Page 4 of Trouble Walked In

A smile pulled at her lips. “I can see that. So, uh, this is the infamous couch, huh?”

“Futon. Couch. It's not the most comfortable, but...it's what I've got. You can always share the bed if you want to,” he suggested, giving her a wicked grin.

“Uh. No. Futon is fine, thanks,” she said with a smirk.

“Don't thank me yet. It's a torture rack. I keep meaning to replace it, but I never get around to it,” he explained. “Lemme go get you a pillow and some blankets so you can get settled in.”

****

Two hours later, he jolted awake when he heard a light tapping on his door. He mumbled, “S'everything okay, Moira?”

She stood in his doorway in her long t-shirt and nervously said, “That futon is awful. Can I...”

He shifted under the covers and said, “Yeah. It's fine. I'll be a good boy.”

“Thanks. That futon really is a torture rack.”

“Told ya,” he said, grinning.

As she slid into bed next to him, he tried not to breathe in her scent. She smelled like goddamned vanilla frosting. He'd noticed in the office. How apropos “Cupcake” had been as far as nicknames went.

She made a soft sigh and murmured, “So much more comfortable than the couch. Seriously, Ronan. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said softly, realizing that having her in his bed was something akin to the seventh level of hell. There was no way he would be able to fall back asleep now.

Chapter Four

Moira awoke in several stages. The first thing that she noticed was the fact that her back was pressed back against Ronan's chest. His arm was wrapped around her, his hand cupped her breast, and his rock hard erection was nestled against her ass. And it was big. She shifted against him experimentally as she made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

When her body began to hum with arousal, she heard him carefully ask, “Moira?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you aware that you're grinding your very sexy ass against my cock?”

“Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't—” she stuttered, her whole body flushed.

She felt the bed shift behind her as he quickly disentangled himself from around her. Before she could even finish her sentence¸ he was out of bed and muttering curses as he slammed the bathroom door closed.

Real classy, Moira, she thought, her face flaming. She had just dry humped the only person willing to help her. Jesus. It was mortifying.

Moira took a few calming breaths and then sat up. She needed to get out of this bed. It smelled like him. A mixture of fabric softener, cologne, and warm male. When the shower turned on, she groaned. That hard body was officially naked now. Quickly, she fled the room before she could do anything else she'd regret.

She'd lain awake for a good portion of the night. The futon had been awful, but the bed had been a different sort of torture. When she'd been uncomfortable, at least she'd been able to focus on that. Once she'd moved to the bed, all she could think about was the fact that her life was a mess.

It had been almost light out when she'd finally fallen asleep. She'd been in the midst of a full blown panic attack when Ronan had slung his arm across her in his sleep. As he'd pulled her back against his chest, she'd relaxed for the first time since going upstairs with him. She had no idea what it was about him that she found so comforting. By all rights, she should have freaked out when he'd pulled her up against him. Maybe she was just desperately in need of a hug.

Ronan didn't strike her as a particularly friendly man. He was decent, though. Under the rough exterior, he seemed...kind. The strangest part without a doubt was that she took him at his word. When he'd told her she was safe, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind that he could be lying. She had shared a bed with a virtual stranger that was part wild animal. Was she stupid, desperate, or some combination of the two?

She managed to fry up bacon and sliced potatoes before he finally emerged from the bedroom. When she heard a shuffling noise behind her, she turned to face him. He made a beeline for the coffee that she'd already started and said, “Smells good,” as he gestured at the bacon.

“Did you want some eggs, too?” she asked.

“If you're making them for yourself,” he grunted, taking a sip of his coffee and snagging a piece of bacon off the plate.

“Scrambled, sunny side up?”

He eyed her for a minute and then said, “Whatever is easiest, Moira. You don't have to make me breakfast.”

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