Page 15 of Temptation at His Door

“Ditto,” Finn said as Ronan stood up.

Ronan nodded his thanks and picked up his pile of papers. He took the top sheet and handed Eli’s handwritten notes to Carrick. “Let me know if there is something you want my input on.”

“We’ll manage,” Carrick said. “Let us know what you need from us.”

“Will do.” Ronan stood up and pushed his chair back. He sent each of his brothers a quick look, hoping they saw his appreciation. These men had his back, had always been the two pillars propping him up. From Thandi’s death to taking the kids when he desperately needed a break, they were there for him.

He couldn’t have navigated the past three years without their constant support. He wanted to express his gratitude, but this wasn’t the time or place.

So, because he found it difficult to be vulnerable, he swallowed the words down and hoped they knew how grateful he was that his brothers were his two best friends.

One day, he’d find the guts to say thank-you.

“I wish I could help you, Ro, but I’m out of town, at a conference in Miami. But Joa is at home and I’m sure she’ll help you out. If she can’t, I’ll come home.”

After speaking to Keely, Ronan knew Joa was his last shot before hiring a sitter from an agency, something he didn’t want to do. Oh, he knew the sitter would be professional and come highly recommended, but he hated the idea of leaving his kids with someone he didn’t know.

Leaving his kids with Joa—the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about—was still better than leaving them with someone he’d never met before.

Ronan ran up the stone steps to the front door of Mounton House. Ronan had visited before, with his stepmom, Raeni, and remembered Raeni pointing out the massive staircase, the exquisite moldings, glimmering chandeliers and carved mahogany paneling. He’d been ten and thought that the huge hall would make an excellent bowling alley and the staircase would be great to slide down.

While he waited for Joa to respond to the pealing doorbell, he shifted his attention from his lack of babysitters to wondering what Keely and Joa intended to do with the enormous mansion. Others like it had been turned into apartments and he supposed that was an option; it really was too big for a modern-day family. Ronan glanced at his watch, tapped his foot impatiently and rocked on his heels. After hitting the doorbell again and getting no response after five minutes, he called Keely again.

“She’s not here,” Ronan told her. “Any idea where I can find her?”

“She’s there. She’s probably doing yoga in the ballroom and zoned out. I can scream at her and she doesn’t respond. There’s a keypad to the left of the door, do you see it?” Keely said.

Ronan’s eyes flicked over the door and he saw the discreet panel. “Yeah?”

Keely gave him the code. “The ballroom is at the end of the hallway, toward the back of the house,” Keely told him. “Go hunt her down.”

Ronan thanked her, punched in the code and pushed open the heavy door. In the hallway he inhaled the smell of beeswax polish and fresh flowers and looked at the massive walls sporting faded squares and rectangles where art pieces, up until a couple of months back, graced the walls. Those paintings, along with dozens of others, were now in the Murphy International vaults, or out getting cleaned or reframed.

Ronan heard his footsteps echoing in the huge space and took a moment to admire the hand-carved staircase. His ten-year-old self had liked the idea of sliding down the banister—and the man he’d been before Thandi’s death probably would’ve tried it.

Finn, his daredevil brother, wouldn’t hesitate.

Ronan rather missed throwing caution to the wind, but then he thought about his boys and remembered that they only had one parent and that he couldn’t take any unnecessary risks.

So he admired the intricate carving, the skill of the carpenters and the quality of the Italian marble before striding down the wide hallway, peeking into rooms as he walked past open doors. He’d grown up in a house full of antiques and while he preferred modern furniture and art, he still appreciated the workmanship and history of the eighteenth-century Chippendale table, the solid silver Georgian candelabras and a five-foot Ming vase.

As he walked deeper into the house, Ronan heard the faint sounds of music drifting down the hallway and knew he was getting closer. The music wasn’t what he expected from a yoga session; it was heavy rock, with long guitar riffs occasionally punctuated by a deep, thirty-cigarettes-a-day voice.

It was loud, rough, sexy music. The type of music he’d once loved and never listened to anymore.

Ronan saw the half-open door and pushed it with his foot, his heart slamming against his ribs as he watched Joa place one hand on the floor and extend her leg up so she was practically doing splits, standing up. God, those legs...

He knew they were shapely but the Lycra fitted her like a second skin. Joa, still unaware of his presence, dropped her leg and effortlessly slid into another pose. Keeping her hands on the floor, she tucked her knees behind her elbows and, without a hint of strain, balanced only on her hands. Then she moved her bent knees to the side and held the pose.

And he’d thought he had decent core muscles.

“Crane pose.”

Ronan, fascinated at how she was moving her body, took a moment to realize she had spoken. He blinked once, then twice.

He shot an uneasy look down the hall, thinking he should explain why he was in her house. “Keely gave me the code. She said you were here.”

Joa pulled one leg up to her chest and let her other leg extend behind her.

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