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But then Blaine brings me here, and I see this man with sad brown eyes, and a sliver of sunlight breaks through my otherwise dark existence.
The Reaper. That’s what they call him in the MacKenna Crew. The name speaks for itself. Yet this man—this cold-blooded killer—can’t find it within himself to speak to me. His cheeks flush pink every time I look his way, and then his jaw strains with the force of his anger.
My eyes move from his glass to the hands that rest atop the table. Strong. Masculine. Elegant. Those hands take lives. Those hands wouldn’t hesitate to take mine. Yet in an odd twist of fate, those hands gave me my life back.
Ronan’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, and his eyes become laser-focused on the road. It’s hard to miss the flush creeping down his neck. This big, strong killer gets embarrassed when I talk to him. I’ve never understood it. He’s not like this with anybody else. He’s blunt and short and tells things like they are with everyone but me. He can’t even seem to look at me most of the time. I just asked him if he was following me, and his only response is to drive faster.
He’s a mixture of brutal and sensual. Sweet and hard. Rough and thoughtful. Everything about him is so fucking male. His hands, his mouth… they dwarf every part of me. In his arms, I’m small, fragile, and completely at his mercy.
Those deep brown irises look so childlike. Right now, he isn’t a violent killer. He’s my sweet, handsome Ronan.
Mack stops chewing and stares at me. Shame washes over me, and I look away. “Ronan,” she says in a voice that’s too high. “You’re blushing!”
I’m broken and tarnished. Yet he’s looking at me right now like he’s never seen anything more angelic in his life. His eyes are unguarded and open. It’s a rare sight, and I’m honestly surprised he’s here at all after what happened the last time.
I wanted her, and I couldn’t remember wanting anything so much. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I felt like I needed to touch her.
“He was looking at her.” His words come out broken between bursts of harsh breaths. “My woman,”
He can talk me off the ledge with the faintest of whispers. This man is pure agony. My descent to hell. In fact, I’m certain he must be Lucifer himself because the poison he feeds me is too sweet to resist.
“Do you like me touching you, Ronan?” I ask. “Because sometimes I can’t tell.” “Aye,” he answers, his voice husky. “I like it very much.” He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “When you touch me, it feels different. It’s… nice.”
“All good?” he asks. His gaze is probing, his voice concerned. It almost makes me want to tell him. Almost. But then there’s that boyish innocence in his eyes. God, how can one man be so contradictory? He’s a killer, a cold-blooded murderer for the Mafia, yet he can be so innocent sometimes.
Ronan reaches for my hand and threads our fingers together. He stares at that connection, and he likes it. Things I’ve always taken for granted—the small kindness of human touch—must be so foreign to him. He’s never had them. Any of them.
He feels me watching him, and his eyes move to mine. They’re unguarded, and it makes me relax, too. After what we shared tonight, I worried he might try to shut me out again. But so far, he seems perfectly content to have me here with him. Then he gives me one of his small smiles, and everything inside me melts.
“Good?” “Aye,” he agrees. “Very good.” He takes the spoon and dips it back into the container, gathering more as if he were a child who just had their first taste of ice cream. I feel protective of him at this moment, and I never want to let anything hurt him again. I know Ronan can handle himself. He can handle anything life throws at him because he’s already been to hell and back. But watching him experience things for the first time—such simple things—makes me realize he also needs someone to experience them with. And it occurs to me that I want that someone to be me. For now and always. I
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I don’t think he has eyes for Sasha, but I still don’t like him looking at her like he does. I don’t like anyone looking at her. She’s mine.
“Sasha?” “Hmm?” I murmur sleepily against him. “I don’t know how I ever had the good fortune to find you.”
“I’m okay. The baby’s okay. I know I had a little freak-out at the doctor’s office, but I’m good now. I don’t want you to be so worried about everything, alright? It makes me anxious when you do that.” “But I love you,” he replies. And I smile because… well, Ronan.
“It’s settled then.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his lap, burying his face against my neck. His words are quiet and soft, betraying a rare emotion when he whispers into my ear, “Thank you, love.”
