Page 94 of Ireland

He gave her a patient, resolute look.

She sighed heavily and gestured for him to sit on one of the two matching settees. “If you’re not finished there, why return at all? You can afford to buy new clothes.”

“You know why.” Tugging up his slacks, he sat gingerly. While Harper often insisted the delicate-looking, centuries-old furniture could bear his weight, he didn’t entirely trust that. “I want to tell Lucas personally how and why the plan has changed.”

And today was Harper’s scheduled video call with her son, so this was Ronan’s chance. It was a standing appointment afforded to his grand-mère by good planningandbreeding—there were benefits to coming from old money, which he’d learned by watching, not doing. Harper had seen to it that he was trained as necessary to prevent embarrassing her or the family, but he would always be the boy from the bayou.

“Don’t call your papa by his name,” she admonished. “And what’s changed? We haven’t discussed making any adjustments to the plan.”

Ronan shook his head. He was only going to explain the situation once to them both. But he could tell her something that wouldn’t matter at all to Lucas. “We lost the warehouse in Queens to Cross Industries. I’ve already told Owen Claiborne.”

And Scarlett’s father hadn’t taken the news well. Owen hoped to expand the Claiborne import-export business beyond the Gulf to the East Coast. Ronan so rarely failed to succeed that many assumed he was infallible.

Harper’s gaze narrowed. “How?”

“The daughter, Ireland, is more formidable than anticipated.”

When his grand-mère’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed with displeasure, he realized he might have inadvertently revealed his admiration in his tone. So be it. A bit of forewarning before the call might actually help smooth his way forward.

“Ronan!” Scarlett’s breathy voice came from the doorway. “I wasn’t sure that was you with your hair so long. Although I do like the savage look on you.”

She’d put some clothes on—sandals with elaborate heels and a floral halter dress that might’ve been demure but for the plunging neckline that revealed her impressive cleavage. Her hair was now up in a ponytail, and large round diamonds sparkled from her ears.

He stood as she entered. “Aren’t you a vision,” he drawled, careful to avert his mouth when herla bisestrayed too close. She smelled of roses and honeysuckle, which conversely reminded him of how Ireland’s spicy floral scent drove him wild. “That dress was meant to be worn by you.”

The sly look she gave him said she caught the double meaning of his compliment.

“Lawd, have I missed you!” she told him as she sat on the settee he’d been occupying. “It’s terminally boring when you’re not here. I should’ve gone with you to New York. I could’ve shopped while you worked and made sure you fit some fun in there, too. You work too hard, Ronan.”

Absolutely not trusting the curved leg settee with both of them on it, Ronan went to the bar cart instead. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

“It’s too early to drink,” Scarlett said—for Harper’s benefit. He knew she lied because he’d watched her pour whiskey from a flask into her lemonade at more than one charity event.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” his grand-mère replied.

Agreeing with Scarlett, he opened a small bottle of soda water and drank deeply. He did like the woman, always had. When he was roped into being the token Boudreaux at an event, Scarlett’s presence made it bearable. They’d tangled in the sheets a few times, and she had been a pleasant diversion. He’d known to fuck her like a lady—not too rough or sweaty, no teeth marks or bruises. Not that he was ever or had ever been as passionate with any woman as he was with Ireland, but he couldn’t say he’d ever even lusted after Scarlett. She was willing, and he was able; that was all.

Still, despite his sedate performance in bed, Scarlett was perversely excited by the fear his past evoked in her. What went on in her pretty head, he didn’t know, but having a woman get off on being afraid of him was not a turn-on. And now that he’d mated with his tigress, he was ruined for the casual sex he’d indulged in before. If he wasn’t burning alive from the inside out, he didn’t want it.

“Ronan’s planning on leaving again this afternoon,” Harper told Scarlett, wily in her quest for support.

“No!” Scarlett protested. “You’ve just returned,cher. I’ve hardly had time to even look at you.”

“I’ve met someone.” He looked each of them in the eye individually.

“What does that mean?” Harper demanded.

“I’ve become romantically involved,” he elaborated, “with a woman I met in New York.”

Scarlett’s frown smoothed out, and she smiled confidently. “Well, you have been gone for weeks, and you’re a healthy male in your prime... I really should’ve come along with you.”

“Scarlett.” Harper’s voice held a note of reprimand. No one expected her to remain virginal until marriage, but discretion was the mark of a lady.

His mouth curved at Scarlett’s lack of jealousy. “I may be gone for a while longer.”

Her fingers drumming on the arm of the settee, Harper studied him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just because the Vidal situation has concluded doesn’t mean you have time to waste. There’s more to be done here.”

“And plenty of Boudreauxes to do it,” he countered without heat. “My mind can’t be changed, so I urge you not to waste time trying.”

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