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“I’m not your sweetheart,” I automatically snap back at him.
I know my lines, and the corners of his mouth tug up in the barest of smiles. God, he’s an infuriating bastard. Even if his attention is why I know I can walk anywhere in Boston, and Grant won’t touch me.
Unlike every time he’s caught me here, Ronan doesn’t try to convince me to leave. Maybe he’s finally given up on me? I complain a lot about him and his attention, but perversely, the idea that he might have given up on me makes me sad.
Ronan doesn’t walk away. My heart thuds as he moves to stand beside me so he can see the fight. His hand brushes against mine lightly, his pinky finger curling around mine. Almost like we’re holding hands. This… isn’t what we do.
He’s giving me the opportunity to snatch my hand away. And I’m about to – out of principle –but Grant’s eyes land on me, darkening possessively, dropping to take in the fact that I’m holding pinkies with the Irish Saint.
A look of anger flashes across his face, and he turns back to the fight. I let out a shaky breath.
“Are ye okay,leannán?” Ronan leans over and murmurs in my ear. Of course he notices the tension leaving my body.
Turning my face to him, my breath catches as our noses almost touch. He has leaned down to talk to me, but his words dry on his tongue as he stares into my eyes.
A smirk playing on my lips, I close the gap and brush my lips against his, dancing out of his grip before he can react.
“Good night, Ronan,” I laugh, turning and making my way out of the warehouse. His eyes are burning two holes in the back of my head the whole way.
The bouncer says nothing as I leave. He nods to me, and I wave a hand airily at him as I walk to the twenty-four-hour diner close to the warehouse. There is a bus stop there which does through to Roxbury.
Ronan is making a coffee in the kitchenette when I walk in the next evening. He glances over as I reach past him, the back of my hand brushing against his stomach as I snag a mug. His eyes dart over to my face, and I swallow a smile. Ronan pauses, his fingers closing around his cup as he steps away from the stainless-steel countertop.
“I’ve lived in Roxbury my whole life,” I blurt out.
He blinks at me in surprise, a blank expression on his face. Shit. I’m trying to take Liam’s advice, telling Ronan something about myself, but it doesn’t seem to be going well.
“Is that so, lass?”
I nod, chewing at my lower lip. We stand in silence for a long moment while I make my coffee. I can’t think of anything else I want to say. But right as I’m about to give up and leave, Ronan speaks, and I freeze.
“I lived in Belfast until I was twenty-two. Then I moved here to Boston.”
I glance at him, setting my mug down and climbing onto the counter, my legs swinging freely, nowhere near the ground. Picking up my coffee, I take a sip, surveying him over the top. Okay. I like this. I can’t believe Liam was right.
“My Pop was a factory worker. Died when I was little. Six.”
Ronan turns and watches me silently, moving so he is leaning against the counter opposite me.
“I got into a wee spot of trouble back in Belfast with the authorities, so I was sent out here to work for Sean Fitzpatrick.”
I relax into our back and forth. This is easy. A fact for a fact. I can do this.
“My mom used to clean fancy houses in West Roxbury before she died.”
I tilt my head to the side as he takes a measured sip.
“I -.”
Whatever Ronan was about to say is cut off when Paddy strolls into the kitchenette.
“There you are, Ronan.” He nods to me briefly. “Seamus will watch the club tonight. I need you for something.”
Ronan nods, and Paddy turns on his heel to leave, saying something about needing to go in five minutes. Ronan drains his coffee, places his mug in the sink, crossing the room to me.
I set my mug down as he approaches, swallowing as he steps right between my legs, his hips spreading my knees wide, and his hands come up to cup my jaw as he kisses me.
It’s achingly tender at first. Ronan groans and deepens the kiss, eating at my mouth. Too soon, he breaks the kiss, sliding his nose along my hairline.
