Chapter 30
Anita
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L ocation: Ronan’s place
Ronan: Heading back to you. Do you miss me, little snake?
Me: No.
Ronan: I miss you, too.
I smile, and my cheeks flare. I lock the phone, then place it back on the counter. I grab the food from the counter and set it on the island, making sure to move slowly while I do. Dr. Rio informs me that I’ll be as good as new in another week or so. The bruises won’t fade for another two to three weeks, possibly even more, so I’m stuck with a raging blue and black mark going across my back like a truck drove over my back for a while. At least it doesn't hurt. Dr. Rio dosed me with some more steroids and muscle relaxers, so I feel as high as a bird. Which probably explains why I’m placing food out in the bamboo bowls I found in Ronan’s cabinets. I figured we can eat when he gets back from his dealings with Jax.
I did not cook, I’ll never do that. However, I did have the academy's chefs send food up to his place. Mushroom soup with a side of buttery garlic bread and spinach salad.
I hope he likes mushrooms. “Shit.” My hand pauses over the lid I placed on the bowl. I should've asked, but it’s too late now.
I said I would never cook in this kitchen, but I never said anything about someone else cooking it, and us...eating it together. My stomach twists in a tight knot at the thought. We ate at the hotel together, and yes, I may have made it a bit awkward, but truthfully, I did enjoy his company. I always ate alone or ate something on the go before I completed a mission.
I lay out a black ceramic plate I found in his cabinet. I won’t speak about how interesting it is that he has only two dishes per utensil. It's clear he’s never had a guest up here. He’s been alone, even when he's around other people. Does his family visit? Maybe his brother, are they close? Did he have other lovers before the kidnapping...or after? A clench forms in my throat and my skin flares like I've stepped into a sauna. The thought of that makes me want to claw at my skin and dig out the eyes of any past girls he did have.
Dammit, who am I becoming?
I shake off that twisted feeling and finish plating and setting the food in the middle of his kitchen island. By the time I’m done, everything is set and ready to eat, and I’m tempted to dive in now, but I allow my hunger to subside. Instead of staring at the plates anticipating his arrival, I head inside the kitchen and grab the closest, sharp utensil I can find. A knife. And begin playing pin the finger with it. It's something Eve used to do whenever she got bored. I always thought it was insane, but now look.
By the time I’m on round three, I managed not to stab myself, and the door to Ronan’s place opened with a creak. My focus shoots up, and I stop midway with the sharp end between my pointer and middle finger.
Ronan comes through the door, and I unintentionally suck in a quiet breath through my teeth. My heart pumps harder than before, even when I was playing the risky game.
He drops his black duffle bag and bulky combat coat, searching the room as he closes the front door.
“Oi,” I say, unmoving. Everything in my body seems to have stilled, but the inside is jumping with delight.
Earlier, when he texted if I missed him, I wasn't being truthful in my response. I missed him a lot.
His head turns to the kitchen, and that ache that hasn't been soothed in a few days throbs with need. Wearing only his combat pants with a black short sleeve that creased and ruffled at the bottom like he’s pulled it from his pants. He frowns, almost amused, and looks at my hand while treading toward me.
The closer he gets, the more I see the definition in his chest from the shirt hugging it well and his disheveled hair that he threads through again.
“Salut,” he drags out tiredly, stopping next to me in the middle of the island. He looks right at my belly and touches it lightly. “How's your ribs?”
I shrug. “Better. How was everything with Jax?”
Ronan pulls away, sighing with a deep breath. “As I expected. Nothing on the Guerillas, as of now. But we found a group called Santori’s, and retrieved another group of girls.”
I nodded with a sigh of relief, but there’s pity sitting beneath my chest. I wanted to hear some other good news because every father needs a daughter, and every daughter deserves a good father.
I sigh. “It's only been two days, maybe something will come up.”
“Maybe. We’ll find them and shut them down like everyone else.” He leans down to the side and kisses my cheek as if it's something we do regularly. Musky sweat mingles with his sandalwood scent, and outside air whirls around us. My mouth waters and a shiver runs down my back.
Ronan tilts his head slightly, we’re now nose to nose, then he brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is soft, and the peck makes our skin stick together from it. I could keep his lips on me all day and never grow tired of it. How it makes my body awaken like a sunrise over the mountain. Unfortunately, he pulls away, and my lips grow cold.
“What is this?” he asks once he sees my hand again.
Of course, I forgot I’m holding a knife between my fingers. I lower it, balling my other hand. “A little game I played while I waited for you.”
Ronan squirts dish soap onto his palm, turns the sink knob and begins to wash his hands. “You waited for me? Did you...” I watch a low grin play on his lips and his dimples appear. He turns his head to look at me. “Did you cook for me, too?”
My eyes dim as I stroll around to sit down. “I don’t cook.” Never ever . Then the vision of me standing by the stove making some pasta fills my head, and I almost choke on the air I’m breathing.
“Can you cook?”
I snuff the image away, and I flick my hair over my shoulders. “No. I never found a reason to learn.” I peer at him as he dries his hands with a cloth. “Can you?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yes, I can.”
My brows shoot up surprised. “Is your ‘cooking’ the version where you chop someone in half and shred them through a meat grinder?”
Ronan laughs deep as he too comes to sit by me, making himself comfortable. I enjoy his throaty laugh, it's so natural and pleasing to the ear, and it makes my insides melt. “While that does sound like my type of thing. No.” He uncovers the lid of the mushroom soup and sets it aside. “I cook food.”
That is a shocking surprise. I would never have guessed this man of all people would know to make food. Now I can erotically picture Ronan in an apron fingering a crème br?lée. I clear my throat.
“How did you learn?”
I notice his shoulders stiffen, and he pauses only for a second before he scoops a spoonful of creamy soup and puts it inside my bowl. “Minha mae.”
Hearing him mention his mother sends a churn to my stomach. He’s never shared anything about his mother, even when he was close to our family. The only thing I do know about her, from what I read in the tabloids, is that she passed away.
He moves to his bowl, putting some inside. “Every Saturday, she would drag me downstairs to teach me a new recipe in her homemade book. She would tell me, ‘You need to know how to feed yourself, to survive. I won't raise any sons dependent on others to feed him.’” I smile as he tries to imitate what would sound like a wise mom.
Ronan puts my spoon into my soup and continues. “My brother and I would always get upset because we had chefs. Why would we need to cook?” His gaze sets on his stove, a low, somber grin curls on his lips. “It was ridiculous to me.”
I think of him sulking and stomping his feet while his mother showed him measuring cups. I wonder what she looked like, did he take after her or his dad? You can’t find a photo of her anywhere, and that's either very strange or they wanted to protect her privacy as much as possible. I look at our fixed plates as he drops the salad next. “Now, when I think back on it, it's something I appreciate. Those times spent are the valuable memories I have of her.”
An odd nostalgia spreads over me, and I suddenly think of my mother. How the times we spent together were always a teaching moment. Like Ronan, it was mundane and annoying, yet those are the times I want back the most. “Were you close?” I ask. I slid my plate and bowl in front of me once he was done.
He finally looks at me, and I can see the faint dullness in his eyes. “We were very close.”
We hold each other's stare, and I find my hand reaching over to cup his, skimming my finger over his knuckles. “That's very sweet. Holding the good memories of her and not the painful ones.” My eyes drift to our joined hands, then back to him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” There's something there that flicks inside of me that makes me want to...reach out to my mother.
He kisses the front of my hand before letting go and turning to his food. “Now I rarely cook, but I did open up a new cooking elective in the school program for the students. And no.” He points his long finger at me. “It's not shredding human meat.” He grins darkly; the solemn energy vanishes as if the conversation weren't dimmed in mood.
I chuckle. “Speaking of students.” I raise the two bottles of dressing I can find in the refrigerator, Italian or thousand island. He points to the Italian, and I pass it to him. Then I drizzled some thousand dressing onto mine. “One of your students asked if I could ask you about conducting a Christmas dance.” She also asked if I can be the new teacher, but I don't need to mention that now. It’ll only open another can of worms that I’m not ready to talk about.
Ronan grumbles, stabbing his fork into his spinach. “Who?”
“I can't say.” He slowly turns to me with a glare, but I continue anyway. “It's highly classified, special information and all. But only that she really would like this ball to happen.”
“Not happening.”
My shoulders sink slightly. Shit. Okay, this is harder than I thought. New tactic. “It's a little dance, what harm could it be?”
“Maybe the ongoing fuck storm with this new information. It's enough on my plate.”
I nod because it's a good point. Still, I may not have promised Isabella, but I want this to happen for my own selfish reasons, and...so the students can have something normal in their lives.
Okay. Round three. “Whatever that we have going on shouldn't get in the way of teenagers enjoying themselves. It is your school, so I have no say. But...” I twirl my spoon in the bowl, not looking at anything in particular, only the hanging memories of the times when I was younger. “Take it from someone who never got to experience any of that. My kind of dance was going to the ball to kill a Bratva leader or a minister.”
He doesn't say anything back, only looking ahead with no answer to his expression, chewing slowly on his spinach. I watch as his jaws flexes as he chews, his Adams apple bulges out slightly when he swallows. Then he scoops some of his soup and eats it. I wait to see if he’ll make a twisted face. He doesn't.
Maybe he does like mushrooms.
I’ll ask for future reference. If there is a future with us...or here for that matter.
Focus!
I push away the thoughts and wait for him to say something but continues to sit here with a deadpan expression until he turns his head to look at me with the same look. I don't leave his stare as I stuff my mouth with more soup. Heat rushes over my face; maybe I overstepped. I’m ready to give in and say forget I ever said anything.
Then he drops his spoon into his bowl, wipes his mouth with the napkin before propping his elbow onto his marble counter with a serious stare. “I’ll only agree...” His lips finally curl into an eerie smirk, dosed with a caution on the side. “If you agree to be my date.”
That's it? “Your date?” I say with a dip to my brows.
He nods. “You heard me.”
I straightened my back, pretending to think on it, although my answer was yes the second he said it. I tuck a loose curl behind my hair. “I don't see why not.”
“That's not an answer. Don't beat around the bush with me. Yes or no.” Ronan's hand cups my knee and squeezes, the contact sends a surge of sensation up my leg and straight between them, too.
I glance at him through half lids. “Yes.”
He flashes a boyish grin with a wink. “Good. I guess there’ll be a Christmas party happening,” he says in Portuguese, then uses his left hand to eat, and the other stays put on my leg, stroking my sensitive skin.
I’ve never had dates or dances, so the thought of going excites me more than I let on.
He dusts off his hands, then wipes his mustache. “Now, tell me about this game again?” he says, grabbing the knife from where I left it.
I finish off my soup and push the bowl to the side. I want to ask how come he’s never heard of pin the hand game, but I’m even more thrilled to be the first person to introduce it to him. Ronan drags my chair closer to his, my legs are now practically touching his dick.
“Are you sure? You may lose a finger.”
“A little cut has never hurt me, and if my finger falls off, will you sew it back on for me?”
A smile elicits on my lips, and I fold them in to contain the heat blazing my cheeks. My eyes shift to his face, and he's watching me with an amorous stare. I take his wrist and place it in the middle between us. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best. You may or may not end up with my finger attached to yours.” I snicker.
Ronan hums, the sound throaty and gruff. “That wouldn't be so bad now, would it?”
We leer at each other while I’m spreading his long fingers onto the cold marble, my fingers stroking his smooth skin, and it sparks a tiny electric current between us. I’m sure if my back weren't mutilated, he would take me, right here, right now. I squeeze my thighs together to simmer down the ache roaring between my legs.
I guess it wouldn't be so bad. His deep stare becomes heavier, and I swallow, focusing my gaze on the game. “Well, you place your hand down on a flat surface...”