Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Ana

I can't sleep.

Not only is it raining, but the whistling wind makes it sound like the entire building is going to come crashing down. Every time a gust of wind makes the windows shake, I curl into a ball under the covers to keep myself from trembling. Have I always been scared of storms?

I also can't stop thinking about Patrick. About the past two weeks. The way he treats me and takes care of me.

Then there's the fact that he's a Daddy. When I first read one of the books where the female character called her boyfriend Daddy, I was put off. I couldn't understand why someone would do that. Especially since I never want a man I date to be anything like my father. Then, as I kept reading, I started to understand my father and a Daddy Dom are two completely different things. My father abused me. A Daddy would take care of me. And treat me well. Like Patrick's been doing since I've been here.

He's dangerous. I know that. But he's not a danger to me, and he never will be.

I want to go crawl into his arms and seek his warmth and comfort. Would he turn me away?

Of course he wouldn't. He's Patrick. I think I love him. How is that even possible?

Rain pounds against the windows, and I can't stand it. I don't care if I have to sleep on his bedroom floor; I don't want to be alone right now.

Throwing the blankets off, I climb out of bed and pad barefoot through the house, my toes sinking into the plush carpeting. Under-cabinet lighting in the kitchen gives plenty of light for me to see where I'm going.

When I get to Patrick's room, I lift my hand to knock but pause before I do. The door is partially open, and there's a lamp on. I peek in but don't see him anywhere in the bedroom.

"Patrick," I call out softly.

Water is running. The bathroom door is wide open and the light ison. I can hear my heartbeat as I step into his room.

His bathroom is only a few feet away, but as I get closer, goosebumps rise over my arms. That's weird.

I turn toward the doorway to look in. As soon as I do, I gasp and grab the frame for balance. Patrick is standing in front of the double vanity with his shirt off. He's washing his hands and arms, and all I can see is a stream of claret-colored water running into the sink.

He turns his head to look at me, calmness in his gaze. Almost a serene look on his face.

"Is that… is that blood?"