Page 51 of Sweet Temptation

Ronan came out of the guest room to see who was at the door, and he was pretty damn chilly about it when he offered his hand and said, “Ronan,” like he only spoke in single word sentences.

“Carissa,” she said breezily. “Wow. You’ve got an incredible grip.”

He didn’t seem to warm to that assessment, though he did excuse himself and disappear back down the hall. This time, I noticed he left the guest room door open.

Carissa and I headed into the sunroom to practice Hatha yoga. She was an amazing instructor, and an hour later I was both limber as shit and more relaxed than I’d been in days.

I didn’t mention to her what had happened last night. We were close friends, yet I didn’t at any point feel the need to tell her that the police had been here with a dog unit, or that Ronan was now my bodyguard. She didn’t ask about him. I had people in and out of my house all the time. She’d just assume he was a friend or a lover. No explanation needed.

When we said our goodbyes out by her car after our post-yoga tea, though, she looked over at him. He was standing in the trees along my side yard, studying my fence. “Is that a new one?” she whispered.

“Oh, he’s new.”

She squinted at him. “Is he fixing your fence or something?”

He definitely seemed to be poking at my fence, though he didn’t have any tools in his hands. “Probably making sure it’s structurally sound. He’s, uh, handy like that.”

“Well. Get it, girl. Very tough-guy handsome.” She kissed my cheek and got in her car.

I stood by the driveway and waved as she pulled out and drove away. Then I glanced over at Ronan, who was now bent over, poking at something at the base of a fence post.

Since I hadn’t yet had such a grand opportunity to check out his backside, I definitely did.

Looked as fantastic as his front side.

Carissa wasn’t into men in the sexual sense, so she was probably more underwhelmed by Ronan’s… assets… than my straight girlfriends would be. But I wasn’t above ogling that view.

I wandered over. Ronan stood up but didn’t say anything. Just craned his neck to look over the top of the high fence.

“Spying on my neighbors?”

“Just checking out the perimeter of the property. You’ve got a rotten fence post here. Should be replaced.”

“Thanks. How very thorough of you to notice.”

“Not much use having a fence if someone can just kick it over.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you know your neighbors?” he inquired, not-casually.

I laughed. “Uh, yeah. They’re not burglars or stalkers, believe me. And they’re the best neighbors in the world, so don’t piss them off. That,” I informed him, pointing over the fence in front of us, “is an eighty-something practically deaf lady who thinks I’m the sweetest thing since peppermint candy and couldn’t give a fuck about my house parties because she can’t hear them. We love her.”

“Got it.”

“And that,” I said, pointing to the other side of the house, “is a rental inhabited by revolving female university students who also don’t give a fuck about my house parties because they have house parties of their own. Besides that, one of them met Ashley in my driveway like two years ago, and they still tell the tale. I’m a legend now. Sometimes they bake me pot brownies.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“And behind me is a snooty couple with no kids. They’re dicks. But they also tolerate my house parties because they’re out of town ninety-percent of the time.”

“I’m picking up on a pattern here. Do you have a lot of house parties?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Hmm.” He frowned and continued making his way along the fence. I followed, curious.

Was he always this frowny about parties?

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