Ireland (Crossroads #1)

Chapter 12

It was a gorgeous day at the shore, the sky a vivid cloudless blue. Seagulls hovered and dipped playfully, their raucous cries carrying on the soft, warm breeze. Eva lay between her husband’s legs on a deck chaise with her back against his bare chest. His hand was under her oversized T-shirt, drawing circles on her belly. Lucky lay by their feet, his chin resting on Gideon’s ankle.

She reached for the flute of champagne on the end table beside them and took a sip, searching for the easy equanimity she usually felt when they were in the Outer Banks. Instead, the now inescapable sense of driving impatience haunted her.

When did the three of them stop being enough? Inexplicably, she was still completely happy yet aware that something vital was missing. She took another big sip and set down the flute.

Gideon held an e-reader in his other hand, enjoying the latest installment of the police procedural series she’d introduced him to in the early days of their relationship. The couple in the series—a mogul and his cop wife—were childless, too, but by choice.

“I can hear your thoughts spinning,” he murmured. “What’s on your mind?”

She hummed evasively instead of answering.

His attentiveness was only one of the many qualities he possessed that would make him an exceptional father. When you had Gideon Cross’s focus, it was absolute and laser-sharp, making you feel like no one else existed for him. A child would bloom under his care, just as she and Lucky had.

Earlier, she’d watched Gideon playing with Lucky on the beach, throwing a small piece of driftwood for their beloved beagle to fetch. She’d stood on the main deck, coffee in hand, and imagined children playing with them. A dark-haired, blue-eyed boy and girl. Then, two girls—one with lustrous dark hair and the other with beautiful auburn ringlets. Then, a tow-headed boy alone, joined later by a smaller sibling perched on Gideon’s hip. The mystery of what a child of theirs would look like begged to be solved.

Heaving out her breath, Eva turned her head to rest her cheek against her husband’s chest. A sudden wash of hot tears took her by surprise, the sadness rising so swiftly that she was taken under by it. She pressed her hand over his, stopping the gentle motion of his fingers over her skin. His palm was warm against her stomach, while the salt breeze that ruffled her hair was a cooling counterpoint to the sultry humidity.

“Do you ever think about our baby?” she whispered.

His abrupt stillness reverberated through her body. His chest lifted and fell beneath her, and a hot tear slid from her lashes to wet his skin. He immediately set his e-reader down to wrap her in his arms.

“Yes,” he said tenderly, his lips to her temple. “Of course I do.”

It was excruciating, knowing that her body had failed to nurture their child. They hadn’t been trying to get pregnant and had both been startled—and yes, more than a little frightened—to realize they were expecting. But the excitement began to grow, and they started envisioning the future.

To this day, no one else knew they’d ever been pregnant. They’d needed time to come to grips with the changes ahead before sharing the news, and then she’d miscarried.

“We never talk about it.” She curled onto her side against him, careful not to dislodge Lucky, and placed her hand over his heart. “We talk about everything, but not that.”

And because they weren’t talking about their baby, no one was, and that was killing her slowly.

His chest lifted and fell against her shoulder. “I… I don’t know how.”

And she didn’t, either. Their couples’ therapist, Dr. Petersen, had suggested a few options for grief and fertility counseling, but they’d never pursued it, and she couldn’t say why. The loss remained a raw wound, made more profound by the years since in which they hadn’t tried to get pregnant or even discussed trying.

There was nothing physically wrong with her. She had miscarried her rapist’s baby when she was fourteen, but that wasn’t a contributing factor to her miscarriage in adulthood. Still, she was afraid to try and fail again. She was also scared of not trying and living with regret forever.

“It was terrifying for me,” he admitted quietly, his hands running up and down her suddenly cold arms, using friction to dispel the goosebumps. “You were suffering, and I was helpless. You know I don’t do well when you’re sick or just not feeling well, and that was…”

His words trailed off, but the memory was evoked. For months afterward, she’d had nightmares of his bloodless face and haunted eyes. She remembered how he’d trembled violently as she’d lain wrapped in a blanket in his arms, hemorrhaging, his voice shattered as he’d tried to comfort her on the way to the hospital.

His trauma had affected her more than her own. Gideon was always so self-possessed and attuned to her that he often knew where her head was at before she did. He led, and she followed.

When he was lost, a yawning unknown opened in front of them that petrified her.

She swiped at her wet eyes. “Have you decided you don’t want children?”

“I…” He paused. “It’s not for me to make that choice. It’s your body, angel. What you’re willing to put it through is ultimately your decision.”

Sitting up, Eva shifted on the chaise to face him. His careful reply almost seemed rehearsed. “That’s bullshit.”

His mouth was a grim line. “It’s not.”

“We’re a team,” she argued. “A decision like having children is one we make together. It’s not just up to me.” There was a vibrating fear in the pit of her stomach. “But you don’t want kids, do you? You’ve never wanted any.”

“I’ve never said that.”

But then, he didn’t have to. She saw it in the way his gaze broke from hers and dropped to Lucky. The entire family used to tease him because even the mention of babies sparked a visible fear. Then, one day, the teasing stopped, as if the family collectively decided that the time for choosing parenthood had expired.

“You’re everything I need, Eva. I'll be more than content if it’s just you and me forever. That doesn’t mean I’m not open to more.”

“Open to it, but not necessarily wanting it.” She pushed onto her feet, feeling raw and vulnerable.

Gideon caught her by the wrist. “Don’t pull away. Talk to me.”

“What more is there to say?”

“Do you want to try again?”

She shrugged lamely, her throat tight. “What does it matter if you don’t?”

“Damn it, I didn’t say that!” His eyes took on the hard, icy light that signaled his growing temper. “I’m afraid for you. Afraid for us if something goes wrong again. You, our marriage, and your happiness are what’s important to me. If you’re not happy, let’s address it.”

“What does that mean, Gideon?” she asked wearily, so tired of her inner turmoil. “You’ll do it for me? Having a baby is something we should both want equally.”

“I don’t know how else to say this,” he snapped. “It’s not about whether I want a baby. It’s about not wanting to gamble with your safety! Yes, a child would be…amazing. But I can live without having one. I absolutely cannot live without you. If it’s one or the other, my choice will always be you.”

“But you could have both! Did that ever occur to you?”

He gestured helplessly. “Pregnancy has risks.”

“Aren’t we at risk every day?” she countered. “Isn’t that why there are security guards nearby even now? I’m more worried about keeping a child safe than I am about childbirth!”

He stood, too, bristling. “Why is this coming up now? Because Cary’s expecting? Or have you wanted to try again and haven’t said anything?” Abruptly, his face was transformed with astonishment. A stiff breeze whipped his hair across his face, and he shoved it impatiently out of the way. “This is about our security. This is why you’ve been upset about it. Damn it!”

In frustration, she threw up her hands and marched over to the deck railing. There was no point in bringing up something that couldn’t be changed. But she couldn’t bite the words back. “How do we raise a child under lock and key?”

“Eva…” He came over and embraced her from behind. “I grew up with security. Angus has been with me practically my whole life. When it’s what you know and have always known, you’re just used to it. And I promise, any child of ours won’t be the only one going to school under the watch of a bodyguard.”

She shook her head. “There’s a big difference between being used to armed guards and having a vital need for them. If we’re not safe, our children won’t be, either. Losing a fetus was devastating. How would we ever survive losing a child?”

Eva felt his rapid, shaky breathing. But in the end, he stayed silent.

She knew she’d wounded him, and it hurt her equally. Protecting those he loved was one of Gideon’s tenets and protecting him was one of hers.

But her unrelenting restlessness was telling her it was time to face the reality of their situation and the choices it left them with.

Ronan hummed as he stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom and began knotting his tie. He was physically fatigued, his body aching from Ireland’s hard use following the hour he’d spent in the hotel gym, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling better. Energy vibrated through him, and his mind was sharp and alert. Which left him able to clearly see that while he’d known what needed to be done yesterday, today, everything was complicated by Ireland.

Just thinking of her made his blood heat, which should not be possible after the night they’d had. He was a man who’d had his share of women. And he’d indulged in a period of hedonistic debauchery after a period of forced abstinence. Still, he’d never had a more searingly carnal experience than the night he’d spent in Ireland’s bed.

There was a strange alchemy between them, something that unleashed every elemental need without shame. She was untamed in his arms, her hunger for him as voracious as his for her. How many times had he woken to the urgent tugging of her mouth on his cock? Three? Four? He couldn’t come enough for her.

It’s you. I’ve never been this hot for it before . And he knew she’d been as honest about that as she was about everything. She was visibly startled by some of the ways she responded to him and how much she could take, and the more he indulged his erotic obsession with her, the more abandoned she became. The pleasure he took in her willowy, glorious body was what made her so greedy, and her greed made him crazed with lust. It was a cycle that had now spun him completely around.

He adjusted the drape of the navy silk around his neck until it lay against his shirt at the perfect length.

But hadn’t he known, instinctively, that she would be different? He'd been captivated the moment he’d caught sight of her in Jazzie’s club. As photogenic as she was, nothing could prepare a man for the living, breathing woman. Watching her ferociously sexy stride, hearing her full-bodied laughter, catching the mischievousness in her stunning blue eyes… Some primal need had stretched awake inside him, a bone-deep recognition that he had met his match.

Ireland Vidal saw him in ways no one else did. She saw the feral child he’d been and the savage he’d become to survive. She somehow recognized that he would never be entirely civilized, and she accepted that about him, was even attracted to that quality because it gave her the freedom to be unbridled. Other women were turned on by the unease his wildness instinctively evoked, the perverse attraction some women had to dominant men, but Ireland’s lust for him was about affinity, not fear.

She held her own. When they were in places that made him uncomfortable, she calmed him. She made him laugh in moments alone and asked questions that made him see things from new angles. She brightened his day with her utter joie de vivre . And his desire for her was as much instinctual as physical. He’d never expected to find a connection like they had, and now he must decide what he was willing to do to continue exploring it.

“So…?” Claudette asked from the doorway. “Are you cured?”

He tightened the Windsor knot at his throat and dropped his arms to his sides, sliding his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks. “I don’t understand the sudden interest in my personal life.”

“ Beau-frère ,” she began, her voice a lush slow drawl, “pretending that you’re not acting differently won’t work.”

His mouth curved in a fond smile. She knew him well—and he knew better than to reply.

She wore a trim, fitted business suit of soft green, the skirt ending just a few inches above the knee. The matching jacket hugged her small waist and flattered her svelte figure. She’d wrapped her thick hair into an elaborate coil at her nape and wore small gold hoops in her earlobes.

Her gaze narrowed slightly as she studied him. “She’s under your skin, isn’t she?”

“So what if she is? That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve succeeded in separating Chris Vidal from his life’s work.”

“That wasn’t the goal, though, was it?” she prompted. “You weren’t going to stop until that building was gutted and another business was established there. That was the result you promised your father. Are you moving away from that now?”

It took him a moment to answer because he hadn’t yet dedicated himself to weighing the options. “I haven’t decided.”

“But you’re considering abandoning the plan? How serious are you about this woman you’ve just met, who has no connection to your life or roots?”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t have an answer. Whatever this is between Ireland and me, neither of us wants it, and at the same time, it’s all we want.”

Her dark eyes were flat. “What am I to take from that?”

“I don’t know, Claudy,” he admitted. “Some fires burn so hot they flame out quickly. Maybe that’ll happen here. I can’t say.” It felt like he and Ireland were locked into a fierce mating heat. Surely, they’d eventually be able to actually sleep together. They wouldn’t fuck for hours at a time forever…

“Why not go home?” she suggested. “Leave the closing to Jules and me. We aren’t at all conflicted about what needs to be done.”

“I’ve thought about that.”

She waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she prodded, “And…?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Jules isn’t taking this well,” Claudette warned. “You’re both father and brother to him if you don’t know. Your approval is all he wants, and not knowing where your head is at has been hard for him to deal with.”

“He’s too focused on Ireland.” Ronan moved to the bed and collected his suit jacket from where he’d tossed it earlier. “The steps and goal haven’t changed; it’s just been slowed down a little.”

“Maybe there’s a little jealousy involved,” she conceded. “We’re not used to having to share you.”

As if on cue, Jules shouted from his room, and the sound of glass breaking shocked them both.

“ Maudit ,” she muttered, turned to face Jules’s adjoining door, which was ajar. “What now?”

Ronan shrugged into his suit jacket as he walked over to where she stood. He was eager to get to the Vidal offices. How would Ireland be with him at work? When he’d awakened her with coaxing good-bye kisses, she’d gifted him with a sleepy smile that had obliterated his plans to leave. Before he even processed what he was doing, the fly of his jeans was open, and he was between her lithe thighs, fucking his relentlessly hard dick into the tight silky depths of her exquisite pussy. She’d come apart for him, her long nails digging into his ass as she begged him for harder, deeper strokes.

Merde , he needed to stop thinking about her before his unruly cock embarrassed him.

“I can’t fucking believe this!” Jules yelled, his voice getting louder as he marched into the main living area from his bedroom, his face mottled with fury. His suit today was a bright blue, his dress shirt a lighter shade, while his tie blended the two hues with soft green arrows. He held his phone in one hand, his grip white-knuckled. “Did you tell that bitch about the Lees?”

Ronan’s features hardened. “You’ll want to rephrase that, brother.”

Jules’ jaw worked for a moment as if he had to physically restrain himself from speaking. Then he bit out his words one by one. “Did you tell Ireland Vidal about the Lees’s building?”

“ Mais non . We don’t talk about work.”

“Do you talk at all?” Claudette asked sardonically.

He looked at her, unamused.

“Are you leaving your phone unlocked around her?” Jules asked crossly.

Ronan spoke calmly. “Can you just lay out what the problem is?”

“Remember that meeting Claudy and I had scheduled with the Lees this morning to wrap up the purchase of their building? They’ve informed me that they’ve accepted a better offer—including a new location for their business—from Cross Industries, and they signed the contract last night. That’s why they put us off yesterday. The Cross team was putting together the paperwork.”

Ronan went very still, his mind racing. Had he mentioned their plans to Ireland in passing? He couldn’t recall.

“Do you know how many hours Claudy and I invested to get the Lees to the finish line and for what?!” he shouted. “The Claibornes have a wire transfer ready to send us that we’ll never see now! Scarlett’s family was counting on us getting that warehouse for them! We’re losing millions on this deal, not to mention what we’ve dumped into Vidal that we knew we’d never recoup.”

“This is a disappointing development, I agree, but Cross becoming a complication is something we anticipated happening long before now.”

“ Disappointing ?” Jules gripped his head in both hands, melodramatic as usual. “A week ago, this news would’ve made you scarily dangerous. Now? You shrug and say c’est la vie! Who cares that the family we’re supposed to run into the ground is costing us millions! It doesn’t feel like we’re winning here, beau-frère . Can’t you see that?”

Ronan took a steadying breath before answering, agitation beginning to build. “I’m heading over to the offices now. I’ll talk to her.”

“Is that code for ‘I’ll fuck her and not care that she’s a treacherous cunt?’”

Lunging forward, he caught Jules by the lapel and rammed his fist into his brother’s jaw. The blow sent Jules back but Ronan’s grip on his jacket kept him from falling. Then Ronan shoved him away so that he sprawled on the floor.

“Watch your mouth,” he snarled.

With a roar of fury, Jules pushed up and rushed forward to tackle him. Ronan shifted his weight, caught his brother in the stomach with his shoulder, and hurled Jules into the sofa.

“Stop it!” Claudette ordered. “We’re not turning against each other!”

Jules sat up, pushing his hair out of his face with an impatient hand. “He’s not on our side anymore, petite s?ur . We no longer have a common enemy.”

“That’s not true,” Ronan shot back. “But I won’t have you speaking of Ireland with disrespect. She doesn’t know the history. Without that context, we’re the enemy, and she’s fighting for her family.”

“Why haven’t you explained it to her?” Claudette frowned with confusion. “If she cares for you, perhaps she could be an ally. Wouldn’t that serve us best? It would sweeten her envie for you, non? ”

“Because the truth will hurt her.” Ronan raked a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck, frustration tightening his shoulders.

Jules’s handsome face was twisted with disgust and rage. “You’re more worried about her feelings than you are about the damage she’s caused!”

“I don’t blame her. That doesn’t mean we’re not fighting back. We always knew there was a high probability her brother would get involved, but for whatever reason, Chris Vidal didn’t lean on his former stepson when it could’ve delayed the inevitable.”

Pushing to his feet, Jules glared at him. “And we agreed that getting in and out of this claustrophobic city as fast as possible was the best way to avoid a pissing match with a man who can afford to ruin us!”

“Jules is right.” Claudette gave Ronan a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but he is. We planned this to be quick and clean so that our time as an active threat was limited.”

Everything in Ronan vehemently resented having his hand forced. But his siblings were right: his indecision could be costly, and while it was a price he’d been contemplating paying for his own sake, it was unfair to expect Jules and Claudette to suffer for it.

He growled. “ C’est tout . I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Ireland was humming as she strolled into her office. She probably shouldn’t be in such a good mood, all things considered. She should be dead on her feet, for one thing. There’d been times during the night when she and Ronan had slept but only in brief intervals.

It was as if their bodies couldn’t bear to be separated. Even being tucked up against him in slumber wasn’t enough to satisfy the near-desperate desire that drove them both to their limits. If he wasn’t waking her with his strong, skillful hands and ravenous mouth, then she was waking him. They’d been burning through borrowed time, which had made her determined to wring every bit of pleasure she could from him.

Walking to her filing cabinet, she typed in the code and dropped her purse in the drawer where she stored it. Then she went to her desk and woke her computer by wiggling her mouse.

God, her body throbbed. Her breasts felt heavy, and her pussy was swollen and tender. Just washing herself in the shower had proven that she was so hypersensitive even water felt like a caress.

Ronan’s desire for her was so raw and insatiable that it shattered all her inhibitions. She’d never felt sexier or bolder. She surrendered control to him completely because there was never even a twinge of unease, discomfort, or shame. He could use her body in any way he desired, and she loved it all because what drove him crazy was her pleasure. She couldn’t orgasm enough for him, and the more she climaxed, the more feral he became until he was fucking that magnificent penis into her like he’d die if he didn’t.

The most potent aphrodisiac was being the object of an extraordinary man’s sexual obsession. She was addicted to the feeling of being everything he wanted yet couldn’t get enough of.

She moaned and squirmed in her chair, forcibly pushing the memories from her mind. She was so hot just remembering how Ronan had taken her that she pressed her fingers hard between her legs, trying to ease the throbbing of her clit.

The knock on her open door startled and embarrassed her, even though her grandfather’s old desk hid where her hand had been. She blushed when her eyes met her father’s.

“Good morning, boss,” he greeted her.

Rolling her shoulders back, Ireland managed to smile in return. The sensual haze Ronan had left her with began to ebb. “Good morning.”

“Brett, Darrin, and the rest of the Six-Ninths crew will set up later today to start recording tomorrow,” he told her as he walked in and sat in one of her gray velvet visitors’ chairs. He wore a cream cardigan today, over a light gray shirt and darker gray dress slacks.

She could see his excitement and feigned her own. “I saw that they’ve reserved Studio One for the next week. That’s great!”

“It will be,” he assured her. “I sent you the demo. Have you listened to it?”

“Not yet, but it’s on my to-do list, I promise.” She tapped her fingers on the desktop. “I have a question for you. Where is the licensing money for Vidal Hotels going? I can’t find it.”

He nodded. “We don’t actually receive it. It didn’t sit right with me that the hotels would bear our name but not truly be owned by us. So, I asked Gideon to use the money to purchase shares in the venture. Every payment buys more shares.”

“And we’re reinvesting the dividends,” she guessed, which he confirmed with another nod. “Okay. That’s good to know. And a good plan.”

“I’m glad you approve. I did try, Ireland.” His wry smile faded as he sobered. “The terms of the McCaffrey loan were unusual, as I’m sure you’ve discovered, but he’s a shareholder and stood to lose a great deal of money if Vidal failed. There was no way to know he was willing to lose millions to see us go under.”

Guilt settled over Ireland like a shroud. How was it possible that she could take such pleasure from someone causing her family such turmoil? What was wrong with her?

“Now I have a question for you,” he said evenly, but his piercing gaze meant he was in full-on dad mode. “Christopher told me that McCaffrey insisted on speaking with you privately and behind a locked door. Is he intimidating you, Ireland?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s always a gentleman. He saw that Christopher was reacting to the changes here in a way that was upsetting me, and he removed me from the situation so I could pull myself together.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully. “Do you like him?”

“Dad.” Her face was hot. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Do you trust him?” When she opened her mouth to protest again, he rushed on, “Can I trust him?”

Closing her mouth, she frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Christopher walked in without knocking, looking sharp in monochromatic burgundy. “Here you are. Get this.” He waited until he’d taken the chair next to their father before continuing, the two men looking so similar and yet uniquely themselves. “Gideon left town with Eva yesterday and is apparently now completely off-grid until Friday. No one from his office can reach him, and all of my calls to either of them go straight to voicemail.”

Ireland rocked back in her chair, her gaze narrowing. “Why are you trying to reach Gideon?”

He shot her a look. “Why do you think? McCaffrey thinks he’s hot shit, but Gideon will destroy him.”

An anxious knot tightened in her gut.

“We’ve decided not to approach Gideon with this situation,” their father said.

“No,” Christopher corrected, “ you two decided that. I’m going to fight tooth and nail.”

“We have other avenues, Christopher,” she argued, standing and walking to the door to close it.

“Like what? A new single from Six-Ninths?” Christopher snorted. “I know Dad’s counting on that but come on.”

Their father shook his head. “You haven’t listened to the demo, either.”

Christopher gave Ireland a sardonic look. “I don’t have to be a fan, Dad, to sell the shit out of them. I’ll give it my all, I promise you.”

She settled back in her seat. “You’re both forgetting about London Grant.”

Both men perked up, studying her avidly. London Grant was a young actress/singer who’d skyrocketed to prominence as a supporting character on a teen-focused musical television show. Her reps had leaped to capitalize on her growing fame by shopping her to all the major record labels. Ireland had heard about London’s ambitions and pursued the chance to sign her.

Her father spoke first. “I thought her team was aiming for a bigger label.”

“They were. But they’re ambitious. They want her everywhere—school supplies, fashion collabs, and even home goods. Once I learned that, I suggested something that put us over the top: branded hotel suites in Vidal Hotels. Similar to the suites we all designed.”

Christopher whistled. “Holy shit.”

“She’ll bring the added benefit of helping the hotels appeal to a younger demographic. And” —her smile widened with excitement and pride— “I reached out to Chantal because she’s presently recording and asked if she’d be open to a duet with London so we can launch her faster. Turns out Chantal’s sister is a fan of London’s show, so it was an easy yes for her, and London’s favorite song is one of Chantal’s, so she’s thrilled.”

“Maybe our luck has changed,” her father said with a brighter smile than she’d seen in days.

“We’ve got a songwriter working with them now,” she continued. “Hopefully, we can get them in the studio before Chantal’s session time expires. Then London and I will discuss some producer options for her debut. We launch her with care, and it’ll pay off.”

Her phone rang, and she saw that it was her assistant. “Hey, Matt.”

“Hey, boss.” There was more than a hint of amusement in her longtime assistant’s voice. He was getting a kick out of their changed circumstances, not knowing the gravity of the situation. “Mr. McCaffrey would like to see you as soon as you’re available.”

Her traitorous body heated at the mere mention of Ronan’s name. “I’m in a meeting now,” she said.

Her dad stood. “I can let you go. Just wanted to check in, and now, with all this good news, I’m energized to get some shit done.”

“Fuck yeah.” Christopher pushed to his feet. “I’m fired up, too. I’ll start making some calls about the new Six-Ninths single. See what kind of support we can pull together.”

“Listen to the damned demo!” their father told them, rocking back on the heels of his sneakers.

“Never mind,” she told Matt. “You can send him in.”

“Will do.”

Her brother and father filed out. Her dad paused on the threshold and stared hard at Ronan, forcing him to enter the room sideways. The two men's height and overall body size were so different, her father almost looked small, but the ferociously stern line of his mouth made her nervous.

Ronan squeezed past her dad with his jaw clenched.

Her father’s gaze narrowed at Ronan’s back, then he continued out. Ronan stared after him with a scarily intense glare.

“Hey,” she called out, standing to draw his attention. “What do you need?”

It took him another long second before he turned his head toward her and finished entering the room. He walked up to her desk, looking mouthwateringly delicious in a simple combo of navy slacks and tie paired with a white dress shirt with tiny navy stripes. The fall of his hair around his face was so sexy that her thighs tightened. She wanted him to come close enough that she could smell him, but kept to her side of the desk because she didn’t trust herself not to forget that her door was open.

His hands went to his hips, and he gave her an uncompromising look. “You told your brother about my warehouse in Queens?”

She blinked at him. “Um…”

He growled low in his throat. “I forgot I even told you about it, but you didn’t. You’ve cost me a pretty penny, cher . Jules is damn near apoplectic about it.”

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “All’s fair in love and war.”

His eyes took on a hot gleam. His breathing began to pick up, rapidly becoming heavy. With a taut hungry look, he closed the remaining distance to her desk. His voice was muted, for her only. “You’ve made a lot of tracas for me, cher . You’re nothing but trouble from head to toe. Certain destruction for any man, and yet all I want at this very moment is to tongue-fuck your sweet cunt until you scream for the whole office to hear.”

Ireland swallowed hard past a sudden lump in her throat, fighting the urge to round the desk and press her needy body against his. He should be furious, and maybe he was, but there was a gleam of pride in his eyes and the slightest hint of indulgence in the firm curves of his mouth. Not to mention the lust pumping off him in heated waves.

“I don’t think my daddy would like that,” she whispered huskily, provoked by his amorous gaze, sinful drawl, and the temptation of his splendid body.

“I’d fucking love it,” he told her gruffly. He rolled his shoulders back and stepped away from her, his eyes dark. “And hey, if Jules stops by today, stay out of his way.”

She licked her dry lips. “You’re the one I need to stay away from.”

He backed away with a cocky smile. “Good luck with that.”