next to my ear.

“Thank you.” I tighten my embrace around his waist, pressing my body against his. I’m grateful for the comfort he so easily provides to me, especially knowing he has his memories of his own haunting him.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He kisses my tresses again. “Can I get you something? Do you want some tea?”

I lean my head back. “You have tea?”

He chuckles. “I’m not a complete caveman.”

I smile up at him. “I would love some.”

I come out of the bathroom five minutes later, soft gray shirt swishing against my thighs, and scoot myself onto one of the barstools. Patrick’s back is to me as he drops tea bags into two mugs, humming something under his breath as he works. I sweep my gaze over his broad shoulders, his tattoos, the muscles that move each time he shifts his arms. I’m relieved to see the bruises and cuts have healed that splashed across his frame the last time I was here.

He turns around, smirking when he finds me ogling him. “Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

I play with the sugar and milk containers on the counter in front of me, my eyes skimming the length of his torso. He’s got a pair of sweats on, hanging loosely on his hips, exposing his defined abs and the light coating of fur on his chest. I lock onto the nipple ring, my tongue sweeping over my lips, then dart my eyes back up to meet his.

He cocks a brow, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging as he does, a chuckle shaking his chest gently. “We can skip the tea.”

“I just—” I bite my lip subconsciously then continue. “You have a really nice body.”

He glances down at himself then back up at me, his grin turning wicked. “All the better to fuck you with.”

“Don’t be crude.” I laugh, trying to disguise the fact that I would, in fact, like him to fuck me again. The tea kettle whistles behind him, pulling his attention away from me, thank God , and he pours the steaming water into the mugs.

He carries them over, places them on the counter in front of us, and sits on the stool next to me. I scoop in a teaspoon of sugar, pour some milk, and then stir the hot liquid. Patrick leaves his as is, taking a small sip from the edge of the cup after blowing on it.

“So, you want to tell me about your dream?” His hand falls on my knee, his thumb sweeping against the inside of my leg tenderly.

I stare at the space in front of me, avoiding his gaze, absently moving the spoon in a slow circle inside my mug. “I think it’s because I talked to my mom today about what happened. It triggered the memories again.”

He doesn’t say a word, just sips his tea, giving me the time I need to continue.

“It’s actually the reason I came to find you today.” I glance over at him, cocking my head. “The real reason. ”

He gives me a small smile, admitting defeat. I spit the words out, knowing every time I say them, it’s like a knife piercing my heart. “My father shot himself.”

“Jesus.” His hand on my knee tightens. “I’m sorry.”

I just nod my head and keep going. “I found him. It was awful.” I close my eyes, trying to fight back the tears threatening to fall. “There was blood everywhere.”

Patrick’s arms fold around me and pull me against him. “Stop. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

I clear my throat and push back from him. “I want to.” I bring my gaze up to him. “I need to.” I take a sip of the tea, wetting my lips, then continue. “My dad was a captain in the Army.” Patrick’s brows lift, his mouth gaping open slightly at my revelation. “He was career military, joined when he graduated high school and worked his way up in the ranks.” I smile proudly in memory of him. “He had twenty years in and was getting ready to retire, but then, 9-11.”

“He re-enlisted,” he concludes.

I nod. “He deployed to Afghanistan. I didn’t see him for over two years.” I turn toward him. “When he came home, he was so different. Withdrawn, moody, no longer the dad who used to hug me ten times a day.”

Patrick’s eyes shoot down to the counter and away from mine, I’m sure because he understands what I’m describing perfectly.

“He wouldn’t talk to anyone. Not my mom. Not a doctor. Certainly not me.” I draw a small circle with my finger on the countertop. “And then it was too late for him to talk to anyone because he killed himself.”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” he says gruffly, swinging my stool so we face each other. “Is that what you think? ”

I lock my gaze with his, shaking my head. “No, that’s not it.” I grip one of his hands in mine. “I talked to my mother today about my dad, about what he went through. What he was feeling. She said something about him that made what you do click into place for me. Or, at least, it helped it make more sense to me.”

He nods for me to continue, his fingers entwining through mine in my lap.

“She said that she wished he had some way to deal with the pain. A way to release it, share it, some way to escape his demons.” I lean closer to him, my fingers squeezing more tightly around his. “And I realized, if what you do gives you relief, makes you feel less mental pain, makes life more bearable for you, I would rather that for you a thousand times over than what my father did.” He goes to speak, but I shake my head to stop him. “And I hate it, Patrick. I can’t lie.” I look up at him. “I hate that you feel like you need to bleed in order to feel better. That you feel like you have to punish yourself for their deaths. I do. I hate it. But, at least, now, I feel like I understand a little better.”

I feel a tear run down my face, and I lift a hand to brush it away, frustrated at my emotions. His lips press against my cheek, tracing the trail of moisture until he finds my mouth, claiming it with his. He pulls back after just a second, lowering his face to mine, capturing my eyes with his. “All I know is that, since you’ve come into my life, you’re what I crave. More than the pain.” He leans forward and kisses me again. “You’ve invaded my thoughts, my senses, pushing the anger and guilt that’s consumed me for the last year to the back of my mind.”

The therapist in me comes to life, and I blurt what I’m thinking out loud. “You’re just trading one obsession for another. How long can that last?”

He scoffs, sitting back. “If it’s the lesser of two evils, can it really be that bad?”

“Maybe not for you,” I whisper.

He narrows his eyes, leaning even farther back from me, his fingers drumming against the counter. “I would never hurt you.”

I sigh. “Not intentionally, Patrick. I know that.” I give him a sad smile. “I’m not the kind of woman who sleeps with her patients, or the kind who has casual sex.”

“And?” He frowns, his fingers still drumming.

“So, if I’m here, sleeping with you, it means something to me.”

“And you think it doesn’t to me?” His fingers stop moving as his palm lands flat on the counter.

“Maybe.” I look down, my hair falling around my face, hiding my expression. “I don’t know.”

His fingers reach under my chin, lifting it. “ I know.” He stares at me. “I’m not trading one thing for another. There’s something between us, and you know it as well as I do. You feel it as much as I do.”

I look back at him, my teeth chewing the skin off my bottom lip, doubt my best friend at the moment.

“You think I only go to that club to punish myself?” He sneers. “I went to that club, other clubs, long before the accident.”

My eyes go wide at his revelation. “Oh.”

“I’ve always liked more. Wanted more.” He leans closer to me, clenching my thighs in his hands. “Just like you’re figuring out you want that, too.” He lowers his voice. “It doesn’t make it wrong, doesn’t make us wrong.”

I want to believe him, that what he’s feeling for me is so much more than a way to escape his demons.

“Come to the club with me.”

“What?” My head swings up, my gaze locking onto his.

“Let me show you that it’s not all about punishment or atoning for my sins. Let me prove to you that what I do there isn’t just about making me forget. It’s about letting me feel, too. I can make you feel so much fucking better than you can even imagine.”

My pulse quickens when I think about what a single spanking did to me, excitement and curiosity surging through me. I stare at him, my mouth open, my voice silent.

“Is it wrong that, after a year, I’ve finally found someone who makes life more bearable? That I feel like maybe I didn’t die for a reason? And that, maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to forgive myself to try to move forward?” He shakes his head. “‘Cause that’s what I’m trying to do here, and I only want to do it with you.”

“Okay,” I breathe out, surrendering to his proposal. Not only because I want so badly for him to feel for me the way I’m beginning to feel for him, but because, more than anything, I want more of what he gave me in that room.