Page 58 of Lady and the Hitman
Heat bloomed between my thighs. My pulse throbbed low and deep.
The dress clung to me like a second skin, but suddenly it was too much. Too hot. Too covered.
He stopped just short of touching me.
“I should go slow,” he murmured.
“You won’t,” I breathed.
“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.”
And then he closed the distance.
11
Istood in the middle of the suite, the ocean winking at me through the wall of glass, and suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
They’d touched him. They’d wanted more.
But now they hovered—nervous, eager, unsure—while Ronan peeled his jacket from his shoulders and laid it with quiet precision over the back of a velvet chair.
My chest rose and fell faster than it should’ve.
I didn’t know what I expected. For him to slam me against the window? Drag me to the bed? Pin me to the floor and make good on every filthy promise?
Instead, he moved with purpose—but not urgency. He crossed to a console table near the minibar and retrieved something small and white. A remote.
With one tap, the lights softened further. The city behind the glass dimmed under automated curtains. And then I heard it.
Water.
Notthe ocean.
A bath.
I turned slowly, pulse skipping, and caught sight of the doorway he’d just opened. Inside was a bathroom that looked like something out of a high-end spa. Marble everywhere. A soaking tub sunken into the floor, already half full and steaming, lit from beneath like it had been waiting for me all night.
Ronan didn’t speak.
He just held out his hand.
And I went.
He led me inside like I was something fragile. Precious. Dangerous. Like I might bolt. Or break.
Then he stopped beside the tub and looked at me with that gaze again—the one that stripped me without touching a single button.
“You’ve had a long night,” he said.
I nodded. “You could say that.”
“You ran like you meant it.”
I held his eyes. “I did.”
His jaw ticked. Just once. “Then let me take care of you.”
My breath caught.
