Page 69 of Ireland

She lifted her hand to ward him off, but he just caught it in his, the chaste touch electrifying.

Her tone was biting. “Are you seriously trying to comfort me when you’re the reason I need comfort in the first place?”

“Consider it penance,” he cajoled.

He pulled her slowly toward him, closing the short distance between them. Ireland could’ve resisted the physical pull, but the maddening attraction was undeniable. His arm slid cautiously around her waist, giving her time to protest further. When she didn’t, he enfolded her, cradling her against his warm chest.

The tears came, hot and stinging. She slipped her cold hands under his jacket, rubbing the hard muscles of his back to absorb his heat. He shivered without protest and gripped her morefirmly. He nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply. She felt the tension leave him in a slow ebb as his hands caressed her, soothing her as she quaked with sobs against him.

Burrowing into him, she cried silently, her exhaustion profound. The tears flowed unchecked, draining the anger and frustration until she was limp against him. Ronan supported her with ease, and as the storm inside her passed, she felt the movement in his chest…

…and realized he was singing to her—in French.

Ireland tilted her head back and caught his soulful gaze. His voice, even barely above a whisper, was like moonlit magic—deep, mysterious, and incandescent. It touched an unfamiliar and unreached place deep inside her. “What is that you’re singing?”

Catching her face in both hands, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s an old Cajun song,” he murmured.

“About what?”

“A man whose woman leaves him for her family.”

She gave him a dry look.

His wicked smile ruined his innocent shrug. “Ah, I’ve amused you.Ça c’est bon.”

“Please don’t be charming,” she said guardedly, pulling away.

“How can I help it?” He caught her by the elbow, suddenly serious. He waited a moment, letting his somberness penetrate so she could steel herself for what he’d say next. “Your mother’s shares are worthless. You shouldn’t have wasted your money,cher. I was prepared to take the loss, are you?”

Her chin lifted, and she used his words. “How could I help it?”

Ronan’s harsh exhale was long-suffering and resigned. “And your father left you to explain everything to your brother.”

“With great power comes great responsibility. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“That might explain why your father no longer has power,” he said wryly.

“Ronan…”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Not another word about him.”

Giving him a narrow-eyed glare, she walked around him to the bathroom and turned on the light, wincing at the sight of her reddened nose and eyes in the mirror.

He appeared in the door's opening, leaning insouciantly against the jamb. “I want you to know that my body—which, I’ll remind you, is available for your use at any time—can also serve this purpose. You may not find the comfort you need from your family when you need it.”

She favored him with a level look. “The only reason a man tolerates a crying woman he’s not related or married to is to get in her pants.”

“Two birds, one stone.”

Snatching the hand towel off the bar, she spun and snapped it at him. He jumped back, laughing.

“Get out!” she ordered.

“Fine.” He paused at her office door with his hand on the knob, all teasing gone. “You good for now?”

She studied him, realizing how easily he could recenter her. He was wholly civilized now, wearing a jacket and tie, his sleeves buttoned at the wrists. His hair was slightly tousled from his hasty backward retreat, and the effect of it against his polished urbanity was sexy as sin.

“Yes. I’m better.” It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him, but it seemed wrong to do so.

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