That night’s discussion had reminded Dubheasa acutely of her all-too-brief time as Ronan’s lover. For the better part of two hours since heading to bed, she tossed and turned, trying desperately to put the memories of making love with him out of her mind. But just like the recent time spent in Ireland at her future sister-in-law’s new estate, Dubheasa was having a hard go of it with the man only a few doors away.
Now, as then, his dominating presence tempted her to forget her pique and seek him out. Now, as then, she knew it was a mistake to do it. But the longer she spent in his company, the harder it was to remember why she’d been upset in the first place. Especially after he’d expressed remorse and explained his reasons. Yet she couldn’t forget he’d also lied about the forced lockdown. He’d shown up at Eoin and Brenna’s place, spouting a tall tale about the Goddess demanding they all sequester in place because Loman was on the loose.
It was only a half truth.
Yes, Loman had escaped. Yes, Ronan had shown up to deliver the news per the Goddess’s request. But after that, he’d spontaneously invented the lockdown so he could spend time with Dubheasa. If he hadn’t grown a conscience and admitted the truth right before she kissed him, he’d have gotten away with the falsehood.
Shaking her head at his boldness, she recalled that night…
Dinner had been a festive affair, and she’d had one too many glasses of wine in an attempt to wash away the memories of her original date with Ronan. Like that first date, he’d worn a white button-down shirt with a dark-blue suit jacket that contrasted with his mercurial gray eyes and made them more vibrant and silvery by the candlelight. He’d been attentive to her, listening with a smile and refilling her drink whenever she consumed it. The memories had sparked her longing to start over and give him a chance to explain his side of the story, which she’d not let him do until that moment. As the food and alcohol continued to flow, making everyone merry, the cheerful atmosphere ate away at Dubheasa’s resolve along with her residual anger. So when Ronan held out a hand and asked her to walk in the garden with him, she readily agreed.
“I’m sorry for deceiving you, Dove. You didn’t deserve to be punished for my mischief at Lamda.”
She’d simply been too mellow and didn’t want to fight, so she had ignored her thirst for answers and allowed him to hold her hand as they walked through the maze. When Ronan guided her to a weathered wooden bench and drew her down beside him, she didn’t resist, instead leaning into him as he put an arm around her shoulders to ward off the chilly air.
Maybe it was the romance of the shimmering full moon, or maybe she was tired of running away, but she couldn’t find it in her to be hateful.
“Do you think you’ll be able to stop your da?” she asked him.
Ronan hesitated before answering. Eventually, he sighed. “I hope so. He’s a crafty bastard, he is. And we’ll all need to remain alert to his attack.”
Lifting her head, she spent an inordinate amount of time memorizing his perfectly chiseled features. The man was truly a work of art. All hard planes and contours, symmetrical in every way. Eyes perfectly shaped, not too far apart, nor too close together. Not too wide, nor too narrow. And his lashes… Dubheasa sighed her envy. Was it fair a man should be so heartbreakingly gorgeous?
Oddly, he didn’t seem aware of it and wasn’t vain in the least about his looks. And didn’t that make him more attractive? Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she longed to have him rain super soft, velvety kisses all over her exposed skin as he waxed poetic about how she made him feel.
Jaysus, had any of it been real? Firmly ensconced within the circle of his arms, she believed it might’ve been, but unless she dared ask, she’d never know the truth.
Hesitant to go there, she asked instead, “How long before Loman makes his move, do you think?”
Had she not been watching, she’d have missed the flash of guilt on Ronan’s face. Why he would experience any guilt for his father’s behavior was in question, and for that reason, she firmly gripped his jaw, forcing him to look her in the eye.
“What aren’t you telling me, Ronan?”
“Can we shelve this discussion for tonight, Dove? I’ve a might powerful need to kiss ya, and I don’t want to talk about my gobshite da.”
There was a desperation in his reply.
“Aye. We can,” she agreed. “But we’ll talk about it again in the morning, yeah?”
With a resigned expression, he nodded. And again, unease snaked through Dubheasa’s wine-soaked mind.
When Ronan lowered his head, it finally clicked what was wrong. He’d worn that same look the first night in New York when she asked him a few hard questions. That time, like this, he appeared to be fighting an inner battle with himself—and losing.
The instant before his lips touched hers, she shoved her hand between their faces. “You’re lying to me. Again,” she said flatly, somewhat shocked at how calm her voice was, when inside. she was a raging mess.
“Dove—”
“I’ll ask you one more time, Ronan O’Connor. What aren’t you telling me?”
After a sharp inhale, he hung his head and exhaled slowly, as if perhaps she was trying his patience. Sure, and wasn’t that irritating? As if she were the one putting him out!
“Ronan.” Her tone was as diamond-hard as her heart had suddenly become. Why the hell did she keep letting her guard down with him? Why was it that every single time he gave her that special look, the one swearing she put the stars in his sky, all caution dissolved and she found herself taken in?
In a single, rushed statement, he said, “I made up the need for a lockdown. It was a spur o’ the moment idea because I wanted to spend more time with you, Dubheasa. I swear I meant no harm to you or yours.”
As flattering as it was that he’d desired to explore a relationship with her, she simply couldn’t stand a liar. Hadn’t her mam lied to her da so many times that he’d had enough and left them all? Was she to follow in the same sorry footsteps as her parents? Destined to have her heart crushed a little more with every lie that poured out of Ronan’s beautiful mouth?
“I can’t,” she whispered brokenly.
“Can’t?”
His worried frown caused the ice encasing her heart to fracture around the edges, and she surged to her feet. If she didn’t get away, he’d do what her mam had done to her father, and he’d charm her into forgiving him.
“I can’t be with a man who spouts lies at every turn. I can’t.” The near hysteria in her voice made her cringe, and she drew strength from her righteousness, standing tall and staring down at him with cold eyes. “You keep away from me, Ronan. You’re not to call me, haunt my dreams, stalk the halls of my apartment, none of it.” She poked his chest and ignored the fact her finger didn’t make a dent or that it came back a little sorer than when she shoved it his way. “My knee will become closely acquainted with your fecking bollocks if you ever look my way again.”
“Dove, you’re blowing this out of proportion. Making mountains out of molehills, as the yanks say. It was a brēag, sure, but a harmless one, all the same.” He rose and lightly cradled her face. “We’re Irish, love. If we aren’t fabricating a tall tale, we aren’t living, yeah?” His attempt at a grin never reached his wary eyes.
“My entire childhood, Mam made a habit of telling Da a harmless brēag or two—daily. Until the night he went out for a pack of fags and never came home.” Until Ronan used his thumbs to wipe her tears, she hadn’t realized she was crying. Shoving his hands aside, she stepped back. “I’ll not tolerate dishonesty, Ronan. It’s already cost me a job I loved, and I’ll not have my heart broken like my da’s.”
Without a backward glance, she’d fled…
Now, here she was, in the one place she’d always considered home, and Ronan had followed her. Although Dubheasa hadn’t for a minute believed he intended to leave her alone for good, she didn’t expect to see him so soon. She’d hoped he would take her warning to heart, but that was for her own peace of mind, not from a true desire to never see him for the remainder of her life. Moving forward, she would never not see him taking up excess space in the kitchen or delicately handling Granny O’Malley’s antique china. Or looking at Dubheasa as if he’d slay dragons for her. Or telling her that he loved her in his soothing, knicker-melting voice that caused her stomach to clench whenever she heard him speak. The fecker had gone and said he’d never lie to her again, and dammit, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.
“Oh, Da. Is this what you felt? The constant tug-o-war between hope and despair?” she whispered into the darkness of her room. “Aye, I want Ronan, but is it only desire? How can there be more if he keeps acting the fool?”
As she waited for the answer that would never come, she experienced a strange buzzing in her mind and wondered at the sensation.
Ronan.
It had to be. No one else had the ability to affect her so.
“Are you sleeping?” she asked him telepathically.
The buzzing stopped, and a feeling similar to happiness embraced her.
“No, Dove. I’ve too many scenarios running through my head.” He paused a long second. “Why are you still awake?”
“I’m not entirely certain. The oddness of the situation we find ourselves in, I suppose.”
“Aye, it’s a first for me, too.”
She took a moment to mull over the possible reasons why they might be experiencing such a weird phenomenon now, when neither had ever before.
“Do you think this is a temporary connection, Ronan? Like maybe it’ll go away after Loman is finally stopped for good?”
“I can’t say for certain, love, but it won’t hurt my feelings if we were to stay connected this way forever.”
“Stop with the honeyed words!”
His chuckle sounded as deep and naughty in her head as it always did in person. And as quickly as the happiness had washed over her minutes before, a melancholy teased the edges of her mind, making her sad.
“When this is over, I’ll ask Anu to give you your heart’s desire, Dove. If you wish to go about your life working for the likes of Nick Lamda or sever our new link, or whatever it is you decide you want, I’ll see that it happens for you.”
An urge to cry caused tears to burn the back of her lids, and she ran her knuckles across her eyes. “Stop being so bleeding nice to me. I don’t know how to feel about it.”
A knock on her door caught her attention, and already guessing who was on the other side, she swung back the comforter and padded across the room to answer.
In the opening, Ronan had his arms spread wide, fingers gripping the wood molding on either side of the frame, and he leaned in just enough to breathe the same air as her. “It hurts my heart when you cry, love.” His voice was raspy and raw, testifying to his honesty.
“How did you know I was crying?”
“Same way you knew I was awake.” His concerned gaze swept her face, then he met her eyes. “Want to talk about it?”
Did she? Their past should be discussed, and she needed to know what she was in for should she decide to become a Guardian.
“Yes.”
Although his brows shot up as if surprised, he didn’t comment other than to ask, “Here or downstairs?”
As an answer, she stepped back and swung the door wider.