Dueling Moons: A Pat Wyatt Novel (The Pat Wyatt Series Book 2) Read Free Page B

waiting, Michael.”
    He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re mad,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just gonna go back into the…” His voice trailed away as he started to move backwards very slowly, which was a big mistake.
    “Freeze,” I ordered, and he did. “Sit!” I pointed to the couch, and like a good dog, he obeyed. He sat there as I walked around the coffee table to stand in front of him.
    “Patricia, I’ m —”
    I held my hand up, and he shut his mouth. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” my voice came out calmer than I felt.
    “I know, and I’ m —” I put my finger over his lips, cutting him off.
    “But I forgive you,” I said, taking my finger away while he looked up at me, stunned. “Don’t think that you’re off the hook with the whole joining the pack thing because you still have to do it.”
    He sighed.
    I went on. “And if it weren’t for the fact that I want to make love to you again, you’d sleep outside tonight.” His eyes sparkled with the prospect of having more sex, and when he started to get up, I pushed him back onto the couch. I let the sheet fall away from my body and pool around my ankles. Then, placing a leg on either side of him, I kissed his lips, running my fingers through his hair. He placed his hands on the small of my back, while I placed mine on the back of the couch.
    We proceeded to make love, and after an hour or two, we lay on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, looking up at the ceiling. Mike’s hands were behind his head, while I rested mine on his stomach, both of us wrapped in the slight warmth of the sheet.
    “Is that a stain?” I asked, squinting up at the ceiling. There seemed to be a large water stain. Then again, what did I expect living on the first floor, Buckingham Palace?
    “Yup,” Mike whispered. “It is.”
    I snuggled closer to him, his warm chest making me sleepy. “Remind me to call the super tomorrow.”
    He laughed. “It is tomorrow.”
    “You know what I mean,” I said, tilting my head so I could see his face, just in time for him to look down at me.
    He nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He paused for a moment, and then smiled. “I love you.” He finally told me.
    “I know,” I replied, smiling up at him, but he frowned.
    He sat up, leaning against the couch, pushing me off him, so my skull hit the floor with a thud. “Why do you always do that?” he huffed.
    “Do what?”
    He folded his arms, letting out a long frustrated sigh. “I’ve said that I love you a million and one times, and you have never, not once, acknowledged it.”
    “I said I know.” And I did. I knew how much he loved me, and I knew that wasn’t what he meant.
    “Pat,” he breathed, “you know what I mean.” He looked sad and insistent.
    I frowned. “Stop with the puppy dog look. You know I can’t say it unless I mean it.”
    He sneered. “So you admit that you don’t love me,” he said loudly, and I knew this could go one of two ways. Neither of which were good.
    “That’s not what I meant,” I huffed, propping myself up on my elbows. “Sometimes you can be such a girl.”
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “I resent that.”
    “You were supposed to,” I mimicked him.
    “I’m serious,” he said lying back down next to me.
    I rolled over onto my side, propping myself up on my arm. “So am I. Samuel did a really good job of making everything complicated, so you just have to bear with me.” I touched his chest, and he placed his hand over mine.
    He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did I ever mention that I hate him?”
    I laughed. He had said that at least five times a day since we had moved here. “Only once or twice,” I joked. But really, this had been the first time that we’d talked about me not saying the words “I love you.” After all, it’s not as if I hadn’t tried. It was just that every time I would start to say it, something would always stop me. I figured it was just