“Do you want the first shower?” Patrick asked as the door thudded closed behind them. Tove’s triumphant smile dissolved as she glanced nervously at the neatly made king-sized bed, the door to the bathroom, the window that looked out on the lake. Anywhere but at him. He could practically still feel the cool silk of her blouse from when he’d made his possessive little display for her asshole ex a few moments before. She’d even leaned into him a little, the curve of her body and the momentary pressure enticing. Now she looked about as pliable as a plank of wood. “You okay?” he asked.
She shot him one of her brittle, nervous smiles. Great. They were back to that. “Of course. I’ll just unpack. I think my blouse for this evening might need a touch up.” She moved briskly to the closet and slid it open, grabbing the hotel iron from the rack. Patrick snagged the ironing board and yanked it open, the screech of the legs descending making her jump. He set the board down, stepped close to her, and took the iron from her hand, putting it down and then placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Hey. Close your eyes.” Her gaze flicked up at his face, questioning. He gave her a little smile. “Close your eyes. Close…your…eyes.” Her lids fluttered closed, and he bent so that his lips nearly brushed her ear. “You’re safe. You’re an incredible woman who raised an amazing daughter. You don’t need me at all, but since I’m here, we’re going to make your ex an even more miserable bastard than he already is. Okay?”
Her lids slowly lifted and she looked at him, her eyes a little hazy.
“Can you do that for me? Can you relax and know you’re safe?”
She nodded and he straightened.
“Okay, then. I’m going to take the first shower, you’re going to tidy your outfit and get cleaned up, and we’re going to go support your kid.”
He picked up his bag and tossed it on the bed, zipping it open. Then he stripped down to his boxer briefs, grabbed his toiletry kit, and headed for the bathroom without a backward glance.
Holy hell, that ass. Tove gulped as the bathroom door closed softly behind Patrick. She took a moment to take a breath before she plugged in the iron and dug her blouse out of her suitcase. She made short work of the creases and shook out the light wool trousers that had come through the journey unscathed, laying everything out on the bed before hanging up her mother of the bride outfit for the next day in the closet.
By the time she was organized, the water had shut off and she could hear Patrick whistling some unfamiliar tune in the next room. Oddly, it sounded like an old Air Supply song. The idea made her smile.
She had thought she was hiring an employee.
It felt more like she had unleashed a force of nature.
“The man has a brain and free will, so stop acting like he’s programmable,” Tove scolded herself under her breath.
“What was that?” Patrick asked, emerging from the bathroom in—again, holy hell— just a towel slung low around his lean hips. His hair was still damp and he’d obviously shaved. A faint scent of either soap or aftershave wafted into the room, subtle and enticing enough that she wanted to trace its source to his body. His long, solidly muscled body with a broad chest sprinkled with dark hair.
“Um, what?” Tove’s brain scrambled back into action as her face heated and she grabbed at her toiletry bag and clothing. “Uh, never mind. I’ll just get that shower so we’re not late for cocktails.” She didn’t miss his amused glance as she scurried past him, hoping that he thought the steam from his shower was responsible for the red in her cheeks.
She raced through her own shower, drying her hair with trembling hands and finally doing light makeup because she was absolutely sure she’d fuck up winged eyeliner if she so much as attempted it. Emerging from the bathroom, she found Patrick in an open-collar shirt and blue suit. He was sitting in one of the room’s armchairs, his bare feet resting on the bed, reading a book. He glanced up over the black frames of his reading glasses, inserting his finger between the pages to mark his place, and looked her over, a slow smile warming his eyes.
“Well, don’t you look ravishing.”
Tove had, she was sure, never blushed so much in her entire life as she had today. He’s doing a job, she told herself, as she waved her hand as if she could bat the compliment back at him.
He rose to his feet, removing his glasses and setting down his book in one fluid movement, shaking his head and lightly taking her shoulders in his hands. “No. You don’t get to do this. Not today, not this weekend.” He gently turned her toward a mirror and leaned over her shoulder, looking her reflection in the eye. “Look at you. You’re stunning.”
She didn’t look at herself. Not at first. Instead, she looked at his reflection, feeling impaled by that dark gaze. It looked so sincere. But how could it be? His fingers flexed, squeezing her shoulders.
“I said, look at yourself. I’m not blowing smoke.” He gently stroked her bare arms and she shivered, her eyes flying to her own flushed face in the glass. “See? Beautiful.” His breath tickled her ear and she couldn’t help it—her eyelids fluttered. Like a damn ingenue at fifty-two years old. Ridiculous. “Do you see what I see?” he asked, and the question was like a lever prying her eyes wide open.
She deliberately considered her face with its careful makeup, the body she kept toned with Pilates and barre, the clothes that cost so much money. She couldn’t see beauty. All she could see was effort. She sighed.
“I look like I’m trying very hard. Which is honest, I suppose, because I am.”
This time, his hands slid around her waist and drew her back against his hard, warm body. “Well, then. Let me assure you that the effort is worth it. Because you are an astonishing woman, Tove Nilsen. In many, many ways.”