With a sharp click, he turned the key. Hand poised on the handle, he arched his eyebrows as if to say May I?

  I swallowed, burying a surge of mutual fascination and disquiet. "Go ahead. You're not going to walk in on anyone. I'm home alone."

  "The whole night?"

  Immediately, I realized it might not have been the smartest thing to say. "Dorothea will be coming soon." That was a lie. Dorothea was long gone. It was close to midnight.

  "Dorothea?"

  "Our housekeeper. She's old-but strong. Very strong." I tried to squeeze past him. Unsuccessfully.

  "Sounds frightening," he said, retrieving the key from the lock. He held it out for me.

  "She can clean a toilet inside and out in under a minute. More like terrifying." Taking the key, I edged around him. I fully intended to shut the door between us, but as I turned about, Patch filled the doorway, his arms braced on either side of the frame.

  "You're not going to invite me in?" he asked.

  I blinked. Invite him in? To my house? With no one else home?

  Patch said, "It's late." His eyes followed mine closely, reflecting a wayward glint. "You must be hungry."

  "No. Yes. I mean, yes, bat-"

  Suddenly he was inside.

  I took three steps back; he nudged the door closed with his foot. "You like Mexican?" he asked.

  «I-» I'd like to know what you're doing inside my house!

  "Tacos?"

  "Tacos?" I echoed.

  This seemed to amuse him. "Tomatoes, lettuce, cheese."

  'I know what a taco is!"

  Before I could stop him, he strode past me into the house. At the end of the hall, he steered left. To the kitchen.

  He went to the sink and ran the tap while scrubbing soap halfway up his arms. Apparently having made himself at home, he went to the pantry first, then browsed the fridge, bringing out items here and there-salsa, cheese, lettuce, a tomato. Then he dug through the drawers and found a knife.

  I suspect I was halfway to panicking at the image of Patch holding a knife when something else caught my eye. I took two steps forward and squinted at my reflection in one of the skillets hanging from the pot rack. My hair! It looked like a giant tumbleweed had rolled on top of my head. I clapped a hand to my mouth.

  Patch smiled. "You come by your red hair naturally?"

  I stared at him. "I don't have red hair."

  "I hate to break it to you, but it's red. I could light it on fire and it wouldn't turn any redder."

  "It's brown." So maybe I had the teeniest, tiniest, most infinitesimal amount of auburn in my hair. I was still a brunette. "It's the lighting," I said.

  "Yeah, maybe it's the lightbulbs." His smile brought up both sides of his mouth, and a dimple surfaced.

  "I'll be right back," I said, hurrying out of the kitchen.

  I went upstairs and coaxed my hair into a ponytail. With that out of the way, I pulled my thoughts together. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of Patch roaming freely through my house- armed with a knife. And my mom would kill me if she found out I'd invited Patch inside when Dorothea wasn't here.

  "Can I take a rain check?" I asked upon finding him still hard at work in the kitchen two minutes later. I placed a hand on my stomach, signaling that it was bothering me. "Queasy," I said. "I think it was the ride home."

  He paused in his chopping and looked up. "I'm almost finished."

  I noticed he'd exchanged knives for a bigger-and sharper- blade.

  As if he had a window to my thoughts, he held up the knife, examining it. The blade gleamed in the light. My stomach clenched.

  "Put the knife down," I instructed quietly.

  Patch looked from me to the knife and back again. After a minute he laid it down in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Nora."

  "That's… reassuring," I managed to say, but my throat was tight and dry.

  He spun the knife, handle pointing toward me. "Come here. I'll teach you how to make tacos."

  I didn't move. There was a glint to his eye that made me think I should be frightened of him… and I was. But that fright was equal part allure. There was something extremely unsettling about being near him. In his presence, I didn't trust myself.

  "How about a… deal?" His face was bent down, shadowed, and he looked up at me through his lashes. The effect was an impression of trustworthiness. "Help me make tacos, and I'll answer a few of your questions."

  "My questions?"

  "I think you know what I mean."

  I knew exactly what he meant. He was giving me a glimpse into his private world. A world where he could speak to my mind. Again he knew exactly what to say, at exactly the right moment.

  Without a word, I moved beside him. He slid the cutting board in front of me.

  "First," he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, "choose your tomato." He dipped his head so his mouth was at my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin. "Good. Now pick up the knife."

  "Does the chef always stand this close?" I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me.

  "When he's revealing culinary secrets, yes. Hold the knife like you mean it."

  "Good." Stepping back, he gave me a thorough twice-over, seemingly scrutinizing any imperfections-his eyes shifted up and down, here and there. For one unnerving moment, I thought I saw a secret smile of approval. "Cooking isn't taught," Patch said. "It's inherent. Either you've got it or you don't. Like chemistry. You think you're ready for chemistry?"

  I pressed the knife down through the tomato; it split in two, each half rocking gently on the cutting board. "You tell me. Am I ready for chemistry?"

  Patch made a deep sound I couldn't decipher and grinned.

  After dinner Patch carried our plates to the sink. "I'll wash, you dry." Hunting through the drawers to the side of the sink, he found a dish towel and slung it playfully at me.

  "I'm ready to ask you those questions," I said. "Starting with that night at the library. Did you follow me…"

  I trailed off. Patch leaned lazily against the counter. Dark hair flipped out from under his ball cap. A smile tugged at his mouth. My thoughts dissolved and just like that, a new thought broke the surface of my mind.

  I wanted to kiss him. Right now.

  Patch arched his eyebrows. "What?"

  "Uh-nothing. Nothing at all. You wash, I'll dry."

  It didn't take long to finish the dishes, and when we had, we found ourselves cramped in the space near the sink. Patch moved to take the dish towel from me, and our bodies touched. Neither of us moved, holding to the fragile link that welded us together.

  I stepped back first.

  "Scared?" he murmured.

  "No."

  "Liar."

  My pulse edged up a degree. "I'm not scared of you."

  "No?"

  I spoke without thinking. "Maybe it's just that I'm scared of-" I cursed myself for even beginning the sentence. What was I supposed to say now? I was not about to admit to Patch that everything about him frightened me. It would be giving him permission to provoke me further. "Maybe it's just that I'm scared of… of-"

  "Liking me?"

  Relieved that I didn't have to finish my own sentence, I automatically answered, "Yes." I realized too late what I'd confessed. "I mean, no Definitely no. That is not what I was trying to say!"

  Patch laughed softly.

  "The truth is, part of me is definitely not comfortable around you," I said.

  'But?!

  I gripped the counter behind me for support. "But at the same time I feel a scar) attraction to you."

  Patch grinned.

  "You are way too cocky," I said, using my hand to push him back a step.

  He trapped my hand against his chest and yanked my sleeve down past my wrist, covering my hand with it. Just as quickly, he did the same thing with the other sleeve. He held my shirt by the cuffs, my hands captured. My mouth opened in protest.

  Reeling me closer, he didn't stop until I was directly in front of him. Suddenly he lifted me onto the counter. My face was level with his. He fixed me with a dark, inviting smile. And that's when I realized this moment had been dancing around the edge of my fantasies for several days now.

  "Take off your hat," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

  He slid it around, the brim facing backward.

  I scooted to the edge of the counter, my legs dangling one on either side of him. Something inside of me was telling me to stop-but I swept that voice to the far back of my mind.

  He spread his hands on the counter, just outside my hips. Tilting his head to one side, he moved closer. His scent, which was all damp dark earth, overwhelmed me.

  I inhaled two sharp breaths. No. This wasn't right. Not this, not with Patch. He was frightening. In a good way, yes. But also in a bad way. A very bad way.

  "You should go," I breathed. "You should definitely go."

  "Go here?" His mouth was on my shoulder. "Or here?" It moved up my neck.

  My brain couldn't process one logical thought. Patch's mouth was roaming north, up over my jaw, gently sucking at my skin…

  "My legs are falling asleep," I blurted. It wasn't a total lie. I was experiencing tingling sensations all through my body, legs included.

  "I could solve that." Patch's hands closed on my hips.

  Suddenly my cell phone rang. I jumped at the sound of it and fumbled it out of my pocket.

  "Hi, sweetheart," my mom said cheerfully.

  "Can I call you back?"

  "Sure. What's going on?"

  I shut the phone. "You need to leave," I told Patch. "Right now."

  He'd slid his baseball cap back around. His mouth was the only feature I could see beneath it, and it curved in a mischievous smile. "You're not wearing makeup."

  "I must have forgotten it."

  "Sweet dreams tonight."

  "Sure. No problem." What had he said?

  "About that party tomorrow night…"

  "I'll think about it," I managed to say.

  Patch tucked a piece of paper inside my pocket, his touch sending hot sensations down my legs. "Here's the address. I'll be looking for you. Come alone."

  A moment later I heard the front door close behind him. A fiery blush worked its way up my face. Too close, I thought. There was nothing wrong with fire… as long as you didn't stand too close. Something to keep in mind.

  I leaned back against the cabinets, taking short, shallow breaths.

  Chapter 10

  I was yanked awake by the sound of my phone ringing. Caught with one foot still in a dream, I rugged my pillow over my head and tried to block out the noise. But the phone rang. And rang.

  The call went to voice mail. Five seconds later, the ringing started up again.

  I reached an arm over the side of the bed, groped around until I found my jeans, and wiggled my cell out of the pocket.

  "Yes?" I said with a wide yawn, leaving my eyes shut.

  Someone was breathing angrily on the other end. "What happened to you? What happened to bringing back cotton candy? And while you're at it, how about telling me where you are so I can come strangle you-barehanded!"

  I knocked the heel of my hand against my forehead a few times.

  "I thought you'd been kidnapped!" Vee went on. "I thought you'd been abducted! I thought you were murdered!"

  I tried to find the clock in the dark. I bumped a picture frame on the nightstand, and all the frames behind it played dominoes.

  "I was sort of delayed," I said. "By the time I made it back to the arcade, you were gone."

  "Delayed'? What kind of excuse is delayed?"

  The red numbers on the clock swam into focus. It was just after two in the morning.

  "I drove around the parking lot for an hour," Vee said. "Elliot walked the park flashing the only photo I had of you on my cell phone. I tried your cell a zillion times. Hang on. Are you at home? How did you get home?"

  I rubbed the corners of my eyes. "Patch."

  "Stalker Patch?"

  "Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" I said tersely. "You left without me."

  "You sound worked up. Really worked up. No, that's not it. You sound agitated… flustered… aroused." I could feel her eyes widen. "He kissed you, didn't he?"

  No answer.

  "He did! I knew it! I've seen the way he looks at you. I knew this was coming. I saw it from a mile away."

  I didn't want to think about it.

  "What was it like?" Vee pressed. "A peach kiss? A plum kiss? Or maybe an al-fal-fa kiss?"

  "What?"

  "Was it a peck, did mouths part, or was there tongue? Never mind. You don't have to answer that. Patch isn't the kind of guy to deal with preliminaries. There was tongue involved. Guaranteed."

  I covered my face with my hands, hiding behind them. Patch probably thought I didn't have any self-control. I'd fallen apart in his arms. I'd melted like butter. Right before I told him he should go, I was pretty sure I'd made a sound that was a cross between a sigh of sheer bliss and a moan of ecstasy.

  That would explain his arrogant grin.

  "Can we talk about this later?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  "No way."

  I sighed. "I'm dead tired."

  "I can't believe you're thinking about keeping me in suspense."

  "I'm hoping you'll forget about it."

  "Fat chance."

  I tried to envision the muscles along my neck relaxing, forestalling the headache I felt creeping on. "Are we still on for shopping?"

  "I'll pick you up at four."

  "I thought we weren't meeting until five."

  "Circumstances have changed. I'll be there even earlier if I can get out of family time. My mom's having a nervous breakdown. She blames my bad grades on her parenting skills. Apparently spending time together is the solution. Wish me luck."

  I snapped my phone shut and slid deep into my bed. I pictured Patch's unprincipled grin and his glittering black eyes. After thrashing around in bed for several minutes, I gave up trying to get comfortable. The truth was, as long as Patch was on my mind, comfort was out of the question.

  When I was little, Dorothea's godson Lionel shattered one of the kitchen glasses. He swept up all the shards of glass except one, and he dared me to lick it. I imagined falling for Patch was a little like licking that shard. I knew it was stupid. I knew I'd get cut. After all these years one thing hadn't changed: I was still lured by danger.

  Suddenly I sat up straight in bed and reached for my cell. I switched on the lamp.

  The battery showed fully charged.

  My spine tingled ominously. My cell was supposed to be dead. So how had my mom and Vee gotten through?

  Rain battered the colorful awnings of the shops along the pier and spilled to the sidewalk below. The antique gas lamps that were staggered down both sides of the street glowed to life. With our umbrellas bumping together, Vee and I hustled down the sidewalk and under the pink-and-white-striped awning of Victoria's Secret. We shook out our umbrellas in unison and propped them just outside the entrance.

  A boom of thunder sent us flying through the doors.

  I stamped rain from my shoes and shuddered off the cold. Several oil diffusers burned on a display at the center of the store, surrounding us with an exotic, lusty smell.

  A woman in black slacks and a stretchy black tee stepped forward. She had a measuring tape snaked around her neck, and she started to reach for it. "Would you girls like a free measuring-"

  "Put the damn measuring tape away," Vee ordered. "I already know my size. I don't need reminding."

  I gave the woman a smile that was part apology as I trailed after Vee, who was heading toward the clearance bins at the back.

  "A D cup is nothing to be ashamed of," I told Vee. I picked up a blue satin bra and hunted for the price tag.

  "Who said anything about being ashamed?" Vee said. "I'm not ashamed. Why would I be ashamed? The only other sixteen-year-olds with boobs as big as mine are suffused with silicone-and everyone knows it. Why would / have reason to be ashamed?" She rummaged through a bin. "Think they have any bras in here that can get my babies to lie flat?"

  "They're called sports bras, and they have a nasty side effect called the uniboob," I said, my eyes picking out a lacy black bra from the pile.

  I shouldn't have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing. Like Patch.

  I closed my eyes and replayed our night together. The touch of Patch's hand on my thigh, his lips tasting my neck…

  Vee caught me off guard with a pair of turquoise leopard print undies slung at my chest. "These would look nice on you," she said. "All you need is a booty like mine to fill them."

  What had I been thinking? I'd come this close to kissing Patch. The same Patch who just might be invading my mind. The same Patch who saved me from plunging to my death on the Archangel- because that's what I was sure had happened, although I had zero logical explanations. I wondered if he had somehow suspended time and caught me during the fall. If he was capable of talking to my thoughts, maybe, just maybe, he was capable of other things.

  Or maybe, I thought with a chill, I could no longer trust my mind.

  I still had the scrap of paper Patch had tucked inside my pocket, but there was no way I was going to the party tonight. I secretly enjoyed the attraction between us, but the mystery and eeriness outweighed it. From now on, I was going to flush Patch out of my system-and this time, I meant it. It would be like a cleansing diet. The problem was, the only diet I'd ever been on backfired. Once I tried to go an entire month without chocolate. Not one bite. At the end of two weeks, I broke down and binged on more chocolate than I would have eaten in three months.

  I hoped my chocolate-free diet didn't foreshadow what would happen if I tried to avoid Patch.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, my attention drawn to Vee.

  "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm peeling the clearance price stickers off these clearance bras and sticking them on the not-on-sale bras. That way I can get sexy bras at trashy bra prices."

  "You can't do that. She'll scan the bar codes when you checkout. She'll know what you're up to."