Page 87 of Ireland

They should be staying far away from each other. What waswrongwith them? She expected his family disliked her as much as her family disliked him. He had the exact same reasons as she to keep his distance.

What was this strange alchemy between them that was so irresistible? The only time she felt like herself anymore was with him, and yet she was unrecognizable in his presence—bolder, more aggressive, and yet more submissive, too. She felt emotions for him that frightened her because she didn’t understand them, yet when she was with him, she was fearless.

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She stared at her reply for a long time.Don’t send it. Just because she half-hoped he was unconscious and wouldn’t see her invitation until too late, didn’t mean it wasn’t going to still be there on his phone when he woke. Then he’d know the weakness she had for him. She’d been so proud of herself for successfully resisting the urge to call him, which took more effort than she would like to admit.

But she was lonely and had been for a long time. Plus, she was making herself miserable, constantly thinking she was doing everything wrong. She was tired of her spinning thoughts. More than all of that, though, she wanted to be with Ronan. He saw what she needed and gave what he could. And the manfucking owed her that much for all the bullshit he was putting her through.

Ireland sent her text with the invisible ink effect to lessen her future embarrassment.

On my way!

His shortcut reply came so fast that she blinked at the screen in disbelief.

“No way,” she said aloud, still shocked. Blizzard gave a little warning growl of disapproval. Many people had cats who knew what it meant to be nocturnal, but not her. Blizzard started demanding that she move into the bedroom around ten o’clock, and as far as she knew, he spent the whole night taking up half her bed. And he became pretty grumpy if his beauty sleep was disturbed.

She added Ronan to her visitors list via the building app, then set her phone on the charger again. Sliding out of bed, she stretched and berated herself for being selfish. She could hardly look her father in the eye when Ronan’s name inevitably came up.

How could she ever explain that being with him made her happy in a way she’d never known? That even as he was destroying their familial legacy, he was supporting and encouraging her, and taking pride in the very accomplishments that were setbacks for him? Not that she would ever have to defend her actions.

The path she and Ronan traveled together inevitably forked, and the split loomed closer by the hour.

Ronan roamed the elevator like a caged beast, his gaze locked on the numbered display that ticked off each floor as the car raced to the top. He’d been pacing most of the night, strung out from wanting Ireland.

What had she done to him? When he was with her, he felt… peaceful. And it was a damned miracle that he recognized what she made him feel because he’d never known peace previously.

But there was a price: everything became increasingly discordant within hours of leaving her. He worried about her. Where was she? Was she taking care of herself? Was she safe? And did he enter her mind, even briefly? It enraged him that the fates would put a once-in-a-lifetime woman like Ireland Vidal in his path and make him the villain in her story.

But of course, he didn’t have the morals to be the hero.

And she was actively trying to distance herself from him, which stirred a primitive and possessive reaction so fierce he couldn’t restrain it.

When the elevator began to slow, he stopped pacing directly in front of the doors and pushed through them the second they began to open. A flash of red snagged his attention, and he found Ireland waiting for him in the vestibule, restlessly pacing just as he had. The bold crimson of her kimono was like a matador’s cape. He charged toward her, yanking his T-shirt off and tossing it aside. She met him partway, throwing herself at him with a soft cry.

The feel of her in his arms brought instant clarity. The pounding beat of her heart was the tempo he’d been missing. He had always been slightly off-key with the world, a burden on those he loved and who loved him.

But he’d found a rhythm with Ireland.

Pulling her long, slim body as close as possible, Ronan took her mouth with avid hunger and pressed her against the nearest wall. The taste of her, minty and warm, and the feel of her supplebody, so strong and utterly feminine, licked like fire across his senses. He groaned, the sound filled with relief and torment.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him where she needed to take control of the kiss. The thrusts of his tongue were near frantic. His frenzy drove hers until she was trying to crawl up his body, her legs and arms tightening around him.

The look in her eyes when she’d watched him exit the elevator haunted him. Her initial joy shifted to regret and then guilt. Yet her desire for him burned through it all—but for how long?

He thrust his jeans-clad leg between hers, supporting her as he fumbled with the tie of her kimono. She caught his tongue with soft suction, drawing on it rhythmically, reminding him—as if he could ever forget—of the heady feel of that voracious suction on the head of his dick. He shuddered hard and thrust the silk open, growling when he filled his hands with her tits. He squeezed them, his finger and thumbs finding and teasing her taut nipples until she began to rub her pussy against his thigh.

“Mon dieu,” he muttered into her mouth. “I thought you weren’t going to call me.”

“I didn’t.”

He couldn’t stop kissing her. His hands stroked every inch of skin he could reach, proving to himself that he was with her, and she was his, at least for now. “I cursed you. Damned you to hell.”

“You should’ve left your table to me at Jazzie’s.”

“I fucking should have.”

She was equally frenzied, yanking open the button fly of his jeans to get to his straining penis. She whimpered at finding him commando. He was so aroused she had to pull his cock away from his belly, the rigid hardness pumped with thick veins. She traced them with her talented fingers, rubbing the precum that wept from the sensitive tip with the pad of her thumb. Hisbrain and body seized at the exquisiteness of the sensation, his breathing quickening into panting.

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