Ronan knocked lightly on her door. There was no sound from inside. Or so he thought until he leaned closer and heard faint notes of music. He knocked again, then lowered his duffel and satchel to the floor to pull out his key. He was sliding it into the lock when the deadbolt clicked open.
The door pulled away from him, and there she stood, his tall and slender tigress of a woman. She’d changed into a silky matching set of camisole and shorts the same hue as her remarkable eyes.
His passionate gaze moved over all of her—until he drew in a hard breath, seeing the huge purple bruise on one thigh andmyriad small band-aids on her forearms and legs. The low-grade rage that burned inside him grew hotter. While he wished above all that any threat to her was over, there was a part of him that hoped to find the one perpetrator—and any others who may exist—still alive before the police did.
“Hey,” she greeted him, stepping forward to offer him her mouth.
“Hey,” he said back, using his hand to take the weight of the door from her before bending slightly to brush his lips across hers.
Ireland arched a brow at him. “That’s not a kiss.”
His mouth curved. “Can I come in first?”
“I suppose.”
Using his foot to keep the door open, Ronan retrieved his bags and followed her inside. The music playing through the speakers was bossa nova, there was a profusion of lit candles, and the air was fragranced with flowers and something savory coming from the kitchen. Blizzard raced over with a high-pitched meow and quickly began ribboning around Ronan’s legs.
“I bet he thinks I’ll feed him a second time,” he said, setting his things down on one of the armchairs.
Half-sitting against the back of the sofa, Ireland beckoned him with a crook of her finger. “Try that kiss again,” she ordered. “And you’d better make it so good I forget you pissed me off.”
Ronan gave Blizzard a quick caress of dancing fingers along his spine, then straightened and made his way to Ireland. He stopped in front of her, planting his feet on either side of hers, and carefully cupped her face in his hands.
Barefaced, she looked so young. He tried not to think too hard about the years between them. It was, perhaps, what made him uniquely suited to her.
Her tongue darted out to wet the seam of her lips, and Ronan felt a now-familiar stirring in his blood. It was softer, gentlerthan the raging animal lust she so easily enflamed in him. Lowering his head, he nuzzled his nose against hers.
“A bunny kiss isn’t cutting it,” she whispered.
“Let me cherish you.”
Tilting her head back, she pressed her lips hard to his. Then she licked the upper curve of his mouth with a mischievous swipe.
“You’re incorrigible,” he muttered, his lips moving in a whisper against hers. Then he adjusted the angle and sealed his mouth over hers.
Ireland gripped Ronan’s dress shirt in one fist, holding on to him as the world spun away from her. The feel of his lips on hers, so firm yet soft, and the taste of him, that rich honeyed bourbon flavor, soaked her senses instantly. She licked into the warmth of his mouth, her tongue rubbing along his, and she moaned with delight, a shiver moving through her.
Ronan’s low, deep growl weakened her knees. He held her face gently but unyieldingly, controlling the kiss, taking her mouth with breathless, knowledgeable skill. He tasted her in kind, with fast, lushly carnal licks, reminding her of more intimate moments when he’d spread her thighs wide and fucked her pussy with that velvety tongue.
She was ensnared, unable to control anything but the way she kissed him back. As his skin heated with desire, the scent of him filled the air between them, and it soothed and enticed her in equal measure. Straining toward him, Ireland sucked rhythmically on his tongue, feeling his big body tremble and his fingers flex softly against her cheeks and jaw.
“Mon Dieu,” he gasped, releasing her and stumbling back. He looked at her with hot, dark eyes, his lips wet and swollen, his hands clenching at his sides. His cock strained against the front of his slacks, and she reached for it, her hand cupping the hot, thick length.
Ronan brushed her hand away and stepped farther back. His chest heaved as hers did, their heavy breathing and her racing heart drowning out the music.
“I don’t think I can stay,” he said gruffly. “I shouldn’t. I can’t resist you, and I must.”
Ireland panted softly, her body warmed by desire and the look in his eyes. No man had ever looked at her in quite the same way. So tender and yet so fierce.
The timer on her range began to beep.
She held his gaze. “Dinner’s ready. We’ll eat. Watch TV.”
“No more kissing,” he pronounced, raking a hand through his glorious mane of hair. The movement revealed the thickness of his biceps and better exposed his devilishly gorgeous face.
Her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “It’s not my fault you’re so good at it.”
“You have to behave.” He released a quick, shaky breath and turned toward the kitchen.
