This is exactly why he didn’t screw around with ‘good’ girls— with friends. It was a complication he’d successfully avoided for years. Not difficult, as he hadn’t met River Byrne then. He’d met her now, though, and that had been causing all sorts of problems for months. He needed her smile, her laughter, her raunchy jokes, and her brilliant brain— but he needed the relationship to stay platonic. She wanted him. He most definitely wanted her. It could never happen.
Relationships were folly. Patrick learned that lesson young. If he did do this... thisone thingthat had the potential to hurt his family— hurt River’s family— he would never forgive himself.
But damn, she felt so good in his arms. Her skin was soft. She smelled... edible. He wanted to kiss her. He’d imagined it a hundred— a thousand— times. How it would feel to devour her mouth.
He didn’t like her ignoring him while she was in his arms.
As they made a slow half-turn, Patrick used the hand at River’s back to bring their bodies just that bit closer. Her breasts now grazed his chest— thank Jesus for heels— and her eyes jumped to his, right where they should have been, where he wanted them to stay.
“You look beautiful tonight, River.” He really needed to NOT speak. “Your dress is... stunning.” What should he ask next?What color are your panties, River?Oh God, maybe she wasn’t wearing any. Swallow. Cough. Dry mouth.
River’s tongue briefly flicked her lower lip. Pat barely held in a groan. “Raven and Rowan are wearing the same dress. The only difference is the shades of blue we chose.” Inward cringe. He hadn’t even looked at her sisters’ dresses.
“Oh... right. I see that now.” He saw that he only had eyes for River. Perfect.
Pat made the mistake of glancing below her collarbone. Mistake. He could just make out the slight pucker of her nipples. The same nipples that were occasionally pressed against his chest. Clenching his jaw, he prayed his moan didn’t escape. Praying his sex didn’t express his ‘inner feelings.’
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. That’s it, Patrick, think Mass thoughts. Hell. Damnation. Sinning. No, damn it. Not sinning.
“Pat?”
Hearing River’s voice brought him back. Kind of. Once his eyes were open they fixated on her lips. Her mouth.
He was fucked.
“Patrick! Good Lord, are you falling asleep?” Pat winced. He did keep closing his eyes. To pray, damn it, not sleep.
“Sorry, Riv. I have a headache coming on.” Great. Maybe he should admit to menstrual cramps. Bran was waving them over. Hopefully, his ‘embarrass himself streak’ was over. He gave River a smile, and what do you know, bad decisions were still going strong. Pat placed his hand on the small of River’s back— way too possessive— to lead her from the dance floor to where his family waited with a photographer.
“OHC hired a few photographers to document the fundraiser. I would love it if the six of us could take one together. We’re all dressed up, and Baby O Boy’s looking good too. Would you guys mind?” Raven asked, smiling hopefully. As if any of them would tell someone as sweet as his new sister-in-law, no.
The photographer, who had one helluva crazy long mustache, fiddled with his giant camera for another minute.
“Okay folks, let’s have the ladies in front since they’re just a tiny bit shorter than you gents,” the goof guffawed at his own joke. Patrick barely controlled an eye roll. “You three giants stand behind your lady.”
Stand behind their lady. Panicked now, Pat looked at his father. He looked a second away from implosion.
Mustache wasn’t done with the fun instructions.
“Ah, so you’re the lucky father then,” looking at Bran already standing behind Raven. “Okay, young lady, lean slightly back into your husband. The relaxed pose combined with your evening dress will make for a spectacular picture.”
In the meantime, Pat, his dad, River, and Rowan hadn’t moved a muscle. Like they were AI robots with dead battery packs. And, oh look, people were starting to watch the circus. Better and better.
River unstuck herself somehow, she’s amazing like that, and suggested she and Rowan stand to one side and Pat and his dad on the other. Irritating, but brilliant.
“No, no, no. The height differences will throw everything off.”
Mustache then hung his three-hundred-pound camera around his hairy neck, took Rowan by her arms, and placed her next to Raven’s right. The cameraman then turned to River, moving her to Raven’s left. “Okay, fellas. Same pose as Bran and Raven.”
Patrick was startled when the photographer knew their names. He supposed it was common knowledge. Bran was on the Oklahoma Historical Society board. Pat watched Rowan and his dad stare at each other. Dad looked at Pat before assuming his position behind the youngest Byrne sister, looking as though he’d rather be at the wrong end of a firing squad.
“Let’s get this done, Pat. I have a bar calling my name,” River teased. As usual, she was trying to deflect the tension. Dang. She must have sensed his hesitation. He didn’t want to stand behind her like a... husband. He also didn’t want to feel her body against his— afraid of what he might do when he did.
Mustache began walking backward, giving the ‘lovebirds’ instructions as he went. “Okay, ladies. Lean only slightly back against your men. Bran, perhaps place a hand on your wife’s tummy. You other guys, place a hand on your lady’s hip.”
Going with it now, if for no other reason than to stop the torture, Patrick’s hand grasped River’s hip, perhaps more firmly than strictly called for. She reclined just that little bit against his body. Intense heat roared through him. He was insta-hard. So erect it was like his dick had served in the military.
Pat shifted, attempting to ghost-the-wiener somehow, only managing to have it poking the exposed lower back of the woman currently gasping in surprise in front of him. Like he had thought earlier, and a hundred times since— this night kept getting better and better. He really needed to ask Gran if there was a patron saint of embarrassment.
