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I sit, staring dispassionately at my hands as Ronan recites the powder in the envelope. Nodding, Dr. Larsen checks me out and rubs cream over my hands, sliding on a pair of soft cotton gloves to protect them.
“You’ll need to be careful with your hands for the next few days, Ms. Clatham.”
“So… no work?”
“Not if you work with your hands.”
I nod, catching the look on Ronan’s face – he’s going to make sure I obey the doctor. Ugh. Ronan hands over more cash, shaking Dr. Larsen’s hand and guiding me out of the room.
The receptionist watches us leave with wide eyes, but Ronan ignores her as though she doesn’t exist. My mind is racing as he helps me into his SUV and drives us out of the parking lot.
“Uh, Roxbury is that way.” I point in the opposite direction to where he is driving.
“Aye, it is.”
“So…?”
“So, we’re not driving to Roxbury.”
I’m about to askwherewe are driving when we pull up in front of a familiar building only ten minutes away from Oracle.
“I don’t really feel like visiting.”
“Ye’re not visiting. Ye’re staying.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Ronan has already slid out of the SUV, striding around the hood and opening my door.
“I want to go home.”
He stares at me for a long moment, sighing, and reaching over, unclipping my belt.
“Hey! I said –.”
“I heard what ye said, lass. I’m choosing to ignore it.”
How rude. He picks me up, bridal style, my purse awkwardly perched on my lap, and carries me into the building. The doorman rushes to open it for us.
“The fifteenth floor, Mr. Murphy?”
Mr. Murphy again. This is a whole new world of seeing Ronan interact with people who aren’t at Oracle or in Seamus’s crew.
“Aye, that’d be grand.”
The doorman rushes to call the elevator and hits the button for Niall and Mellie’s floor. I can’t believe Ronan is making me stay here. They are burned hands. I’m not an invalid. I’ll talk to Mellie. She’ll drop me home.
“I can walk,” I grit out as the elevator dings, announcing our arrival, and the doors slide open.
“And not make a run for it? That’s big of ye.”
Rolling my eyes, I glare at him until Ronan sighs, setting me down ten yards from Niall and Mellie’s condo door. He keeps a hold of my purse, and I square my shoulders, somehow managing not to shiver when Ronan’s large hand lands on my lower back, guiding me forward.
I settle my face into a blank mask, but my mind is racing inside. I have bigger problems than being held hostage with burned hands in Mellie’s glorious, cloud-like condo.
This was Grant. He’s testing to see if he can get to me, even while I’m inside the circle of Irish protection. He went for my hands. My hands that he saw holding Ronan’s at the waterfront fight. This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a message.
Mellie is waiting for us when we step into their condo. Crap. There goes my hoped-for ally.
“Fi!” she gasps, her eyes wide. “Your poor hands!”
