“I was just worried about Blizzard initially. But your kitchen was practically empty of anything humans could eat, so I ordered some groceries. And I only have a few pieces of clothing at the moment, so I put our laundry together. In the end, I just…stayed. It’s entirely my doing. I’m solely to blame.”
Ireland stared at him, her mind slowly grasping the implications of everything he’d said. Something warm and soft unfurled in her chest, even as her throat tightened so that it hurt to swallow.
“I really have no defense,” he went on, clearly chagrined. “Or even an adequate explanation. And I’m afraid I’ve created another complication for you, which you absolutely don’t need. I went to Vidal earlier today—you’ll be happy to know that Chantal and Six-Ninths are recording now—and when I returned to your place, your mother was there. We talked awhile, and I told her I’m just cat sitting, not moving in, but it did, perhaps, look like a more serious arrangement to her.”
She tried to find words. But there was so much to deconstruct in what he’d said. The studios were up and running again. New music was coming. He was keeping his promise to save Vidal. He thought of her cat. Thought of her…in so many ways. He’d had a conversation with her mother. And he was so clearly remorseful.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Ireland. I’ll clear out tonight. And I hope you can forgive me.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she started to speak, then stopped repeatedly. Finally, she grasped at one thing. “I should probably be embarrassed about things you might’ve found, although I’m too loopy to think of anything. But I violated your privacy by digging into your background, and I wasn’t feeling at all altruistic when I did, so I’d be a hypocrite to get mad.”
“We’ll see how you feel when you’re not stoned,” he murmured, reaching over cautiously so that she had time to reject his touch. His smile was soft and fond. “And I didn’t snoop. As you once said to me, if you want me to know something, you’ll tell me.”
When she didn’t evade him, Ronan brushed her hair back from her bandaged ear. His breath caught at the bruise on her temple, and his fingers were featherlight as they brushed over the tender spot.
“I’m so very thankful that you killed him, tigress.” His drawl was deep, his voice pitched low. “But I regret that I can’t.”
Her sigh was heartfelt. “You heard.”
“Your family heard. I read Shelley’s lips.” His rueful look and sexy smile were irresistible. She felt a different kind of stirring entirely. That he could penetrate the blessed numbness she felt, and so positively, was what guided her decision rather than rational thought.
Turning her head, Ireland pressed her lips to his palm. How could she ever express the feeling she had that things might’ve ended very differently for her if Ronan hadn’t come into her life when he did? So much of the strength she’d called upon in those last horrific moments had been unknown to her until he’d insisted it was there. To him, she was a tigress. Fierce and powerful and capable of anything.
Clearing her tightened throat, she said, “Blizzard clearly likes you, and I don’t want to come home to a yowling cat blaming me for you leaving, so you’ll have to stay until he gets bored with you. He’ll be unbearable otherwise.”
Ronan held her gaze. “Be honest. Are we talking about the cat losing interest or you? You prize your independence. If I threaten that, I risk a great deal more than I’m prepared to.”
Her brow arched. “Weren’t you the one who said we just start and end the days together, and figure out the rest later?”
“And you broke things off with me immediately after,” he drawled. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he leaned forward slowly, caging her lightly against the pillows. His lips brushed her jaw.
The smell of him, so decadent and seductively masculine, took over her senses. The effect rivaled any drug she’d been given, making her head feel so heavy that she tilted her neck to give him greater access. His chest expanded as he breathed her in.
“I can’t smell good,” she thought aloud, her words slurred as the floating feeling of intoxication deepened. It drove her crazy how animalistic Ronan could be in his attraction to her. Nothing had ever turned her on more, and to experience it now…
Her hand slid into his hair and cupped his nape. He made her feel alive after days of fearing death.
“Cher.” Ronan nuzzled into her neck, his lips caressing her skin in the barest of whispers.
The opening of the door had them pulling hastily and guiltily away from each other. Ronan stood in a rush and pivoted but remained at her bedside. Ireland felt heat in her cheeks as she faced damn near everyone in her family gaping at them.
Anxiety made her fidget, and aching injuries reminded her that they were still there. She also felt the change in Ronan, the shift from warm intimacy to utter withdrawal, like a doorslamming closed, and she hated the distance it created around him.
Her father’s face looked as red as hers felt. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
“You know why he’s here, Chris,” Elizabeth said sharply. “It’s the rest of us who don’t.”
Christopher took a couple of menacing steps forward. “I’m getting really sick of seeing your face, McCaffrey.”
“That’s a shame,” Ronan said lazily, “because you’ll certainly be seeing more of it.”
“I want to s-see him,” Ireland said, her voice trembling at the building tension in the room.
Looking down at her, Ronan gave her a brief smile. “You know where to find me when you’re ready.”
She wanted to protest his vagueness, to demand more details and more assurances, but his compelling gaze warned her not to, and she found she lacked the courage. The weight of her family’s obvious disapproval was crushing. She only ever wanted them to have peace of mind when it came to her.
“They said I can go home tomorrow,” she told him, hoping she conveyed her desire to find him there.
