Page 31 of Temptation at His Door

Yep, that was Ronan.

Joa, because she was a girl and he was fantastically good-looking, glanced toward the French-styled, freestanding mirror to the right of her bed and wished she’d done something other than shove her hair into a messy bun, that she’d thought to put on some makeup, some lipstick.

Thanks to reliving her best sexual encounter into the early hours of this morning—again!—she’d also had minimal sleep. Frankly, she looked like a corpse.

And, yet again, she was dressed in leggings and a bulky thigh-length sweater. One of these days she would have to show Murphy that she did own some decent clothes.

Ronan appeared in her doorway, a long cashmere coat covering his dark gray suit. His tie was pulled away from his collar and he looked like he’d had, if that was possible, even less sleep than her.

Joa put her laptop on the bed beside her and bent her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. She tipped her head back. “Ronan? What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

“Finn is downstairs. Keely gave us both the code,” Ronan replied, pushing his coat back to jam his hands into the pockets of his pants. He looked around her room and winced. “God, it looks like a rainbow exploded in here.”

Joa looked around, silently admitting that the room was a crazy combination of color: reds and oranges and pinks, a bright blue carpet and purple velvet drapes. When she first arrived at Mounton House as a teenager, this room, one of the smallest bedrooms in the house, was the only one furnished on the third floor—all the luxurious, stunningly decorated bedrooms were a floor down—and she’d liked the idea of having advance warning of anyone coming up the stairs. While she instinctively liked Isabel, trust took a lot longer and some habits took a long time to die.

As for the colors, well, she’d been happy to have a soft bed and heat, to be in a safe place, and the decor hadn’t mattered. It still didn’t.

This was her bolt-hole, a link to Isabel and she was used to the crazy color scheme. “Did you really drive over here to talk to me about my decor choices? And it’s not that bad.”

“It’s awful.” Ronan shuddered again. “But I do, admittedly, have a hangover.”

The hangover explained his bloodshot eyes, his pale complexion. Joa dropped her knees and swung her legs off the bed and stood up.

“Why is Finn here?” Joa asked, her hand on her shabby chic bedside table. Actually, it was more shabby than chic and probably used by dozens of live-in servants over the past century.

“He’s checking to see make sure he hasn’t missed something incredibly special or valuable before the movie crew moves in.”

“Like a Fabergé egg or a first-edition Charles Dickens?”

Ronan lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It wouldn’t surprise either of us and you’re closer to the mark than you realize. Back in the eighties, Isabel tossed a first-editionPride and Prejudiceonto Raeni’s desk—”

Pridewas one of her favorite books. And Isabel once owned a first edition of the famous romance? Wow. “Really?”

“Yeah. During that visit to Murphy’s, Isabel also pulled a Warhol sketch and a Fabergé snuffbox out of her bag. She sold all three objects for record-breaking prices and used the money to establish her foundation.”

Ronan stared at her face and Joa resisted the urge to check whether she had strawberry jam on her lips or sleep in her eyes.

“What?” she eventually asked when the silence stretched out.

“You look a little like Raeni. Like you, she was a stunning combination of Anglo and Indian genes.”

Joa wasn’t sure how to respond to his factual compliment. His voice was so bland but his eyes told her that he was remembering their red-hot encounter on his sofa, how they fell apart in each other’s arms.

But remembering the way he kissed and the heat they generated wasn’t helpful; it had been a one-time thing and wouldn’t happen again.

She didn’t think...

Annoyed with her lack of willpower—what was it about this man who just had to look at her to have her panting?—Joa pushed her shoulders back and arched her eyebrows. “So Finn is downstairs hunting for any overlooked treasures but that doesn’t explain your presence in my bedroom at—” she glanced at her watch “—nine forty-five on a Thursday morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had to move out of this house?”

Well, that was a question she hadn’t been expecting but it was an easy one to answer. “Because I was under no obligation to?”

Ronan’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Where are you going to go?”

She wasn’t sure yet, unable to decide between a furnished apartment or taking a suite at the Forrester-Grantham for a few months. She didn’t want to do either: hotels were impersonal and apartments were lonely. While she liked to be able to retreat when she felt like she needed some solitude, she liked knowing that people were in the house, that she wasn’t completely alone.

She hadn’t been truly alone since she spent those few terrifying nights on the cold streets of Boston nearly fifteen years ago. She’d never felt so scared, so utterly vulnerable. She’d come a long way but she still hated the idea of complete solitude.

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