Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“You should go dance with Ronan,” Mack suggests.
It’s all I can do to shake my head because I doubt Mack has any idea of the events that have transpired recently. “Nah. He’s not the dancing type.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she agrees. “He’s more of the sit in the corner and brood type. Maybe you could go brood with him then?”
Lachlan sneaks up behind her as we’re talking and it isn’t long before he’s dragging her away. I’m grateful for the reprieve from that conversation. I have no intentions of speaking to Ronan tonight.
When I turn around again, I’m surprised to find one of the Russians has descended on me though. He’s a member of the alliance with the Irish, and a frequent client in the VIP area. I’ve seen him in the pit when I danced before and even delivered him drinks a few times.
His name is Niko, and although he’s handsome in a rough way, he doesn’t hold a candle to Ronan. Then again, nobody does.
“One must never drink alone.” He greets me by wiggling a vodka bottle in my direction.
“Wasn’t one glass enough?” I tease.
He shrugs and winks. “When the drinks are on the Irish, you take your fill before the bar goes dry.”
I laugh and Niko pulls two shot glasses out of his pocket. Before I have another chance to decline, he fills them both up to the rim.
I take my glass and hold it up to his while he utters a Russian toast. Then we both toss back our shots and the burn feels good in my stomach.
“What does it mean?” I ask. “The toast?”
Niko flashes me a boyish grin. “May you get drunk enough this evening to think me handsome.”
I’m smiling at him and shaking my head when a firm grip wraps around my arm. I look up to see Ronan, his eyes smoldering with barely contained fury.
His gaze flicks from me to Niko and back, filled with accusation. He yanks me into his side and leans down to whisper in my ear, never taking his eyes off Niko.
“Would ye like the lad to watch me give you a going over?” he asks.
“What the hell is your problem?” I fire back at him.
His response is to forcefully drag me away from Niko and pull me into an empty corner of the club, away from everyone else.
“Party’s over,” he says. “You’ll be going home now.”
“Like hell I will,” I argue. “You don’t get to decide that. Or who I talk to either.”
“You were smiling at him,” he accuses.
“So frigging what?” I retort. “We were just talking. At least someone around here knows how to use his vocabulary.”
We stare at each other in silence, both of us fuming now. He’s acting like a toddler. And after what he told Lachlan, he has no right.
I try to brush past him, but he just follows me. Niko has disappeared into the crowd which is probably for the best. So I take a seat at an empty table and Ronan pulls up a chair beside me.
We both stew in our own silences for a long time. I’m staring at the crowd, and he’s looking at me. I can feel it, but I won’t meet his eyes. Because my anger won’t hold up under that gaze. And I need my anger right now.
But then he does something that I can’t ignore.
His leg brushes mine, and it isn’t an accident. It might seem like such an innocent gesture, but with Ronan, it definitely isn’t. He doesn’t flirt. Or do anything in half-measures. He comes to me for one reason and one reason alone. To take what he wants.
I can’t recall a time he’s ever touched me unless it was for a purpose. But right now, the heat of his leg is pressed against mine, and it can’t be overlooked. I glance over at him, and he’s still watching me.
There’s a guilt and frustration in his eyes, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he leans a little closer, and his breath fans my face. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart does a weird little flip, and I stare at him in confusion. I don’t know what he’s doing.
Apparently, neither does he. Because he looks as confused as I am. But his gaze isn’t on me now. It’s over my shoulder. Taking mental notes.
When I turn around, I catch sight of Scarlett and Rory across the bar. Sitting in the exact same position as we are. Rory is putting the moves on her, waiting for her to bite. And it occurs to me Ronan is trying to do the same.
“Are you mimicking him?” I ask.
A flush creeps up over his neck and he leans back in his chair. No answer. But what do I expect?
I could try to dissect his motives for following Rory’s lead, but that was the old me.