Page 33 of Ronan

Dean

Something has changed with Ronan, but I can’t put my finger on it. I know I shouldn’t care or be so invested in his thoughts or feelings, but I can’t help myself. Something about this man keeps drawing me in.

I was excited when he texted to tell me he had returned. All week, I have questioned what kind of work keeps him traveling so much, but I would never ask. That’s his business.

I don’t want him asking me the same. Nothing about me is as it seems. Another reason I don’t date.

How do you explain the late-night calls to handle some asshole who has lost his mind and became disrespectful? I can’t explain away a lot about my life. Nor do I care to.

Uncle Dayton and Uncle Percy would have a coronary if they knew I left my men back home during this trip. I came to babysit a four-year-old; there was no need for muscle to come with me. Besides, I’ve made my point about fucking with me.

I’ve earned respect as my uncle’s replacement. I know he still has some business partners whom I haven’t met yet, but in time, I will make myself known to them. I’ve been trying to play soft for just a bit longer while I wait for the right time to arrive.

I don’t need a publisher. I’d be fine writing as an indie author. However, the deadlines force me to focus on writing and take my mind away. Gabby and Lauren ruined that for me.

This trip hasn’t done enough to save them. Who am I kidding? I haven’t taken anyone off my hit list yet. Not even my sister.

“We’re here. Stay right where ya are, I have a gift for ya,” Ronan says, bringing me out of my thoughts as he places the car in park.

He hops out and heads to the trunk. My instincts kick in and I reach for my bag. I refuse to get caught slipping over some dick.

When Ronan comes to open my door, he has a luxury shopping bag in his hand. To my surprise, he squats outside the car and coaxes me to swing my legs out.

Once I do, he removes my wedge heels from my feet and places a pair of socks on for me. Then he pulls out a shoe box and begins to place the sneakers inside on my feet. I watch silently as he ties the shoes for me.

Ronan looks up at me and smiles. Suddenly, I’m thrown back in time. I’m thrown back to that day when I was about four. My daddy bought me a pair of Wonder Woman skates and took me to the park to try them out.

“All right, Danny. Let’s get these bad boys on your feet so we can show them my girl can do anything. I told your mama I hate these jellies. Your feet are all sweaty,” Daddy grumbled as he pulled a pair of socks from his back pocket.

He then wiped the bottom of my foot on his T-shirt and slipped one of my little socks on. I was so excited. Once he strapped my skates on, he helped me out of the car and held my hand as he got me to the park, where he spent the next couple of hours teaching me to skate before taking me for ice cream.

I come out of the memory and groan. That was one of the happiest days I can remember with my dad before he was gone. He had a smile on his face the entire day.

“My ass done went and developed damn daddy issues. Fuck out of here,” I mutter to myself.

“What’s that, love?”

“Nothing. What’s all this about?”

“I had a gut feeling ya weren’t going to have the right footwear. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, so Connie and Dae-Dae helped me get your size. Now come on, I want to show ya a wee bit of Ireland.”

Ugh, how can he still pull me in when I know I feel him pulling away? This man is dangerous to my being. No matter how much I want him, I know I can’t have him and keep him.

I’ll only be taunting myself. When I go home, I’ll have to forget I ever met him. No matter what he says, that’s going to be for the best.

The men I truly love never stay—my dad, Geno, Uncle Freddie. It’s better I ignore these feelings I have growing. Death and destruction are all I have to offer.

“Oh, hell no. Where the hell have you brought me?” I squawk as I pull to a stop.

“Carrick-a-Rede,” he croons as he turns to look down at my face.

“The rope bridge?” I breathe and lick my lips.

What the hell are the chances he would bring me on a date that would tap into my biggest fear? I have looked down the barrel of a gun. I’ve taken on men twice my size. Hell, I’ve been in the middle of a shootout once or twice in my lifetime, but this … death-drop heights. I hate them with a passion and this man wants me to walk across this bridge that has like a hundred-foot drop into the Atlantic or something.

“Nope,” I say and shake my head.

“Come on, love. Ya have to walk the bridge at least once in yer life. Yer here, why not?”

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