Page 74 of Ireland

“Do you really think so?” Jules dropped gracelessly onto the sofa beside her.

“He’s like you, Jules. Women are a pleasant diversion. What makes this one so special? She’s a Vidal.”

He slouched, petulant. “We’re so close to having what he’s long wanted. He could finally put this all behind him and try to be content for once. He deserves peace more than anyone.”

She draped her arm across his shoulders and gave him a comforting hug. “Imagine if Scarlett was to hear of this somehow? Ireland Vidal is photographed on the street all the time. If Ronan is with her…”

His handsome features hardened. “I won’t let her ruin everything. If I have to, I’ll do what our brother can’t.”

Studying Jules, Claudette noted the obstinate line of his clenched jaw. He was the impetuous one among them. Bold, brash, and unafraid of consequences. Mostly, they used those traits to their advantage. They knew to be wary when Jules got that look in his eye.

“Don’t get any stupid ideas, Jules,” she admonished. “Ronan has never failed us. He won’t start now.”

Ireland turned her phone off after receiving the doorman’s heads-up that Ronan was on his way to the elevator. How many times had she reconsidered her decision to invite him over? At least a hundred. She’d had his contact card open on her phone screen since they’d hung up, but she couldn’t seem to hit the button to make the call.

It had been easier to avoid him the night before when she’d been rushed to get things finalized. Now, she was awake and frustrated by fatigue, but thoughts whirled ceaselessly in her mind. Mixed in with the mental chaos were taunting, tempting memories of Ronan. It felt like the worst betrayal that theman targeting her father—for a reason neither of them seemed willing to tell her—was the same man whose presence made her feel alive in new and compelling ways. She was being selfish, indulging herself with him, her defenses weakened by her self-doubt and the soul-deep weariness that felt like a smothering weight.

Perversely, she wasn’t too tired to be excited. Her breathing was quick, her pulse quicker. He still turned her on, still lured her with a heady attraction. It infuriated her that the yearning was so insistent, which gave an edge to her desire. The near-feral sex they’d had should have been enough to satisfy her for a while, but she only wanted him more now.

Opening her front door, Ireland tried posing herself on the threshold in a way that would drive Ronan wild. She rested her forearm against the jamb above her head and adjusted the white silk of her kimono to bare her leg. Then she fluffed her hair and widened her neckline. She bared one shoulder, then covered it again. Then she tried leaning her back against the frame and bending her leg to brace herself.

But when the elevator’s soft chime signaled its arrival, she found herself paralyzed, lamely standing in the doorway.

The car doors slid open, and Ronan appeared, his breathtaking face wearing the hard, hungry look of a man whose base needs were driving him to the edge. Their gazes locked and communicated so much in the mere blink of an eye—wariness, anticipation, desire, and the sensual joy of seeing someone whose presence was a wild thrill.

While she was frozen with indecision, Ronan was determined, and he ate up the distance between them with his long-legged stride. He caught her up in a crushing embrace, lifting her feet from the floor. His mouth sealed over hers in a greedy, demanding kiss.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Ireland held on, kissing him back with the same voracious need. His groan echoed in the small vestibule, the sound so searingly erotic a shiver swept through her.

Everything rushed by them as he carried her into the condo and kicked the door shut behind him. All the lights were off, the sole illumination coming from the moon shining through her large, uncovered windows.

He took her straight to the bedroom and lowered her to the bed, toeing off his shoes before stretching out beside her. Their legs twined, his well-worn jeans soft against her bare legs. It was all so fast, mere seconds from his arrival to falling into bed together. There was no time to think or second-guess. His lips moved across her cheek, and then he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed her in with a long, slow inhale and nuzzled deep.

Then he stopped moving at all.

After a few moments, Ireland lay confused. “Ronan?”

“A moment,cher,” he murmured. “Just to hold you.”

Slowly, she felt his big body relax. His hard planes and valleys settled against her slight curves as the fine tension drained from his long frame.

It took her a bit more time to loosen up, her mind arguing that she shouldn’t draw any comfort from the man who tormented her. But she couldn’t stop the easing of her tight muscles. It was an involuntary reaction to the feeling of being…enough. With Ronan, she didn’t feel like she needed to be more, do more, give more. She wished she knew what he drew from her in return.

Ronan Boudreaux was either her dream man or a nightmare, and she was drained by the effort of figuring out which was true. In the end, it didn’t really matter. He would always be the enemyof her family. She had him now, and if she did her job right and fought off his takeover attempt, that was all she would ever have.

Andwhywas she even thinking of anything beyond the next hour or so?

Her fingers slid into his hair to hold him to her as she burrowed into his embrace and followed his lead, allowing his opulently seductive scent to permeate her senses and soothe her agitated nerves. It felt so good to be held after the upheaval of the past days, and she permitted herself to enjoy it. She’d thought she wanted hard, grinding sex and knew he could—and would—give it to her. But this moment of reconnection before such wild intimacy had been needed, too. He’d apparently known that, but she was just now catching on.

Ronan’s warmth, their companionable silence, and the steady thrum of sexual affinity between them served as a balm for her raw emotions. He was a highly sexual creature, one who radiated such hot male animal energy, and yet he was content for the time being just to be close to her, one thick biceps pillowing her head and his hand curved possessively around her butt cheek.

Her fingers traced the sharp objects that formed his tribal tattoo, then she ruffled the rough silk of his hair. She closed her eyes, but sleep was far from her mind. Ronan was too exciting, even when he was doing nothing.

Eventually, he pulled back and looked down at her. He searched her expression with a thorough once-over.

Had he held himself back so she could come to grips with her choice to invite him over?

“No regrets,” she whispered, able to confirm that because of his actions—or inaction, as the case might be. He could’ve used her body in countless ways since they’d met if that had been his aim.

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