His gaze sliced to mine. “My grandparents.”
I frowned, not understanding why this was upsetting news for ten seconds. Then I realized he was referring to the Fitzpatricks, the family who’d never claimed him as their grandson, the family who thought of him and his sister and his mother as a stain on their good name. I finally understood why he’d been acting so anxious. I thought it was because of me, because I’d angered him. Maybe my rejection earlier had contributed to his foul mood, but the Fitzpatricks and the possibility of their presence at the ceremony was the root cause. Turning my head just slightly, I caught sight of the elderly couple, arm in arm, both well-dressed and silver-haired, graciously mingling with their peers. They were the picture of old money.
I felt sad for Ronan and wished I could take his unhappiness away. On a complete whim of instinct, I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth, cupping his cheek with my hand then smoothing it down to his neck and shoulder.
Then I whispered against his ear, “Ronan, you are worth ten thousand Fitzpatricks and their self-important douchebaggery. Their stupidity is their loss, not yours.”
I gave his shoulder a squeeze of reassurance and then leaned away so I could see his face.
He was smiling at me. It was a small, quizzical smile, like I was maybe a little weird but maybe also a little wonderful.
“You don’t have to say that kind of stuff. No one is around to hear you.”
“I know I don’t have to.” My eyes fell away under his steady stare. I was frustrated by my ingrained instinct to look away.
But soon I bested my innate desire to shrink under the weight of his penetrating gaze. Clearing my throat, I lifted my chin stubbornly and firmed my resolve, meeting his probing eyes with determination. When I continued, I did so because I wanted to bolster Ronan’s confidence with the truth. But also, I wanted to prove that I could be strong for someone, be resilient and a source of courage for someone other than myself.
“But the words are true, Ronan. They needed to be said. You needed to hear them, and I wanted to say them.”
His gaze narrowed, searched mine. “Why?” he pushed.
We were standing very close, but I felt like we were still a great distance apart.
Not having anything to lose, I told him the truth—well, part of the truth. “Because I c-care about you, Ronan. You mean s-something to me.”
He considered me, his eyes no less examining but growing a good deal less aloof and guarded.
Abruptly, he leaned forward and kissed me. He released my hand and scooped me up, moved both his arms around my waist, wrapping me in the strength of rock-solid man.
It was terribly inappropriate for a formal ballroom. I didn’t really notice. But when he finished, I did notice his smile was self-satisfied, charming, and completely genuine.
He administered a quick up-down sweep of my body then sighed. “Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous tonight. I’ve been trying not to think of how satisfying it would be to take you from behind in that dress.”
My mouth opened in shock, and I felt a flaming blush creep up my neck to my cheeks. “Ronan!”
He shrugged as though this were perfectly polite conversation. “I’ve wanted to tell you all night” —he paused just long enough to give me a small peck on my nose and then continued as he turned away and tugged me toward our table— “but I wasn’t sure if you’d punch me in the shoulder again.”
***
“How is your sister, Ro? She still coloring her hair to look like a rainbow?” Bryan Leech, one of Ronan’s teammates, asked this question from the far side of the table. He was one of the only guys present who didn’t bring a date. As such, he was one of the only guys present who didn’t have a woman on his lap.
Everything had gone swimmingly. I was Ronan’s smiling date. He’d ignored his extended family with polite indifference. Then he’d presented the award and done a great job. Everyone wanted to talk to him after dinner. He was a perfect gentleman, introducing me to each new person as his “good friend” from New York. Then, as the evening was winding down, we were waylaid by six of his teammates who insisted on buying us a round of drinks.
This was ridiculous because all the drinks at the event were free.
Ronan didn’t consult me, not even with a glance. I thought for sure he would beg off as he must’ve been exhausted.
But no, he surprised me by accepting the invitation immediately and pulling me along to a table in the corner. It was mostly hidden from the rest of the grand ballroom due to the opportune placement of three tall faux shrubberies.
Ronan ordered me champagne, water for himself, and was mercilessly teased for his choice in beverage. Just as I was about to claim the seat next to his, he grabbed my hips and placed me on his lap.
And, as such, there I happily sat—just like all the other ladies with their husbands or boyfriends or dates—and my head was lying against Ronan’s shoulder. I was playing with the open bow tie at his neck, trying to tickle him. My playfulness alone was evidence that I’d had far too much to drink. Not to mention Ronan kept giving me these tender looks that made me feel entirely intoxicated.
“My sister is none of your business,” Ronan said, his arm around my waist settling me more firmly against him, his hand on my thigh edging under the hem of my skirt.
So yeah, I was drunk.
Well, I was mostly drunk.
Okay, I wasn’t precisely drunk. But I was too tipsy to care about much other than how lovely Ronan’s arms felt around me.
“I’d like to see what’s at the end of that rainbow,” Bryan called back, eliciting several jeering shouts from those gathered—even some of the women—the comment obviously intended to ruffle Ronan’s feathers.
“You shut your fucking mouth before I break your jaw.” Ronan laughed as he said these violent words, and so did Bryan and everyone else in our party. They all obviously thought this threat was hilarious.
“Ah, Mother Fitzpatrick, we’ve missed your ugly mug.” Tevan Flynn, another of Ronan’s teammates, raised his beer in Ronan’s direction then added before taking a big gulp, “Here’s to Ronan, ugly as a sheep’s arse, and yet he finally managed to find himself a looker. May she always be blind to your hideousness.”
This was met with a few noises of agreement and chuckles.
“American girls like them ugly,” Bryan called from his spot, still stirring the shit. “It’s the accent they like.”
“That’s a load of crap, Bryan Leech.” Marta Goodwall, a transplant with her husband from Australia, gave him a teasing sneer. “Your voice is like nails on a chalkboard, son. Good thing you have such a pretty face. Listen to old Marta.” She leaned forward and patted Bryan’s hand yet still managed to keep her seat on her husband’s lap. “It’s in your best interest to say as little as possible when women are around. You ruin everything as soon as you open your trap.”
The entire table erupted in uproarious laughter; and Bryan chuckled along with the lot of them, though I noted his cheeks above his red beard were tinged a slight shade of pink. I even giggled a little from my spot, though I dared not laugh too hard. Otherwise, my atrocious guffaw might draw attention.
Meanwhile, Ronan’s chest vibrated against my cheek, and he threw his head back as his laughter filled the air, the sound curling around me. I closed my eyes to savor it and snuggled closer, placing my lips against his neck so I could feel, hear, and taste his delight.
He sucked in a startled breath, and I felt him stiffen which made me stiffen; and I worried that I’d gone too far.
“Sorry,” I whispered, pulling away slightly as I listened to the laughter taper off around us.