Adjusting the position of her arm sling’s strap, Ireland eyed the large standing shower and fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook beside it with longing. She felt gross and suspected she was nose blind to her own stench. The police had bagged up her clothing, combed through her hair, scraped under her nails, swabbed the bite on her ear and inside her mouth, photographed her injuries, and taken her fingerprints. She still had a few black, greasy smudges that they’d missed when wiping her hands afterward.
But she couldn’t muster the energy or give-a-damn to ask for assistance. In part because it felt a bit like the calm before a storm.
But how? Why? She’d just survived the worst fucking experience possible.
Ireland knew the medication she’d been given caused the haze of euphoria. A more lucid part of her mind questioned her emotional disconnect. Was it wrong that she was able to brush aside the memories of the past few days dispassionately, as if the abduction had happened to someone else in some other reality?
Or was she simply as strong and resilient as Ronan believed her to be?
She snorted humorlessly, aware of her altered state and a remote sense of impending anxiety. Her family would come soon. Any moment, they’d walk through the door, and the awful loneliness of being separated from all other life for days would end.
Still, there was a small part of her that was grateful for these empty moments before the reunion. She could imagine theirworry and fear. Weren’t they always worried about her in some way or another?
They’d need reassurance that she was going to be okay, and she longed for them to have it. They would hover and fuss more than ever—possibly for the rest of her life. Ireland was lucky to be loved so deeply and told herself that.
A knock at the door gave her a little jolt. She curled her hands into fists to hide the broken fingernails, wishing she could hide her other injuries so they’d have less to fret about.
Her chest expanded as she drew a deep, calming breath. “Come in,” she called out, slurring the words a little.
The door cracked open, and Ronan filled the narrow space.
For a long moment, Ireland could only stare, hope fluttering in her chest like a thousand butterflies. Her breath caught. Her heartbeat leaped. Excitement quivered in her belly. Relief rushed through her, warming her blood with a surge of elation. He’d come. She realized she’d been secretly afraid he wouldn’t.
Dazed by a sudden rush of delight, she managed, “Well, hello, gorgeous.”
He opened the door wider. There was a poignancy to the curve of his brilliant smile that arrowed straight into her heart. He was so tall and strong, his shoulders broad and hips lean. That luscious mane of golden hair framed a face the devil himself had sculpted to lure women to sin and ruin.
“Your family is here,cher.” He crossed the room with such long, rapid strides that he reached her before the door clicked shut behind him. “They’re talking with the doctor now, but they’ll be with you very soon.”
Hearing his faintly accented voice in reality, after only imagining it in the dark hell of her captivity, brought tears to her eyes. Her heartbeat settled into its new elevated rhythm, reviving her and helping to clear the haze in her mind.
She held out her hand to him. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“That’s my line.” He caught her fingers, the lush curve of his sinner’s mouth thinning as his thumb brushed over her broken nails. He bent his head and rubbed his cheek against the back of her hand, his eyes closing briefly, his chest lifting and falling on a deep exhalation. When he pressed his lips to her knuckles, he held them there for a long moment.
She frowned at the small scab on his full lower lip before remembering that she was the one who’d injured him. “Your lip,” she murmured. “What a pair we are.”
When his eyes opened again, she glimpsed storms in the silvery gray of his irises.
“Le meilleur. How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Stoned.” Smiling, Ireland slid over to give him room to sit beside her, forgetting the huge bruise on her thigh until a sudden flash of pain made her draw a sharp inward breath. “Which is not a bad thing right now.”
“Ma pauvre petite.” As Ronan half-sat on the edge of the bed, his slacks stretched across his powerful thighs. His dress shirt’s open collar and rolled-up sleeves revealed alluring glimpses of golden skin dusted with caramel-hued hair. He was so very male. He roused something vital in her that even sedatives and narcotics couldn’t constrain. And yet his proximity somehow quieted the restlessness inside her.
He’d had that relaxing, deeply sensual effect on her from the moment they’d met. He was the most exciting, tantalizing person she knew, yet she felt…steadiedwhen she was with him.
Holding her hand in both of his, he murmured, “I’m sorry if you were hoping for your family to visit first. I selfishly had to see you, and I don’t want to disturb their time with you. I’ll leave when they come.”
“I’m glad we can have a few moments alone.” She squeezed his fingers for emphasis. “And I’m happy you’re still in New York.”
“You and I have a date,” he reminded her. “And I have work here now.”
Something in the way he looked at her made her cheeks flush and her gaze lower. Her attention caught on something that furrowed her brow. “You have Blizzard’s hair all over you.”
“Ah.” Looking down at his lap, Ronan gave a soft laugh. “In my defense, I meant well but… I’ve been squatting in your apartment.”
It took perhaps a second too long for her mind to grasp that he didn’t mean crouching. She blinked at him. “You’re staying at my place?”
