I narrow my eyes.
“Is everything okay with her?” I ask because it’s clear something is on Ciara’s mind.
Her throat bobs as her eyes remain on the TV, so I reach out to gently stroke her cheek again.
“Talk to me,Tine Bheag.”
“Mila’s not in a great place. She’s still grieving.”
I wince at Ciara’s words, but she seems too lost in her thoughts to notice.
“That’s understandable.” I try to ignore the guilt pooling in my stomach.
“I think talking helped. There’s not much else I can do other than be a listening ear.”
“She’s lucky she has you.”
Ciara shrugs, and I can tell she’s becoming even more lost in her head, so I climb over the back of the couch and pull her against me. She nestles against my side, and I stretch out my legs, biting back a groan at the soreness in my muscles.
I’m starting to run on empty, and the sleepless nights are taking their toll, but I can’t afford to take my foot off the gas just yet.
“I’m glad Mila was here.”
Ciara tilts her head to look up at me. “Because it wasn’t Stephan keeping me company for once?”
I wince. “Not…exactly.” I sigh. “Look, I trust you. But my trust isn’t the issue here. It’s knowing what this world can do and how easy it is to lose what matters most. I see someone near you, and I react like I’m under attack. It’s like the night in the warehouse all over again. You and Mila managed to walk away, but what if next time we’re not so lucky?”
Ciara’s face softens as she reaches up to stroke my cheek. “You won’t lose me, Ronan.”
“I know, but the fear doesn’t always listen to logic. But I want to be better for you and for us.”
She moves to rest her head on my shoulder. “You’re trying, and that’s what matters.”
I wrap my arm around her, letting myself exhale for the first time today. I don’t tell her about the trap we’re setting to catch the mole because the fewer people who know, the better. But the clock is ticking, and every hour I don’t catch them is another hour they could burn everything to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CIARA
My toast is halfwayto my mouth when Ronan strolls into the kitchen, looking like he’s stepped out of a cologne ad. I’m practically drooling as my eyes fixate on his firm ass as he walks over to the coffee machine to make an espresso.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Can I help you?”
Peanut butter clings to the roof of my mouth, making it feel even drier, so all I can do is shake my head as I try not to imagine Ronan tearing off his clothes right here in the middle of the kitchen.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Sure about that?”
Ronan leans against the counter, folding his arms over his broad chest as he waits for his espresso to brew.
My eyes roam down his chest, lingering on the way his dark shirt stretches around his biceps and shoulders.
“Huh?” I swear these pregnancy hormones are turning me into a sex addict.
I want Ronan all day, every day, and from the look in his eyes, he wants the same thing. But before I can suggest bypassing our morning coffee and heading back upstairs to bed, the heat in Ronan’s eyes fades.
“I have to head out for a few hours.” He takes his coffee cup and brings it over to the island.
I set down my toast and reach for my water. “What’s on the agenda today? Drug raids? A shootout?”
