“No! You know that I was about to tell Joan the truth on Monday—you know I was about to tell everyone the truth. But then you cut in and said that we had planned the whole thing, and I saw…I saw that I could help you.”
What I didn’t say, what I didn’t admit, was that I’d jumped at the chance because it meant I would get to spend time with Ronan; I would get to talk to him, touch him, be with him without risking my feelings or growing attached. Because it was fake—or at least, I could pretend it was fake.
“You’re doing this because you want to help me.” His tone was flat, and his usually vibrant eyes were dull, guarded.
“Yes. I did…I do. I think what she did—what Brona is doing—is unfair to you. And if I can help, then I want to help. If I can make her lies go away….” I glanced over his shoulder, frustrated by my lack of ability to communicate. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and I gathered a deep breath, tried to ease some of my frustration, and closed my eyes as I continued, “I saw how that hurt you. I don’t want you to be hurt—I’m not making sense.”
He was quiet for several seconds, and I felt my face flush. I’d said too much, admitted too much, and my words were clumsy. This was precisely why I should only interact with the world via infographics.
“You’re making some sense,” he said, his gentle tone catching me off guard.
I opened my eyes and peeked at him. His gaze had softened, and I saw that he was studying me. I met his probing stare, relieved that the bitterness had been replaced by speculative warmth.
At length he shifted a step forward, entering my space. I lifted my chin to maintain eye contact and successfully fought the urge to back away.
Once he was basically crowding me, Ronan whispered, “Why do you care if I’m hurt?”
“Because….” I began, stopped, closed my eyes again, and gathered a deep breath.
“Look at me, Annie.”
I didn’t. Instead, I bit my lip and shook my head.
I felt one of his hands cup my cheek; his thumb pulled the flesh from my teeth then swept over my bottom lip.
“Look at me.” This time it sounded a bit more like a command.
I opened my eyes. I looked at him. I told him the truth. “I lied to you.”
I saw a flash of something behind his gaze, and he appeared to be holding his breath. “I don’t like liars.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”
“What did you lie about?”
“I want permanence,” I said stupidly. “I want guarantees and stability.”
“What? What does—”
I interrupted him, my words tumbling from my mouth. “I like you. And more than just in the biblical sense. I like you. I like that you’re Mother Fitzpatrick with your team, but you flirt dirty with me. I like how you take care of your family and how h-h-honorable you are. And I want….” I tried to shift my gaze from his, but he wouldn’t let me. Ronan lifted his other hand so that he held my face between his palms, forcing me to maintain eye contact.
“What do you want?”
“When I first saw you, do you know what I thought? I thought you looked sad. And even though I didn’t know you, I wanted to do something to make that go away.”
His gaze narrowed. “You mean in the break room? You thought I was sad?”
My eyes widened as I realized my mistake. As far as Ronan knew, the first time I’d laid eyes on him was at the office in the break room. “Y-yes, I mean, no—of course, I mean that—listen, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I saw you, I saw sadness. I wanted to help.”
“But you don’t want me?”
My frustration doubled. I gripped his wrists, steadying myself. I stared at his neck, irritated that I was so bad at this, and blurted on an exhalation, “I do want you, for some crazy reason I want to trust you; but I am so afraid.” The last part of my sentence came out as a whisper.
He seemed to release the breath he was holding, and with it, I felt his relief like a tangible thing. The weight I hadn’t precisely realized he’d been shouldering fell away. Ronan pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before saying, “Don’t be. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I can’t not be. You don’t know. You don’t know what I’m like.”
“I know you’re gorgeous.”
My eyes cut to his, and I frowned, fear making my throat tight. “See, that’s it. That right there. That’s the problem.”
“What? It’s a problem that I think you’re beautiful?” He was truly perplexed.
“You’ll change your mind. You’ll find someone else.”
Ronan stared at me like I’d grown wings and horns and eight legs. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve worked really hard for stability, for security. Things are good now. I’m safe.”
His thumbs caressed my cheeks and jaw, his eyes growing fiery and fierce. “You don’t think you’re safe with me? You think I’d hurt you?”
I sighed, knew my eyebrows were moving in all sorts of directions on my forehead as I struggled for the right words. In the end, I didn’t make a conscious decision to tell him about it; I was speaking, and before I knew it, I was halfway through the story.
“Let me explain it this way—and I’m not using my background to gain sympathy. I don’t want sympathy. Let me just tell you what happened. It will…it will make more sense, I think.”
Ronan nodded his encouragement.
“When I was six, my mother left me. I told you this. But what I didn’t tell you was that when I was seven, I was adopted by a family. They thought I was so cute. And, um…they liked how quiet I was, how sweet. It took me a while to come around, like, four months before I started to open up and be myself.” I lowered my gaze to his neck, not wanting to see his expression when I told him the rest.
“Then she got pregnant, and they didn’t want—they didn’t want me anymore. So they gave me back to the state. And then my caseworker put me back in those adoption picnics again, where potential parents come to pick out kids, because I was still considered a good candidate. But I wouldn’t talk to anybody, and I wouldn’t look at anybody because, even at seven, I would rather be alone than be left again.” I exhaled, closing my eyes briefly then returning them to his face.
He looked horrified, and there was no mistaking the pity in his eyes.
“Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me. I didn’t tell you this so that you would feel sorry for me.”
“Screw that. Of course I feel sorry for you. How could I not? That’s a shite story, and those people were arseholes; and if they were here right now, I’d fuck them up—well, I’d fuck him up. But I’d give her a stern talking-to.”
I exhaled a little laugh and shook my head, trying to refocus on the reason I’d started telling him the story to begin with. “My point is I can’t date. I can’t be someone’s girl. I can’t be yours; I can’t—”
I didn’t get to tell him what else I couldn’t do because he kissed me, and this time it wasn’t a staged and chaste press of his lips to mine. This time he was ferocious. His hands dropped from my face, and he wrapped me in his arms, crushing me to his chest. His tongue invaded my mouth, stroked me, demanded that I respond.
I did.
I melted against him and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, not caring that he was damp with sweat. Despite his earlier run, he smelled like sweetness and spicy cologne and something uniquely Ronan.
When it ended and my mouth was thoroughly loved, I was a lot dizzy.
“Now, you listen to me.” Ronan nipped my jaw, still holding me close. He whispered hotly against my ear, tickling me and making me shiver, “This is happening. You and I are happening, and this is real. I like you—and more than just in the biblical sense, whatever the hell that means. I love that you’re brilliant and generous and gorgeous and real. I like you.”
He took this opportunity to tongue my ear, sending shocks of delight and pleasure racing down my spine.
“Ah….” I arched my back, instinctively pressing my body to his.
“I don’t give a shite about your abandonment issues because I’m not going to abandon you. They don’t matter. Don’t let them matter.”
He sucked on my neck, his hands roaming, massaging my back and bottom through my exercise clothes.
“You’re just going to have to trust me. And tomorrow I’m taking you out and showing you off; not just because I really fucking like how you look, but because you’re smart and good and genuine….”
I rubbed myself against him, made a little wild by his commanding aggressiveness. Therefore, I was wholly disoriented when he gripped my upper arms and held me away. He glared at me until I blinked at him and was able to bring him into focus.
Seemingly satisfied that he had my undivided attention, Ronan ended his suspended thought with a low growl. “…and now you’re mine.”
Chapter Twelve
@Jenny0989: @RonanFitz Men like you make me sick. You deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered #manwhore #teambrona
@RonanFitz: @Jenny0989 Hang and draw me all you like, but go near my quarters, and we'll have a problem.