Free The Passion of Patrick MacNeill by Virginia Kantra

long fingers reached out and plucked the bear from her grasp. "Thank you," he said, so gravely she wondered if he mocked her. "It was thoughtful."
    Dismissed. She watched as he tapped on the paneled door and went in. "Hey, Jack-o, missing somebody?"
    "MacCool!"
    The boy's happiness reached all the way into the hall. Smiling, Kate leaned against the wall. She should go downstairs, she thought, listening to Jack's muffled explanations and his father's soft, rumbling reply. She would go downstairs, in just a minute.
    She stayed where she was, heart heating high and fast.
    Patrick backed out of the open doorway, shoulders blocking the faint glow of the boy's night-light. "‘Night, now, buddy."
    "‘Night, Daddy. Tell Dr. Kate thank you."
    "I will. Sleep tight."
    He pulled the door shut, the click of the lock unnaturally loud in the stillness of the hall, and turned.
    "You're still here."
    Kate felt a flare in her stomach that wasn't indigestion and swallowed her excitement. "Looks like it."
    "Missing somebody?" he taunted gently.
    She didn't answer. He rested one hand on the wall above her, close enough for her to feel the warmth emanating from his body, close enough for his breath to touch her face. She saw his eyes, with their thick, short lashes, his pupils nearly swallowing the blazing blue. Her stomach squeezed into her chest, crowding her lungs. She couldn't breathe. She felt the warmth of his arm, close by her head. She heard her blood thundering in her ears, and the rasp of his quickly indrawn breath.
    He kissed her.
    It was over before she could say if she liked it, before she had time to react. He lifted his head, and she felt the absence of his mouth more keenly than she had felt its pressure a moment before.
    "Well?"
    She lifted her chin. She had to, to meet his gaze. "Well, what?"
    His firm, well-shaped lips curved at the corners. "Are you going to object?"
    She dug deep for a cool response, her hands pressed flat to the wall behind her. He was probably the most vital, potent man she'd ever met, and she was merely unattractive Katie Sue Sinclair, too smart for her own good and stupid with men. She couldn't let him see how he got to her, how she was affected by his nearness. He would eat her alive.
    Maybe she wanted him to.
    Greatly daring, she replied, "To what? You didn't give me much to go on."
    The arm above her tensed with surprise. Good, Kate thought, savoring the heady, unfamiliar awareness of feminine power. And then his mouth came down on hers, and her brief satisfaction caught like paper and went up in smoke.
    Hot. His mouth was so incredibly hot and moist. Her own temperature shot up several degrees in response. His teeth nipped at her lower lip. His tongue thrust into her mouth. With hold, lavish strokes, he fed and consumed her. Thought fled, and the darkness behind her closed lids was streaked with fire.
    "I can give you more," he promised.
    Muscled and heavy and hot, he pressed all along the front of her, crushing her against the smooth, cool wall at her back. The contrast made her toes curl. Her hands abandoned the painted plaster for the hard curve of his shoulders.
    He made an encouraging sound deep in his throat, tangling his fingers in her hair, angling her head to take more of him. She wanted more. She wanted everything. Blanketed by sensation, covered by his body, she ignited. Her hands flashed over him, the long muscles of his back, the taut, high buttocks.
    Greedy, grasping, as if she could gather him up and into her. It wasn't enough.
    He widened his stance, letting her feel the ridge of his desire. Oh, glory. She was not a passionate woman. She wasn't. But as his rough hand glided up from her waist to cover her breast, she shuddered at the intimacy, arching her back to push her aching nipple into his palm.
    He tore his mouth away and leaned his forehead against hers. His was damp with sweat. Maybe hers was, too. Dropping her head, she nuzzled the strong column of his throat, intoxicated by