Chapter 8
As Ronan and Claudette waited for the elevator on the second floor of Vidal Records, he eyed her rapidly tapping foot. She scrolled through her phone with a scowl.
“You’re not mad about having dinner here, are you?” he asked, reaching over to playfully tug a long curl of her hair.
“Non,” she snapped, jerking away from his touch.
His brows shot up. His sister was always even-tempered. She stayed calm when things got heated or went awry. In fact, the only time she showed any outsized emotion about anything was when she was frustrated with him or Jules.
“It was your suggestion,” he reminded her. “Actually, it was more like an insistence. And for what it’s worth, the band appreciated it as much as I. One or more of them may even have a crush on you.”
She’d called him at nine in the morning to see which meal of the day they’d be eating together.
When he told her that he was tied up with Six-Ninths, she called again at one.
When she heard that he was still busy with the band, she touched base again around five.
Eventually, she offered to bring jambalaya from Valentin’s for everyone—keeping her promise to help him, even if it went against their years-long plan to shutter Vidal Records for good.
Shaking her head, Claudette thrust her phone back into her purse as the car arrived and the doors opened. She stalked in and pivoted angrily to face outward.
Then she huffed out her breath and seemed to release some of her tension. “Jules is finally on his way.”
So, her irritation was because of a brother after all. Ronan was relieved it was Jules and not him.
Standing beside her, he shrugged indifferently.
Jules was Jules. Impulsive and hot-headed.
But their brother showed up when needed.
He wanted so badly to help Ronan in any way he could that he sometimes decided what he felt was best and acted accordingly.
Which was why Jules had made wooing Ireland far more of a travail than necessary.
“I think he was delayed by a woman,” Claudette muttered, crossing her arms.
“Mais yeah,” he said drily. Ronan had glutted himself with women in the first few years after he’d been released from jail. Eventually, the excess had grown tiring. Their brother had yet to reach that point.
“Ronan.” She turned toward him. “Jules would drop any and everything to come to your aid. If you don’t know that, you’re not as smart as I’ve always believed you to be.”
His brows lifted at her rebuke. Merde. Evidently, he was part of the reason she was in a bad mood.
“For him to postpone his flight for a woman means she’s different,” she argued. “Special.”
He considered that possibility as they exited the elevator. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing for him to settle down. Depending on the woman.”
God help them if Jules fell for someone who shared his volatility. Far better for him to find a match who tempered his brashness.
“Agreed. We should learn more.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he drawled. “If he wants us to know about his love life, he’ll tell us himself.”
“This is Jules we’re talking about,” she said with wry amusement as he waved goodbye to the evening security guard and held the front door open for her to exit to 48th Street.
“Would you like it if he and I meddled in your private life?” Briefly swiping away from the news app that he searched constantly, Ronan double-checked the make, model, and license plate of the rideshare he’d ordered.
“I’m smarter than both of you, so no.”
His mouth curved. “Point taken.”
“I’m worried because he’s lying to me, and that’s something we’ve always said we would never do. If we can’t be honest among the three of us, we have nothing.”
“Lying about what?”
She slid him a sidelong glance. “First, he forgot his ID at home. Then he forgot to pack underwear. Then he waited at the wrong gate and missed his flight.”
“All quite plausible. As you said, we’re talking about Jules. I think that’s our car over there.” He pointed to a gray sedan parked halfway up the block.
“I believed his first excuse for that reason.”
The sidewalks were crowded, the traffic was in gridlock, and Times Square was just a stone’s throw away. Some of the pedestrians were well-dressed, and Ronan was reminded that the evening Broadway performances were now releasing their patrons into the streets.
Claudette’s heels clicked a rhythmic staccato as they walked. “His success and your relation to the Boudreauxes make him an attractive target for an unscrupulous woman. Which, unfortunately, are the kind of women he prefers.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Ronan opened the rear door of the car and asked for the driver’s name. Satisfied that he had the right car, he gestured for Claudette to slide into the back. “He likes women who like a good time. I’d say that’s true for all men.”
“I wonder why I waste my breath sometimes.” Turning her head away, she looked out the window.
“Where are you guys from?” the driver asked.
“New Orleans,” Ronan answered.
“Ah. Great place. I was there for Mardi Gras once. Years back. What I remember of it was a blast.” The driver laughed as he attempted to pull away from the curb.
They were hemmed in.
Ronan realized Claudette’s foot was tapping restlessly again. He set his hand over her rapidly bouncing knee. “Now that you’ve explained why you’re upset with Jules, maybe you’ll tell me what I’ve done to frustrate you.”
She stilled. Her lips pursed. Finally, she answered, “It suits you. Working with music.”
He, too, was surprised to find a new affinity for it.
He was a hobbyist who covered other people’s music.
He’d never had a hand in creating something original.
The band, too, had been energized by the experience.
They’d been approaching nearly twenty-four hours in the studio before they finally headed to the Vidal Hotel to rest.
“It was my only means of escape at times,” he said quietly.
She turned in the seat to face him. “You always took care of Jules and me. You’ve avenged our mother and are working on vengeance for your father. Plus, you enriched the Boudreauxes and those close to them—”
“It’s not as if I have something more pressing to do.” He smiled fondly.
“Tête dure. I want you to enjoy life. I just don’t want that life to be far from mine.”
Reaching over, he took her hand in his and gave it a grateful, affectionate squeeze. “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much.”
“I’ve only ever seen you truly light up over two things,” she continued. “Ireland Vidal and her father’s business. The man who’s directly responsible for all the tragedies in your life is also the reason you’ve found joy. The irony.”
He hadn’t thought of his predicament in quite that way. “Fate is a bitch, non?”
“Whatever is going on with you and Ireland Vidal will eventually run its course. But the music…? Well, that’s always been your great love, hasn’t it?
” She brushed the hair back from her face with an impatient toss of her hand.
“Now you have a way to immerse yourself in it, on both the business and creative sides. I’m afraid that will make this life here irresistible to you. ”
He heaved a soft sigh. “Claudy, there’s simply no comparing home to here. One is in my blood…my very soul… And the other”—he glanced out the window at the impossible crush of people and cars bathed in garish, glaring lights—“it holds little charm, non?”
“But Genevieve and Valentin are here,” she argued. “And you said you haven’t yet figured out what’s next for you. It doesn’t need to be said that New York would be a great base from which to expand your business interests.”
“I’m not looking for a new home.”
With a wistful hum, she resumed facing forward. “Maybe a new home has found you.”
Ronan was still thinking about Claudette and her concerns when the elevator in Ireland’s building slowed to a halt on the top floor.
As ever, he recalled the last time he’d ascended to find Ireland awaiting his arrival.
Half-mad with lust and the desperate sense that she was already moving on from him, he’d charged out of the elevator in full rut and fucked her against the vestibule wall, unable to delay his hunger even long enough to get through her front door.
He couldn’t explain it. As a grown man who enjoyed the seduction sometimes more than the sex, to behave so boorishly with such an extraordinary—and younger—woman was embarrassing.
And irresistible.
Because his cher welcomed the loss of his control. She encouraged him to be exactly who he was: feral and lustful. She met his wild passion with her own.
Missing her keenly, his entire body was strained by worry and fear, which he knew would only worsen as the night wore on.
How was it possible that Cross hadn’t yet brought Ireland home?
Unlocking the door’s two locks with a single key, Ronan pushed it open, prepared for Ireland’s huge cat to be sitting in the small foyer. Blizzard demanded both food and attention as penance for being left alone for any amount of time.
Ronan entered an apartment flooded with light.
His footsteps halted abruptly on the threshold, his pulse leaping. The sight of the long-haired brunette who stood in the living room with her back to the door flooded him with elated relief and hope. Then she spun around in astonished alarm, and he went very still.
Elizabeth Vidal stared at him for a long, taut moment.
Blizzard, who’d been occupied with garnering her attention, made a trilling sound of delight at Ronan’s arrival and hopped off the coffee table with a heavy thud.
In short order, the cat was winding his big body around Ronan’s legs, his purrs a loud rumbling in the awkward silence.
The tension in Elizabeth’s body visibly eased. “You’re full of surprises, Mr. McCaffrey.”
The sound of her voice broke his startled motionlessness. Stepping further into the apartment, he pushed the door closed behind him. “Hello. And please, just Ronan.”
“Ronan. We haven’t been formally introduced yet, have we? I’m Elizabeth.”