Finding Ronan’s Heart by Melanie Moreland

Chapter Six

Beth

Iknew he was in the diner before I saw him. Ever since Ronan had taken me home on Tuesday, he had been on my mind. He had kissed me again before I got out of his car. Then caught me on the steps for another kiss. His mouth was addictive, and his caresses left me longing for more. More of him. I had never felt that way about a man before now. Especially one I didn’t really know. Given how Carson had treated me, I should be more cautious, but Ronan seemed open and honest. He was caring and asked a lot of questions about Evan and Lucy. He wasn’t intimidated or daunted by their disabilities. He didn’t seem overly interested in their physical conditions, but rather the person. It was nice to talk about them, share stories about their lives.

I did, however, notice his lack of sharing about his own life. I assumed there was a story there and he would tell me when he was ready.

I turned from the table I was serving to meet Ronan’s bright-green gaze. He watched me intently, smiling as I drew close.

“Welcome to Nifty Fifty.”

He leaned back in the booth I had come to think of as his, with a grin.

“Do you need a menu?” I asked, trying not to get lost in his warm eyes.

“Are you on it? Because I’ll take the order to go,” he replied, leaning forward and tugging my hand from my chest. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed the inside of my wrist. “With whipped cream on the side.”

“What are you going to do with the whipped cream?” I asked breathlessly.

He chuckled. “Oh baby, if you only knew what I was thinking.”

I felt the flush of color on my cheeks. The rush of heat through my body. Regretfully, I pulled back my hand.

“Hello, Ronan.”

He leaned forward expectantly. I realized he was waiting for me to close the distance and kiss him. I quickly glanced around then pressed my mouth to his cheek. He caught me before I could pull back and kissed my mouth, flicking his tongue over my lips, then sitting back looking pleased.

“Hello, Beth.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you have dinner, or are you eating?”

“Eating.”

“What would you like?”

“It’s late, so I’ll go light. I’ll do the house chopped salad. Extra chicken. And the soup. A couple of rolls.” He paused, looking over my shoulder. “Is that a new kind of cake over there?”

I chuckled. “Spice cake with raisins. It’s been a big hit.”

“A slice of that.”

“Holding back, I see.”

He grinned. “I had a late lunch.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ll sit with me for coffee?”

“Yes.”

“And we’ll be alone later?”

“I have to make cakes, Ronan.”

“I’ll help. But if we’re alone, I can say hello properly. Maybe throw in a goodnight, a how are you, good job—whatever else I can think of.”

The heat pooled in my stomach, slithering up my spine. I met his gaze, watched as his tongue ran along his bottom lip.

“I’ll get your order,” I mumbled, forcing myself to leave before I launched myself at him.

What was that man doing to me?

* * *

I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat with Ronan briefly. I wanted to get everything done and start making the cakes as soon as possible, but I couldn’t resist having a few extra moments with him.

I slid into the booth, eyeing the empty plates. “Everything was okay?”

His reply was enthusiastic. “Awesome. That spice raisin cake? Wicked good.”

“It’s an old recipe from my grandma.”

“I loved it.” He took a sip of coffee. “Quieter in here this week.”

“Not much happening downtown tonight. Less foot traffic.”

“No assholes to contend with,” he mused.

“Not tonight,” I replied with a grimace.

“You had another one?”

I sighed. “You get them all the time in this business, Ronan.”

“Punks.”

“Last night was the type I hate the most. Your age, dressed in a suit that would pay my rent for a year, double-parking his expensive car outside. Demanding, rude. He went off because I didn’t have any whole wheat buns for his veggie burger. It was ten o’clock, and we had run out. I offered the gluten-free or the regular one, but it wasn’t good enough. He ranted at me for five minutes and, of course, got personal.” I shook my head. “I dislike that type the most. The wannabe businessman who’s had Daddy hand him everything and acts as if he is better than anyone. Filled with a sense of entitlement. Who thinks people like me are beneath him. Who pretends to be something he is not.”

A strange look passed over Ronan’s face.

“So, you hate businessmen?”

“No, that would be the same as saying all younger guys are jerks. They aren’t. I dislike the unjustness sometimes. The haves versus the have-nots. Those who have to work hard, and those who get everything handed to them on a plate.” I shrugged. “Ignore me. He was terrible, though.”

“What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

I sighed. “It’s fine, Ronan. He yelled, he didn’t get what he wanted, and he stormed out, but not before making sure I knew he was much better than I was. Informed me it was hardly a surprise I was the one in the apron. That he mattered, whereas a waitress like me did not.”

“Not all young businessmen are like that.”

I smiled. “I know. Like I said—he was just a jerk. You must have to deal with the same problem at the gym sometimes. People.” I shook my head. “Anyway, he left, and I ate a perfectly acceptable veggie burger on a white bun since he refused to pay for it and I refused to let him have it for free.”

Ronan laughed, but he still looked troubled. “Good.”

I stood. “I’m going to finish up.”

I felt his stare the whole time as I kept busy in the diner. It surprised me how much the rude customer seemed to bother him. I dealt with cranky and mean patrons all the time. Anyone who worked in the public sector did. I would have to get him to tell me some stories about people at the gym. I was sure he had some amusing ones.

I wanted to have as much ready for when we closed as possible. Jane was working and set up her tables for the morning, and since it was quieter, she helped me prep my area as well. I liked working with her. She was friendly and a hard worker, always willing to help out. She didn’t question Ronan’s extended stay but instead nudged me with her elbow before leaving for the night.

“Damn, that is one fine mountain man you have there.”

I had to laugh. Ronan was large. Tall. Broad. I wasn’t a small girl—my curves were too plentiful for that—but beside him, I felt tiny. The other night, he had lifted me as if I weighed nothing and held me close, as if the effort were easy. I had loved it.

I had also loved the feel of his mouth moving with mine. The man knew how to kiss. Possessive and deep. Passionate and fierce. There had been no doubt of his desire. I had felt him hard and pressing between us. My response to him was nothing short of explosive. It had taken all I had in me not to kiss him the way he wanted when he arrived. But I would have ended up on his lap and putting on a display for the restaurant. Somehow, I knew that without a doubt, so I had held back.

But soon, we’d be alone. The kitchen staff always cleared out as soon as possible on Thursdays so I could bake the cakes.

I checked that everything was ready in the kitchen and headed into the diner, stopping when I realized that Ronan was wiping down the last few tables. The muscles in his arms bunched as he polished the tabletop, and his jeans stretched tight over his ass as he leaned over, making short work of the job. He stood and nodded, pleased with his efforts.

I flicked off the lights, and he followed me to the kitchen. I pointed out a chair in the corner.

“You can sit there and talk to me while I bake.”

He frowned. “I can help. I used to help Emmy all the time in the kitchen. She baked scones for a coffee shop when she was younger, and she always loved to bake at home. She let me help.”

“Emmy?”

“My aunt. She was a waitress. She put herself through school. Like you.” He stepped closer. “Let me help.”

I handed him an apron, unable to resist his earnest voice and pleading eyes.

I had a feeling he was going to prove to be that way a lot.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I slid the first of the cake pans into the oven and shut the door.

“You do this every week?”

“Yes. Eight cakes now. When we opened, it was three. And now on Saturdays, I often have extra orders. But it’s great. I make a little more money. I bake them and take them out to cool. I make the icing while they are baking, and in the morning, they’ll ice them and store them.”

“No one else can do it?”

I waggled my eyebrows. “If I gave them the recipes, maybe. But I refused—the recipes were my mom’s and her mom’s. This pads my income a little. My classes are later on Friday mornings, so I can work late Thursday baking, get Evan ready for school Friday morning, and relax a little before class. The extra ones I make I do between rushes on Friday night and Saturday.” She smiled. “The owners are very accommodating.”

“Because it’s damn good cake.”

Ronan rinsed the last of the bowls as I wiped down the counter. I had already whipped up the massive tub of icing, and I pulled off the beaters, offering him one. He took it, licking away the frosting. “Damn, I love cream cheese,” he muttered.

I tried not to stare. To fight down the wish that I was the beater he was using his tongue on. I failed at both, and he caught me looking, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

“See something you like?”

I swallowed, gasping in surprise as he moved fast, lifting me to the counter and standing between my legs. “Well?” he asked, plucking the other beater from my hand.

“Yes.”

He licked the beater, slowly twirling it on his tongue.

“That was mine,” I whined, not really caring. Watching him lick it was far more satisfying.

“Come get some, then,” he murmured in a low voice. He pressed closer, covering my mouth with his. I groaned as he swirled his tongue along mine, tasting the sweet icing and Ronan. The combination was highly addictive. So was the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms. I felt his strength, carefully held in check. His muscles that rippled under my hands as I stroked his back. The silkiness of his hair as I ran my fingers through it.

His erection, that, like the rest of him, was massive and hard.

I whimpered.

He kissed me deeper, pulling my ass to the edge of the counter and grinding himself against me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and rubbed myself on him. He groaned low and deep in his throat in satisfaction. I heard the sound of the beater he’d held in his hand hitting the floor as he gathered me closer. Our kisses turned frantic. Wetter. Deeper. Wilder. Our teeth clashed. Tongues dueled. Our noises grew louder, our movements frantic.

Then the timer went off on the oven, the loud beep pulling us apart.

We stared at each other, our breathing fast. His hand was under my shirt, his skin warm against my back. I had his Henley gripped in my hand, the material twisted between my fingers. The timer sounded again, and Ronan looked toward the oven.

“We heard you.” He grinned in amusement. “I think your oven is a little judgmental.”

I started to laugh, and he wrapped his arms around me, kissed my head, then lifted me to the floor. “Check your cakes.”

I opened the oven door and, satisfied, slid the pans onto the cooling table. The air was instantly filled with the scent of sweet and spice. I slid in the next batch, shut the door, and set the timer.

“So, we have another hour?” he asked.

“You should go. I know you have to work. What time do you have to be at the gym?”

“I’m good.”

I began running a knife around the edges of the pans to loosen the cakes. “Really, Ronan, it’s fine.”

He picked up a knife and imitated me. “No, I like being here with you.”

I liked hearing him say that.

“Tell me a funny story about some asshole at the gym. I bet you get people all the time.”

“Oh, not really. I guess I’ve been lucky,” he mumbled.

There was something in his tone, and I glanced up. There were slashes of crimson across the tops of his cheeks, and it occurred to me that perhaps he didn’t like to talk about the gym, so I let it drop.

Ronan watched as I flipped the cakes onto the racks to finish cooling. I explained I would put parchment paper between the layers and wrap them tight. “They’ll get frosted in the morning, rewrapped, and put in the fridge to be stored.”

“Do they ever run out?”

“Yes. I think I’ll have to start doing this twice a week. Making double batches.”

“Do you have time?”

I shrugged. “I’ll make time.”

All too soon, the next batch was ready. I had to admit, having Ronan there was a treat. While I was wrapping the cakes, he scrubbed the pans. He helped me carry the cakes to the shelves. He lifted the heavy container of icing into the refrigerator. He let me talk, asking a ton of questions about clouds and storms and the classes I took. He said very little, but I gleaned he loved to work out, swim, hike, and above all, eat. He lived alone, saw his family when he could, and listened to music a lot. He also confessed to loving theater shows.

“My mom and aunts took us when we were younger. My brothers weren’t so big on them, but I loved them. When I was older, I went with my mom and my sister.”

“Musicals too?”

He grinned as he leaned forward and kissed the end of my nose. “Those were my favorites. I bet I could sing any song you threw at me.”

And for twenty minutes, he did. He had a loud singing voice, way off-key, but his enthusiasm was catchy and he made me laugh with his overdramatic gestures. His Man of La Mancha was especially zealous. I clapped at the end.

“Maybe I could take you to one,” he suggested as I began to wrap the last of the cakes after his performance ended.

“I’d like that,” I said.

“Me too.”

I wiped off the counter. “Done.”

“Okay. I’ll walk you to your car.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get home?”

“The subway is at the corner.”

“It’s past one in the morning.”

“They run until two.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant. It’s late. You’re alone.”

“I don’t drive, Ronan. I don’t own a car.”

“What about a cab? An Uber?”

“If the weather is bad, then I take one. But otherwise, I take the subway, or the bus if it’s later.”

His lips thinned in displeasure. “So, you take the subway every night?”

“Yes. Every morning too. Quite often in the afternoon as well,” I teased, wanting him to stop looking so upset.

“Not tonight.” He held out his hand. “I’m driving you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me close. He looked down at me, his eyebrows drawn tight. I could see the small flecks of brown and gold around his pupils. “Yes, it is. Get your purse.”

Then he kissed me, and the argument I was about to start somehow was erased from my head. The words were gone, and all that I cared about was his mouth on mine. Even when he pulled away, I couldn’t speak.

“Get your coat.”

And I did.

* * *

Ronan pulled up in front of the house, cutting the engine. He had been his usual gentlemanly self, opening my door, helping with the seat belt, and making sure I was warm enough, but he had been quiet.

I turned to him, laying my hand on his arm. “Thanks for the ride, Ronan. Unnecessary, but I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you did tonight. You made the work fun.”

A reluctant smile crossed his lips. “It was fun. I enjoyed myself.”

I laughed. “You are too sweet.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Good night.”

I was partway to the front door when he caught up with me, holding my elbow and spinning me around. His eyes glittered in the low light. “I don’t like thinking of you riding the subway late at night.”

I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as if I had much choice. Cabs, even Ubers, would add up fast and negate the cake income.

“It’s part of my life, Ronan. At least for now.”

“It’s not safe.”

“There are two bars between the diner and the corner. They’re open late, so there are people around. The subway stop is less than a block from here, and often others get off when I do. I walk on the road and make sure I am aware of my surroundings. I’ve taken self-defense courses. I can take care of myself.”

He crowded me. “What if I told you I wanted to take care of you?”

I blinked up at him. “I would say no.”

“Why?”

“I can’t get used to having someone around who might walk.”

“Not going to happen.”

Then his lips were on mine. Hot, hard, seeking. He tugged me to his chest, devouring me with his mouth. I whimpered, wrapping my arms around his neck. He lifted me, letting my feet dangle in midair as he kissed me. Endless moments passed until he broke away, leaning his forehead to mine. Our eyes locked, intense green meeting confused brown.

He set me on my feet.

“I am not walking away.”

“My life isn’t mine to give you right now.”

“I’ll fit in wherever you have space.”

“Ronan—”

He cut me off with another kiss. “I have never felt this attraction to another woman before, Beth. You’re all I can think of. Don’t ask me to walk away. Don’t end us before we begin. Especially not because of time. We can figure it out. Please.”

I sighed, unable to resist. Not wanting to.

“Come for breakfast Sunday,” I whispered. “But Ronan, my brother is part of the package—you need to understand—”

He interrupted me. “Yes.”

“I don’t know—”

His mouth pressed to mine. “Yes.”

I sighed. “Okay. Sunday. Ten.”

He kissed me again. “Yes.”