Ronan rolls his eyes as he sips his coffee. “Hopefully, just a few heated conversations.”
“Sounds relaxing.”
He shrugs as he leans against the counter.
Now it's his turn to let his eyes roam over me, and my cheeks burn as I catch them lingering on the swell of my breasts barely contained by my tank top.
“What about you? Any big plans?”
“Mila’s coming over again. I’m trying to help her work through her grief. She does better when she’s focused on something, so I’ve roped her into a little project.”
Ronan raises an eyebrow. “What kind of project?”
I hesitate, realizing too late that I’ve said too much. If Ronan knew our plan to look into Max’s killer, he would be furious.
“Nothing you would be interested in.”
“Try me.”
“Really, it’s nothing exciting. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
He studies me for a moment, like he knows I’m brushing him off, which of course I am. So, I force a smile and change the subject.
“How’s the mole situation going?”
The shift in Ronan’s demeanor is immediate. His shoulders tense, and his jaw tightens as the playfulness in his expression vanishes. “Not as well as I would like. It feels like they’re always one step ahead. But I think I’ve come up with a good plan to smoke them out.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“It’s risky. One wrong move, and it could backfire on me.”
I slide off my stool and walk over to him, sliding my arms around his waist. “You’ll figure it out. If anyone can, it’s you.”
He wraps his strong arms around me and rests his chin on my head.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I usually am.” I chuckle.
Once Ronan leaves, I clean up the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee, which finishes brewing just as Mila arrives, looking like she’s stepped out of an eighties spy movie.
I laugh as I take in her hoodie and sunglasses. “You do know you’re allowed to be here, right?”
“It doesn’t feel like it, considering what we’re about to do.” She takes off her glasses and glances around the empty foyer.
“Stephen’s in the upstairs study. He’s looking over some surveillance footage.”
Mila nods but doesn’t seem convinced.
I link my arm through hers and lead her into the kitchen to finish making us some coffee, not that I can drink much of it.
I hand her a steaming mug. “You look better than the other night.”
She frowns. “Thanks?”
“I mean, there’s some color in your cheeks.”
“And my hair is clean.”
