Fated (4 page)

Cool lips brushed her ear. "It's me, Princess, relax."

She stiffened when she finally recognized Patrick's voice. When the hell had he arrived here? He'd gone back to London! His hand drifted from her hip to the front of her skirt, dipping beneath the hemline and ghosting over her thigh, leaving her skin feeling electrified. A soft moan escaped her lips. A warm chuckle skated across the shell of her ear and she shivered involuntarily, tremors dancing up and down her spine. He slipped deftly through the crowd, holding her tightly against his chest.

When they were deeper within the caves, he dropped her legs so she could slide down the front of his body then pinned her back up against the smooth, rock wall. Sabrina could barely see his face in the dim light, the flickering candles giving him a sinister and forbidding look. Her head spun and she had trouble focusing on him.

His hands rose slowly, framing her face. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs and she couldn't seem to find enough air to breathe as he stared at her, seemingly transfixed. She licked her lips nervously and he groaned softly.

"Do you know what tonight is, Princess?"

Sabrina inhaled deeply, drawing her lower lip into her mouth, biting down on it gently. "No." Her voice came out barely above a whisper and her stomach quivered when he leaned closer.

His lips brushed against hers as he spoke, his voice thick and low. "Sinner's Eve."

Her head dropped back and he moved closer, neatly fitting his big, hard body against hers. His knee pushed between her thighs and his hand dropped to her waist, pulling her closer. Sabrina moaned when his leg brushed up against her center, hot tendrils of need spinning through her.

"And I'm going to be a bad, bad man tonight," he continued, his thumb stroking over her lower lip.

"Patrick—" she said fuzzily.

"Shh, Princess, I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, silencing her with one thick finger across her lips. "But I am going to make you remember that you're mine."

He lifted her hands, padded cuffs circling her wrists before he tugged them above her head. He secured them before dropping to his knees in front of her.

Sabrina bit her lip again when he slowly lifted her skirt, pressing kisses to the softness of her inner thighs. Her knickers were soaked, and they rubbed against her swollen clit each time she shifted.

"You're so fucking amazing."

His voice, sinfully thick and deep, echoed off the rock walls, surrounding her. He unfastened her boots, setting them aside before reaching up to pull the thick knit tights down, peeling them off one leg at a time.

His hands moved back to her hips, drawing down the slim straps of elastic that held her knickers up. Lowering them down, he kissed a fiery path along her legs. He lifted each foot, and pulled the sodden scrap of material from her, setting it aside. Strong hands slid up her thighs and cupped her bare ass, lifting her up against the wall. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he said gruffly, kneading her ass.

Sabrina shifted restlessly against her bonds and lifted her legs. The hot pulse of his breath fanned against her most secret place, wicked spikes of need darting through her. She gasped when he leaned forward, his tongue gliding through the slick folds, brushing against the tight bud of her clitoris. Small, soft whimpers were her only sound as he licked and nibbled, stroked and teased, but never gave her more. She wanted to be filled with him, to feel his hard body moving inside of her, taking her to the brink and over.

Her head thrashed from side to side and wave after wave of heady bliss skyrocketed through her. Vaguely, she heard him speaking, his voice thick and heavy, but too far gone, she only understood one word.
Mine
. The rest got lost in the sensations his lips and hands were creating.

Heat, thick and warm, spread through her, followed by racking shudders when he slipped one thick finger into her tight sheath. Blackness swallowed her as the pleasure spiked again.

Sabrina jerked awake, blinked groggily, and glanced around her. The attendants were moving through the aisles, leaning over and gently shaking those who were still asleep. She could hear the whining change in the noises from outside the aircraft, signaling their imminent landing. Her body ached with painful need as the memories she'd dreamed about floated through her consciousness like wisps of clouds. It still hurt, after all these years and coming back here only brought the pain into sharp relief.

Putting up her seat, she patted aimlessly at her hair, glancing down out of the window at the sprawling metropolis of London. He was out there somewhere, living his life while she couldn't seem to find a way to move on from the past. Taking a deep breath, she faced forward once more, firmly putting Patrick Mason out of her thoughts. She came to do a job and nothing else.

Chapter Three

As usual, getting through Heathrow turned into a mess and by the time she got a cab and found her hotel, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She couldn't do more than crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. The city reminded her of Patrick to the point of pain. Her soul cried out for him like lungs needed air. He completed her, made her more than what she was on her own. Agony lanced through her. She'd never been hurt like he'd hurt her, like her soul had been rent in two, leaving behind a shell of a person who could still function, but never feel to that depth again. Rain lashed the windows of her room and it brought on yet another round of painful memories, thrusting her directly into the midst of another rainy night…

The rain came down in torrents and she could barely see anything out of the car's windows as they drove along the streets in the Knightsbridge neighborhood where Patrick had bought a flat. She glanced down at her phone, wondering for the millionth time if she shouldn't just call him and let him know she'd come instead of showing up on his doorstep to surprise him. Her stomach clenched tightly with nerves. No, she wanted to surprise him and she'd stick with the plan.

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a tall building and she put out her hand to break her forward momentum. Digging into her small bag, she pulled out enough money to cover the fare plus a tip and resolutely opened the door, only to have it nearly take her foot off when the wind pushed it closed once more. Determined, she shoved it open again, darting out of the cab and towards the building looming over her in the gloom. By the time she made it to the small overhang, she ended up soaked through and shivering. Pressing the lobby button on the directory, she hopped from foot to foot anxiously. Finally, the door buzzed open and she slipped inside, wringing out her long hair with one hand.

The desk clerk stared at her like she had two heads but she resolutely walked up to the mahogany desk and smiled. "Sabrina Grady to see Patrick Mason."

The clerk stared at her haughtily. "And is Mr Mason expecting you?"

Sabrina's smile tightened. She looked a mess, but dammit, it poured buckets outside!

"No," she said in a falsely sweet tone, "but I should be on his approved visitor list."

"One moment." Turning around, he pulled a thick, leather bound book out of a cubby and began flipping pages.

Finally, he glanced back up at her. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," she said tightly, spinning on her heel and marching over to the bank of elevators, pushing the up button.

Her shirt stuck uncomfortably to her wet skin and she peeled it away with distaste—of all the nights to forget an umbrella. The door in front of her dinged and slowly slid open. Stepping into the car, she selected the button for the penthouse and leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply to quell her nerves. Butterflies danced in her stomach and she couldn't stop fidgeting, tapping her fingers against the sodden leg of her jeans. It'd been nearly a month since she'd seen him last, on Samhain eve at the cave party. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered just exactly what they'd done in the caves.

The elevator rose smoothly and she stared at her reflection in the shiny silvered doors. Her hair looked like a bedraggled mess, her makeup smeared halfway down her face. Digging into her purse, she pulled out a tissue and wiped most of it away. She couldn't do a thing about her clothes though. Hopefully Patrick had a dryer in his flat. Tucking the used tissue into her pocket, she straightened the edge of her shirt and folded her hands together, fingers twisting nervously.

With a soft ding, the doors slid open and she stepped out into an opulent hallway, with crown molding and highly decorated panels lining the wall beneath a thick chair rail. Her feet sank into plush carpeting, muffling her footsteps completely. A beautiful design, deep crimson and other jewel tones, in a deceptively simple paisley pattern. It looked and felt expensive, as did everything else about this place. She stood out like a sore thumb in her jeans, plain button-down shirt and worn trainers. Walking down the hall, she stopped in front of the door that matched up with the number Patrick had given her the last time they'd spoken. Raising her hand, she pressed the buzzer.

Long moments later, she heard the sound of footsteps and then Patrick's laughter behind the door. Brushing her hands over her hair one more time, she plastered on a smile even though her heart pounded a million miles a minute.

The door swung open and there he stood, looking at her blankly for a moment before stepping forward and enfolding her in a hug. "Brina? Sweets, you're soaked!"

"Surprise," she said softly, snuggling against the warm breadth of his sweatshirt covered chest.

He held her close and then pulled away, shaking his head. "Sweets, why didn't you call? You know I'd have sent a car for you." He stepped back and led her further into the flat, closing the door gently behind her.

"I wanted to surprise you," she said, half turning to look at him. "You told me you bought the flat and wanted me to see it, so here I am."

He slid his arm around her waist and hugged her again lightly, grimacing as the wetness of her clothing soaked into his sweatshirt. "I'm glad you're here but we've got to get you out of those wet clothes. Did you bring a bag?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that," she said, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "And all I've got is a change of underthings; I wasn't expecting it to rain."

Patrick groaned softly, threading their fingers together. "Brina, you have no idea how badly I want to make that happen, but…" He trailed off as he led her further down the short hallway.

It spilled out into the massive living room and she stopped short to find it filled with people, every single one of them halting what they were doing to stare directly at her. A tall blonde in the corner actually giggled, quickly hiding the sound behind her hand.

He turned to face her. "Why don't you go in the bedroom and dry off? I'll toss your clothes in the dryer while you get in the shower."

She frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the group of people and then back to him. "Won't that seem kind of rude? You're obviously having a party; I can just go and come back tomorrow."

He slid his arms around her waist. "Brina, I want you to meet my mates and I want to spend time with you, so go get your arse in the shower and I'll have dry clothes for you in a few minutes, okay?"

She smiled, even though her heart pounded in her chest and she didn't want to be here with all of these beautiful women and hulky men sitting around talking like they didn't have a care in the world. She felt gauche, like an interloper in a part of his world she knew nothing about.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Extra towels are in the closet in the loo, toss out your wet stuff and I'll get it into the dryer."

Sabrina nodded and pulled free from his embrace, walking into the bedroom and then the attached bathroom, unfastening her clothes as she went. Stepping into the massive bathroom, she hurriedly undressed, piling everything together before grabbing one of the large towels on the rack next to her and slipping it around her nakedness. Pulling open the door, she found Patrick standing on the other side.

He gazed hungrily, winking at her when he grabbed the clothes. "Damn I picked a shitty night for a party," he said lowly. "I'll leave your clothes on the bed, sweets when they're done or you can just borrow one of my shirts if you'd rather."

"Okay," she said softly, still completely out of sorts.

Patrick leaned in and pulled the door closed, leaving her to her own devices once more. She turned around and let her gaze wander over the room. The shower stall was huge and encased in glass. Sitting next to it was a large, deep tub that looked big enough for two people. Walking to the shower, she carefully hung the towel she was wearing up on the outside and stepped into the enclosure. His shampoo and shower gels were lined up neatly in the holder hanging from the shower head and she reached for the body wash, opening it and inhaling deeply, a smile teasing at her lips. It smelled good, but in no way as good as when it mixed with whatever made Patrick smell like Patrick.

Still, she got a funny little twinge in her belly as the deeply masculine scent filled the stall. Spinning the dial, she let out a squawk when water hit her from all around. She stood in the midst of it and let it wash over her, warming her slowly from the outside in. Reaching for his shampoo, she washed her hair quickly, leaning back into the main showerhead to let the soap rinse out. Conditioner and a tiny dab of his body wash and she was finished. Stepping out of the enclosure after turning off the jets, she grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her body. She didn't see her clothes on the counter in the bathroom, so she stepped out into the bedroom. Her clothes were on the bed, near the end in an untidy heap. Walking over to them, she felt them. They were slightly wrinkled, but blessedly warm and she dressed quickly, slinging the towel up around her wet hair. Walking back into the bathroom, she looked for the blow dryer, finally crouching down to see if it was under the sink. Buried amidst boxes of condoms and other assorted male products, she found a tiny blow dryer. As she was pulling it out, the cord caught on one of the condom boxes, spilling it out onto the floor.