Crescendo

He did not just say that.

I thrust a finger at my eye. “Not that bad? See this? She gave it to me! What are you doing here?” I demanded again, my rage boiling to an all-time high.

Patch leaned back against the bureau and folded his arms. “I came by to see how you’re doing.”

“Again, I have a black eye, thanks for asking,” I snapped.

“Need ice?”

“I need you to get out of my dream!” I ripped a second pillow off the bed and heaved it violently at him. This time he caught it.

“The Devil’s Handbag, black eye. Comes with the territory.” He shoved the pillow back at me, as if to punctuate his opinion.

“Are you defending Marcie?”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to. She handled herself. You, on the other hand …”

I pointed at the door. “Out.”

When he didn’t move, I marched within range and whipped the pillow against him. “I said get out of my dream, you lying, traitorous—”

He wrestled the pillow out of my grasp and walked me backward until I came up against the wall, his motorcycle boots flush against my toes. I was drawing breath to finish my sentence and call him the worst name I could think up, when Patch tugged on the waistband of my underpants and pulled me even closer. His eyes were liquid black, his breathing slow and deep. I stood that way, suspended between him and the wall, my pulse stepping up as I became more aware of his body and the masculine scent of leather and mint lingering on his skin. I felt my resistance start to ebb away.

Suddenly, and without heeding anything but my own desire, I curled my fingers into his shirt and pulled him the rest of the way against me. It felt so good to have him close again. I’d missed him so much, but I hadn’t realized just how much until this moment.

“Don’t make me regret this,” I said, breathless.

“You haven’t regretted me once.” He kissed me, and I answered so hungrily I thought my lips would bruise. I pushed my fingers up through his hair, clutching him closer. My mouth was all over his, chaotic and wild and starved. All the messy and complicated emotions I’d gone through since we broke up dropped away as I drowned myself in the crazed and compulsive need to be with him.

His hands were under my tank, expertly sliding to the small of my back to hold me against him. I was trapped between the wall and his body, fumbling at the buttons on his shirt, my knuckles brushing solid muscle beneath.

I rucked his shirt down off his shoulders, slamming the door on my brain, which warned that I was making a huge mistake. I didn’t want to hear myself out, afraid of what I’d find on the other side. I knew I was setting myself up for more pain, but I couldn’t resist him. All I could think was that if Patch really was in my dream, this whole night could be our secret. The archangels couldn’t see us. Here, all their rules went up in smoke. We could do whatever we wanted, and they would never find out. No one would.

Patch met me halfway, pulling his arms free from the sleeves and tossing the shirt aside. I slid my hands along perfectly sculpted muscle that sent a ripple of mania through me. I knew he couldn’t feel any of this physically, but I told myself love was driving him now. His love for me. I didn’t allow myself to think about his inability to feel my touch, or how much or little this encounter really meant to him. I simply wanted him. Now.

He lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I saw his gaze cut to the dresser, then the bed, and my heart flip-flopped with desire. Rational thought had abandoned me. All I knew was that I would do whatever it took to hang on to this unhinged high. Everything was happening way too fast, but the wild certainty of where we were headed was a balm to the cold, destructive anger I’d felt simmering under the surface the past week.

It was the last thought I registered before my fingertip brushed the place where his wings connected to his back.

Before I could stop it, I was sucked inside his memory in a snap.

The smell of leather, and the smooth, slippery feel of it against the underside of my thighs, told me I was in Patch’s Jeep even before my eyes had fully adapted to the darkness. I was in the backseat, with Patch behind the wheel and Marcie in the passenger seat. She was wearing the same slinky dress and tall boots I’d seen her in less than three hours ago.

Tonight, then. Patch’s memory had whisked me only a few hours back.

“She ruined my dress,” Marcie said, picking at the fabric clinging to her thighs. “Now I’m freezing. And I reek of cherry Coke.”

“You want my jacket?” Patch asked, eyes on the road.

“Where is it?”

“Backseat.”

Marcie unlocked her seat belt, got a knee up on the console, and grabbed Patch’s leather jacket off the seat beside me. When she was facing forward again, she tugged the dress up over her head and dropped it on the floor at her feet. Other than her underwear, she was completely naked.

I made a little choked sound in my throat.

She threaded her arms into Patch’s jacket and zipped it up. “Take the next left,” she instructed.

“I know the way to your house,” Patch said, steering the Jeep right.

“I don’t want to go home. In two blocks, turn left.”

But after two blocks, Patch continued straight.

“Well, you’re no fun,” Marcie said with a jaded pout. “Aren’t you just a little bit curious where I was going to take us?”

“It’s late.”

“Are you turning me down?” she asked coyly.

“I’m dropping you off, then I’m going back to my place.”

“Why can’t I come?”

“Maybe someday,” Patch said.

Oh, really? I wanted to snap at Patch.

That’s more than I ever got!

“That’s not very specific,” Marcie smirked, kicking her heels up on the dash, showing off inches of leg.

Patch said nothing.

“Tomorrow night, then,” Marcie said. She paused and continued in a velvety voice, “It’s not like you have somewhere else to be. I know Nora broke up with you.”

Patch’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“I heard she’s with Scott Parnell now. You know, the new guy. He’s cute, but she traded down.”

“I don’t really want to talk about Nora.”

“Good, because neither do I. I want to talk about us.”

“I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“The key word in that sentence is had.”

Patch took a short right, bouncing the Jeep into Marcie’s driveway. He didn’t cut the engine. “Good night, Marcie.”

She stayed in her seat a moment, then laughed. “You’re not going to walk me to the door?”

“You’re a strong, capable girl.”

“If my daddy’s watching, he won’t be happy,” she said, reaching over to straighten Patch’s collar, her hand lingering longer than was appropriate.

“He’s not watching.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me.”

Marcie lowered her voice further, sultry and smooth. “You know, I really admire your willpower. You keep me guessing, and I like that. But let me make one thing perfectly clear. I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t like messy, complicated things. I don’t want hurt feelings, confusing signals, or jealousy—I just want fun. I’m looking for a good time. Think about it.”