Page 95 of Ireland

Her breath whistled. “How serious is this dalliance of yours?”

He shrugged. “It’s early days yet.”

“If you’re trying to make me jealous,” Scarlett drawled, recrossing her legs seductively, “it won’t work. You can’t live away from here, and a woman making her living in New York isn’t moving to our sleepy parish. Let him sow his wild oats, as they say, Ms. Harper. He got a late start after all.”

Ronan hadn’t expected Scarlett to take his side, but he appreciated it, which he told her with a wink. She preened and returned the gesture.

“That may be,” Harper conceded, “but you’re forty years old, Ronan. Not only was your father a grown man when I was your age, with three older siblings, but you were one of several grandchildren.”

“Almost forty.” He grinned. “And if you’re counting on me to contribute to your extensive brood of great-grandchildren, don’t.”

A soft chiming sound drifted through the air. Harper and Scarlett both stood immediately at the familiar reminder alarm. “We’ll see you at lunch, Scarlett.”

“Yes, Ms. Harper. I’ll save you a seat by me, Ronan.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“De rien.” Scarlett shut the door behind her when she left.

His grand-mère used a remote to power on the big monitor on the wall, then she logged into the video program that charged them in ten-minute increments to speak with Lucas Boudreaux.

When Lucas appeared, Ronan heard Harper’s sharp inhalation. He knew his face, so like his father’s, made Lucas’s four decades of hard labor even more apparent. There was a hardened look to the man, a flatness in his gray eyes that revealed the cost of living in a cage, fighting for dominance and survival among lethal criminals with nothing to lose but a lifetime of captivity.

Ronan had felt and seen a similar change happening in himself before he’d crossed paths with his father in the state’s penal system. If he hadn’t come under Lucas’s protection while institutionalized, he might not be alive today. He might also be even more of an animal than his childhood had made him.

“Comment ça va?” Wearing a chambray shirt over a white T-shirt, Lucas greeted them with a wide smile. “How are my two favorite people? I take it there’s grand news since Ronan is home.”

Harper sat with perfect posture, hands linked in her lap. “Ronan tells me the plans have changed.”

“Oh?” Lucas brushed back his grizzled hair, which was more blond than his mother’s but with a similar pattern.

Ronan’s arms crossed. “Chris Vidal, Sr. has lost control of his business. He has no stake in it whatsoever now.”

His father flashed a smile so bright he could see a glimpse of the man Lucas had once been. “You did it. I knew you could, but a man learns not to get his hopes up after a while, you know?”

“I know.” And he did. All too well.

“Why is it relevant that he has no stake in a company that no longer exists?” Harper asked shrewdly.

Giving her a brief, appreciative grin, Ronan explained, “Because I’m not going to kill it just yet. Chris Vidal was theproblem, and now he’s not. It could become profitable again under the right hand.”

Lucas looked from him to Harper with raised brows.

Harper’s cool gaze was intimidating. “You don’t run businesses, Ronan, you ruin them.”

“That’s true. But I’ve been thinking perhaps it’s time I built one up instead. And why not music? One of my great loves.” He could tell the argument wasn’t landing and switched tactics. “Plus, dismantling the business will be over too quickly. Much more painful, I think, for Vidal to watch me running it instead.”

Nodding, Lucas grinned, but this time, it was full of malice. “I like the way you think, baw. Always have. You know how to make things hurt. That’s a valuable skill.”

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?” Harper scowled. “The daughter. She’s why you’re doing this.”

“The daughter?” Lucas frowned, and then his expression cleared. “You’re fucking his daughter?” Throwing his head back, he laughed raucously. “Mon dieu, that’s rich! It must be killing him.”

“Stop laughing!” Harper ordered curtly, her expression inflexible. “You said you’re romantically involved with her, Ronan. That it might be serious.”

Ronan felt a warning tingling down his spine and heeded it as always. He began to choose his words more carefully. “A gentleman discusses his liaisons with respect—you taught me that, grand-mère.”

“You can make an exception for the Vidal woman.”

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