A Touch of Heaven Read Free Page A

are calm again, but Patrick’s laughing too. We both chortle like loons, because this is all so absurd. I’m debating my moral fiber with a naked man I met about twenty minutes ago, and whose last name I don’t even know. Hell, I’m also beginning to wonder if he’s a squatter. Surely the Johnsons would have mentioned if they were employing somebody to house-sit?
    When we settle down, he’s still holding my hand, still looking into my eyes. His are filled with an expression of wonder. “Your young husband wronged you, and yet inside you feel no true ill will. You still wish the best for him, despite everything.”
    “How the hell do you know these things?” I try to tug my hand away, but he holds on, gentle yet firm. I’m shaking like a leaf, because he is right in a way. I don’t want horrible things to happen to Steve, even now. He did make me happy for a while, and I can’t deny that he tried his best. He just fell into temptation. God, nobody’s perfect.
    Except perhaps…
    “Call it intuition,” murmurs the perfect one softly. There’s a psychic wind blowing again suddenly, but it’s not anger or fear. Instead, it’s something far more primal and pleasurable.
    “So, then, what’s your intuition telling you now?” My heart thuds and my ridiculous hormones cry game on .
    “That you’re nervous and tense and you need to relax.”
    I am those things, but the twinkle in Patrick’s eyes suggests a means to an end.
    My body feels twinkly too. I’m nervous, but in a good way now. I’m a fine one, calling this beautiful man crazy. I’m the crazy one, because something tells me Patrick might be a far greater risk than falling for Steve ever was. “So what do you prescribe for that?”
    “A massage.” He nods sagely then glances around the garden. “But in the shade to protect your lovely fair skin.”
    “Um, yes.” Doubts gather. I don’t know him. He could be an axe murderer, a thief or a sex offender. Should I play safe? “Look…I…I think I’ll go inside, you know… It’s been nice chatting and all that.” I scrabble to my feet, but as I do, another twinge of pain makes me falter. In the blink of an eye, perhaps faster, Patrick’s up and supporting me, his hand beneath my elbow.
    “Don’t go. Please.” His blue eyes implore me. It’s not Steve-style wheedling and pleading. There’s nobility in Patrick’s expression, and a sense of genuine sorrow. It knocks me sideways because it’s intense and unfeigned, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “You’re safe with me, Miranda. I’ll never harm you. I couldn’t.”
    I believe him, and my heart suddenly flies. “Okay then…maybe a massage would be nice. Have you any experience?”
    His smile is sweet and slow. “Yes, indeed. The laying on of hands is one of my specialties.”
    Did he mean that in a naughty way…or was it something else? It’s hard to tell. His eyes are sparkling again. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve a feeling there’s more to it. Something a bit beyond my comprehension. I ought to worry, but I decide I don’t want to at the moment.
    We decamp to a spot beneath the old oak tree, and as Patrick lays out the rug, I look around, pondering. My neighbors aren’t great gardeners, and mowing the lawn a bit is about the extent of their green thumbs. They usually only have a few scrappy flowers and shrubs that don’t do very well, and yet now everything’s suddenly bright and blooming, full of color and fecundity. I glance at Patrick, with his magnificent, smooth young body that has a special bloom all of its own, and I wonder.
    Stop it. You’re going mental, woman. Stop having weird thoughts and just enjoy the moment.
    “You should undress,” he announces calmly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
    I smile nervously, but to my astonishment, my fingers take on a life of their own and follow his suggestion. First goes my wrap, and then, bloody hell, my very modest and quite covered up