Page 61 of Ireland

She longed so deeply to feel his heat and strength. The desire remained unrelenting. “Is my father lying to me, Ronan?”

“Non,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “But he’s not being truthful, either.”

“That makes zero fucking sense. You need to stop playing games and tell me everything.”

“Did you make the same demand of your father?” His tongue slid along his full lower lip, his gaze intent on her mouth. “I won’t spare your father the duty of telling you the truth.”

“Why?Why not explain this vendetta so I understand why it’s so damned important to you?”

More important than me.

His frustrated growl rumbled between them. “Your father is using you against me, don’t you see that? He’s put you in front of him as a shield, forcing me to get through you to reach him.”

Ireland cursed under her breath and skirted him, intent on leaving, but he followed, his palm slapping flat against the door above her head so she couldn’t open it.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned, her hand on the knob.

“Too late.”

Facing him, she pressed herself flat against the door, but it was a futile effort to evade him. His other hand lifted to join the first, caging her in with his sinfully sexy body.

“You can’t turn me against my father,” she told him, “and Vidal isn’t only his. It’s mine and my brother’s, too. You’ll eventually return to where you came from and forget us, but family is forever.”

He rested his forehead against hers. Even that chaste contact was too much, her body shivering. The attraction was inexplicable. Irresistible.

“I’m nothing but hunger and need.” He nuzzled her temple, his deepening accent another layer of persuasion. “I have me anenviefor you,cher, and it’s eating me alive. I need to taste you, touch you everywhere…until I know your body as well as my own. Tell me how I can have you.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ireland fought his relentless seduction and the silent demand for her surrender that radiated from him.

“You and I,” he went on, his voice hushed, “we’re different people with each other than we are with everyone else. You’re burying the Ireland I know to be the daughter and sister your family knows. They can have that side of you. I just want the part of you that’s mine.”

She was surrounded by him, by his scent, his lust. He made it hard to think, to endure.

“I won’t expect you to go easy on me,” he murmured, “just because I’ve made you come until you beg me to stop. What we do to each other outside of business hours is for us alone. They can’t have all of us,cher. We’ve already given pieces of ourselves to each other that we can’t take back.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Ronan.” But her body didn’t care that they stood on opposing sides of a battle line. She yearned. Passionately. Despite everything.

“Who says it can’t?” His lips brushed hers in a feather-light kiss. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to fight for Vidal if you’re sharing my bed? Am I getting under your skin? Or is it that you know this company is lost already, and denying me is your only avenue to revenge?”

She shoved him away, needing air not scented of him. “You haven’t even considered the possibility that I’ll win. Screwing me excites you when it’s part of a larger victory. Will you still have a hard-on for me after I’ve ruined all of your plans?”

Ireland reached for the doorknob, but he stayed her by gripping her biceps. His gaze was bright and hot as he stared down at her.

“Wanting you and wanting your father to suffer are two completely unrelated things for me,” he said tersely, his color high. “Time will prove the truth of that, and I can wait. Until then, remember what I told you: anytime, anyplace. No explanations or expectations. Call me, and my body is yours to use at will.”

Yanking the door open, she glared at him over her shoulder. “Please hold your breath until that call comes.”

She marched back to her new office, her teeth grinding as Ronan’s taunting laughter followed her.

It was still dark when Eva woke, but the rising sun wasn’t far off. Turning her head on the pillow, she found Gideon still asleep, a rare occurrence. She studied him, her sigh of contentment too quiet to wake him or Lucky, who slept flat on his back by Gideon’s calf. The top sheet and light coverlet were tangled around her husband’s lean waist, and with one arm draped over the top of his head, his magnificent chest was fully revealed to her gaze.

At any other time, she’d reach for him, running her hands and mouth over him until he came to vibrant life in her arms. But not today.

She slipped out of bed, placing a finger across her lips when Lucky flipped onto his belly to watch her. She rubbed the top of his head before heading into her closet to gather her clothes for the day, then she went to one of the guestrooms to shower.

Her hair and makeup took the most time. It had taken hours of examining photographs of her mother—and a lot of help from Cary—to get Monica Stanton’s look right. She was grateful that she could go through the process in utter quiet and alone, allowing herself the time and grace to experience the chaotic range of emotions that always assailed her on visitation days.

When she was transformed, she grabbed her purse and the gift bag she’d left in the foyer and silently left the penthouse. She took their private elevator to the garage, where she requested their Aston Martin DB12. Taking off without security was a stupid thrill, but she felt rebellious enough to enjoy it.

---