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“—ever come near her again, I’ll aim for your fucking face—” Ronan kicks Julien’s gun away, sending it skittering across the floor. “—go anywhere near her, I’ll gut you and your entire—” Ronan shakes Julien, who only grimaces back in angry defiance.
But Ronan doesn’t stand there and argue. He turns away and comes to me, looking like fury and heaven as he helps me to my feet. I stare at him, my mouth hanging open, not sure what’s going on. “Come with me,” he says, pulling me toward the doorway.
I look over my shoulder. Julien’s lighting another cigarette and showing me his teeth in a vicious grin. He winks at me, like this was all some hilarious game, and a chill runs down my spine. That man is a monster. Pure and simple.
Once we’re downstairs, Ronan hustles me into his black BMW. Once we’re on the road and my hearing’s almost entirely back, I turn to him in total shock.
“What thehellwere you doing at my apartment?” I blurt out.
He looks at me—and laughs.
I stare, stewing, caught between being thankful and angry. He shakes his head and puts a hand on my leg. This time, I shove it away.
“Ah, come on, love, I just saved your life.”
“I know,” I say, and take a deep breath to calm myself. I’m not actually mad at him. I’m just still dealing with the adrenaline of coming within inches of getting killed. “I’m sorry, I’m just—seriously, how were you there?”
“I couldn’t leave things like we did back at the bar,” he says softly, not looking at me now. “After you kissed me?—”
“Hold on, afterIkissedyou?” I gape at him, incredulous. “You’re the one that practically manhandled me.”
He’s grinning big now and I hate myself for letting him bait me. “After the kiss, you ran off, and I didn’t want things to be tense between us. I just wanted to come and clear the air.”
I blow out another breath and watch the houses flit past as he drives. I put a hand on my chest and feel my heartbeat stuttering along at a wild pace. It takes a few minutes before I’m calm enough to think clearly.
“Thank you,” I say and look at him.
“You’re welcome.” No joke. No mocking in his voice. “Glad I can be of service.”
Chapter 17
Ronan
Itake Valentina back to my place.
It’s an average house a few blocks from my mother. Single-car garage, two floors, three bedrooms, one-and-a-half bath, that sort of thing. Valentina’s still shaken from what went down with Julien and doesn’t argue when I bring her inside.
“Sit down and get settled,” I say, directing her to the couch in my living room. She’s looking around her with wide eyes.
“You live here?”
“I hope so.” I direct her down and put a pillow in her lap. I’m not sure why, but it might be a comfort.
“There are so many plants.” She lets out a little laugh. “And it’s sonice.”
I should be insulted. Really, I should be, but I get her reaction. Most people look at me and see an Irish mob thug, but people can be more than one thing, and as it happens, I like to make my house comfortable and a reflection of my tastes.
Which means lots of indoor plants, plenty of little knick-knacks I’ve picked up at flea markets over the years, some quality Irish-themed art—none of that fucking shamrock and Leprechaun bullshit though—and comfortable, stylish furniture.
“Want some tea?” I ask, deflecting away from her only slightly condescending reaction.
“Okay, sure.”
I head into the kitchen and put on the kettle. I give her a few minutes to gather herself while the water boils. I pour two mugs of chamomile since it’s late. I may be a gangster, but I’m not stupid about my caffeine intake.
“Here you go, love.” I place one mug in front of her and take the armchair. She’s holding a coffee table photo book of west Irish landscapes. “My family was originally from Galway.”
“I honestly don’t know much about Ireland.”
