Page 34 of Ireland

Her gaze narrowed. “Why do I think you’re trying to avoid the possibility of hitting the sheets together?”

Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he tugged her up against the length of his cock. The feel of his arousal reignited her own. She rubbed shamelessly against him.

“There’s no avoiding it,” he said, his gruff voice exciting her. “We just have some things to discuss first, and you’ll need to behave.”

“What things? And yes, to lunch. And to dinner. I’ll bring an overnight bag to work with me.”

Ronan was laughing when the elevator dinged its arrival. Cupping her nape, he folded over her, kissing her with such savage intensity she felt dizzy with it. His lips were so firm yet soft, the stroke of his tongue silky yet dominant. That he could make such a simple act so searingly erotic made her weak in the knees.

And then he straightened, releasing her and backing into the elevator. “Have a good day, tigress.”

How she wasn’t puddled on the floor confounded her. “What things?” she repeated. “Just tell me now. And we’re on for dinner, too, right?”

His wink was the last thing she saw as the doors slid closed. She tried to thrust her hand between them, but not in time.She slapped at her frustrated reflection in the outer brass doors. “Damn it.”

Instantly, Ireland felt drained, sapped of all the energy Ronan brought with him. She heaved a frustrated sigh and returned to her apartment, typing her code in the numerical lock. It whirred open, and she stepped inside, finding Alina sitting on the couch with Blizzard and a mimosa in hand.

“Holy fucking sexy beast!” her best friend exclaimed, twisting to look over the back of the sofa at her. “I leave for a few weeks, and you somehow find good taste in men!”

“Gee, thanks.” Ireland went to the kitchen to retrieve her flute.

“That guy is the ooey gooey caramel version of the Gideon Cross hot fudge sundae.”

“Please,” Ireland groaned, “do not compare Ronan’s sex appeal to my brother’s. Ick.”

Alina laughed. “Catch me up. Spare me no details. And for god’s sake, tell me he’s a maestro in bed.”

“I wish I knew,” she lamented, settling into the couch.

“What?What?”

Ireland sighed. “Buckle up, buttercup. I’ve got a story for you.”

It was nearing three o’clock before Alina started yawning. “I’m going to hit the bathroom, then head home. I’m dead on my feet.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long.” After changing into a tank top and shorts, Ireland had brought out a couple of ECRA+ skincare masks, and they’d finished the bottle of champagnewhile catching up on the episodes of their favorite shows that they had fallen behind on.

“It’s only eight in the evening in London,” Alina grumbled. “I shouldn’t be this wiped, but flying isn’t what it used to be, or so I’m told. It’s been shitty as long as I’ve been alive.” She disappeared into Ireland’s bedroom.

There was a half-bath off the living room, but the litter box was in there, so Alina used the master bath to avoid the shock of Blizzard slinking through the cat-shaped cutout in the door while she was in the middle of relieving herself.

“Hey!” Alina called out. “When did you take this picture, and can I have a copy?”

“Huh?” Ireland unfolded from her cross-legged position on the couch and went to her room.

Alina stood in the hallway that led to Ireland’s closet on one side and the bathroom on the other. Ireland came to a stop behind her, easily looking over her best friend’s shoulder because she was six inches taller. On the wall was a collection of framed photos showcasing what she held most dear: past trips with Alina, Blizzard looking majestic, and group shots with her brothers and parents.

Her best friend pointed to one of her and Gideon at a Vidal party taken in the last year. “That is a prime shot of your brother, and since you’re in the picture, too, it wouldn’t be at all weird for me to frame it by my bedside.”

“Oh, stop already.” Shaking her head, Ireland headed back the way she came. She stopped so abruptly she tripped over her own feet. “Shit. Damn it.”

“Come on. It’s a harmless crush.”

“Not that.” Ireland turned around and stared, horrified, at the artfully designed gallery wall. She’d spent a whole weekend arranging the matching gold frames into the perfectconfiguration, which made it even crazier that she’d forgotten all about them. “Ronan was in here. He could’ve seen these.”

“Shit,” Alina agreed, her nose scrunched.

Wouldn’t he have said something if he’d seen them? Maybe he didn’t because Alina was here. But then they’d been alone for a bit while they waited for the elevator. Was seeing her with the ultra-recognizable Gideon Cross why he’d rushed to leave? He’d recognize them as siblings. Everyone did.

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