None of that has anything to do with the fact that women universally love Patrick.
“Shit,” Charlotte whispers, skirting around me. She drops her bags in one of the club chairs and beelines for my half-naked little brother.
“You’re right. She is very pretty,” Seamus says to Patrick, chuckling. “I wouldn’t hold a grudge, either.”
Patrick glares over his shoulder at Seamus. The older-than-dirt enforcer has been with us since our fathers ran things. He doesn’t go out into the field anymore, but he’s family, so we keep him around.
“I am so sorry,” Charlotte says, stopping a foot in front of Patrick.
“It sucks, but it’s not serious.” Pat shrugs and grimaces.
He’s such a baby when it comes to pain.
“Would you look at that,” Seamus says jovially. “Without my glasses, I might do more harm than good. Seems fortuitous that you have another set of capable hands within reach.” He claps Patrick on the shoulder and strides out toward the kitchen.
Pat chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. I can tape myself up, or Mal can do it for me once he gets the two of you settled in.”
Huh.
I guess he does want to live.
I’m holding the woman’s sleeping toddler. She’s also dead on her feet. Now isn’t the time for him to lay on his natural Patrick charm, and I’m strangely relieved that he recognizes it.
“Everything is already laid out. I hurt you. The least I can do is to help patch you up.” Charlotte stretches around him to grab the open bandages Seamus laid out.
Pat seems entirely too pleased with how close she is as she leans past him to grab the items on the coffee table. It reminds me of how he stared directly at her tits when she stripped out of her shirt to hold it to his wound.
He meets my eyes and smirks while she’s not looking. It’s not like I’m going to put the boy down to pummel my brother, so I sway back and forth, patting the lad’s back.
Patrick had better watch out, though. I’m going to stab him once I’m no longer holding the sleeping kid.
My eyes widen as I spot the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace. It’s sparsely decorated, and I haven’t the first fucking clue where it came from. It wasn’t here earlier. Neither were the stockings hanging from the mantel.
Charlotte kept repeating the phrase earlier, and apparently, it’s contagious becausewhat the fuck is happening?
Patrick has no shame, accompanying us upstairs with his belt and pants hanging open. It’s like he wants to show off how much time he spends in the gym, and it makes me tempted to show how fast I can put him on his ass.
“I’d better shower and change, but I’ll see you in the morning,” Pat says as we make it to the door of the room she’s staying in. “If you need anything, I’m the second door on the left.” He points to make itextraclear where she can find him if she needs him.
“Oh, thanks,” she says, frowning. “I’m sorry. I think I already said that, but I felt like I should say it again.”
He chuckles, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “Don’t spend another second stressing about it. I forgive you.”
He saunters off while I shove the door open, leading Charlotte inside.
It’s mostly dark, and I don’t want to wake the kid by using the overhead light, so I stride over, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand.
“The bed has fresh sheets, and there will be extra blankets in the armoire if you get cold,” I tell her, backing away from the bed. “That door is the bathroom and the one on the left is the closet.”
While she was patching up Patrick, I grabbed the stuff she carried in from the car. I drop it onto the chair in the corner of the room and spin around to find she’s pulled back the comforter on the queen-size bed.
The expression on her face isn’t familiar.
I bounce the boy on my shoulder, striding back to where she stands. “Would you like me to lay him down?”
She nods. “Let me take his shoes off first.”
She steps closer, pulls the blanket off his back, and reaches between us to work on his shoes.
