Page 44 of Ireland

“Naked?” She frowned. They stopped behind the mass of people waiting for the next elevator car. Leaning toward him, she whispered, “Is my dress see-through?”

He gave her a level look. “Did you not see yourself walking laps around Times Square selling lotion?”

Her eyes and mouth opened wide. “I forgot about that! How’d it come out? Did it look okay?”

His teeth clenched as his mind replayed the memory of her splendid body moving with joyful, aggressive sexuality. His blood heated again, and he growled,“‘Okay?’No. Not even close. There’s actually no word that covers how perfect every inch of you is.”

Ireland’s mouth curved in a smug smile, then she shifted her gaze from him to watching the floor numbers change. The older woman in front of them turned her head and gave Ronan an approving nod.

They were able to get into the third elevator car, and Ronan pulled Ireland into place in front of him, his arm slung around her waist. Turning her head, she shot him a strident look, but he just nuzzled her temple and breathed her in, absorbing the fragrance of her perfume blended with the scent of her skin. Closing his eyes, he was no longer crammed into the back corner of a packed elevator car, he was simply holding the woman he desired intensely. The strain in his shoulders eased enough to be bearable. It was the first time he’d ridden an overflowing elevator without hating it.

When they stopped on his floor, she reached a hand back for him and led him out with her. But once they were free, she shook him off. “I can carry my bag,” she said.

“I know.” Extending his hand, he directed her to walk in front of him. “5100.”

An odd tingle raced down Ireland’s spine. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about my room number,cher?” Ronan took his phone out to unlock the double doors to the three-bedroom suite.

She knew exactly what to expect when she entered the room because she’d designed the signature suite herself. Her father and brother had also designed suites as part of the branded feel Gideon wanted for the flagship property. Each had a distinctive style, with her father following the 70s styling of the Vidal offices and Christopher reminiscing with an 80s theme. Ireland had wanted to evoke a different feeling than nostalgia.

She’d wanted indulgence.

So, she stepped into a very familiar sprawling space filled with sumptuous fabrics and overstuffed furniture. The windowswere covered in sapphire sheers framed by puddled velvet drapes in the same hue. Day or night, the rooms were drenched in simulated dusk thanks to strategic mood lighting in the coffered ceiling.

The suite was an amalgam of all the things she loved and couldn’t implement in her own place. A big, white, long-haired cat shedding on dark fabrics? No, thank you. And she wanted her family to feel comfortable when they stopped by.

Did Ronan like the inherently sexy suite? The thought of him living and sleeping in it stirred heat inside her.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked as he dropped her duffel into a chair and shrugged out of his suit jacket. He loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt on his way to the bar. “Water, soda, juice? Something stronger?”

Ireland set her Birkin down next to her overnight bag and then plopped herself into the thick cushions of the silver velvet sofa. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her legs and draped her arm along the back of the couch. “Sparkling water, if you’ve got it. Did you know who I was when we met Friday?”

He straightened from bending down to the minifridge behind the tufted gray silk bar, untwisting the cap of a blue glass bottle and grabbing a hobnail drinking glass before strolling toward her with sultry sexual grace. He reminded her of a lion on the prowl, loose-limbed and formidable even at leisure. “Yes.”

“And yet you acted like you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sure ifyouwere acting.” He poured for her, deposited the bottle and glass on the coffee table, and then settled into the matching sofa across from hers. Reaching down, he unzipped his sexy-as-sin crocodile dress boots. He pulled off his socks so he was barefoot, too, draping them over the boot shafts before tucking them under the couch.

Such a simple act shouldn’t feel so intimate.

“What do you mean?” she asked, forcing her mind to stay on track.

Sitting back, Ronan widened the spread of his knees and began working on unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t believe in coincidences or serendipity. You were in the same space as me, in a fine temper, and I had to think that was by design.”

She mustn’t stare at the sizeable bulge between his legs. She definitely should not feel a growing ache while doing so. Licking her dry lips, Ireland forced her gaze upward and found him staring back with knowing amusement. She cleared her throat. “When did you realize I was clueless?”

“By Saturday afternoon, I started to believe you had no agenda.”

“No way it took that long,” she contested. They’d been together until the early hours of Saturday morning, enjoying the food and company of Valentin and Genevieve.

“Buying out the other Vidal investors didn’t happen overnight. It was unimaginable that you didn’t know what was happening. You’d also given me a false name, were vague about your career, asked me intrusive questions, suggested some conflict with your family, and were actively seducing me. What do?—”

“I was not!” But the observation she protested wasn’t the one that stung.

His half-smile was a blatant challenge. He finished tugging off his tie and tossed it over the armrest, his entire body seeming to shrug off tension along with it. He wore his civility with such confident ease, yet the truth was that it suffocated him.

“Youwere seducingme,” she countered, her fingers drumming on the sofa back.

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