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He moved his hand from the office door and stepped back so she could open it. When she moved out into the dimly lit hallway, she took in the scarred linoleum and the drab walls. This place could use some color.
He circled around her and led her quickly out into the back parking lot. She scurried to the bushes at the edge of the lot and grabbed her duffel. Slinging it over her shoulder, she walked back toward Ronan.
He took it from her then wordlessly led her back down the hallway and into his office. When she'd settled on the couch again, he dropped her bag and said, “Don't make me regret this, Moira.”
Before she could even speak, he closed the door and left. She stared after him and said, “Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.”
Chapter Three
Ronan took a quick detour into the small bathroom next to his office and examined his face. A couple of scratches, but nothing serious. They'd probably be mostly gone by morning. Sooner if he shifted.
As pissed as he'd been, he found it was quickly replaced by understanding. Before he'd left home, his entire life had been mapped out. The moment he was born with a dick, it had all been laid out. School first, then agricultural college, then he'd take over the farm. Get married, have a few cubs, and eventually become the alpha of his pack when his father died.
While his brothers and sisters had played, he'd been subjected to lecture after lecture about leadership and honor. Any time he'd gotten in the slightest bit of trouble, he was reminded of his duty to his family. He'd only been a child, but they treated him like he was an adult.
He'd decided early on that he would escape the life that had been planned out for him at the earliest
opportunity. The day he'd turned eighteen, he registered for the Army. He had skipped school and ridden the bus two towns over so no one would know who he was. God, had his father been angry.
He could still remember the crack of his father's fist against his jaw. His old man had been an asshole and a fucking bully. There was no way that he was going to spend the rest of his adult life under his father's thumb. That one simple act of rebellion had changed his entire world.
Ronan could still see the tears on his mother's face, hear the pain in her voice when she'd said, “I think it's best that you go.” He'd always understood the position that he'd put her in. His mother had been the only soft person in his life. His brothers and sisters had been distant. They'd mockingly called him the chosen one. Like that was some kind of a treat, knowing exactly how you were going to live and die from the moment you were born. Not that it mattered. He hadn't spoken to any of them in the near twenty years since he'd left. He sent his mother letters periodically, but he never got an answer.
He splashed some water on his face and then patted it dry. He wasn't altogether sure what he was going to tell anyone who asked him about the girl. Hopefully, everyone would mind their own business, but Lorelei wasn't really that kind of town. When you were sick, your neighbors knew. Getting a divorce? Expect a visit from the old biddies from the church. Not much went unnoticed.
When he wandered back out front and slid behind the bar, Ty grinned at him and immediately asked, “Need help buryin' the body, boss?”
“Nope,” he said shortly, not bothering to elaborate. He hoped his tone properly conveyed his desire to not be questioned any further
Ty merely raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “Just puttin' out the offer, boss.”
By 2:30 a.m. everyone had gone home. He'd poured Sarge into a cab, then wiped down the tables and the bar. He'd leave the rest for the cleaning service in the morning. Apprehensively, he walked into the back, not sure whether he'd find her gone or himself robbed blind.
Instead, she was curled up on the couch. Her skirt had ridden up, showing a few more inches of mouth-watering skin. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd probably need a minute to himself later. But the last thing he wanted to do was stand here and ogle her like some kind of pervert, so he cleared his throat and gently said, “Moira. Wake up.”
He groaned internally when she didn't budge. Walking over to the couch, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake and said, “Time to wake up, cupcake. Unless you plan to sleep here all night.”
She blinked awake and then jarred when she took in her surroundings. “Oh jeez. I didn't even realize I fell asleep. Gimme a second.”
He moved to stand by the door while she adjusted her skirt. He blatantly watched her. He couldn't help himself. A body like that would tempt a saint, and he was definitely no saint.
He held the door to the office and then snagged the massive bag from the floor and said, “Out back.”
She made a quick about-face in the hallway and they headed toward the back door. He couldn't help but watch the subtle sway of her hips as she reached the exit. She stepped out the back door and then walked toward his truck.
“Upstairs. I live above the bar,” he said as he made his way to the set of narrow metal stairs.
“Cuts down on your commute, I guess,” she said.
He could tell that she was nervous, so he repeated his earlier words to her. “I said no strings and I meant it, Moira. I'm not going to take anything you don't wanna give.”
She merely nodded and ascended the staircase in front of him. He had to bite back a groan when he caught a direct look up her skirt and spotted her very tiny thong. The blood had officially left his brain. His dick throbbed. He knew tonight he'd be taking a cold shower.
He came up behind her and opened the door, turning on the light. It was very sparsely decorated. Except for the large television, coffee table, and what was the world's most uncomfortable futon, the living room was empty.
When she stepped inside, he locked the door and then dropped her bag next to the futon. After a glance around, she asked, “Did you just move in?”
“Four years ago,” he said. “I'm not much for decorating.”
