Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“We should talk,” he says as I drink from my mug.
“That’s not happening again,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. God, am I really this awkward right now? Did fooling around with him last night fry my brain or something? I’m not normally this tongue-tied and unsure of myself. It’s pissing me off.
His eyebrows raise, clearly amused. “Which part, love? When you came into my room? Or when you came on my tongue?”
“See, that right there, that’s the reason why last night was a mistake.”
“Only curious, that’s all.”
“We can’t have that kind of relationship, okay? Last night was—” I lick my lips and try to find the right words.
“The best orgasms of your life?” he supplies.
I gave him a withering look. “Last night was fine.”
He laughs, hand over his heart. “Fine? Fine? That’s practically challenging me to more, love, you realize that?”
“I’m sorry if your masculinity is bruised—”
“No, baby, not my masculinity. It’s my goddamn sense of decorum. It’s not right to leave a woman wanting.”
“It’s fine, I’m fully satisfied, okay?”
His grin spreads. Yet again, he has baited me into saying something dumb. “Fully satisfied? Yeah, that sounds right, I’d say.”
I lean forward, face in my hands. “Can you just… turn it off for a minute? Please?”
“My charm? Impossible?”
I mumble every curse I know in Italian before facing him again. Ronan’s like a heat-seeking missile programmed to blow up my composure. So much for keeping it together this morning.
“Seriously, we can’t do that stuff anymore, okay? You have enough issues with your family, and if anyone finds out that we’re—” I make vague hand gestures in the air.
“Fucking each other’s mouths,” he says, nodding like that’s a very normal thing to say. “Yes, go on.”
I decide to ignore him for once. “That’ll only make your life harder. It’s just better if we don’t.”
The toaster oven dings. He looks at me, head tilted, smile fading, before he turns and gets the toast out. I feel small and dumb and take a drink from my mug to try to get my brain working again. I’m not sure what that last look meant, but he clearly didn’t like something I said.
He has to know I’m right. He and I fooling around last night was fun—I can’t pretend like it wasn’t extremely, amazingly fun—but doing it again is a mistake. We need to focus, and with him, I am very, very unfocused. That’s how Julien got the drop on me. That’s why he ended up punching Gregory in the face. And I’m afraid we’ll only screw up even more.
“Here, love,” he says, putting toast and butter in front of me. I get myself set up and eat while he sits across from me, saying nothing for a couple minutes. Then he breaks the silence again. “You’ll stay here for a few days.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just because we got each other off doesn’t mean anything’s changed. Your apartment isn’t safe until we make sure things with Julien are settled. You’ll stay here.” His tone doesn’t suggest there’s room for argument, and I don’t really want to. He’s completely right.
“I’ll need some things.”
“I can go back to your place and get whatever. Make me a list.”
“All right.” I lick my lips, watching him. “We shouldn’t tell anyone. You know, from your family.”
His head tilts. “Let me worry about that.”
“Definitely not Seamus. And not even Niall. If rumors start—”
“I said I’ll handle it.” He leans back, jaw tight. I’m not sure what’s upsetting him, but I decide to let it go.
Breakfast is only slightly tense. He makes himself some eggs and we talk about safe topics, like the upcoming job. When I’m done with my toast, I retreat back upstairs,
This is for the best. I could tell he didn’t like our conversation, but we need to keep things professional. No more sneaking into his room—and definitely no more kissing. I’m staying with him for a short time, and it’s just like rooming with a work colleague.
We’ll keep things very professional, and we’ll get through this little speedbump without any more problems.
Chapter 20
Ronan
The beautiful thing about bikers is, they aren’t fucking subtle.
Harleys grunt and snort down the back roads toward Chicago. Their engines growl and announce them long before they arrive, and it’s not hard for my men to follow them at a safe distance. All they need to do is keep their fucking ears peeled.
Another beautiful thing: they tend to use their own product. Which means these bikers are a bunch of meth-head morons with few brain cells and even fewer teeth.
But the downside to that is, they’re absolutely psychotic. Gregory, despite being a grade-A piece of shit, is actually calmer and more subdued than other bike MCs I’ve come across.
The Bullethole Boys are on the opposite end of that spectrum, from what I’ve heard.
Corn fields spread out in all directions. It’s late in the day and the sun’s low in the sky. It’ll be dark in the next half hour, which is exactly what the Boys want—they’re aiming to do this deal at night with as few problems as possible, probably because they want to make sure their patch over into the Righteous Servants goes as planned. Though how the fuck Gregory thinks he’s going to tame these wild assholes, I genuinely don’t know.