Wild Irish Christmas (Wild Irish, Book Eight) (5 page)

“Ah, well, that’s a story in itself. He took the fancy job in New York, but he couldn’t cut it as a high-powered business executive. He was fired before the end of the first year and returned to Killarney, where he managed to run his family’s businesses into bankruptcy in less than a decade. Now he’s the barkeep at Scully’s.”

Teagan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Patrick’s grin grew. “No. Not really. Last I heard, he and his third trophy wife were living in Manhattan.”

Teagan rolled her eyes. “Nice, Pop. You got me.”

They all laughed. The conversation continued into the wee hours until, eventually, everyone began to make their way to bed.

Sean was the last to rise.

“It was a good story, Pop.”

Patrick nodded. “I think so too.”

“I wish there’d been a happier ending. Mom should have been here tonight.”

Patrick swallowed heavily against the lump in his throat. Cancer had claimed Sunday well before her time. For too many years he’d wished the same thing. Eventually, he’d learned to be grateful for the time they’d had together. “She was here, Sean. She’s always been here. She’s inside you and your brothers and sisters. She’s in at least fifty percent of those Christmas ornaments, in dozens of the pictures, and she’s in quite a bit of the furniture around here. We had a heck of a fight the day I dragged that ugly old recliner in here. I think of her every time I sit down. She created this home for all of us.”

“It’s not the same thing. You know what I mean, Pop.”

“You didn’t listen to the story. Your mother achieved every one of her goals—she got her home, her family, her life in America. She told me the night before she passed away she was a woman dying without a single regret. She said she’d lived a full life with love and laughter and she couldn’t ask for more. I suppose that’s the best any of us can wish for, son.”

Sean put his hands in the pockets of his jeans then gave him a crooked grin. “You’re right. I hope I can say the same thing when I die.”

“I hope we all can.”

Chapter Four

Patrick listened to the hushed voices coming from the bedrooms. The girls were giggling in their room. Tris and Killian’s deep tones drifted down the stairs. Ewan and Sean were teasing each other, and for a moment, he thought he’d have to break up what sounded like a wrestling match.

He closed his eyes and recalled the last part of the story. The one he hadn’t told his children.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patrick wondered if he’d ever lived a more perfect moment as he and Sunday held hands, walking through the quiet streets of town toward her home. The neighbors who weren’t still celebrating the holidays at the dance were snuggled in warm beds in dark houses. It felt as if they were the only two people on the planet.

They walked in silence as Patrick tried to wrap his head around what had just taken place. Sunday had turned Conall down for
him
. She’d told him she loved him.

Sunday paused when they reached the door of her aunt’s home. “My aunt isn’t home.”

Patrick was surprised by Sunday’s quiet admission. “She’s not?”

Sunday shook her head almost shyly. “She’s spending the night at her brother’s house. She’s doing Christmas morning with my Uncle Ryan and his family. I’m going to join them for dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Sunday glanced over her shoulder at the empty house and bit her lip. “Do you want to come in?”

Suddenly her reticence made sense. His heart raced. “I’d like to. Very much.”

She smiled, opening the door. Patrick crossed the threshold, feeling almost dizzy as he considered what he hoped would happen tonight.

Once they entered, he briefly glanced around her aunt’s parlor. Though he’d walked Sunday to the door nearly a hundred times the past few months, he’d never been inside.

Sunday didn’t move and her anxiety was almost a tangible being in the darkened house. He stroked her face, savoring the soft skin of her cheek, hoping his touch would calm her. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Sunday released a long breath. “I’ve never…” She didn’t finish her thought.

He kissed her brow and wrapped her in his embrace. “Neither have I.”

She put her arms around his waist, holding him tightly.

“Sunday. I can leave if you aren’t ready for—”

She pressed her lips to his before he could finish speaking and opened them. Patrick accepted her invitation, dipping his tongue into her sweet mouth. She tasted like soda and cookies. He closed his eyes and took more, deepening the kiss.

Sunday’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her hungry kisses rivaling his. For several minutes, he let himself disappear into her soft sighs and rough touches.

When they separated, Sunday’s gaze met his.

“I love you,” he said again. The words had been written on his heart since the first night he saw her. It felt so good, so right to be able to speak them aloud.

“I love you too.”

He ran his fingers through her long black hair. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Even in the dim lighting, he saw the flush on her face. If she gave the slightest sign of hesitation, he’d leave.

She didn’t. Sunday took his hand in hers and led him down the hallway to the last bedroom. She walked to the nightstand and turned on a small lamp. It cast a soft light that illuminated the room enough for him to look around.

She hadn’t lived in Killarney long, so Patrick was surprised by how much the small room reflected her. Her battered guitar case was tucked in the corner. The bookshelf was overflowing with paperbacks and notebooks. She’d surrounded herself with photographs of family and friends on every wall. Sunday valued the people in her life more than anything else. Patrick had lost sight of that fact, lost in his own insecurities. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He looked at her bed, rubbing his palms against his pants. He ached with need…and nervousness.

“You’ve really never done this?” Sunday asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve never been in love before you, Sunday. You’ve changed my world.”

She lifted his hand, pressing her lips against his knuckles. “You’ve
become
my world.”

After that, their words gave way to motion. Patrick kissed her gently before unbuttoning her blouse. Sunday stood still as he slowly worked each button free. The blouse fell open and Patrick slipped his hands beneath the silky material at her shoulders to push it off.

His breath caught as he looked at her pale breasts covered by a lacy bra. He cupped them, enjoying Sunday’s soft murmur of appreciation when he squeezed the sensitive flesh.

Her hands landed on his forearms, not to push him away but to steady herself. She swayed and her eyes closed as if she were mesmerized by his touch. He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder after lifting her bra strap and pulling it down. His lips traveled along her shoulder to her neck, from her neck to her ear.

Sunday’s rapid breathing, the rise and fall of her chest, the pulse at her neck told him she was enjoying his journey as much as he was.

He repeated the motion on the other side then reached behind her to unclasp the bra. Sunday froze as he peeled the lace away. Neither of them moved as Patrick looked at his lovely lady. The image of her standing topless before him was something he’d never forget. He was hers. He belonged to her, and he made a silent promise that as long as he was living, he’d never love another woman the way he loved Sunday.

Bending his head, he took one of her tight nipples in his mouth.

“Ahh!” Sunday cried in shock and pleasure. “God, Pat. That feels amazing.”

He sucked harder. Her hands flew to his head, pulling his hair almost painfully.

He played with her breasts until Sunday called out for mercy. Lifting his head, he wasn’t surprised to find her face and body flushed. It was hot in the room…so damn hot.

He unbuttoned his shirt, not taking the time or care he’d used while helping her shed hers. The fabric tore in his haste to remove it. Sunday gave him a soft smile, but she didn’t attempt to slow him down. Once his shirt lay on the floor by her blouse, Sunday was there, her hands stroking his chest, toying with the light smattering of hair.

Patrick swallowed heavily and prayed for the strength to finish this night with some shred of dignity when Sunday’s lips landed on
his
nipple. She lightly bit the tight nub until Patrick felt certain he would explode. He wanted her too badly for this to last long.

He cupped her face in his palms. “Sunday.” He fought to find the words, but his face must have said it all. Sunday took a step away from him and, as he held his breath, she pushed her skirt and panties over her hips.

A wave of lightheadedness caused him to sway slightly. She was simply stunning.

“Go lie down on the bed, love.”

She moved slowly away from him as Patrick counted to twenty in his head. He was in serious danger of losing control.

Sunday lay in the middle of the mattress then shyly beckoned him to come closer. He took the five steps necessary to reach her side then sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze devouring every tantalizing inch of her body. He caressed her, letting his fingers explore her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.

Silently, he urged her to open her legs. They parted. Patrick took a deep breath. His hand trembled slightly when he reached between them.

Sunday gasped when he ran his finger along her wet nether lips. He leaned forward and kissed her. “We can stop at any point, Sunday.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled before pressing his lips against hers once more. He found her clit with his fingers, enjoying her intense reaction as he applied pressure.

She turned her head away from his kiss. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”

Her passion sparked his. He became bolder, more confident as he continued his explorations. Sunday’s hands flew to his shoulders, squeezing the muscles there tightly when he slowly pushed a finger inside her.

She was tight and hot and—mercifully—so wet. He knew she was as tense as he was, but she wasn’t letting that emotion overpower her needs, her desires. Gently, he worked his finger in and out of her passage as her hips rocked to meet him, encouraging him to go deeper, thrust harder.

Patrick added a second finger and pressed her clit with his thumb. Sunday exploded. Her inner muscles clenched against him as she came. Her hands clamped on his arms so hard, he knew she’d leave bruises.

He stilled his movements, kissing her softly as her orgasm ran its course. He whispered sweet nothings until her wits returned.

“Okay?” he asked.

She laughed quietly. “Are you kidding? Do that again.”

He grinned. “Mind if I join you this time?”

She shook her head. “Hurry up.”

“Damn. Didn’t expect you to be such a demanding, greedy lover.”

She tilted her head. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Hell no.” Patrick stood. He reached for the button on his pants and Sunday propped herself up on one elbow, her expression equal parts curiosity and apprehension.

“Moment of truth,” he muttered.

Sunday’s smile grew. “I showed you mine. It’s only fair I get to see yours.”

Suddenly a lifetime of sleeping with Sunday passed before his eyes and the rightness of the moment solidified. He’d expected their first time to be awkward, uncomfortable. Instead, it was the perfect blend of wonder and laughter.

He pushed his pants down, kicking off his shoes at the same time. His erection was standing at full-mast and he prayed he could keep it that way long enough to get inside her. Sunday licked her lips as she looked at him and Patrick knew his concern was genuine. He’d never make it at this rate.

He was about to join her on the bed when he remembered something. He bent over to retrieve his wallet from his pants.

Sunday watched him questioningly.

“Um, Sunday. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I bought condoms a couple of weeks ago.”

Sunday sat up. “For me or for Kathleen?”

“Don’t be silly, lass. Of course I bought them for you.”

“Bit sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, pulling a condom out of his wallet and donning it. “I’m not sure it was cockiness so much as hope.”

She giggled and lay back down. “Come here and show me some of that cockiness.”

“I can see the regulars in the pub haven’t been a good influence on you.” He climbed onto the bed and crawled over Sunday’s body. The humor dispersed at their close proximity. Patrick listened to Sunday’s breathing quicken, felt his own heart rate accelerate.

He kissed her softly as he placed the head of his member at her opening. Sunday wrapped her legs around his. Patrick was blown away by her complete faith in him. She trusted him to protect her, to keep her safe.

He’d never let her down. He watched her face carefully, giving her one last chance to change her mind, to call a halt.

Sunday captured his gaze. “Don’t stop, Pat.”

“Should I do this quickly?”

She nodded.

He retreated a fraction of an inch then returned with a hard press. He broke through the thin restraint, taking her virginity as surely as he gave his own.

Sunday gasped and held him tightly, her grip around his shoulders nearly impenetrable. Patrick froze, buried completely inside her. He forced air into his lungs and fought the urge to come. It took every ounce of strength in his body, but somehow he managed to beat back the need to erupt.

Neither of them moved for several long moments.

Sunday broke the silence first. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t move.”

She cupped his face and looked at him. “Are you hurt?”

“If I move the slightest bit, I’m going to come, love. I think this is going to be the shortest sex in history.”

Sunday laughed, the motion jarring him enough that he groaned and gritted his teeth.

“Dammit. Don’t laugh. You’re killing me.”

Sunday sobered up, but barely. She was still grinning when she spoke. “Come, Pat. We have plenty of time to perfect this. We have forever.”

He didn’t need to hear more. His body was in agony, demanding release. He pulled out a few inches then slid back in. He managed four good thrusts before he exploded. He wasn’t certain, but he thought his eyes rolled back in his head and he was worried he’d overflowed the condom. He’d never felt anything so intense, so fucking incredible.

Patrick held himself on his elbows above her precious body as a stream of words flew from him—a mixture of sweet words of love and dirty promises of how he was going to make this up to her.

Sunday simply stroked his back until his climax subsided and sanity returned.

“Tonight is the best night of my life,” she said when he pulled out of her body, rolled to the side and enfolded her in his embrace.

“Mine too. I didn’t realize that would be…” Patrick had never had a problem stating how he felt, but with Sunday, he never seemed able to find a powerful enough sentiment.