Ronan pulled away from me like he had touched fire. One second his arms were around me, holding me like the world might break if he let go, and the next he stepped back fast, eyes wild, chest heaving, jaw tight.
I stared at him, trying to hide the fact that my pulse was sprinting like it was in a competition. Absolutely not. He was not allowed to see that. Ever.
So I defaulted to my best defense mechanism.
Insults.
“You done having your emotional breakdown,” I asked.
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unreadable. “I was not having a breakdown.”
“Oh please. You looked like you were about to cry into my hair.”
He blinked once. “I do not cry.”
“Sure,” I said. “Keep telling yourself that.”
His jaw clenched. He looked shaken. Which, in a twisted way, made me feel slightly victorious.
