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Today had given him the excuse he needed to approach her.
The door opened as he reached the landing. “What are you doing here?”
He did a double take, almost not recognizing the woman slouched against the doorframe. She wore an oversized black sweatshirt and baggy shorts, her damp hair brushed back from a fresh, makeup-free face.
“You have freckles,” he blurted, catching sight of the faint scatter across her nose and cheeks.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”
“I like freckles,” he added.
A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she straightened. “Not to sound like a parrot, but what the hell are you doing here, Marine?”
“To see you.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you’re okay.”
Her brow furrowed. “Okay?”
“After today,” he said, caught for a second by her eyes. Such a soft brown. Like an aged whiskey. So easy to get lost in.
She huffed, crossing her arms. “Why? Because I needed your help, again, to apprehend a perpetrator?”
Her vehemence took him off guard. “No,” he said, more firmly. “Hostage situations are tough. Things can go sideways so fast.” He’d seen it happen before — one heartbeat of hesitation, one man making the wrong call, and lives were over.
Her expression shifted, pain flickering through before she could hide it.
“Can I come in?” Ronan asked. “Please.”
She hesitated, then stepped back, giving him room to enter.
The door snapped shut behind him.
He took her apartment in with a single glance.
He knew he lived spartan — there was a reason for that. Renovations.
But this…
Beige walls. A couch one shade darker. Those awful vertical blinds. Brown carpet. No color. No personal items. It was worse than a budget motel.
With state-of-the-art security, he amended, eyeing the alarm panel by the door — four live feeds glowing back at him, one capturing him and Felicity in her drab living room. Another showed the entry downstairs.
That’s how she knew he was here.
“You’re in. Now what?” Her gaze hardened. “You here to tell me I can’t do my job?”
Ronan blinked, caught off guard. “What? No.” He took a moment, then added carefully, “Did someone say otherwise?”
“Apparently, you’re doing my heavy lifting.” Her chin rose. “I’d’ve gotten Whittaker.”
“I know,” he said, softer now. “I didn’t step in because I thought you couldn’t handle it. I just … reacted.” They were still standing in the entry, the door at her back. “I’m sorry if you caught flak because of it.”
Felicity sighed and moved past him into the kitchen area. “Not your fault. Just small-town small-mindedness.” She reached for the kettle. “I was about to make some tea,” she said, looking at him.
Tea wasn’t his thing, but he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to stay, however reluctantly it was offered.
