Wild Irish Christmas (Wild Irish, Book Eight) Read Online Free PDF Page A

her eyes. “You think she’s pretty?”
    He nodded slowly before the truth fell from his lips. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
    Sunday smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Conall‘s father has some connections in New York. He knows some bigwigs in the music business.”
    Patrick swallowed heavily. “Is that right?”
    “Conall’s been dropping hints that he’d like me to go with him to New York. Do you think I should consider it? The two of you have been friends forever, right?”
    Calling them friends was a definite stretch. “I’ve known him since we were kids. So would you travel with him as a friend…or as more?”
    Sunday shrugged. “He’s let me know he’s interested in me romantically. I’m sure if I agreed to go it would be with the understanding that we’re a couple. What do you think of him?”
    Patrick looked at her and considered all his reasons for stepping aside. “He’s quite well off. You’ll never want for anything if you eventually marry him. A woman like you deserves pretty things, a nice home, the security a man like him can provide.”
    She nodded. “My own home would be nice.”
    He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “And he’s educated, got a college degree and everything. Chances are good he’ll go far with that new career of his.”
    “It does sound like a promising job.”
    “And it’s in New York,” he added. “You’ve dreamed of moving to America. Conall could take you there right away.”
    She toyed with the condensation on her water glass. “I’ve heard a lot about the city. I’d like to see it.”
    Patrick picked up a rag and absentmindedly wiped at a nonexistent stain on the counter. Now that he’d begun, he found all the excuses he’d thought of throughout the past week falling from his lips. “Of course, you’d be able to pursue your music.”
    She continued to look at her glass. Patrick wished she’d look at him , give him some glimpse of her thoughts. “Yes, there is my music to consider.”
    She was starting to sound like a parrot, repeating everything he said. It was frustrating. “He can give you a lot, Sunday. You deserve the world on a silver platter.” He wished he could offer her just that. Instead, he faced a lifetime of hard work, possibly struggling to make ends meet. How could he ask her to follow him into an uncertain future when Conall’s tomorrows looked so bright, so easy?
    Her gaze finally captured his. For several moments, she simply looked at him. “What do you think of him, Pat?”
    She was pushing him into a corner, forcing him to make a hard decision. Did he lie about his opinion of Conall’s character or tell her what he really thought of the man?
    He’d watched Conall with Sunday this past week. Patrick was hard-pressed to find fault with the man’s treatment of her. He’d been courteous and attentive, a gentleman in every sense of the word. Patrick had tried to fool himself into believing that Conall’s interest in Sunday was based merely on some stupid youthful competitiveness. After watching them all week, Patrick had to admit he no longer believed that was true. Conall genuinely wanted her.
    And why not?
    She was everything Patrick had ever dreamed of. It only stood to reason Conall would see the same things.
    Patrick held her gaze, and then spoke the hardest words he’d ever uttered in his life. “I think he’ll treat you good, Sunday.”
    She didn’t respond, her expression wooden.
    Then her temper snapped.
    “I didn’t ask how he would treat me, Patrick! I asked what you thought of him. So far, you’ve managed to give me a grocery list of everything in the world except the answer to that question. So I’ll let you off the hook. But let me leave you with my own list of things that I’d like you to consider. First of all, you apparently don’t know anything about my dreams. You’ve assumed that I want to go to America to pursue music. Have I ever said that to