Page 127 of Lady and the Hitman
The moment I chose him. Darkness and all.
And the moment he let me.
He opened the passenger door like it was instinct, like his body would always know how to make room for mine. I slid inside, the leather smooth against my thighs, the scent of him—cologne and power and something darker—filling the car like a promise.
He didn’t ask where I wanted to go.
He told me.
“Let me take you to dinner. A proper one. Then dessert. In Charleston. Tonight.”
I hesitated, heart thudding. “Tonight?”
His eyes found mine in the dimness. “Yes. I’m done hiding. If you’re not ready, say it now.”
I was quiet for a beat too long.
But then I nodded.
Not because I was ready.
Because I was tired of not being.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just reached over, laced his fingers through mine, and drove.
The restaurant was one of those waterfront places you read about in travel magazines. Polished white linen. Gleaming wood and brass accents. A view of the water so perfect it felt staged. It was crowded with Charleston’s elite—doctors, politicians, board members and their wives. A low hum of laughter and clinking glasses floated over the tables.
We were escorted to a table near the back. It was private, but not hidden. And everyone saw us.
I could feel it—the glances that flitted like whispers. The way some eyes lingered too long. I recognized more than one face from gala coverage or local media boards. These were the kind of people who read me.
And they were watching.
“Are you all right?” Ronan asked quietly, draping his napkin over his lap. The flicker of amusement in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
“I’m fine,” I said, even though my palms were damp and my throat dry. “Just wondering how long until someone sends a screenshot of this to my editor.”
He shrugged. “Let them.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a nationally syndicated column.”
“No,” he said. “But I am the one who would burntheir entire network to the ground if they tried to hurt you.”
I gave him a look, part disbelief, part don’t tempt me.
But his expression didn’t waver.
And beneath the nerves, something else stirred.
Need.
Possessive, breath-stealing, traitorous need.
The waiter arrived and greeted Ronan like an old friend, his posture just a little too reverent, his voice just a little too careful. Ronan ordered for both of us without looking at a menu.
“Do you do that often?” I asked once we were alone again.
