The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)
Ronan was in all black. Black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots, and a black bomber jacket that I’d never seen before. His hair was darker too, slicked back from his face from a shower, and his eyes were as silver as the necklace ar
ound his neck. He wore it against his shirt now, instead of tucked under. His injuries had healed, returning his face to its usual beautiful perfection—sharp angles and full lips. High cheek bones and thick brows.
“And he’s mine…” I murmured, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“There she is,” Bibi said, her throat thick. “Oh my, aren’t you the most beautiful girl and most handsome man in all of Santa Cruz?”
“You have to say that because you’re my grandma,” I said, crossing to them. I smoothed the lapels on Ronan’s jacket. He smelled like shower soap and the burned wood from a bonfire at the Shack, as if he carried the fire with him. “There should be a law that requires you to wear all black, every day, for the rest of your life.”
Ronan didn’t seem to have heard. “You look…I mean…Holy shit.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Bibi.”
She chuckled. “That’s okay, honey. I like that reaction just fine.”
So did I.
Ronan held a small bouquet of wildflowers. They looked delicate and feminine in his large hands.
“Are those for me?”
He handed them over, adorably awkward and self-conscious. I plucked a few yellow flowers and tucked them into my hair where the braids were tied back. “How’s that?”
“Good,” he said, then scowled at himself.
Bibi took a few pictures, though Ronan looked about as uncomfortable as he could get.
“That’s plenty,” I said. “We need to arrive at…wherever Ronan’s taking me while the sun is still up. Don’t we?”
“Yeah. Better head out.”
“Just one more,” Bibi said. “I need photographic evidence for the gals that my granddaughter is participating in a mushy and romantic rite of passage or they won’t believe me.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “We’re taking the beast, right?”
Ronan nodded. “Open the garage and I’ll meet you.”
He went outside, and I kissed Bibi’s cheek. “Don’t wait up.”
She chuckled. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
I opened the garage door and popped the Buick’s trunk so Ronan could stow a cooler, a blanket, and his backpack that looked bulky and heavy.
“What’s all this?” I asked. “You still haven’t told me—”
He slammed the trunk shut and hauled me to him, kissing me hard. Deep. His tongue deliciously rough and sharp-tasting from harsh mouthwash, the only alcohol I could ever taste. But I didn’t need booze; Ronan’s kiss left me delirious.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the second I saw you,” he said gruffly.
“Me too,” I said. “If you say we’re spending Prom in a hotel room, I’d be okay with that.”
“Don’t tempt me. You look fucking incredible.”
I traced the line of his lower lip. “So do you. Look fucking incredible.” The thought that this man was mine came over me again like a pleasant chill.
“Keys,” he said, holding out his hand.
“So bossy.”
I loved it when he was bossy. Commanding. I’d prided myself on being the kind of girl who didn’t fall for that stuff but God. Ronan was on another level of masculine virility.