I shivered, my eyes half closing. I caught my lip between my teeth, unable to speak. I was panting and abruptly primed for anything he wanted to do to me.

“Ronan, don’t be rude.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s voice cut through my arousal like a bucket of ice water. And lilting though it was, it held a granite edge.

He pulled back, a devilish grin curving his mouth as he examined the effect his naughty words had on my composure. His roguish brown eyes lit, fiercely ablaze. He looked like a mischievous boy who was quite pleased with himself for getting caught, looking forward to receiving punishment for plotted misdeeds.

I narrowed my eyes at him and endeavored to bring my body under control. Meanwhile, he winked at me and then turned back to his mother and sister, lacing his fingers through mine and pulling me after him.

“Sorry, Ma.” He didn’t sound sorry.

Ronan led me to the vacant chair next to his and his sister, Lucy’s; his mother was directly across from me. I smiled at both Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Lucy in greeting, noted that Mrs. Fitzpatrick looked more assessing than welcoming, and allowed Ronan to help me out of my coat. He pulled out the seat, made sure I was settled, then claimed his spot again.

“Good morning,” I said to the table. I was fighting with myself; I wanted to make eye contact but couldn’t manage more than quick glances at either woman. “I hope I’m not late.”

“Nah, we’re early. I was starving. My stomach thinks it’s dinner time.” Lucy grinned, angling toward me, giving me all her attention. “I’m so glad you came.”

I met her eyes directly and returned her friendly overtures with a broad smile. “Me, too. Thank you for inviting me.”

Lucy’s stare moved over my face, and she breathed out, “Goodness, you’re gorgeous.”

My attention dropped back to the table, and a surprised flush crawled up my neck. “Oh, thank you. That’s…you’re very kind.”

“Don’t embarrass her, Lucy,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said, though to my ears it sounded more like, Don’t embarrass me, Lucy.

Lucy, ignoring her mother, addressed her next statement to her brother. “You said nothing, you tart. We’ve talked on the phone every day for the last month, and here you’ve lured the most beautiful woman in New York up to your lair.” She tsked, and I saw her shake her head. “My brother is a sneaky and saucy wench.”

“Can’t blame me for wanting her to myself, can you?” I heard the warmth in his voice, the affection for his sister. He leaned forward and placed a hand on my thigh, sliding it under the hem of my skirt but no higher.

I swallowed thickly and reached for my water because my mouth was dry.

“I knew once I told you about Annie you’d be over here in a flash, wanting to braid her hair and dye it chartreuse or some such nonsense.”

Lucy giggled. “I wonder, Annie. Have you ever thought about going blonde?”

“Don’t you dare.” His eyes widened with warning, though he looked like he was trying to keep from laughing. “Don’t change a thing about her. My Annie is perfect just as she is.”

This compliment quadrupled my blush, and I closed my eyes briefly. I was bad with compliments that weren’t specifically about my work quality. I wasn’t used to them, not real ones. Not compliments that came from a place of sincerity and fondness.

Yes, I’d been complimented on my looks before—but always with heat, never with warmth.

“Look, you’re embarrassing her!” Lucy admonished him then covered my hand, capturing my gaze with hers. “My dearest Annie, stick with me. I’ll make him stop torturing you.”

“She likes my torture,” Ronan muttered, squeezing my thigh, and reaching for his water glass.

Lucy made a face at him then glanced back to me. “He’s rough around the edges, and he thinks of himself a bit too highly; but inside he’s all mush. Did you know he likes show tunes?”

Ronan choked on the water he’d just sipped.

Lucy took advantage of his inability to speak to list all of the plays he’d taken her to and how they sometimes sang along to the soundtrack from The Phantom of the Opera while in his car back home. By the time he’d recovered from his coughing fit, the two siblings were sparring back and forth, seeing who could one-up the other with embarrassing details.

I watched their interaction with fascinated delight. They were so open. There was so much love, respect, and history between them. I was drawn to it and relaxed as I witnessed their banter. This went on for quite some time and was often paused when the three of us lost ourselves in a fit of laughter.

It was during these times—when Lucy, Ronan, and I laughed—that I was most cognizant of Mrs. Fitzpatrick. She didn’t laugh; though her smiles were appropriate, both in size and duration, they never seemed to reach her eyes.

Breakfast came. We ate. Lucy skillfully tricked me into talking a few times about myself. She was charming. Ronan’s hand remained on my leg but traveled no higher. I realized it was meant to show support, and when he stood and excused himself to the restroom, I found I missed his touch.

Lucy smiled at me once Ronan was out of earshot and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Now then, quick before he gets back. How did you meet? Was it love at first sight? When are you coming to Ireland? Will you come out with me? What kind of music do you like?”

I grinned at her question assault, knowing with certainty that not loving Lucy was impossible.