Page 24 of Ireland

“Here. Let me take him,” Gideon offered, collecting Lucky and lifting him high. “You’re not starving, dawg.”

Eva snuck another side glance. The stunningly gorgeous couple on their luxurious picnic could have been shooting an advertisement for a high-end lifestyle brand; they looked so perfect together. Tucked together against the tree, they seemed oblivious to the many people around them. Ireland was breathtakingly lovely, her expression soft and dreamy as she snuggled tighter against the man who had so clearly—and swiftly—captivated her.

But the look onhisface, the cool steely-eyed antipathy that Ireland couldn’t see, alarmed Eva more.

“He’s on his way up.”

Here we go.Ireland’s hand tightened involuntarily on her phone as her excitement became almost unbearable. “Thanks, Edwin.”

Ending the call, she realized how nervous she was and laughed aloud at herself, startling Blizzard. He gave a deep yowl, blinking his icy blue eyes at her with visible displeasure.

“Sorry, Bliz.” She walked over to where her cat lay sprawled across the back of the sofa and gave him an affectionate rub behind his ears. “I’m having a moment.”

Had she thought of everything? Missedanything?

Glancing around the living room, she double-checked for any stray socks or slippers she might have kicked off and forgotten about. She’d put away the magazines featuring her interviews and/or ECRA+ advertisements and all the framed photos of her family members.

When she and Ronan had parted ways the prior evening, she’d felt a sharp sting in the middle of her chest that warned of a growing vulnerability. Then—and now—she realized adoptinganother identity was actually fortuitous. It created a barrier, a shield to protect herself. “Lizzie” had nothing to lose and could take risks Ireland Vidal couldn’t.

Thankfully, she no longer had to resist the urge to call down to the lobby reception desk—yetagain—to triple-check that the staff hadn’t forgotten thatshewas Elizabeth Duffy when a dangerously gorgeous, smooth-talking Cajun came calling on a resident with that name.

The kitchen was spotless, the breakfast she’d ordered was in the warming drawer, and two place settings waited on the large island that doubled as her dining table. Instrumental jazz piped softly from the speakers embedded in the ceiling.

She rushed to her bedroom—again—to stand in front of the full-length mirror and give her appearance yet another studious appraisal. Pivoting, Ireland assessed her front and back views. She’d spent too much time twisting her hair into a sleek chignon and on her makeup, aiming for sophistication rather than her usual bare minimum. But the wide-legged linen trousers and matching fitted vest in a warm cream hue were undeniably elegant, which was a plus.

When she exited to the living room, she left her phone on her vanity table and closed the door behind her. She convinced herself that she was prepared until the doorbell rang, and she jumped at least a foot in the air—an unwelcome and jolting reminder that she was strung tight with anxiety and anticipation.

Blizzard gave the door a baleful, curious stare as she rushed past him.

“Be nice!” she admonished, pausing at the door to take a deep breath and tug at the hem of her vest. She touched a hand to her hair, then dropped it. Closing her eyes, she willed her nerves to calm, achingly aware of Ronan standing just on the other side. It wouldn’t do to answer too quickly, after all. Shemay have worked herself up after inviting him over, but he didn’t have to know that.

When she found her center, Ireland turned the knob and pulled the door open…

…and the sight of Ronan Boudreaux in her apartment’s small elevator vestibule stole the breath she’d worked so hard to steady.

Sunlight shafted through the narrow window between the elevator and her front door, drenching his tall, broad-shouldered frame in a golden glow. The roguish mane of hair she longed to touch held a dazzling range of tawny hues and framed his sculpted features. A pair of silver aviators hung from the open collar of the gray dress shirt he’d tucked into jeans so lived-in they draped his long, strong legs. His alligator boots—a different pair than last night’s—were equally worn but polished to a high shine. He was elegantly informal and still; seeing him felt a lot like taking a hit to the chest while sparring at the Krav Maga studio.

Ireland had never known such heated yearning. He was so savagely beautiful that looking at him was a uniquely pleasurable torture. And inside of the striking packaging was a man who fascinated her. Dazzled her. Challenged her to want more.

Abruptly, the unrelenting agitation she’d been besieged by all morning began to ebb. Ireland sighed with relief. The bright smile she’d initially feigned softened into sincere delight. Ronan was the most exciting man she’d ever met, in myriad ways, but his effect on her was conversely soothing and warm.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” she greeted him.

His returning grin was wicked. “Morning,cher.”

Backing up, she waved him in.

“Not quite yet,” he murmured, settling into the threshold by propping his shoulder against the jamb. His legs crossed at theankles, and he slid his hands into his pockets. “I prepared myself for the sight of you, but here I am, still gathering my wits.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she shot back, resenting that he could hold himself back so effortlessly while exuding a silent demand she seemed hardwired to respond to. “You’re not a man who ever loses his edge.”

“Jules argues that you’ve certainly softened it.”

“Does he?” Her smile widened. “Your charm’s wasted on me, you know. That pretty face of yours already bowls me over. And the boots, of course.”

“Of course.” His eyes sparkled in a way that softened the sharp, sly intelligence she’d seen in them from the first. Then his gaze slid behind her and lowered. “You must be Blizzard,” he said, his smile shifting from flirtatious to amused. “And you’re territorial, I see. Message received.”

Ireland turned her head to see what Bliz was up to and gasped at the sight of her majestic cat sitting primly on the floor with the strap of a black lace bra dangling from between his teeth. “Oh my god! Give me that!”

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