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“Yes.”
“Then show her how a Murphy loves.”
45
Overcome
Felicity stood in the doorway to Fitzpatrick’s, her gaze locked on the man seated at the bar in the far corner with his back to the wall.
Butterflies rioted in her stomach.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she crossed the floor and claimed the empty stool beside him. He didn’t look up. He simply continued turning the tumbler in his hands, the amber liquid lapping lazily against the glass.
She lifted a hand, signaling the bartender for the same.
Neither of them spoke.
The whiskey arrived quickly. Desperate to break the silence, she raised her glass and tipped it toward his. “Here’s to surviving the thing we never saw coming.”
Slowly, he turned his head and met her gaze.
She couldn’t read his expression, and a flicker of unease slid through her. Some of those butterflies abruptly quietened.
And he didn’t lift his glass.
Shit.
“I have some things to say to you,” he said quietly. “And you’re going to afford me the courtesy of listening.”
Blood roared in her ears. Dread settled heavily in her stomach.
Silence stretched between them as his eyes roamed over her face, as though cataloguing every change the past four months had wrought. She fought the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny.
“About kids,” he started, his voice low, serious. “Would I like to be a father? To hold a newborn in my arms and call myself Dad? Once, my answer would’ve been an irrevocable yes. But after years in the military, my view — and Violet’s — changed. We kept putting it off until one day there was no point talking about it anymore. Not having kids isn’t a dealbreaker.”
He paused, his gaze never leaving hers. “Marriage. I want to wake up beside the woman I love every morning. I want to go to sleep beside her every night. I want to share the quiet moments in between — the morning coffee, the grocery runs, the evenings on the couch. I want to go on adventures with her. Bottom line — I want to grow old and gray with her. Do I need to call her my wife? Sure, I’d like that. But again, not a dealbreaker. So long as I get to call her mine.”
Something warm, frightening, and wholly unfamiliar bloomed in her chest.
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
The picture he painted …
Maybe, just maybe, they could have that.
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “My family is great. Love them to bits. But one of my ancestors fled Scotland. He was a wanted man. Something about killing his brother for laying hands on the woman he loved.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I can understand that. So, I guess we both have violence and vengeance in our blood.
“Which leads me to our life of crime.” He took a sip of whiskey, giving her a sidelong look. “We both run the risk of ending up in prison. Maybe we move to an island without an extradition treaty. We’ll be together. And free.” He cocked a brow, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Just think. Beach bars. Sand. Sea. Sun.”
Despite herself, she smiled. The idea was ridiculous. Completely impractical. Yet the thought of facing a future with Ronan at her side no longer seemed impossible.
His expression sobered, and he set his glass down. “I do believe people deserve second chances. I especially believe you should give me one.”
He held her gaze. “I drugged you. The alternative was handcuffing you, and that would’ve ended with one or both of us bleeding. Drugging you seemed like the … subtler of two evils.”
Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he continued, “But, Felicity, understand this — I’d make the same choice again. I hate that I took your choice away from you, but I was rescuing the woman I love from herself.”
Ronan turned to face her fully, his knees bracketing hers. He took her hands in his and held on as though afraid she might pull away. “Please forgive me, Felicity Graham, and give this wretched soul a second chance. Be mine.”
