* * *
The door locks disengage,and I’m on my feet before Ronan takes two steps into the apartment. “Did you buy out an entire restaurant?”
His laugh doesn’t hold its usual mirth, and tiny lines tighten around his eyes. “Not the whole place, no.”
I try to ease two of the four large bags from his hands, but he shakes his head. “Go relax. This meal came with strict platin’ instructions. Do you like wine?”
“We have work to do.” In truth, I’d kill for a drink, but losing my edge isn’t an option.
“One glass. If you don’t like Chardonnay, I’ll make you tea.” For reasons I don’t understand, this meal is important to him. If I hadn’t been daydreaming about spending Christmas with Ronan less than an hour ago, I’d ask him to explain, but instead, I smile.
“I like Chardonnay. But no getting drunk for either of us.” Leaning in for a quick kiss, I get a whiff of something rich and creamy, and my stomach growls. “Oh, God. I don’t care what’s in those bags, I want it.”
Some of the tension drains from his face, and his eyes soften. “We’ll need a bit of room.”
“Okay, Mr. Mysterious. But if you wait too long to tell me everything that happened with your boss, I might implode.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Can you wait until after the first course?”
“Thefirstcourse? Damn, Ronan.” Backing away, I wait until the last moment to turn around, but he doesn’t make a move until I’m seated on the couch with the kitchen wall between us.
The smells wafting toward me keep getting better and better, and I lean forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it is, to no avail.
After what feels like forever, Ronan sets a chilled bottle of Chardonnay on a placemat in front of me, followed by two glasses. “I trust you to pour, luv.” With a wink, he retreats to the kitchen again.
I haven’t had wine in almost a year. Assuming I’m somewhere safe, I treat myself to a glass on the anniversary of my “freedom date” from the cartel, but that’s the only indulgence I’ve risked in ages.
When the steaming bowl of clam chowder appears in front of me, I glance up at Ronan, unable to stop the tears from pricking my eyes.
“I saw the way you looked at the Chowder Shack this afternoon. You might have drooled a little.”
Sitting close enough our thighs touch, he picks up his glass. “We’re goin’ to get through this, Zephyr. I know it like I know my own name. But in case things get rough before the end, I wanted to take you on a proper date. We can’t go out, so I brought the date here.”
I don’t cry. Before this week, I haven’t shed a tear in…as long as I can remember. But this man—this amazing, romantic, handsome man—is turning me into someone I don’t recognize. Someone with wants. Needs.Desires. All of which could get me killed. And yet…a tear spills over. “Two days ago, you were ready to shoot me.”
He leans in, dashing the tear away with his thumb. “No one’s perfect, luv. I don’t know why you trusted me or why you stayed. But I’ll do everythin’ I can to keep you safe, and here. With me.”
I want to believe him. Sink into everything he has to offer like I’m a normal woman—one not wanted for murder—and there’s a future for us beyond these walls. But I’m not, and we both know it.
Still, I can pretend. For an hour. Or a day. So I melt into his touch and smile.
“I believe you. Now, let’s eat.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ronan
WatchingZephyr during the meal is like seeing a kid on Christmas morning. She savors every bite of Boston’s best clam chowder, of the perfectly medium-rare filet mignon, the steamed vegetables, and moans when she samples the cheesecake for dessert.
By the time I clear the last of the plates and load the dishwasher, she’s reclining on the couch, eyes closed.
“I was wrong. The wine wasn’t the dangerous part of the meal. I think this is what’s called a ‘food coma’?”
Laughing hurts. I’m stuffed full, and she’s right. “We could go to bed right now and I’d be a happy man.” With two cups of tea in my hands, I join her on the couch. “Though I seem to remember you sayin’ somethin’ about wantin’ me naked.”
She chuckles but forces her eyes open and grins. “I do. But not until later. Vomiting isn’t sexy.”
Snuggling against me, her head on my shoulder, Zephyr sighs. “You never told me about the meeting with your boss.”
