Page 17 of Sweet Temptation

I wasn’t totally sure if he wanted dibs on the woman or on the job. Or both.

But either way, he could fuck right off.

Chapter Four

Ronan

Summer was getting things out of her cupboards as I slipped off my leather jacket and crossed the living room toward her.

The remnants of a party were scattered throughout the room.

Half-empty cocktail glasses, beer bottles, a feather boa on the floor. The counter that partially separated the living room from the kitchen, which would’ve maybe been a breakfast bar, had been converted into an actual bar, the lower cabinets stocked with liquor bottles.

I pulled out a stool at the bar, draping my jacket over the back and sitting down to face her. If I didn’t hover, maybe a little less chance I’d come across as intimidating. Or annoying.

Summer glanced at me as I sat down, but didn’t seem to really see me.

“So,” I asked her gently, “you alright?”

“Getting there. Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. Really.”

“I’m making some either way. Decaf. Do you like mint? Lemon ginger? Vanilla?” She tried to smile but it felt forced.

Obviously, she’d been woken up by the attempted break-in and she was shaken. Who wouldn’t be? But she was definitely trying to treat me like a guest rather than a security professional.

I’d been treated this way before.

My presence often made people uncomfortable. Usually the people who needed my services the most were the ones who didn’t want to need me.

Or who hadn’t yet accepted that they did need me.

She seemed determined to serve me something, so I said, “Mint sounds fine.”

She filled the kettle with water, filled the little mesh basket in the glass teapot with tea leaves. The dark robe she was wearing had a pale pattern of pink flowers on it. Looked expensive. It ended mid-thigh… She had fantastic, toned legs, bare feet.

She wasn’t wearing any jewelry. No wedding ring.

Not that I was looking. I just noticed things.

“Would you like something to eat?” she offered.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s too late for me. Thank you.”

“Sugar?” She looked directly at me, her pale-blue eyes holding mine.

“Please.”

I watched as she got out the sugar and brought it over to the bar where I was sitting. Then she looked at me again. She smoothed her hands over her hair, then tightened the sash of her robe. Now that she was waiting for the water to boil, she didn’t seem to know what to do with herself.

She exhaled. “I’m trying not to freak out. Is it obvious?”

I chose my words carefully, aware that she was possibly looking to me, a stranger, to make her feel safe in her own home. It was a difficult, uncomfortable position for anyone to be in. But beyond that… something told me this woman wasn’t accustomed to being victimized. Or asking for help just to get through the night.

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