Page 22 of Ireland

“That’s incredible to me.”

Ireland shrugged artlessly. “To be fair, I tend to check out of relationships fairly quickly.”

“Hmm. Why?”

Tossing her sunglasses aside, she rolled toward him and tucked the pillow behind her head. She ran her foot along the length of his bare leg. “Not knowing what I wanted?” she speculated. “Looking for the wrong things?”

Ronan held his silence.

“Actually…” She realized she wasn’t being as forthright as he’d been because she wasn’t being truthful with herself. “It’s simpler than that. My parents were crazy in love. My brothers are both madly in love with their wives. And since that’s ultimately what I want, I can’t risk being tied up with the wrong guy and unavailable when the right guy comes along.” She gave a wry laugh. “Of course, that’s assuming he’ll want me back.”

Rubbing the strands of her messy bun between his fingers, he murmured, “I can’t imagine a man alive who wouldn’t give everything to have you.”

Her breath left her in a shaky rush, and she looked up at him, amazed that he affected her no less when viewed upside down. “You’re the most dangerous kind of flirt, Ronan Boudreaux. You spin a woman around until she forgets which way is up.”

His mouth curved in a lazy smile. “Is that what’s happening? Are we spinning? It feels like falling.”

She tensed against those maddening butterflies. They multiplied every hour she spent with him; until now, it felt like she could hardly contain them all.

Ireland grasped for a safer topic in an effort at self-preservation. “Where’s home for you?”

“Primarily New Orleans, but I sometimes escape to a smaller place I keep in Lafayette Parish.”

“In the bayou?” she guessed.

“Yes. It’s peaceful.” His accent deepened as his voice took on a dreamy quality. “Feels like there’s no one else on the planet but you.”

Shimmering images of towering trees cloaked in mist filtered through her mind. It was another world entirely from the one she lived in. “I think being in the middle of nowhere might frighten me a little.”

Reaching over her, Ronan grabbed the champagne bottle. “You’re as ferocious as anything out there.”

That made her laugh, and she sat up with her legs crossed.

“Where do you live?” he asked, peeling off the foil hood and loosening the muselet.

She pointed up at her building on Fifth Avenue. “There.”

“You’re pointing at the sky. Are you all the way up at the very top? Like Rapunzel?”

“Why else would I keep my hair so long?” She grinned as she collected the champagne flutes from the lap trays. “So now you know—in case it ever crossed your mind—your wealth appeals to me only because you don’t need mine.”

His laugh was full-bodied with delight. “See? Ferocious.”

She made a purring noise.

Leaning forward with a grin, Ronan pressed his lips to her bare shoulder, and a shiver of delight radiated from the spot of connection to her nape. Unfamiliar yearning filled her. The desire to feel those lips against hers was so unexpectedly strong, almost a deep ache. But she wouldn’t make the first move. She positively refused to. He’d set the rules; now, she needed him to break them.

He straightened, his strong hands cradling the heavy bottle. He gave it a few masterful twists, expelling the cork againsthis palm with a soft hiss and setting it aside. “I assure you I can more than afford to pamper an expensive, luxurious woman such as yourself without any assistance from you or anyone else.”

“I’m not expensive.”

“Cher.” He shot her a chastising look and began to pour into the flutes she held steady for him. “You’re the kind of woman who’ll take the soul of the man who loves you. I’d say that’s damned fucking expensive.”

“Well…” She was speechless for a minute. Then, “What willyoutake from the woman who loves you?”

He winked at her and shoved the bottle back into the ice. “Everything.”

Ireland stuck the tip of her tongue out at him and passed him a flute. They toasted, and she sipped the crisply chilled golden liquid.

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