Page 2 of Claimed By the Ex-Con

My blood is on fire, burning hotter and hotter the longer we stare at each other. Without question, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But there’s more, something in her stare, a spark that contradicts her sweet, innocent appearance, one that draws me in and makes me ravenous.

A loud boom of thunder shakes the world around us, followed by a flash of lightning almost as bright as the electricity zapping between us. She jumps, blinking rapidly, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she visibly tries to compose herself.

“Uh, welcome,” she greets, the words coming out in a rush as she wipes her hands down the front of her dress, looking away from me to her computer. “Did you have a booking?”

I walk closer to the desk, needing to destroy the distance between us. The pattering of rain on the windows fills the air, and I delight in the way goosebumps rise on her flesh.

“No, I saw the sign as I was driving through,” I tell her, my voice coming out dark and gravelly. It’s impossible to hide how affected I am by her, but I don’t even bother trying.

“Oh,” she breathes. Then, her brows furrow and she meets my eyes again. “You were traveling through? Tonight?”

I nod, confused as to why she seems surprised by this.

“Didn’t you hear about the huge storm coming?” she asks, gesturing to the windows where the storm is making itself known. “Bad time to be traveling.”

I shake my head, shrugging. “No, I didn’t hear,” I admit, smirking a little. “I didn’t get the news where I’m from.” That’s an understatement. It’s not like I was given a weather report when I was released today.

“Well, it’s a good thing you stopped,” the woman continues. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt in the storm.”

“A very good thing indeed,” I agree, my gaze dropping to her lips again.

“We’re completely free for tonight, so you’re in luck,” she says, opening the thick log book to a new page and rummaging in a drawer for a pen. She rattles off the price and amenities, but I barely take in any of the information, too caught up in drinking her in. “...your name?”

I blink, realizing she’s asking me something. “Sorry, sunflower. I didn’t catch that.”

Her eyes widen at my nickname for her, which I can’t help but think is apt not just because of the town’s name and her dress, but because even with the darkness shrouding the building, she’s shining so bright the sun may as well be out. “Your name,” she repeats, her voice all breathy. “For the booking.”

“Ronan Ross,” I tell her with a grin. “And yours?”

“Roxie,” she says with a smile that takes my damn breath away. “Here’s your key. You’re in room two, just at the top of the stairs on the right.”

I take the key from her, and our fingers brush. She gasps as electricity shoots through our bodies at the touch, lightning flashing once more. I hold her gaze for a long moment before nodding to her and turning away, heading up the stairs to my room.

Despite my tiredness and the crashing of the storm outside, I can’t help but think today might be the best damn day of my life.

2

ROXIE

Istare after him as he climbs the stairs, room key dangling from his fingers. My own fingers tingle with the echo of his touch, my whole body burning. His long legs carry him quickly up the stairs, his footsteps quiet despite the fact he’s made of muscle. He has to be over six foot, and strong as hell judging by the way his biceps strained against his shirt, not that I was looking.

Okay, I was definitely looking. In my defense, he’s the hottest fucking man I’ve ever seen. I’m just happy I didn’t drool and make a total fool of myself.

Men like that don’t stop in a town like this. Sunflower Springs is the definition of a small town. Everyone knows everyone and strangers don’t stay long. Which begs the question, why is he here at all? Where did he come from, where he didn’t get news of the storm? Where is he going?

He only has one bag with him that looks nearly empty, and his clothes are plain black, giving nothing away. Curiosity burns through me, even as I try to distract myself, fiddling with stationary and flicking through files without taking in any of the information.

Thanks to the furious storm, there’s nobody else in the bed and breakfast except him and me. A fact I’m keenly aware of because it means there are basically no tasks to do to distract myself from it.

I fight the temptation for a good twenty minutes before I give in. I open a new internet browser and type in his name.

Ronan Ross.

My mouth drops open as my eyes lock onto the first search result. It’s a newspaper article from a year ago, titled: Entrepreneur Sentenced to a Year in Prison for Assault Resulting in Injury.

I click the link before I even register what I’m doing. I try to convince myself that it’s because I want to make sure I’m safe and not trapped here with someone dangerous, but in truth, I just need to know everything about him. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to think he’s the kind of man who’d hurt someone for no reason. I don’t know him, but weirdly, some deep part of me feels like I do. Like I’m meant to.

I read the article at a fast pace, devouring the information. He sent a man to hospital needing stitches, with a broken nose, two broken ribs, and deep bruising. But he did it because he was protecting someone. According to the article, Ronan stumbled across a man attempting to assault a woman outside one of his bars and stepped in. The court found that he used excessive force, but I can’t help but think he did exactly what was necessary.

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