A minute later, Bran asked Raven to dance— shocker. Rowan smiled anI told you soto Raven, who only smiled and shrugged. As they were about to walk away, Raven turned and asked, “Would you all dance with us this first time? I don’t want to feel like a Baby On Board display. You two will distract everyone with your bodies,” Raven nervously laughed, which meant she really did want them, butcome on! Torture.
Lord, have mercy. Rowan looked like a deer in headlights, so River went with her earlier plan. “Row and I were about to go to the bar. Go on, you’re the most beautiful woman in the room. Plus, you wouldn’t even know we were there. You’ll be staring at Bran, and you know it.” Grabbing at Row’s hand, they were about to escape when Patrick decided to insert himself into the conversation.
“I’d like to dance, River.” With a strained smile, he grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward his brother. As she was being unceremoniously tugged in Patrick’s wake, she heard Rowan telling Hugh, “Okay.” He must have asked her to dance.
Fine, she’d do one dance. Patrick looked ready to endure it, so she would too. Then, plan B. B stood for bar.
Where was their easy camaraderie? Why was he being weird? To her? As ifshehad done something wrong— like almost kissinghimtwo months ago. No, that wasallon him. If he felt some kinda way about it, she didn’t care. That was a Patrick problem. Getting annoyed now, she pulled her hand from his. He looked sharply at her, a brow arching in question.
“I don’t know why you’re being such a shit to me, Pat, but I haven’t done anything to deserve your coldness.” He seemed shocked, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly.
“I... damn... I have been a dick.” He looked chagrined and a little lost.
Join the club, O’Faolain.
They stood staring at each other for another minute. She was not going to break the silence. He could explain, or she’d walk away and be a party-of-one at the bar.
“Jesus, Riv. I’m sorry. I have been a moody bastard. Please dance with me. Let me prove to you that I can be something besides an asshole.”
River knew she would follow him. She would follow him anywhere.
She was weak, damn it!
He didn’t say one word about Dublin, which shouldn’t surprise her. He’d remained mute since that night.
He regretted the emotional display.
He regretted showing her anything other than friendship.
She hadn’t imagined that moment but... had she?
River swallowed. Knowing the only way forward, for the whole family, was to pretend a nonchalance that was absolute shite, as Nan would say.
She forced a smile. Happy. Happy. Happy.
“Apology accepted. Let’s go dance with our family,” she half laughed. Looking around his tall frame, she could see Raven and Rowan standing near the dance floor, watching them with concerned expressions. River cringed at the barrage of questions sure to come her way later.
Patrick slung averycasual arm around her shoulders and moved them toward the others. Damn, she’d really thought tonight was her night to get her O’Faolain shit done and dusted. Now she had to endure having the muscular arms of her obsession touching her body for, please God, under four minutes.
Picturing a double shot of Jameson Black Barrel, she walked confidently onto the floor. She would make this dance her bitch. She would overcome her feelings. And then— the band did a Camylio cover forStrangers.FML. The irony of it all. Theydidmake better strangers. If she’d never met Patrick O’Faolain, River wouldn’t compare every man to him.
Patrick may not want her romantically, but River truly believed he was the only man with the capability to see... her. He listened. Her words mattered— to him —or they used to. Every thought, every dream, always came back to Patrick.
No one would ever,couldever, compare to the youngest O’Faolain.
2
River was in his arms. Patrick could have groaned at how good it felt. She wasn’t meant for him, but she felt so right. He had to remember that he wasn’t a one-woman man. He wasn’t a man who thought past pleasure. He chose women who wanted the same things from him. Nothing more than a night.
Why, then, was the one woman he could never ruin, never hurt, never let down, in his arms? Why was his left hand splayed against her lower back— her very naked lower back? He had noticed several men looking at her. Speculating if she was there with someone. Patrick had never been much of a rager, but his emotions were on edge.
Two months ago, he’d made a mistake. He’d asked River if she was dating. She hadn’t been, which was a relief. Selfish? Absolutely. But then, she confided that she planned to accept some offers. Fuck. That. He’d seen red.
He wanted to find out every name and ruin them. River was his. But she wasn’t. She was his best friend, but she was a best friend that he regularly jacked off to at night... anytime, really. He pictured River in his bed. River naked in his shower. River smiling. River against a wall, bent over a couch, in the dining room, the kitchen, the elevators... She was everywhere.
Mentally unstable, thy name is Patrick Brandon O’Faolain.
As they moved across the dance floor, River seemed to be avoiding looking at him. She was smiling at everyone else. He had really hurt her feelings, and she was pretending it didn’t matter. That it didn’t bother her. That her feelings weren’t important. Thatshedidn’t matter— to him.
