Page 53 of Illusive
Ronan’s gaze hardened further. “Men aren’t born good. They can try to be, but only after they’ve been so bad they fear hell.”
Struggling to focus her attention, Elizabeth felt ravaged by the fight-or-flight response. “If you don’t think Chris will behonest with me, Ronan, I’m offering you a chance to set the record straight.”
His face shuttered. “At the moment, that long-ago summer interests me less than this one with Ireland.”
Leaning forward, she set her elbows on her knees, still clutching the lifeline of her phone, still hoping it would ring with news. “Have you told her at least?”
“Chris is responsible for confessing his sins. I won’t absolve him of that.”
Blizzard finally tired of Ronan and stood, stretching his spine into a tight arch before dropping heavily to the floor. Freed from his petting duties, Ronan draped his arms atop the armrests of his chair and crossed one ankle onto the opposite knee. The pose conveyed such confidence and command. If Elizabeth had wondered if he was a formidable adversary for her powerhouse family, she no longer did.
He was smooth, she thought. Sauve. Charming and witty. But beneath that surface polish, she perceived a very grounded individual.
For the past few days, it felt as if her soul was a void filled with an endless, echoing shrieking. An agonized litany of her daughter’s name that scattered her thoughts, spurred her heart to race, and was inexorably rattling her apart from the inside. The cracks in her composure widened with each passing hour.
But there was something ineffable about Boudreaux that made it easier to hold herself together. There was a knowing in his eyes, a recognition of her primal pain or perhaps even a profound sympathy for it. Not pity, but an affinity for her suffering.
She sensed that he was firmly rooted in the same soul-deep place where she vibrated so violently. He projected a comforting sense of security and steadiness that she imagined Ireland found intensely appealing. That he’d remembered Blizzard,cleaned the apartment, and stocked the fridge and pantry—she’d wandered and looked just to have something to do—further confirmed his pragmatism.
And his stability was complemented by a vitality so fierce it energized the very air around him. For her passionate daughter, he must be absolutely irresistible. Ireland wouldn’t be intimidated by such a magnetic man. And she wouldn’t be cautious. Her daughter was a woman who seized what she wanted—Elizabeth had taught her the importance of that.
Some of Ronan’s poise assuredly came from being an extraordinarily handsome and physically fit man. He was tall and well-built, with a striking face and enviable hair. Thick and full, the glossy strands fell just past his broad shoulders in loose waves of gold, caramel, and toffee. It was a dazzling mane that framed movie star good looks.
When he’d walked onto the stage at the masquerade ball, the energy in the room had changed perceptibly. And when Ireland had removed his horned mask, revealing the masculine beauty of his chiseled face, a collective gasp had rippled through the ballroom. Elizabeth could count on one hand the number of men she’d met in her lifetime who possessed a similar level of combined charisma and physical attractiveness.
But beneath the surface, Ronan conveyed the kind of self-assurance that came only from being battered by hard times and managing to hold his ground.
“Ireland loves her father very much and rightly so,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Chris is an amazing parent. I forgave many of his flaws because he was so good with our children. Hurting Chris hurts Ireland. You do understand that?”
He took a deep breath, then sighed. “It’s a dilemma I haven’t quite sorted out yet, but I’m working on it.”
It startled her to realize she believed the sincerity she heard in his words. Was it even possible for anyone in the family toever truly trust this man? He’d already proven dangerous. He had entered their lives with destruction in mind, and he’d only been distracted from that agenda; he hadn’t fully abandoned it.
At any moment, Ronan McCaffrey Boudreaux could decide that Vidal Records and/or Ireland no longer interested him enough to be worth his time. And it didn’t escape her notice that Chris and her sons had taken an immediate dislike to him, while she and Ireland—with their mutual history of harmful relationships—were susceptible to his appeal.
Some men were attractive, others were charming, and still others were sexy. Ronan ticked so many boxes that Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder if he could, in fact, be good for her daughter—even while pursuing retribution from Chris.
Ireland!
Standing, Elizabeth rolled her shoulders back, her entire body aching and fatigued. She gestured at the whole apartment with the phone in her hand. “Is all the work you’ve put in here and at Vidal a way of making amends? Because it won’t be enough to win her, but it might be enough to break her heart. Is that what you want?”
Her phone vibrated an instant before ringing at full volume, rattling her already stretched-thin nerves so badly that she nearly dropped the device. Glancing at the screen, she saw Gideon’s contact photo. She fumbled a little as she answered, lifting the phone to her ear with both unsteady hands. “Yes, Gideon?”
Ronan stood in a rush.
“They’ve found Ireland,” her son replied, with his usual clipped command. What wasn’t usual was the hoarseness of his voice. “She’s been taken to Mount Sinai. Eva and I are leaving the penthouse now.”
“Oh, my god.” Her vision blurred until she blinked the tears away. The stress of the past few days left her body so swiftly that her legs gave out and she fell heavily into the chair.
Ronan’s face paled. “What is it?” he demanded gruffly. “What’s happened?”
“I’m at Ireland’s place now,” she told Gideon, her voice shaking as tears of relief streamed from her eyes. “I’ll go with you.”
“We’ll see you in a minute, then.”
The call ended, and she sat there, willing strength into her body. She looked at Ronan as he lowered his tall frame into a crouch beside her chair. He was even more astonishingly handsome up close, his fear and worry etching his chiseled features into stark relief.
Before she could speak, he grabbed her trembling hand between both of his. She shivered at how cold his touch was, betraying how deeply he was affected, too.
