Page 82 of Ireland

Jules sat up, pushing his hair out of his face with an impatient hand. “He’s not on our side anymore,petite sœur. We no longer have a common enemy.”

“That’s not true,” Ronan shot back. “But I won’t have you speaking of Ireland with disrespect. She doesn’t know the history. Without that context, we’re the enemy, and she’s fighting for her family.”

“Why haven’t you explained it to her?” Claudette frowned with confusion. “If she cares for you, perhaps she could be an ally. Wouldn’t that serve us best? It would sweeten herenviefor you,non?”

“Because the truth will hurt her.” Ronan raked a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck, frustration tightening his shoulders.

Jules’s handsome face was twisted with disgust and rage. “You’re more worried about her feelings than you are about the damage she’s caused!”

“I don’t blame her. That doesn’t mean we’re not fighting back. We always knew there was a high probability her brother would get involved, but for whatever reason, Chris Vidal didn’t lean on his former stepson when it could’ve delayed the inevitable.”

Pushing to his feet, Jules glared at him. “And we agreed that getting in and out of this claustrophobic city as fast as possiblewas the best way to avoid a pissing match with a man who can afford to ruin us!”

“Jules is right.” Claudette gave Ronan a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but he is. We planned this to be quick and clean so that our time as an active threat was limited.”

Everything in Ronan vehemently resented having his hand forced. But his siblings were right: his indecision could be costly, and while it was a price he’d been contemplating paying for his own sake, it was unfair to expect Jules and Claudette to suffer for it.

He growled. “C’est tout. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Ireland was humming as she strolled into her office. She probably shouldn’t be in such a good mood, all things considered. She should be dead on her feet, for one thing. There’d been times during the night when she and Ronan had slept but only in brief intervals.

It was as if their bodies couldn’t bear to be separated. Even being tucked up against him in slumber wasn’t enough to satisfy the near-desperate desire that drove them both to their limits. If he wasn’t waking her with his strong, skillful hands and ravenous mouth, then she was waking him. They’d been burning through borrowed time, which had made her determined to wring every bit of pleasure she could from him.

Walking to her filing cabinet, she typed in the code and dropped her purse in the drawer where she stored it. Then she went to her desk and woke her computer by wiggling her mouse.

God, her body throbbed. Her breasts felt heavy, and her pussy was swollen and tender. Just washing herself in theshower had proven that she was so hypersensitive even water felt like a caress.

Ronan’s desire for her was so raw and insatiable that it shattered all her inhibitions. She’d never felt sexier or bolder. She surrendered control to him completely because there was never even a twinge of unease, discomfort, or shame. He could use her body in any way he desired, and she loved it all because what drove him crazy was her pleasure. She couldn’t orgasm enough for him, and the more she climaxed, the more feral he became until he was fucking that magnificent penis into her like he’d die if he didn’t.

The most potent aphrodisiac was being the object of an extraordinary man’s sexual obsession. She was addicted to the feeling of being everything he wanted yet couldn’t get enough of.

She moaned and squirmed in her chair, forcibly pushing the memories from her mind. She was so hot just remembering how Ronan had taken her that she pressed her fingers hard between her legs, trying to ease the throbbing of her clit.

The knock on her open door startled and embarrassed her, even though her grandfather’s old desk hid where her hand had been. She blushed when her eyes met her father’s.

“Good morning, boss,” he greeted her.

Rolling her shoulders back, Ireland managed to smile in return. The sensual haze Ronan had left her with began to ebb. “Good morning.”

“Brett, Darrin, and the rest of the Six-Ninths crew will set up later today to start recording tomorrow,” he told her as he walked in and sat in one of her gray velvet visitors’ chairs. He wore a cream cardigan today, over a light gray shirt and darker gray dress slacks.

She could see his excitement and feigned her own. “I saw that they’ve reserved Studio One for the next week. That’s great!”

“It will be,” he assured her. “I sent you the demo. Have you listened to it?”

“Not yet, but it’s on my to-do list, I promise.” She tapped her fingers on the desktop. “I have a question for you. Where is the licensing money for Vidal Hotels going? I can’t find it.”

He nodded. “We don’t actually receive it. It didn’t sit right with me that the hotels would bear our name but not truly be owned by us. So, I asked Gideon to use the money to purchase shares in the venture. Every payment buys more shares.”

“And we’re reinvesting the dividends,” she guessed, which he confirmed with another nod. “Okay. That’s good to know. And a good plan.”

“I’m glad you approve. I did try, Ireland.” His wry smile faded as he sobered. “The terms of the McCaffrey loan were unusual, as I’m sure you’ve discovered, but he’s a shareholder and stood to lose a great deal of money if Vidal failed. There was no way to know he was willing to lose millions to see us go under.”

Guilt settled over Ireland like a shroud. How was it possible that she could take such pleasure from someone causing her family such turmoil? What waswrongwith her?

“Now I have a question for you,” he said evenly, but his piercing gaze meant he was in full-on dad mode. “Christopher told me that McCaffrey insisted on speaking with you privately and behind a locked door. Is he intimidating you, Ireland?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s always a gentleman. He saw that Christopher was reacting to the changes here in a way that was upsetting me, and he removed me from the situation so I could pull myself together.”

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