Page 28 of Ireland

To be so attuned to someone was both foreign and thrilling. Could she break through that cage he kept himself so securely locked in? It was a challenge she couldn’t walk away from.

Setting her glass down, Ireland started to round the island, moving leisurely if cautiously.

“I’m really not very worldly,” she admitted, her fingertips trailing across the cool marble countertop. “I’ve never had the opportunity to take on a man of your caliber before.”

“You’re flawless.” He followed her with his eyes. “Faultless. Far out of my league. That you don’t know that is a crime. I’ve set the pace out of an abundance of caution because when this is over, it’ll be over for both of us. I won’t be left with anenviefor something I can’t have.”

“You don’t fit the mold of anyone I’ve ever met.” Ireland stopped on the opposite side of the corner from him. “Who knows what could happen? Just because I haven’t wasted time with the wrong guy?—”

“I’mthe wrong guy,” he said flatly, his eyes dark.

Her lips pursed, then twisted in thought. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m an immoral man. I believe the ends justify the means without exception.”

She knew his sultry charm was as much a mask as her studied calm. She knew because he’d wanted her to know. Beneath his polished exterior was the child who’d stolen food to survive and spent considerable time on the streets.

“Will you hurt me?” she asked bluntly.

Ronan stared at her, silent, for the length of a breathless minute or two. Then he replied, “Not by design, no.”

She, too, paused to consider, then nodded. “I don’t plan to hurt you, either—if I even can.”

He shook his head. “You’re too reckless. Too wild. It’s why I want you and why you want me, but it’s not wise.”

Her chin lifted. “We’ve spent a lot of time together in the past two days. Talking. Sharing. Revealing things about ourselves that are—as you said—more intimate than if we’d spent the time fucking. You wanted me to know you, and I know enough to want to know more. Isn’t that how anything worthwhile begins?”

“I can’t say.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to take our chances.” She eased toward him, moving into his space. His scent, warm like whiskeyand faintly smoky, like a fine cigar, was as earthy as the man and equally intoxicating. She wanted to melt into him, press her nose to his throat, lick the salt from his skin. He made her feel fluid and languid, longing only to wrap her limbs around the heat and hardness of his powerful body. The fierce attraction bubbled like champagne inside her, spurring a wild, unfettered need.

He unhooked the sunglasses from his collar and set them down on the island, the faintest of invitations to get closer to the virile body she thirsted for. “You never answered my question about those regrets you anticipated.”

Ireland didn’t hesitate to be honest. After all, she already had the weight of using her mother’s maiden name to crawl out from under. “Regret—singular. And that would be wanting too much.”

“That’s not typically a problem for you.”

“No,” she agreed. “But then, you’re not a typical man.”

He caught her hand in his when she reached for him. “How easily you tie a man into knots.” His mouth curved against her knuckles as he pressed a kiss to them. “You’re a dangerous woman.”

“Isn’t that what you like about me?” She linked their fingers. “You know, I have this impractically romantic notion of being in the bayou with you, miles from civilization, wearing nothing but a sheen of sweat that’s somehow sexy, sipping bourbon on the rocks as I watch an elegant egret flying over the water.”

His smile fled, his gaze on her face taking on a predatory gleam. His jaw tautened with a hunger she recognized intimately because she also felt it.

“And what am I doing?” he asked gruffly, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Something filthy, I hope.”

“You tell me.” She pushed forward, freeing her hand to rest atop the heat and hardness of his chest. The pounding beat of his heart was revelatory, betraying how she affected him. The rhythm was familiar, and she was amazed when she realizedwhy: it matched the cadence of the silent demand emanating from him, the ferocious animal attraction she could not deny. “Or better yet, show me.”

Ronan circled her wrists with his fingers, then gently urged her hands down to her sides, then behind, to the small of her back. He held her captive with one hand, his other reaching up to the gold comb she’d used to secure her hair. “May I?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. She tried to answer but ended up nodding instead. The heavy strands of her hair dropped in a rush, and she moaned in relief, her scalp tingling.

“I want you just the way you are.” He nuzzled her temple as he deftly wrapped her hair around his forearm, fisting the mass at her nape. “Don’t change yourself, tigress, to suit me or anyone.”

The rush of air that left her took all the tightness in her muscles with it. She sagged into him, her breasts growing sensitive at the feel of his torso against hers. Nuzzling him in return, her eyes closed, her fingers flexing with the need to touch him. His single-handed hold on her wrists was too light to be legitimately restraining, but she wouldn’t break it, just as she wouldn’t urge him to a faster pace than he was comfortable with.

It was compelling, the withholding of his body from her. Did he know that? Was he exploiting her hunger to his advantage? Why wait? Unless he wanted something beyond sex…?

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