The wrenching ache for the solace of his body threatened to wring a sob from me and I shuddered, turning my face so he couldn't read me. If he'd been a normal man, that would have worked. But when you're standing less than two feet from an empath with all your emotional defenses down, turning your head does not provide much cover. Not much at all. "I can come in," his beautiful English voice was just over my shoulder, close enough to touch. "It's not fair that you can do that, you know." "It's not fair I can come inside?" "No…" I glanced back at him, praying my face was reasonably neutral. "It's not fair you can read me like that." "Ah." He smiled, reaching out to take the keys from my hand. "Well, a man has to have some advantage in this world, doesn't he?" He slipped the key in the lock, turning it slowly and pushing open the door. He held it open for me, waiting for me to enter before him. "Some advantage, yes. That particular one? I don't know." I walked into my living room, suddenly calm. He followed me in, slipping my keys onto the nail by the door before shutting and locking the door behind him. Apparently, he was staying for the night. Patrick reached for my sweater, helping me out of it easily. "I happen to like that particular advantage. It's possibly the only part of my life that doesn't at least occassionally feel like a curse." I watched him move to the coat rack, hanging first my sweater, then his jacket. Solace. Yes, and comfort. Those he could give me, seemed quite ready and willing to provide. But I didn't want him to misunderstand. I didn't want him to think this meant more than it did. "Patrick, I . . ." "Shhh." He took the step to close the distance between us, laying one finger gently across my lips. "Empath, remember? You don't have to explain." I looked up at him, illuminated by the dim light of a single table lamp, and nodded. "I know, but I want to. I…I need to, even if you don't need to hear it." He simply stood there in front of me and took one hand in his. Slowly, he lifted it to his lips and kissed my palm lightly. "I'll listen to anything you need to tell me." In that moment, when his lips touched my skin, I knew he would. I knew he would listen to everything I had to say or yell or rant or whisper. He'd listen to it all and keep it secret for me. Standing in front of me was a true refuge, a place I could be vulnerable without fear. And suddenly I was very afraid. I'd wanted to tell him I only needed comfort, just a way to rise above the pain that was threatening to drown me. I'd never find a way to solve this riddle, I'd never have the strength or the focus to do what I needed to – whatever that turned out to be – to pull my people out of harm's way if I didn't find a way to channel this sorrow. I'd wanted to ask a friend to help me out, to help me get through this and still be my friend when it was over. But it could be so much more with Patrick. It could go so much deeper than friendship or comfort or hell, even the occassional good fuck. No, this…this could definitely be more. Hence, the fear. I'd had more once or at least I thought I'd had. I'd thought Collin would be my safe place, but he'd turned my vulnerablities against me. He'd called me a slut when my sex drive overpowered his. He'd called me a heathen – which was true, but he hadn't meant it in a good way. He'd meant to hurt me with it, hurt me like my mother had all those years ago when she'd said I was just like my father. He'd wanted me to be a good girl, settle down and have 2.5 kids and the picket fence and that just wasn't me. Seeing the possibilities in Patrick's sea-green eyes made my heart speed up. Speed up until I thought it was going to burst through my chest and I would die, but at least if I were dead I wouldn't feel this trapped, this scared. He frowned, looking down at me. Empath. Dammit. He'd caught it all, caught the fear and panic, even if he didn't know why. Or maybe he did. I wasn't certain how powerful he was, maybe he could read memories too. "Zera…" He started, then stopped, choosing instead to lean down and kiss me. He was quick about it, or I'd have pulled away. As soon as his lips touched mine, the panic subsided. The choking tightness in my chest began to relax. He was just Patrick. He wasn't Collin reborn. Just Patrick. I sighed against his lips, reaching a hand up to grapple with his shirt. The fabric was rough under my hand, but I didn't mind. Just Patrick. Yes, that's all. And what was so wrong with that? Suddenly, I couldn't remember why I was so afraid. He was just Patrick, after all. Patrick pulled back, looking down at me carefully. His lips were soft and just the tiniest bit puffy. The kiss had been almost chaste, just lips pressed to lips, warm and sweet. Reassuring, not pressuring. Just Patrick, not my nightmares. "Zera, I won't hurt you. I need you to believe me." I looked up to him and whatever he saw in my eyes must have reassured him. The wrinkle in his brow relaxed and he loosened his grip on me, although he kept me close enough to draw the warmth from his body. "I don't know why you were so afraid," he said, letting one hand start moving in slow circles on my back. Part of me didn't believe that. Part of me was certain he knew exactly why I was afraid. "But I promise you, I won't ever ask you for more than you can give me. I won't ever ask you to be someone you're not. I just want to help you, I swear." Something teased at the back of my brain. I had the sneaking suspicion that help was his second-choice word. It was true enough, but it wasn't the entire truth. Did I want to press him for it tonight? No, I decided, I did not. Patrick had his secrets and I had mine. It was an equal playing field, so how could I complain? "I…Patrick, I don't want you to think I'm using you." He quirked a brow. "And how do you know I'm not using you?" I smirked at that. "You're not." I was certain he wasn't. Sure, he was a guy. And I knew very few guys to turn down sex when it's offered to them. But he wasn't lying to me, he wasn't pretending to be in love with me. He was just being Patrick. That faint corner of my mind noticed I'd thought the words Just Patrick a few hundred times in the last three minutes. Can empaths project thoughts? I made a note to ask him later. I smiled at him, running a hand across his jaw. "Come upstairs with me?" He smiled back, leaning over to nip at the tip of my nose. "Yes, please." I laughed at that, taking him by the hand and turning to walk through the darkened house to the stairwell which lead to my bedroom. We stood by the side of my bed, enfolded in each other's arms, for long moments. I didn't want to rush this, not when what I neededwas to remind myself how to feel alive. He seemed to understand, moving his hands slowly down my shirt as he kissed me again. This time it wasn't so chaste, but it was still undemanding. His tongue teased my lips as his fingers slide under the bottom of my shirt, skirting the flesh of my belly. I shiver at his touch, tiny trendils of warmth shooting up and down my spine. He had soft hands. Soft and large and gentle against my skin. As his tongue worked its way into my mouth, his hands moved up my body to trace the bottom edge of my bra. "Mmm…this feels like silk," Patrick murmured against me. I nodded, letting my hands move across his body. I tugged at his shirt, dislodging it from his waistband. The fabric bunched against his back as my hands dove underneath, flattening against the plane of his back. Goddess, but he felt so warm and solid. Just that touch, just that simple touch of hands to back and I could feel warmth starting to pool in my belly. Patrick shivered against me, his soft, probing kiss faltering for a moment. Then he recovered, kissing me again, deeper and sweeter than before. Time, I wanted to take my time, I told myself. I can't let this get out of control, not yet. So, I moved my hands around his waist and up his chest, marveling at the feel of him. His chest felt smooth, nearly hairless and I sighed. I was particularly fond of smooth-chested men. My own skin was so sensitive, an overly hairy man was painful against my bare flesh. I found a nipple and paused, pulling away to look at him. He looked down at me, lips dewy and swollen. "Yes?" I smiled, then tweaked the little hoop that pierced his nipple. "You just didn't seem the type." Patrick groaned, pulling me hard against him. "Oh, you've no idea, love. None at all." He kissed me, deeply and fiercely this time, then pulled away with an impish look in his eye. "Do it again, please." I laughed and tweaked him again, then got an idea. "Hold on…" I removed my hand from his nipple, shhhing the little groan of protest from him. I had his shirt unbuttoned in about ten seconds and about three seconds after that I had my mouth attached to his nipple. Patrick shuddered, tugging me tighter against him, one hand going down to clench around my bottom. "Oh, gods…." I laughed against him, licking at his nipple, rolling the ring around on my tongue and then tugging at it until it was taunt.