Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) by E.E. Burke

She’d made her decision. Now she had to live with it.
    Mr. O’Shea set one suitcase on the chair and put the other one on the bed, which creaked beneath the weight. He glanced at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. “How many costumes do you have in here?”
    “That one isn’t my costumes. It’s my clothes, all my things...”
    He frowned, clearly confused.
    She took a deep breath. “The owners of the hotel asked me to leave.”
    There, that wasn’t so hard.
    Her employer advanced with a thunderous frown. “Are you sayin’ they threw you out because I hired you?”
    “No. Because I took the job.” She refused to let him shoulder any of the blame.
    His fierce frown softened, followed by a look of respect, and then, tenderness, a surprising response. “Hypocrites, the lot of ‘em. You got no cause for shame.”
    “I know.” The tension banding her chest eased. Sharing her pain with him made the load lighter, less oppressive. Knowing he understood and sympathized made it easier to ask for a favor. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to rent a room. I need somewhere to stay.”
    “I’ll do better than that.”
    Charm pondered what he meant by the cryptic remark, but then her thoughts scattered when he lifted his hand to her face. Every muscle coiled in anticipation of the dreaded, gut-wrenching response. Instead, a warm and comforting feeling invaded her body. She couldn’t make sense of her reaction, hadn’t thought she could experience desire without fear.
    “You’ll be safe with me, I promise.”
    Patrick O’Shea was only man besides her father she’d trusted to catch her, despite knowing where blind dependence could lead. She shouldn’t rely on him, but all the reasons in the world didn’t seem to matter. Somehow, she found her hands on his arms, clinging to him.
    “Don’t cry,” he murmured.
    “I’m not crying.”
    “Your cheeks are wet.”
    Even tears were a surprise. Frozen emotions, melting.
    He moved his thumb over her skin, the light friction sending shivers racing in every direction. His touch triggered a yearning so strong she leaned forward, tempted to give him permission to do more than cup her cheek.
    The ache spread and became urgent, compelling. She teetered on the edge of desperation, and only he had the keys to a storeroom filled with secret pleasures. She rubbed her face against his palm, nudging him to do something, to ease the restless hunger.
    His breath blew warm against her skin an instant before his mouth touched hers.
    He didn’t force her lips apart, or grind his teeth against the tender flesh, as she anticipated. He cradled her head with his hands, moving his fingers in soothing circles on her scalp as he brushed feather-light kisses over her mouth, leaving her lips tingling and her body aching. With her senses fully engaged, her mind was too busy to dwell on fear.
    Gradually, he increased the lush pressure until it felt so good the ache became impossible to ignore. She tilted her head at his tender lead, letting him coax her into deepening the kiss. That felt better, though it didn’t relieve the ache. Not entirely. If she could get closer perhaps that would help.
    Wrapping her arms around his neck, she threaded her fingers through his hair. Soft, like her favorite cashmere shawl. She drowned in a sensual flood of taste and texture, swaying against him, her desire increasing as he worked magic with his mouth and fingers. Trailing kisses down her neck, he caressed her shoulders, arms and back, touching her with a kind of careful reverence reserved for fragile objects.
    Overcome by his gentle invasion, her defenses crumbled. Strangely enough, she didn’t care because she didn’t want to keep him out, her unlikely knight. With resolute tenderness, he cut away the thorns surrounding her heart. Hurtful memories gave way to something stronger than fear and more powerful than despair. Whatever this feeling, it was exquisite, like nothing she’d ever experienced.
    His