Lucy’s garbled protest was lost to my hand while Ronan reeled back, frowning and blinking at me. His attention seemed to settle on my palm over his sister’s mouth, touching her with obvious familiarity.
“And why would you do that?” he demanded on a harsh whisper, after adequately recovering from my words and the blatant truth of what he was seeing. He might have been a bullheaded oaf, but he was a perceptive bullheaded oaf. Something in his gaze told me he was quickly adding things up, painting a picture, and coming to some kind of conclusion.
Lucy squeaked and tensed.
Ignoring her, I stared at him, flexing my jaw, undecided as to what course to take.
The moment of truth.
Would Ronan ever accept me for his sister? Probably not.
Would Lucy ever choose me over her brother? Most assuredly no.
Therefore, what did I have to lose?
Nothing . . .
Everything.
I’d already lost Lucy. She’d already made her decision by leaving my room. But the lovesick fool in me couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. Telling her brother about us, tearing apart her world, wasn’t my decision to make.
I swallowed the sentiment that, likely due to self-preservation, hadn’t quite formed in my mind.
Instead, I answered unsteadily, “To have one over on you. Why else?”
Ronan lifted a disbelieving eyebrow, his eyes moving between mine, searching. Then his gaze dropped to that of his sister’s. To my surprise, something like shrewd understanding knitted his eyebrows. And the longer he studied Lucy the more incredulous his gaze grew, as though he were reaching into her mind and forcefully extracting the truth.
“Well fuck me,” he breathed, blinking once at his sister. Ronan lifted his glare to mine again, his expression one of both anger and shock. “You’re in love with him.”
***
I wasn’t arrested.
Nor was Lucy.
The hotel manager arrived to intercept the Garda and reprimand the clerk.
I didn’t feel sorry for the man. He was old enough to know better. The world revolves around money and power and those who wield both. He’d been a fool to press the issue.
Ronan did most of the talking and the team stuck around to sign autographs for the cops, myself included. Though I couldn’t escape Ronan’s seething glares. In fact, I welcomed them.
With all his ire focused on me, perhaps he’d take things easy on Lucy.
Meanwhile, after I helped her collect the contents of her bag, Lucy had been unceremoniously ushered upstairs by Bryan Leech and William Moore, the Oklahoman. She’d been quiet in her wretchedness, and it was clear she was tearing herself apart, guilt warring with shame.
The shame felt like a sucker punch in my stomach. But I was a big boy. I’d persevere. In fact, as I stood next to Ronan, signing autographs for both the Garda and the hotel guests, an unfurling rage took hold.
Lucy had a problem. Not a little problem. A big problem.
And what had her brother done? Carted her off, sent her to New York as though she were an embarrassment. No wonder she’d developed an insatiable penchant for fancy golf balls, and eyeshadow, and whatever else.
Ronan sent me a dirty look that promised a world of hurt, and I volleyed one right back at him. I itched to get my hands on the bastard. The last time we’d fought, I’d pulled my punches, as pummeling him had been counterproductive to my goal of seeing him expelled from the team for misconduct.
But this time . . .
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, murder in his eyes, and flexed his beefy fingers into the joint. “Time for us to have a chat, arsehole.”
I shook him off and gestured to the door leading outside. “Ladies first.”
He smirked humorlessly, shaking his head, but preceded me out the door. I strolled behind him at a safe distance. I had no plans to attack him from behind. As well, our teammates had fallen in line behind me. Even if I wanted to tackle him, I had nine of his biggest fans watching my every move.
Once outside, he paused until I drew even with him, then we walked side by side down the lawn, toward the fountain at the center of the drive.
He spoke first. “Explain to me how this happened.”
I chuckled grimly. “I don’t owe you shite, Fitzpatrick.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “First Brona. Now Lucy? Is my mam next?”
I shuddered inwardly, grimacing, but catching the insult about his mother just before it left my tongue.
“Are you going to mess around with all the women in my life? I’d just like to know what to expect.” His tone was deceptively light. I knew once we reached the grounds beyond the fountain, where the light tapered to darkness, he would make his move.
“For the record, I never fucked Brona.” I stuffed my hands in my shorts pockets as I taunted him with a forced air of boredom. I couldn’t wait to drive my fists into his pretty face.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Nope. I never touched her beyond what was required to color your perception of the situation. You did all the heavy lifting with that one, Mother Fitzpatrick.”
Ronan’s steps slowed and he was quiet for several beats. “You never fucked Brona?”