I’d met Ronan for the first time when I was thirteen and my brother, Trace, had brought a then 28-year-old Ronan home to meet our parents after they’d met at the military hospital where Ronan was completing his residency. Even at my young age, I’d been fascinated by Ronan. He’d had a certain cool confidence to him that had drawn me in, but it was the way he’d laughed and joked with me that had had my hero worship turning into something more within a couple of visits. I’d fought to keep the fact that I was falling for my own brother’s boyfriend a secret, but Trace had easily picked up on it and hadn’t wasted time in teasing me every chance he got with jokes about not trying to steal his boyfriend out from underneath him. And he’d never failed to make sure Ronan was around when he’d made the comments. I’d known that my brother’s ribbing was meant to be harmless fun, but my feelings had run so deep that every joke he’d made had caused pinpricks in my soul, because I’d known I’d never have what he had. Because despite my mother’s assurances to the contrary, I’d known even then that I’d only ever want Ronan and any man who might come my way in the future would always pale in comparison.
Maybe it would have been easier if Ronan had shared my brother’s penchant for making light of the way I felt. But he’d only fanned the flames of my burgeoning want by protecting me from my brother’s unintentional cruelty, and he’d never allowed the awkwardness to change the way he’d treated me. He’d always been kind, interested and encouraging. And he’d promised me that someday I’d find that lucky someone who would change my life the way Trace had changed his.
And then everything had changed. In less than a year my parents were gone, my brother was gone and the Ronan I’d fallen in love with was gone.
I managed to remain perfectly still as Ronan held me against the wall, afraid that any movement would break whatever reverie we’d both fallen into. I wanted so badly to lean forward and brush my lips over his, to once again taste the sweetness that was so unexpected and so intoxicating, but I’d learned my lesson the first time around. And as much as I wanted Ronan to leave, I couldn’t bear the humiliation of him choosing to walk away from me again instead of enduring my naïve, painfully inexperienced kiss.
Ronan finally pulled back and released his hold on me, but just one of my wrists. “You have a first aid kit somewhere?” he asked as he tugged me forward.
“My bathroom,” I said.
I followed him silently to the main part of the house and didn’t try to read too much into the fact that he still had a hold of my wrist. My dog, Bullet, came with us, but I didn’t miss how the animal stuck right next to Ronan’s side. Since the German Shepherd was my perpetual shadow, it should have bothered me more that he’d abandoned me for Ronan. But it didn’t. It was just a reminder of how easy it was for man and beast alike to gravitate to the big, quiet man.
Ronan led me to the bathroom and turned me so my back was against the counter. He glanced at me and I automatically said, “Bottom drawer” since I knew what he was looking for. He found the first aid kit and opened it and pulled out a couple of butterfly bandages before running a washcloth under water. His touch was surprisingly gentle for such a big, scary looking guy and I wondered how many of his patients were shocked by the contradiction. At 6’5, Ronan towered over most men and he had the bulk to back it up. He wasn’t bulging everywhere, but he had a rock hard body that even now rippled beneath his clothes. His stormy gray eyes were typically shrouded in mystery, but I’d seen them both joyful and haunted and everything in between.
I wished for the thousandth time that I could reach out and touch him because every time he shifted, my eyes were drawn to a spot on his upper chest where he’d left the first button of his shirt open. I could see bronzed flesh and a smattering of black hair that I desperately wanted to experience beneath my fingers. Would it be soft like the silky, coal black hair on his head or would it be wiry and rough? I’d seen enough naked men when my curiosity about sex had gotten the best of me and I’d checked out gay porn sites, but the life I’d been living hadn’t afforded me the opportunity to experiment hands-on and, unlike Ronan, I was utterly lacking in the chest hair department.