Page 15 of The Chief's Captive

When Aiden comes to collect me, I'm ready. The dress fits me like a glove, and the shoes look amazing with it. I've twisted my hair into an updo, and with no makeup to put on, I've pinched my cheeks for rouge. I follow Aiden down the long, winding hallway toward the clatter of pots and pans I'm assuming is coming from the kitchen, and he opens a swinging door for me. I walk in, and Ronan, dressed in a sharp black suit, stands from his place at the head of the table.

"Welcome," he says, and he gestures. The place to his right is set, and the rest of the table remains empty, populated only by floral arrangements and a table runner.

I swallow nervously, hoping my plan works. There's a bottle of wine being chilled and a few more set to the side on a cart near the fireplace. I make a mental note of it as I walk toward him and he pulls my chair out.

"Thank you," I say, smiling politely. I just have to keep up this act and get him drinking. And now I have shoes to wear when I run. They'll be a bitch, but it's better than barefoot.

"Wine?" he asks, and I nod. I press my lips together, forgetting I have no lipstick, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He fills both my glass and his own, and then he puts the bottle back in the ice bucket and sits down.

There are silver domed lids over our plates, which he removes and sets to the side, and the sight of a delicious meatloaf, roast potatoes, and carrots makes my mouth water. The scent is divine, but I can't let myself be too wooed or distracted by this. I can't let him get to me.

"What's the special occasion?" I ask him, trying to act like my normal suspicious and angsty self. If he sees me being relaxed, he may know something's up. I admit I do feel calmer now that I have this plan. It's like all my anger and nerves melted away just to allow me to put on this act. I want out of here.

"No special occasion…." He hums for a second, a low note, and then says, "Or perhaps it's a thank you. For saving my life." Ronan takes his black cloth napkin and snaps it out, then drapes it over his lap.

"Men like you actually say thank you?" I say snarkily, and I don't even look at his face for his reaction.

"You'd be surprised," he says with a chuckle, and for some reason, I find myself smiling.

I dig into the food and find that it's absolutely as delicious as it smells and looks. The cooks here are fantastic, like fine dining at a five-star restaurant. I'm impressed, but not enough so to change my mind about wanting to go home. I can order takeout that's just as good as this.

When the wine starts flowing and the meal is almost finished, I start to loosen up a bit more. Ronan asks me about my job at the hospital, and I explain to him in very pained detail how important I am. Anything I can do to bolster my own importance and reputation may just show him why I need to go home. He listens intently and adds an appropriate comment or smile at the right moments. Then he changes the subject entirely.

"And what sort of things do you do for fun?" His dazzling eyes bore through me. I feel the familiar swirl of alcohol and warmth in my face. He's being so different, so human.

"Well, I guess I could say I work out. I read. I like music…" I can't think straight with the wine in my system. I know I like other things, but right now, I can't remember why I am even telling him these things. I'm supposed to be getting him drunk, but I think I may have overdone it.

"Would you like me to bring you books and a radio? I could have my men set up a home gym." He smiles softly as he says these things and brings his third glass of wine to his lips to drink.

I glance at mine, but my vision is blurred. I'm hazy. I drank too much, and after weeks of hardly eating, it's hitting me reallyhard. I swallow hard, and my eyes meander back up to his face as he tilts his head.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, and he reaches out to touch my cheek with the back of his hand.

"I think I'm drunk," I tell him, and I hiccup. My words are slurred. I'm a wreck. I should be ashamed of myself. I was enjoying his company so much and the wine a little too much, and I lost track of why I even joined him for dinner.

"Let me help you to bed," he says, and he lays my napkin across my plate. As he stands, I wince and glare at him.

"What are you going to do? Take advantage of me now?" I wonder if he can even understand what I'm saying. My insult doesn't seem to faze him.

Ronan leans down and wraps his arms around my body, cradling me as he effortlessly lifts me off the chair. "Did you drug me?" I slur, and he says nothing.

I fully expect that he will take me to his lair and pin me down for allowing myself to be so weak. I'm a fool. He was supposed to be the one passing out, and I was supposed to get out of here.

When we get to his room, he sets me on the foot of the bed, then gently removes my shoes, even as I wrestle to do it myself. He unzips the dress and peels it off of me despite my clumsy protest, and then he lifts me up again and lays me on the mattress with my head on my pillow.

He doesn't climb onto the bed immediately. He's not pawing at me or demanding sex. He's not even looking at my body, naked except for my panties.

He strips down to his boxers, shuts off the light, then climbs into bed and pulls the covers up over us. It's shocking. I'm drunk and vulnerable. I hatefully attacked him with accusations, and he acts like a gentleman and allows me to sleep?

My mind might be hazy, but I'm not going to forget this moment. Especially when he curls himself around me and kisses the back of my shoulder and says, "Goodnight, Maeve. Sleep well.”

11

RONAN

The toast is still hot with butter dripping when Maeve joins me in the dining nook off the back patio. I didn't have to invite her this time. She's been joining me for every meal since that night she had one too many glasses of wine and I carried her to bed. She says she doesn't remember a thing, but the way she looks at me is softer, with more kindness.

I'm not a monster, after all.

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