By 2:30 a.m. everyone had gone home. He'd poured Sarge into a cab, then wiped down the tables and the bar. He'd leave the rest for the cleaning service in the morning. Apprehensively, he walked into the back, not sure whether he'd find her gone or himself robbed blind.
Instead, she was curled up on the couch. Her skirt had ridden up, showing a few more inches of mouth-watering skin. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd probably need a minute to himself later. But the last thing he wanted to do was stand here and ogle her like some kind of pervert, so he cleared his throat and gently said, “Moira. Wake up.”
He groaned internally when she didn't budge. Walking over to the couch, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake and said, “Time to wake up, cupcake. Unless you plan to sleep here all night.”
She blinked awake and then jarred when she took in her surroundings. “Oh jeez. I didn't even realize I fell asleep. Gimme a second.”
He moved to stand by the door while she adjusted her skirt. He blatantly watched her. He couldn't help himself. A body like that would tempt a saint, and he was definitely no saint.
He held the door to the office and then snagged the massive bag from the floor and said, “Out back.”
She made a quick about-face in the hallway and they headed toward the back door. He couldn't help but watch the subtle sway of her hips as she reached the exit. She stepped out the back door and then walked toward his truck.
“Upstairs. I live above the bar,” he said as he made his way to the set of narrow metal stairs.
“Cuts down on your commute, I guess,” she said.
He could tell that she was nervous, so he repeated his earlier words to her. “I said no strings and I meant it, Moira. I'm not going to take anything you don't wanna give.”
She merely nodded and ascended the staircase in front of him. He had to bite back a groan when he caught a direct look up her skirt and spotted her very tiny thong. The blood had officially left his brain. His dick throbbed. He knew tonight he'd be taking a cold shower.
He came up behind her and opened the door, turning on the light. It was very sparsely decorated. Except for the large television, coffee table, and what was the world's most uncomfortable futon, the living room was empty.
When she stepped inside, he locked the door and then dropped her bag next to the futon. After a glance around, she asked, “Did you just move in?”
“Four years ago,” he said. “I'm not much for decorating.”
A smile pulled at her lips. “I can see that. So, uh, this is the infamous couch, huh?”
“Futon. Couch. It's not the most comfortable, but...it's what I've got. You can always share the bed if you want to,” he suggested, giving her a wicked grin.
“Uh. No. Futon is fine, thanks,” she said with a smirk.
“Don't thank me yet. It's a torture rack. I keep meaning to replace it, but I never get around to it,” he explained. “Lemme go get you a pillow and some blankets so you can get settled in.”
****
Two hours later, he jolted awake when he heard a light tapping on his door. He mumbled, “S'everything okay, Moira?”
She stood in his doorway in her long t-shirt and nervously said, “That futon is awful. Can I...”
He shifted under the covers and said, “Yeah. It's fine. I'll be a good boy.”
“Thanks. That futon really is a torture rack.”
“Told ya,” he said, grinning.
As she slid into bed next to him, he tried not to breathe in her scent. She smelled like goddamned vanilla frosting. He'd noticed in the office. How apropos “Cupcake” had been as far as nicknames went.
She made a soft sigh and murmured, “So much more comfortable than the couch. Seriously, Ronan. Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” he said softly, realizing that having her in his bed was something akin to the seventh level of hell. There was no way he would be able to fall back asleep now.
Chapter Four
Moira awoke in several stages. The first thing that she noticed was the fact that her back was pressed back against Ronan's chest. His arm was wrapped around her, his hand cupped her breast, and his rock hard erection was nestled against her ass. And it was big. She shifted against him experimentally as she made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh.
When her body began to hum with arousal, she heard him carefully ask, “Moira?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you aware that you're grinding your very sexy ass against my cock?”
“Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't—” she stuttered, her whole body flushed.
She felt the bed shift behind her as he quickly disentangled himself from around her. Before she could even finish her sentence¸ he was out of bed and muttering curses as he slammed the bathroom door closed.
Real classy, Moira, she thought, her face flaming. She had just dry humped the only person willing to help her. Jesus. It was mortifying.
Moira took a few calming breaths and then sat up. She needed to get out of this bed. It smelled like him. A mixture of fabric softener, cologne, and warm male. When the shower turned on, she groaned. That hard body was officially naked now. Quickly, she fled the room before she could do anything else she'd regret.
She'd lain awake for a good portion of the night. The futon had been awful, but the bed had been a different sort of torture. When she'd been uncomfortable, at least she'd been able to focus on that. Once she'd moved to the bed, all she could think about was the fact that her life was a mess.
It had been almost light out when she'd finally fallen asleep. She'd been in the midst of a full blown panic attack when Ronan had slung his arm across her in his sleep. As he'd pulled her back against his chest, she'd relaxed for the first time since going upstairs with him. She had no idea what it was about him that she found so comforting. By all rights, she should have freaked out when he'd pulled her up against him. Maybe she was just desperately in need of a hug.
Ronan didn't strike her as a particularly friendly man. He was decent, though. Under the rough exterior, he seemed...kind. The strangest part without a doubt was that she took him at his word. When he'd told her she was safe, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind that he could be lying. She had shared a bed with a virtual stranger that was part wild animal. Was she stupid, desperate, or some combination of the two?
She managed to fry up bacon and sliced potatoes before he finally emerged from the bedroom. When she heard a shuffling noise behind her, she turned to face him. He made a beeline for the coffee that she'd already started and said, “Smells good,” as he gestured at the bacon.
“Did you want some eggs, too?” she asked.
“If you're making them for yourself,” he grunted, taking a sip of his coffee and snagging a piece of bacon off the plate.
“Scrambled, sunny side up?”
He eyed her for a minute and then said, “Whatever is easiest, Moira. You don't have to make me breakfast.”
“You're giving me a job and a place to stay. It's the least I can do, Ronan,” she said, turning to face him, her voice filled with gratitude.
“You could always run a load of my laundry then, if you find yourself with the desire to somehow express your gratitude.”
“Figure the odds, Ronan. I'm not washing your dirty underwear.”
“No worries, cupcake. I don't wear 'em,” he informed her with a wink, that self-satisfied smirk back in place.
Moira made a sound of disgust and turned back to the stove. What a pig!
The remainder of the meal was spent in awkward silence. At least he was done baiting her for the moment, it seemed. When he'd finished breakfast, he said, “Thank you. That was good.”
“You're welcome. Just leave the dishes. I'll get them after I shower,” she said as she headed back toward the bedroom. She could feel his eyes practically burning a hole in her back.
His voice rang out, “Anytime you wanna finish what you started this morning in bed, you be sure to let me know, sugar!”
> Moira flushed again. Asshole. “As if it wasn't embarrassing enough without you bringing it up. I was half asleep, dammit. Trust me. Won't happen again,” Moira said, not even bothering to turn around and face him.
“Offer still stands and, for what it's worth, I truly hope it does,” he said.
Moira closed the bathroom door with a loud thud in response to his words. Her eyes narrowed when she heard him laugh. He was such an asshole. Which only made it worse because part of her really wanted to take him up on his offer.
After breakfast, Ronan made himself scarce after humbly requesting that she didn't rob him blind. Moira did the only thing that any other red-blooded woman would have done once she was in a man's apartment all alone. She cleaned it.
He wasn't exactly messy, but there was a layer of dust on just about everything. The kitchen had certainly seen better times. Despite his teasing, she ended up throwing in a couple loads of wash, too. It turned out that he hadn't been kidding. There wasn't a pair of boxers, briefs, or any other style of underwear in the piles.
By the time he got back, it was almost time to open the bar. He walked through the door, set the groceries on the counter, and then took in the apartment. As he unloaded one of the bags into the freezer, he said, “You really didn't have to clean in here, but thank you.”
Moira snorted. “Um. I have to use that shower too. I did have to clean!”
“Well, thanks, I think.” He listened for a minute and must've heard the hum of the dryer because he asked, “Did you seriously do my laundry, Moira? I was completely joking. You don't have to—”
“I didn't wanna sit here just being a mooch,” she complained. “Your place needed cleaning. I wasn't doing anything, so I did it.”
“Again, not required, but appreciated. C'mon. The bar opens in an hour. I want to show you how to work the register and all that,” he said.
****
Within the first four hours of her shift at Kelly's, she'd been groped, hit on, or insulted by almost every patron in the bar. She'd managed to keep her cool for the most part, but she couldn't imagine doing this long-term. She had a newfound respect for waitresses everywhere. Especially bars, though. Customers could really be brutal.
The afternoon crowd had been surprisingly heavy. Who knew there were this many drunks in Lorelei? But by nine, the bar was absolutely packed. There were multiple games up on the big screens and both pool tables were in use. She was both taking orders and filling them since Ronan was swamped behind the bar. When he saw her pulling beers from the tap, he gave her a grateful smile.
Her feet were ready to fall off, but she'd made some pretty decent tips so far. Maybe a week or two of this and she'd be able to get a place of her own. She set the pitcher of beer down, along with the new icy mugs, and gave the group of guys at the table a grin. Just as she was reaching for the empty glasses, she felt arms wrap around her waist like a steel band.
She let out a screech and tried to break free, struggling against the person behind her. She had no idea who this drunk asshole was that was manhandling her, but she wasn't happy about it.
“Fucking let me go,” she ordered, trying to wrench herself free. “Let. Me. Go!”
“Aww. C'mon. You been eyeing me all night. When you get off work, baby doll?”
“Fuck off!” she yelled, once again trying to pry his arms from around her waist. She squirmed and fought until she caught the eyes of a very pissed off Ronan.
He tossed down his towel and strode out from behind the bar. Towering over both of them, he ordered, “Fucking let her go, Mikey. Now. She's not interested.”
The man, Mikey, released her and whined, “I was just kidding around, Ronan.”
“Not interested,” she repeated, scurrying off of his lap. She stood next to Ronan, admittedly cowering behind him.
He looked down at her and murmured, “You okay, cupcake?”
She gave him a pained expression and whispered, “I don't know if I can do this. I've been getting groped at all night, Ronan.”
Anger and regret flared across his face as he said, “Fuck. I'm sorry. That's... Let me fix it.”
Before she could speak, he raised his voice and said, “The next one of you fuckers that touches her is going to leave with a broken hand! She's mine.”
Moira's eyes shot up to Ronan's in shock. She knew that this was just for show, but his words still made her heart pound. Getting involved right now wouldn't be the best idea, but every time he touched her, she felt more than ready to throw caution to the wind.
His gaze locked on hers as he tightened an arm around her momentarily and gave her a squeeze. Anger and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on flashed in his eyes again. “Let me know if you have any problems, baby,”
Baby? Her voice shaky, Moira went with it and said, “Sure thing.”
Mikey gaped and said, “Ronan. Man, I didn't know. I didn't realize.”
“I heard her telling you she wasn't interested all the way from the bar. This is your only goddamned warning. Keep your fucking hands off things that don't belong to you.”
Chapter Five
Ignoring the warning bells in his head entirely, he tugged her the rest of the way into his arms and crushed his mouth down on hers. She froze for an instant before she went completely pliant, melting against him with a moan. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, his tongue lazily tangling with hers.
Maybe it had just started out as a way to protect her from unwanted advances, but the moment her soft body pressed up against him, instinct took over. He gathered her close and devoured her mouth until the hoots and hollers of his customers broke in. He pulled back from her, slightly out of breath, and said, “If anyone gives you any problems, let me know.”
Eyes wide, she nodded and said, “Thanks.”
Without another word, he strode back to the bar and resumed pouring drinks. He couldn't help but grin when he saw Moira standing there in a daze. He watched in amusement as she blinked and then started to pick up the empties on the table.
Ronan tensed when he saw Mikey speak to her. She gave him what might pass for a smile and then nodded. Before long, he got back into the rhythm of pouring drinks and lost track of Moira. Plenty of folks lingered at the bar and gave him questioning glances. He couldn't much blame them, though. He hadn't ever publicly laid claim to a woman. Clearly, people wanted to know who she was.
He remained tight-lipped for the rest of the evening and he kept his hands to himself. Seeing Mikey put his hands all over her had stirred a protective instinct that he didn't quite understand. He'd been tempted to put him through a wall. A part of him had recognized her this morning in bed as a potential mate. He didn't even want to consider what that meant.
An hour or so before closing, it finally slowed down enough that he could check on Moira again. When she made her way behind the bar with more empties, he nudged her and asked, “Better?”
“Yeah,” she said. “The job isn't half bad when the customers aren't trying to feel me up.”
He winced and said, “I wish you would've said something. That's unacceptable. I guess I gave my customers a bit too much credit. I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry about it, Ronan. I handled it. Mikey was the first person that really stepped over the line. I appreciate your help with it.”
“Let me know if anyone else gives you any trouble,” he stated.
“I doubt that's going to be an issue,” Moira said, flushing. “Um. I think you scared the shit out of everyone with your whole crazy alpha male she's mine outburst, Ronan.”
He couldn't help his smirk when he said, “Figured it was the easiest way to make sure everyone left you alone.”
“It was pretty hot,” she admitted, reaching out to trace a finger down the snaps at the front of his shirt. Her eyes were locked on his when she continued. “Also, effective. Mikey apologized to me after you left. Gave me a nice tip, too. So thank you.”
He watched her for a moment, uncer
tain how to respond. It wasn't exactly a blatant invitation, but he could work with that, he realized. Instead of reacting, he slid the two mixed drinks down the bar as she popped a lid off a bottle, then said, “Ran out of Yeungling. Steer 'em elsewhere if you can. I'll put in the order tomorrow for it.”
“Sure thing, boss,” she said as she moved the drinks on to the tray. “Crew cut's gonna be sad. He's been pounding them back all night.”
Moira was something of a surprise. She'd been on her feet constantly since four in the afternoon when he'd opened the bar. He'd watched her move effortlessly from table to table, bringing customers water with their drinks when they'd had too much. She'd pulled her own beers when he'd been in the weeds. Ronan acknowledged that he would have been in a mess of trouble without her tonight.
He hadn't really been looking for a waitress, but he considered her predicament and his own staffing situation in the spur of the moment last night. He would admit that his judgment had been somewhat cloudy where Moira was concerned. He was glad to see he hadn't created a bigger problem.
By the time closing rolled around, he was more than ready to kick everyone out on their asses. It wasn’t that he was really tired so much as he was tired of dodging questions about his new waitress. He'd made it a policy to never fuck patrons, so with the exception of a few friends, no one was used to seeing him with a woman.
Ronan watched her as she wiped up tables and acknowledged that there was something different going on here. When she bent to pick up a stray bottle cap, he had to hold back a groan. He knew with absolute certainty that he needed to be buried inside her before the night was over.
“You ready, cupcake? I'm beat.”
“Just about. My feet hurt. I don't know how you do this all night, every night,” she complained as she tossed the rag she had into the sink and rinsed her hands.
He walked over to her and said, “Here. Let me finish this. Have a seat. You earned it. You did great for your first night. I would have been in a mess of trouble without ya.”
“Thanks,” she said as she slid onto a bar stool. “Is it always that damned busy on a Wednesday?”
Trouble Walked In Page 2