20. Ronan
Chapter 20
Ronan
“ I thought your house blew up,” she said as he maneuvered the car up the long driveway toward the garage.
“Just the front door.” It was hard to keep his voice steady.
He hadn’t intended to be turned-on in that club, but just seeing her, feeling the heat between her legs… he’d lost control.
He’d calmed a bit after climbing into the car, mostly because Jenny seemed more subdued. Had she decided his behavior was unacceptable? Did she regret her own actions? Maybe she regretted telling him what she had or getting into his car at all. But he hoped not. Even now, the smell of her sweat in his sinuses, the memory of her gyrating in his lap, the touch of her lips on his ear, Jesus ?—
“It doesn’t look blown up.” She squinted through the windshield.
Think about baseball. Basketball. Dead bodies in gutters. But his fingertips were itching with the urge to grab her, to yank her against him, to slide into her so deeply that she forgot what she was afraid of.
He swallowed hard. “Different house.”
Her current demeanor did not suggest she was in a similar state of mind. Dancing in the club had been a necessity, a response to Waylon’s glare—a job. This was reality. And with all she’d been through, he didn’t want to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare her off—she was already terrified enough.
“You have two houses?”
He had seven, half of them currently being used as long-term sanctuaries for women like Shonda, whose bruises had told him all he needed to know. Ronan shifted the car into park.
“It’s an investment property.”
Jenny frowned.
Huh . He’d initially believed the dirty cop statement was a joke, but now he wasn’t so sure. Did she really think he was on the take? Why that and not family money or the lottery? Then again, nothing said “dirty cop” like skulking around a low-rent strip club.
He expected more questions, was ready to clarify, but Jenny nodded and popped the door, heading for the porch as if that was all the explanation she needed. He let her lead the way while he scanned the surrounding area, raising his eyes to the camera situated beneath the eaves.
This home, like all the others, was equipped with top-notch security and reinforced with steel, something the perp had probably guessed by now since Ronan was still alive. The bomb squad had said the explosives should have killed him—would have without those reinforcements—which meant two things. One, he owed Charles his life. And two, the explosion hadn’t been a warning or a distraction—it had been a sincere attempt to get rid of him.
The killer would almost certainly try again. Unless Ronan got to him first.
He stepped past her to unlock the door, then edged into the foyer, trying to ignore the subtle musk of her skin, the laundry soap she used. His mouth watered anyway.
Control yourself, asshole. She asked if it was safe, not whether you’d fuck her silly.
“Do you think anyone else…” she began.
“No. But I’ll look around to be certain.”
Charles had sent his “best guys” to the house earlier to ensure that all was secure before Ronan’s arrival. They’d also shot up firewalls at the security company and had a team of white-hat hackers trying to figure out how the guy had gotten into the system. He should probably call Charles for an update.
“You’re really just a detective?” she said, following him up the shiny marble hall and into the sunken living room.
The home had a wide-open floor plan, which meant far fewer places to hide. No one lurked behind the end tables or beneath his waterfall dining table, and unless someone had climbed inside the oak cabinetry, the kitchen was clear. Just the marble island, plush area rugs, and modern art on the walls, pieces his brother didn’t have space for. Charles said it was good to keep things like that in the family. Art and secrets—basically the same thing, right?
He could feel her eyes on him—watching, waiting for a response. “Yup. Just a lowly detective.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You sound like my brother.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant, I?—”
He turned left, heading for the hall. “Don’t worry, I know. And yes, I have family money. I don’t like to talk about it… or about them. I think you know what that’s like, even if our reasons are different. There’s a spare bedroom here.”
The change of topic was abrupt, but hopefully, it’d serve to cut the family conversation short. He stepped through the first door on the right, peeking into the attached bathroom, the closet, beneath the bed.
“You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like. The bathroom should be fully stocked with shampoo and toothpaste and whatnot.”
Jenny peered through the doorway into the bedroom, then met his gaze. “Can I see your room?”
He blinked— baseball, basketball, bodies . “You can see anything you want.”
Emphasis on the anything . He gestured up the hall, trying to ignore the pulse between his legs—how his pants were too tight.
The double doors to the master suite were at the end of the hallway. He could see the sitting area near the floor-to-ceiling windows from here and the sliding glass door—all bulletproof. The bed was on the left, along with the bathroom and a master closet that only held a few spare changes of clothes. Enough for when he needed a change of scenery but didn’t have time to vacation. No rest for the weary.
And cops were always weary.
He led her through the double doors. “Or… you can sleep here if you want. With or without me.” Please say “with me.”
He pushed that thought aside and headed for the open door that faced the bed. No one was hiding in the bathtub. No one lurked in the sauna. When he turned back to the bedroom, she was standing in the doorway, peering around at the white marble.
Ronan slipped past her into the bedroom once more, trying to ignore the way her jeans hugged her curves, the way her hair brushed his arm. The open, trusting way she was looking at him. How she turned to follow him with her eyes.
“All clear,” he said. “The shower’s obviously through here, if you want to?—”
“Wash the debauchery off of me?” A wan smile crossed her face.
“Not exactly what I meant, but I can’t imagine that pole is especially sanitary. Not that people going into that club are worried about sanitary.”
She stepped toward him, her hazel eyes locked on his face. “What were you worried about all the times you came in there?”
“You.” No hesitation.
“Not just me though…” She cocked her head. “Do you know where Shonda is?”
Well, shit . But he nodded. He wouldn’t give Jenny an address—wouldn’t tell anyone for Shonda’s safety—but he didn’t think Jenny would push.
She swallowed hard and averted her gaze. “Are you… I mean, are you with her? The way you were with me?”
He blinked. “What? No.” When she looked back up, he went on, “I’m a one-woman guy. I don’t mess around. I’m alone more often than not. As for Shonda, I helped her find a way out of a dangerous situation. That’s all. I’ve never touched a single person in that or any other club outside of you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Any… other club?”
“My mother used to work in a place like that. There are a lot of them around. A lot of people who need help.”
Jenny studied his face as if this were the first time she was seeing it. And god help him, he felt seen. She stepped nearer and laid a hand against his cheek. “You’re just about perfect, you know that?”
“No one’s perfect. But you’re as close?—”
“You don’t have to lie.” Her gaze darkened, hand dropping to her side. “I know what I am—I’m the only girl in that club who has to wear a shirt.”
“You’re the only one Waylon is threatened by.”
Jenny balked. “That doesn’t make any?—”
“You’re smarter than he is, and he knows it. Making you believe you’re less-than is the only way he has any control. Don’t give him that, Jenny.”
Her eyes filled. “Julie,” she whispered.
His heart thundered in his ears. He traced a finger down the side of her face. “Julie,” he said, testing it out. “It’s a beautiful name.”
Her lips twitched into a smile, but her eyes stayed glassy, tears on the verge of falling. She pulled back before they could, then started for the bathroom.
Ronan stared after her. Had he gone too far? Probably—he usually did.
“I’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll let you?—”
“Wait.” She turned back. “Will you… stay here? I don’t want to be alone.”
Oh. Right. “Of course. And I promise not to peek.”
She met his eyes. Then she peeled the sweater over her head and dropped it to the floor. The bra came next, breasts round and perfect, nipples already hard.
Ronan’s breath shuddered from his lungs. He took a step toward her, but she turned around, hooked her fingers into her belt loops, and bent at the waist, shimmying her jeans down her toned thighs. Baring her pussy from behind—pink and glistening. Already wet.
His mouth watered, his fingers burning with the need to touch her, his dick so hard he could feel the bite of the metal zipper against his shaft.
Julie righted herself. “I want you to peek,” she said without turning around.
Then she stepped through the wide-open door into the bathroom.
Ronan watched as she glided over the tile with that grace he’d first noticed in the club. Was he supposed to follow? But she hadn’t asked him to follow. She’d asked him to… peek .
He backed away and lowered himself to sit on the end of the bed, directly across from the bathroom door. Julie —he loved how the name sounded in his head, had loved the way it felt on his tongue. Loved more that she’d trusted him enough to share it.
Julie glanced back, making sure he was paying attention.
He was. He definitely was.
The bathtub was off to the right, situated in an alcove with wide skylights so you could watch the sunset while your fingers got wrinkly. There was a television on the wall, but he’d never used it. On the left side of the space was the sauna, fronted with a wooden door.
But the glassed-in shower was straight ahead.
Julie reached in to twist the knobs. The waterfall shower heads turned on, water hissing against the marble floor. She stood, nude, gorgeous, feeling for temperature, then stepped beneath the spray.
His dick throbbed as he watched the water flow over her skin. She reached for the shampoo, breasts swaying slightly as she washed her hair. Soap cascaded down her body, rivers of bubbles caressing all the places he wanted to touch.
He unzipped his pants, the buckle clanking as he kicked them aside. Tossed his shirt, too, ignoring the twinge from the gauze—the tape.
Julie met his eyes through the hazy shower door. She pinched her nipples with both hands.
Ronan took his dick in his fist as she slipped her fingertips down over her ribs, past her navel, to rest between her legs. The fog in the shower turned the hazy lines of her body into a tease, but he could tell she was spreading her sweet pussy for him. Practically begging to be fucked.
Julie moaned, and lust spiked through his blood. He worked his cock up and down, up and down, but it was no match for the way her cunt would feel pulsing around his dick.
She pressed her nipples against the glass door—rosy, perfect. He wanted to see her pussy more clearly. Wanted to taste it.
He wanted to taste every inch of her.
He worked his dick harder, muscles tight with the need for release. Wondering when she’d come into the bedroom and put him out of his misery.