I focused on the tomato I’d been cutting up before Bullet had distracted me, but it took all my effort not to acknowledge Ronan as he came up behind me.
“Can I help?”
I swallowed hard because I wanted so badly to lean back against the big body I could sense behind me.
“Um, yeah. Do you want to finish making the salad?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I was proud of myself for schooling my reaction as I turned to hand him the knife. Gone was the sharp looking suit and in its place was a pair of jeans that lovingly hugged his thick thighs, and a black T-shirt that stretched over his biceps and pectoral muscles. It had been years since I’d seen Ronan so casually dressed and I hadn’t realized how much he’d bulked up since Trace’s death. He’d always been fit but now he just looked…dangerous.
I gave Ronan the knife and thanked God it was a big kitchen because I needed to get as far away from him as I could before I did yet another stupid thing like touch him again. I went to the freezer and pulled out some chicken breasts and began the process of defrosting them.
“What are you making?” Ronan asked as he worked.
“Chicken Cacciatore.”
“Hmmm. my favorite,” Ronan murmured.
I stilled and then realized I’d started making the meal without any thought to that fact. It had been Trace’s favorite too, but I knew that wasn’t what had been in my subconscious as I’d begun gathering the ingredients. An insane, overwhelming need to escape rushed through me and I turned to look at Ronan.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have him here and pretend everything was okay, that we were back to where we’d been before I’d kissed him three years ago. I was finally getting my life together but having Ronan around only to lose him again would destroy me. I knew it in my gut. Ronan’s back was to me as he worked and I opened my mouth to tell him that he needed to leave but then I saw him reach up to get a strainer out of the cabinet above the sink. The fact that he knew that’s where my mom kept it was telling, but even though it looked like Ronan belonged here, I knew better.
“Ronan…”
“Just a sec,” he said as he stretched to reach the strainer, his T-shirt riding up.
And then I saw the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants.
“Yeah,” Ronan said as he turned to face me.
I can’t do this.
Four easy words that would free me from this man.
“Do you want something to drink?”
I kept calling myself a fool and a coward as I went to the fridge to get the soda Ronan asked for and then I began pulling the rest of the ingredients for dinner together. Ronan and I worked in silence and an hour later, we were sitting across the kitchen table from one another eating the same way. It wasn’t until about half way through the meal that I finally found the courage to ask one of the many questions that had been bouncing around my head from the moment I’d suspected Ronan was watching me from the dense woods behind my house.
“He asked you to watch out for me, didn’t he?” I murmured between bites, not daring to look up as I spoke. “Trace…he asked you to check on me before he died. That’s why you’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.”
It was hard to swallow the piece of meat I’d been chewing when he responded. I’d figured obligation was his reason for coming to see me early on after Trace’s death, but I’d hoped maybe things had changed.
I put down my fork and pushed my plate away. “Are you still practicing medicine?”
“No.”
The one word answers were frustrating but at least he wasn’t trying to evade my questions all together. I finally lifted my eyes and saw that Ronan had stopped eating and was staring at me. He had his arms braced on the table and his hands were pressed together. But he kept tapping the pads of his fingers together in a certain, rhythmic pattern.
“What do you do for work now?”
“Consulting,” he answered.
“What kind of consultants carry a gun?”
“The kind who know how to use them,” he quipped.
Irritation went through me and I reached for my plate and stood. I dumped the uneaten food into the garbage can and rinsed the plate before putting it in the dishwasher. I began cleaning up the rest of the dishes.
“Don’t ask the question if you’re not prepared to hear the answer,” I heard from behind me.
Anger went through me as I turned around to see Ronan putting his plate on the island that separated us.
“That wasn’t an answer and you fucking know it, Ronan,” I snapped. He stiffened and then straightened his body. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to intimidate me. I realized I didn’t care. “Here’s a question,” I said. “When did you become such a fucking coward?”