Pat’s intense dark eyes were staring at her from directly over her shoulder. So close. Moonlight made his white hair shine and greyed his features and clothes. He looked like a black-and-white photo.
Stark and stunning.
His left hand hovered behind her neck before landing. His callused thumb, like a hot brand, brushed her nape. River’s breath caught. Her throat dried. Words? None.
Pat, the easy-going, confident, youngest O’Faolain, appeared unsettled, wary, and hesitant. She slowly turned to face him. Pat’s grip on her neck adjusted to the front. His fingers now cradled her jaw and neck in a light grip. She let her back rest against Triskelion’s door, no longer interested in twisting its handle to escape.
Patrick stared at her face and her mouth for what seemed like hours. His thumb slowly brushed her lower lip. In River’s nervousness, she licked her dry lips. Her tongue briefly brushed against his skin.
He groaned.
She panted.
Patrick braced his other hand against the heavy door at her back as his body curled closer to hers. Each breath between them was a puff of white in the cold Dublin air.
Had River misunderstood his feelings? If there was a chance, any chance, she would take it and damn the consequences.
River arched her body off the door, bringing their mouths even closer. She placed her hand against his chest, running her palm up the black wool lapel of his coat until her fingers rested against Patrick’s throat.
“River. Jesus, River,” Patrick rasped, her name sounding like a benediction on his lips.
“Please, Patrick.” Please what? Anything, Lord, but a side hug. Anything.
At River’s words, Pat’s eyes closed. As if not closing the distance between their mouths was unbearable.
Why did he struggle against their attraction? At least River knew the attraction was mutual. This behavior did NOT exist in Platonicville. Not even adjacent.
Oh God, he moved. Each of their inhalations and exhalations were shared. The smallest increment— the eye of a needle—a grain of sand— separated their lips from coming together. Do it. Do it. River wanted to scream, ‘Do IT for fuck’s sake!’
The hand not holding her jaw fisted and slammed the door, rattling the front window, and right before he shoved away from her body, taking every bit of warmth with him, Patrick O’FuckingFaolain whispered against her lips.
“Don’t go on any dates, River.”
River had yet to register his words before Patrick had stormed down the sidewalk. Several minutes passed before River could peel her body from the cold wood at her back wondering what the hell had just happened?
River had to find a better way to guard her heart because her temporary feelings box was shattered— it had exploded the moment his skin touched her own.Don’t go on any dates, River.Did that mean... did he want to say... did he want her to date him? Don’t go on any dates unless they were with him?
As River made her way up the stairs to the flat, her lips tingled and felt full like they’d actually been kissed. If wishes were made flesh...
Christ Almighty! River was NOT supposed to be thinking about any ofthat. She’d decided that tonight would be the night she would stop dwelling on the youngest O’Faolain and enjoy the evening and her family... enjoying her life. His obvious embarrassment and regret over the encounter forced her to reassess how she would proceed. If her eyes snagged overly long on his white head and broad shoulders upon occasion... habits weren’t broken overnight.
If she didn’t get a handle on... this... thing, it might break open the new and improved, well-constructed ‘feelings box’ she’d only finished soldering before walking into the gala— and as welding was only a fictional hobby— she didn’t want to test the seams.
Expectations and hope rarely matched reality.
River was about to discuss Auntie names to distract her thoughts when Raven said, “Oh look, the guys are already headed back our way.” River inwardly groaned but took a deep breath and pasted on a smile.
“The music’s started, Rave. I bet Bran wants to dance with his baby mama,” Rowan said, gently poking Baby O. “It’s kind of weird not having Thomas MacGregor and his Merry Scary Men guarding us, isn’t it?”
“A lot less crowded. That’s for damn sure.” Since the Byrnes and the O’Faolains were all together, Thomas agreed to let them take only one guard to drive them to the gala and stay with the vehicle. Sam Delton, their families’ persistent stalker, and all-around sick fuck, had yet to be found. He may have been quiet, but Delton’s poisonous fog hung over all of them still.
“If Bran wants to dance, I hope the floor isn’t crowded. We need space,” Raven’s eyes sparkled as her hands slid around her belly.
“Lay off the chicken and dumplings, sis,” River teased. All three sisters laughed at that. Raven had barely gained weight. It was all baby.
The three O’Faolains walked up as the sisters were laughing at Raven. Bran didn’t stop until he bent at the waist to hug her sister and kiss her tenderly. It was lovely to see. Hugh stood slightly outside the group, and Pat looked angry about something. Wow, Raven was definitely the only winner in this group tonight.
River elbowed Rowan lightly in the side and whisper-asked if she wanted to go the bar with her once Bran asked Raven to dance. Her answer was two thumbs up.
