“Are you here with anyone?” I shook my head. “You can stay here tonight. I will have someone wake you.” “No, that’s okay,” I said. “You’ve already done too much for me.” A sliver of displeasure passed through Ronan’s eyes. The quiet intensity could kill someone who wasn’t already used to the same look from their Papa. “You were assaulted in my alleyway. It is my responsibility to make sure you will be okay.” No wonder he was standing so close to the back door. Did he hear my screams? My thoughts and breath were cut off when he used his pen to lift the pendant sitting between my breasts. “Interesting necklace.” He and my attacker were the only ones to ever notice it. Pd never seen my papa wear anything less than a wifebeater and a pair of black slacks. Even then, that was only once, when I was eight years old and I glimpsed the nautical star tattoos on each of his shoulders. Of course, at that age, I wanted one for myself, so he gave me this necklace. “Its a family thing,” I breathed. A thoughtful, “Huh,” was all Ronan said. He lowered the pendant back to my skin, and the tiniest glide of his pen between my breasts set my pulse careening off its tracks. The can of soda slipped from my fingers. He caught it with his left hand, his gaze not leaving mine. After a moment of heavy tension, Kirill got to his feet and put a bottle of pills in my hand. I looked at it. They didn’t do prescriptions here? “For your pain.” I forced a smile. “Thank you.” He gave me an imploring look, grabbed his briefcase, and left the room. I didn’t know before that Russians were so very foreboding. Ronan rose and set the can of soda on the side table. “I will have some food brought in for you,” he told me, heading to the door before he stopped in front of it and turned to face me. He was black from head to toe. His dress shirt. His tattoos. His hair. Even the blue of his eyes was drowned in shadow unless close-up. We might as well be from two different worlds— worlds divided by the lonely waves of the Atlantic.