Page 13 of Wine & Warlocks

She shot him a sharp look that would wound a lesser man, but both Ronan and Trevor laughed at her bogus indignation. “Sure, and when did you decide to be Ronan’s best friend?”

“Who says I’m his friend? Maybe I’m yours.”

“You’re beginning to grow on me, Blane.” Ronan toasted him with his teacup. “And whatever the encouragement, be it for me darlin’ Dove or for myself, I thank you.” He casually drained his drink and took care in setting the delicate china on its saucer. “But I’ll still smite ya if you even think of shaggin’ her.”

“Jaysus! You thick plonker!” Dubheasa rose to her feet and glared down at him. “You’ll stop threatening the man, or you’ll be answering to me, yeah?”

She was halfway out the door when Trevor’s softly spoken words reached her.

“O’Connor, you fucking lucky bastard.”

“Only if she decides she can’t live without me.” And in her mind, she heard the words he hadn’t spoken aloud.“Like I can’t live without her.”

CHAPTER6

That night’s discussion had reminded Dubheasa acutely of her all-too-brief time as Ronan’s lover. For the better part of two hours since heading to bed, she tossed and turned, trying desperately to put the memories of making love with him out of her mind. But just like the recent time spent in Ireland at her future sister-in-law’s new estate, Dubheasa was having a hard go of it with the man only a few doors away.

Now, as then, his dominating presence tempted her to forget her pique and seek him out. Now, as then, she knew it was a mistake to do it. But the longer she spent in his company, the harder it was to remember why she’d been upset in the first place. Especially after he’d expressed remorse and explained his reasons. Yet she couldn’t forget he’d also lied about the forced lockdown. He’d shown up at Eoin and Brenna’s place, spouting a tall tale about the Goddess demanding they all sequester in place because Loman was on the loose.

It was only a half truth.

Yes, Loman had escaped. Yes, Ronan had shown up to deliver the news per the Goddess’s request. But after that, he’d spontaneously invented the lockdown so he could spend time with Dubheasa. If he hadn’t grown a conscience and admitted the truth right before she kissed him, he’d have gotten away with the falsehood.

Shaking her head at his boldness, she recalled that night…

Dinner had been a festive affair,and she’d had one too many glasses of wine in an attempt to wash away the memories of her original date with Ronan. Like that first date, he’d worn a white button-down shirt with a dark-blue suit jacket that contrasted with his mercurial gray eyes and made them more vibrant and silvery by the candlelight. He’d been attentive to her, listening with a smile and refilling her drink whenever she consumed it. The memories had sparked her longing to start over and give him a chance to explain his side of the story, which she’d not let him do until that moment. As the food and alcohol continued to flow, making everyone merry, the cheerful atmosphere ate away at Dubheasa’s resolve along with her residual anger. So when Ronan held out a hand and asked her to walk in the garden with him, she readily agreed.

“I’m sorry for deceiving you, Dove. You didn’t deserve to be punished for my mischief at Lamda.”

She’d simply been too mellow and didn’t want to fight, so she had ignored her thirst for answers and allowed him to hold her hand as they walked through the maze. When Ronan guided her to a weathered wooden bench and drew her down beside him, she didn’t resist, instead leaning into him as he put an arm around her shoulders to ward off the chilly air.

Maybe it was the romance of the shimmering full moon, or maybe she was tired of running away, but she couldn’t find it in her to be hateful.

“Do you think you’ll be able to stop your da?” she asked him.

Ronan hesitated before answering. Eventually, he sighed. “I hope so. He’s a crafty bastard, he is. And we’ll all need to remain alert to his attack.”

Lifting her head, she spent an inordinate amount of time memorizing his perfectly chiseled features. The man was truly a work of art. All hard planes and contours, symmetrical in every way. Eyes perfectly shaped, not too far apart, nor too close together. Not too wide, nor too narrow. And his lashes… Dubheasa sighed her envy. Was it fair a man should be so heartbreakingly gorgeous?

Oddly, he didn’t seem aware of it and wasn’t vain in the least about his looks. And didn’t that make him more attractive? Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she longed to have him rain super soft, velvety kisses all over her exposed skin as he waxed poetic about how she made him feel.

Jaysus, had any of it been real? Firmly ensconced within the circle of his arms, she believed it might’ve been, but unless she dared ask, she’d never know the truth.

Hesitant to go there, she asked instead, “How long before Loman makes his move, do you think?”

Had she not been watching, she’d have missed the flash of guilt on Ronan’s face. Why he would experience any guilt for his father’s behavior was in question, and for that reason, she firmly gripped his jaw, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“What aren’t you telling me, Ronan?”

“Can we shelve this discussion for tonight, Dove? I’ve a might powerful need to kiss ya, and I don’t want to talk about my gobshite da.”

There was a desperation in his reply.

“Aye. We can,” she agreed. “But we’ll talk about it again in the morning, yeah?”

With a resigned expression, he nodded. And again, unease snaked through Dubheasa’s wine-soaked mind.

When Ronan lowered his head, it finally clicked what was wrong. He’d worn that same look the first night in New York when she asked him a few hard questions. That time, like this, he appeared to be fighting an inner battle with himself—and losing.

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