“Thank you, River. You’ve made me so happy. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but... thank you for it.”
“Everyone deserves love and forgiveness. That includes you, Pat. I love you.”
Hugging her even tighter, he whispered, “I love you too.”
“Will you take me to bed, then?” Twisting the knob at her back, they practically fell through the doorway.
Picking her up, he strode to the bed, tossing her in the middle before jumping in after. Straddling her legs, he grabbed her hands and stretched them above her head. “Oh, I’ll take you to bed, then, love,” Patrick mimicked her slight brogue. “I’ll take you in the shower, on the floor, and against the wall.” The last was breathed against her mouth before he nipped her lower lip, one of his favorite things, and at her gasp, his tongue found her own.
This kiss felt different. Slow, methodical, thorough. He touched every part of her body with that one kiss. She felt cherished, loved, and full of hope.
Patrick paused from ravishing her mouth to ask, “Will you come to my apartment tomorrow? I have something for you.” Before she could reply, his mouth was fused to hers again. When he left her mouth for her neck, he asked again.
“I will,” River answered with a moan.
That was the end of all conversation for the evening.
Commitment felt really,reallygood.
30
Sam loved the cool weather. It made it so easy to keep his thin leather gloves on. Fingerprints in his line of work were a no-no. His line of work, he chuckled. If revenge wasn’t considered a job, it should be.
Pushing the glass door open to exit the antique shop— thrift store would be more accurate— was gratifying. Sam held an old wooden photo album under his arm. What a perfect ‘Remember Me?’ gift to River Byrne. He wouldn’t be able to watch her open the present, but his imagination was more than enough.
The pictures weren’t even the best part of the gift... Surprise!
Sam knew he was poking the bear, but he couldn’t help himself. Life in Dublin with no outlets was slowly draining his creativity. This small token would tide him over while he practiced and practiced... and practiced some more. Boom.
31
Waking up next to Patrick felt like a dream. River had been so afraid that being intimate with Patrick again would trigger memories of him and that woman from New Year’s. It had... and maybe it would for weeks, months, or years. It might not ever happen again. All she knew for sure was that she would fight for their love. Her parents had still been very much in love when they died. However, River wasn’t naïve enough to believe their relationship had been twenty-plus years of never-ending rainbows. Both her mother and Nan had taught her and her sisters that any relationship took a lot of love and double the work.
River propped herself up on her arm to get a better look at a sleeping Pat. His tousled white hair covered half his face, as usual, with the barest hint of stubble texturing his chin. A beard grower, Patrick O’Faolain, was not, she smirked. She needed to remember to tease him.
River let her eyes slide over his high cheekbones and chiseled jawline down his neck toward her real obsession. Damn, but Patrick had an amazing chest and abs. His golden skin, so much darker than her own— of course, cream was darker— had a sprinkling of white hair. The trail on his stomach was thicker, not much, but enough she didn’t need a compass to lead her to the... really,reallygood bits.
When the sheet draped across his groin started to shift, River’s eyes jumped to Patrick’s. He’d obviously been awake while she’d been admiring him. Heat flared in her cheeks, but she ended up laughing. “You’re such a shithead, Pat.”
“You like what you see, baby?” All cheese this morning, obviously. Yanking the sheet off to reveal the thick erection previously camping under the covers, he invited her to climb aboard the ‘Pat Express.’ “No worries, Riv. The name has nothing to do with performance.”
Grinning, he grabbed River around the waist, lifting her body until she straddled his hips. “Tell me all the things you like most about my body. Spare no adjectives.”
River was thrilled with Patrick’s playfulness. Previously, they’d loved to tease, but as platonic friends. Naked and in bed teasing was a side of Pat she’d never experienced. Deciding to do a little teasing of her own, River pretended to ponder her options.
“Hmm, perhaps I’ll start with your eyes.” She leaned down, her mouth almost grazing the lashes of his right eye. “You have lovely eyes, Patrick. Have I ever told you?”
Huffing out a laugh, he told her, “I don’t recall. Tell me all about them.”
She placed delicate kisses around each eye, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and cheeks while describing their beauty. “They look brown most of the time. Not an ordinary brown, not dark, more caramel, and when the light hits them just right, they glow like amber.” She placed a kiss on the side of his mouth, barely touching his lips with her own. She traced the shape with tiny licks from the tip of her tongue. “Have I told you the thoughts your mouth conjures?”
Oh, ho, Patrick was breathing a bit heavier. “What thoughts?” he growled. It seemed Patrick’s humor had left the building.
Still tracing their shape, River admitted, “I’ve had very dirty dreams about your mouth.” She nipped his bottom lip, causing him to swallow a moan, but his mouth parted oh so slightly. “Your mouth on mine. Your mouth on my breasts. Your mouth at my core. Yes, I admitted, your mouth is wicked.”
River was thoroughly enjoying her attempt at verse— ‘An Ode to Pat.’
Patrick’s hands gripped River’s hips, pressing her firmly against him. His hips moved just that slightest bit.
