Page 18 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

“Four days?” she gasped.

“Does that seem long, sugar? I know what else is.”

She nudged his growing erection. “Four days, huh? Okay, I’ll take that bet, cowboy. We’ll see who cries uncle first.”

He started chuckling. “I wasn’t wanting to engage in that kind of battle, but if that interests you, we’ll see what other tricks this old cowboy can dig out for your pleasure.”

Sure enough, he had some old tricks, but she got points for inventiveness. They stopped counting who cried uncle first. The words he was more interested in were ones he’d long given up hope he’d hear from a woman who meant them.I love youbecame his favorite litany from her lipsandhis own. He’d given his entire heart to her by the end of the second day, and since he was a gambling man, he knew the only way to win the prize was to go all in. And Bets was the biggest prize of his life, one he’d do everything to have.

Their easy friendship returned amidst those tangled white bedsheets. She was a cuddler, he was surprised to discover as they discussed everything from art to the classic TV programs of their youth. He’d never been one to linger in bed when he was running his company, but he was finding he liked the slower pace of his new life. He’d awaken to the sound of her creeping to or from the bathroom, trying not to make any noise, and draw her back into bed. Because it turned out she started each morning with a fury of energy, and he was happy to help her channel some of it.

They ate room service in hotel robes, tucked against each other either on the bed or the couch. They wandered onto their small terrace and watched the sun sink over the gabled Paris rooftops. By the end of the third day, Linc couldn’t imagine being without her.

Lupe’s words about marriage had even arisen in his mind, but he told himself it was way too early for that. Bets had her reservations, after all, and there was no rush. Still, he’d noticed that whenever he thought about the future—and sharing it with her—he smelled oranges in their suite.

They were having a late breakfast when the emergency ringtone sounded from his silenced phone out of the blue. He wandered over to it with a knot in his stomach. Bets stopped eating her croissant. Nothing had interrupted their idyllic time together. They’d both put their phones away.

When he scanned Eoghan’s text, he swore softly.

“What is it?” she asked, hustling across the large room to his side.

He set his phone back on the table and took her by the shoulders. “No one is hurt, but Eoghan texted me to let me know there was an incident at your house.”

“My house!”

“Bets, your roses in the front garden were poisoned last night.” Sprayed with lye, Eoghan had said. There was no coming back from that. No doubt it was a message from Bets’ nemesis and sister-in-law, Mary Kincaid.

He watched as shock rolled over her face. She went pale before rage filled her eyes. “That bitch! It had to be Mary.”

“Hard to imagine anyone else stooping to such vitriol.”

She raced over to her phone. “Dammit, why didn’t Liam call me?”

Linc could feel his blood pressure rising. “He probably figured there was nothing you could do about it and decided to let you have a good time.”

“A good time?” Her face was blotchy with red spots, he was sad to see. “But those are myroses! My property. He knows how I feel about them.”

Within seconds, she had her ear to her phone, calling her son, he imagined. He wandered over to the door leading to the terrace. Under his feet, the proverbial sand was shifting. Other than the arts center, those roses were everything to Bets. From his recollection, he knew Mary had gone after Bets’ roses before by letting sheep out of a nearby pasture. Since Mary’s last attempts to harm Bets had cost her gravely, and her son was now in jail for having vandalized the arts center, Linc had hoped Mary would put a stop to her nonsense.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be the case. He would have to find a solution. He wasn’t going to let that woman hurt the woman he loved.

When he went back inside, she wasn’t in the salon. He found her in the bedroom, dressing in the clothes they’d arrived in.

“We need to get back to Ireland,” she said, pulling on her socks.

He crossed to her with a heavy heart. “Why didn’t Liam call?”

“You were right.” Incredulity laced her roughened tone. “He decided there was nothing I could do, so he elected to let me have—and I quote—a good time. I told him toneverdo that again.”

Sinking to his knee in front of her, Linc took her hands. “Sugar, in some ways he’s right. Mary’s a bitch for doing this, but there won’t be any proof.”

“No, we only put cameras on the rose garden that’s in the back of the property, away from the main house.” She gripped his hands. “How could I have been so stupid? I should have put some out front too.”

“Only you’re usually home, so you didn’t consider it.” He lifted her hands and kissed them, gazing at her. “Bets, I don’t want to leave just yet. I want to keep being here with you. Can’t we wait a few more days? It isn’t going to change the situation.”

Her blue eyes fired. “But they’re myroses.”

“Sugar, it pains me to say it, but you won’t be able to bring those roses back. We’ll get you new ones. Come on. Let’s not give Mary a victory by rushing home. Liam and Eoghan and the others will do what they can—”

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