Page 90 of Ireland

Ireland laughed. “He couldn’t be terrible in bed, could he? That would be too easy. No, he’s got to be a sexy beast who gets off on getting me off. I’ve had more orgasms this week than allthe rest of my life combined. I had no idea a man could love going down on a woman as much as Ronan does, although he swears it’s my effect on him that makes him enjoy it so much.”

Alina shook her head. “Lucky bitch.”

“Not for long.” She winced. “Gideon gets back from his trip tomorrow. Depending on whether Christopher laid out what’s happening in a voicemail or just asked for a callback, Gideon could know about the situation with Ronan at any moment.”

And the thought of the two men she loved so deeply facing off?—

No. She did not just think that. She was tired, that’s all. It was a mental slip.

“Well…” Alina winced, too. “On the plus side, Gideon will be busy with the masquerade. Might buy you another weekend of hot monkey sex before the inevitable showdown between those two smoking hot specimens of male perfection.”

“God.” Ireland’s eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t keep fucking Ronan. It’s got to stop.”

“Oh, it will as soon as Gideon gets involved. He’ll run the McCaffreys out of town before they know what hit them.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Ireland chewed on her lower lip. “Ronan would’ve anticipated my brother and planned for him. I’ve thrown Ronan off his game a bit, he admits that. But I’ve seen him with my father and Christopher, and he’s capable of being just as frightening as Gideon can be.”

“No offense—you know I love your dad and Christopher—but going toe to toe with them is nothing like facing off with Gideon Cross.”

“That’s true, but I think they’re more evenly matched than you realize.”

“You think?”

“Ronan clawed his way to where he is now, from abject poverty to a position of wealth and power. And while he’sGideon’s age, his forty years of living have been much harder to survive than my brother’s. I can’t see him backing down without a brutal fight.”

And the possibility of a nasty, protracted battle between the man she was addicted to and the brother she adored made her stomach twist into knots of anxiety.

Her head lifted at a knock on her partially closed door. “Hang on, Alina. Yes?” she called out.

The door's opening widened, and Angus McLeod poked his head in. “Is it a bad time, lass? Your assistant isn’t in yet.”

She straightened. A glance at the clock told her he’d arrived just before nine. She’d told him she was available at his convenience. “No, not at all. Come in.” She looked at Alina. “I’ll call you back.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath, whatever the hell that means.”

Ending the call, Ireland gestured for Angus to take a seat. He entered, dressed in jeans and a plaid dress shirt worn as Ronan also preferred—with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves. He had a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and he pulled it into his lap as he settled his heavily muscled, imposingly tall frame into one of her visitors’ chairs.

He rubbed at the grizzled stubble on his jaw. “Things have changed drastically around here, I see.”

“Yes, we played musical chairs—or offices, as the case may be—but everyone still has a seat.”

“Because of Ronan Boudreaux?”

Just hearing Ronan’s name in Angus’s Scots burr made her back tense, an instinctive need to shield and defend him rising. And wasn’t that as insane as everything else between her and Ronan? She felt the same protective drive for both her father and the man who threatened him. “In part. He’s a shareholder.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said grimly. “Boudreaux makes his fortune by taking over troubled businesses and selling their assets for profit.”

“Yes, I know.” She almost didn’t say more, but everyone would soon know how vulnerable Vidal Records was. “He’s got us on the chopping block now. I don’t know if I can fend him off, but I’m trying. We haven’t given up hope yet.”

His lips compressed into a tight line, then he continued. “I’ve lived many lives. In one of them, I hunted people who didn’t want to be found. You pick up a few things in that line of work, and I’ll tell you there is something very wrong with Boudreaux.”

It took Ireland a second to recognize that she was shaking her head because she was actively suppressing the urge to deny what he was saying. Her trust in Ronan was firmly anchored in a way that brooked no doubt. She had an ear for lies, a sixth sense so to speak, and it had yet to warn her when it came to him.

So she was relieved when all she said was, “What do you mean?”

Angus began his report. “He was born Ronan Liam McCaffrey to Emma Olivia McCaffrey. No father was named on the birth certificate. A standard background check revealed little of note beyond a name change in adulthood when he added the Boudreaux, which he uses sporadically. When I dug deeper, I found an expunged juvenile record. When he was fifteen, he was convicted of manslaughter in the death of a police officer.”

She blinked rapidly, her brain misfiring. “Are we talking about the same man?”

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