Page 27 of Ireland

“Take your time,” he said, lifting the lid on the island’s built-in countertop trash can and swiping the cork, muselet, and foil into it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She grasped for that because she wasn’t confused at all about the logistics. “But you will. When?”

“When am I going somewhere?”

“Home, specifically. Don’t be coy.”

“Not coy. Cautious.” He caught her gaze. “You want to charge headlong into bed with me, and we’re absolutely going to getthere and stay there for a damned long time. But you’ve got doubts, questions, concerns, so we’ll get them sorted now before they get in my way later.”

“How much later?” she asked.

Ronan began to pour. “Are you asking if I have a timeline for how long I’ll want you?”

“No. Damn it.” She finished each mimosa with a modest splash of orange juice, more in his than hers. “When are you resuming your normal life away from this city and me? Is that clear enough?”

He watched her with those stormy eyes as he accepted the flute she handed him. “Geography has never stopped me from getting to something I want.”

When his fingers brushed hers, it sparked a primitive awareness. It was an ache that could not be soothed. “Do you always answer questions with slippery evasions? Because it’s starting to piss me off.”

The air around Ronan became charged.

“Merde, you sound like Jules! You don’t understand your own power,” he growled, “and it infuriates me that no one close to you has pushed you to see it. You’re worse than a Gulf hurricane—at least I can prepare for those.”

“That’s another non-answer.”

“I’m scheduled to leave tomorrow.”

“Oh.” The sting of dismay was an acutely unwelcome surprise.

“Unless there’s a chance of seeing you again.”

Ireland gaped at him. Maddeningly, she warmed to him in a way that had nothing to do with her desire for his body. She looked down into her flute as she lifted it to her mouth, afraid to reveal more than she already had.

She hated feeling gauche and too eager.

He was older, more experienced, less emotive. And worse, her own demons tormented her—Ronan had never made her feel unequal. Undeveloped, maybe. Untapped. And she adored that he saw something in her she wasn’t sure was actually there.

But she could work on it. She could fake it until she made it a reality.

“We could maybe work something out,” she managed to say with some elan.

He shot her an arch look. “Glad to hear it.”

“So… you’ll leave Tuesday?”

“I’ll leave when you want me to or when I’d rather be somewhere else than with you.”

She fidgeted with the stem of her glass. “I see.”

“Do you?” He crossed his arms, his biceps thick beneath his shirtsleeves. “I’m treading carefully with a woman who tires of men quickly and has recently sworn off my gender altogether, but you question your desirabilityfirst? That’s ass-backward,cher, and damned infuriating.”

“Well…” She didn’t know how to respond to that.

His exhale was an incredulous huff of laughter. “Incredible.”

She licked a drop of mimosa from her lower lip and watched his features harden. He was edgier than he’d ever been, his emotions closer to the surface but still firmly in check. She liked him this way.

A lot.

---