Page 68 of Lady and the Hitman
That softened something in his expression.
“You are seen, Zara. Every complicated, messy, brilliant part of you.”
I should’ve argued. Should’ve said he didn’t get to decide that. But the words died on my tongue.
Because the part of me I usually had to quiet—the part that wanted to be owned, not explained—was wide awake now.
And she didn’t want to run.
He rose slowly and offered his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Let me show you the beach before I lose my nerve and drag you back to bed.”
I took it.
Because for all our differences—for every jagged belief and mismatched worldview—we fit.
Not like puzzle pieces.
Like fire and wind.
Destructive. Alive. Dangerous in the right conditions.
And I was ready to burn.
13
Of course, he wasn’t taking me home yet.
The moment the SUV veered off Collins toward Ocean Drive, something shifted in the air—like heat wrapped in desire, soaked in salt, with a rhythm made of bass and body language.
South Beach. It pulsed outside the window, loud and bright and unapologetically flesh-forward.
I’d grown up seeing this place in music videos and magazine spreads. But now I was here. With him.
Ronan didn’t say much. Just tapped twice on the glass partition, and the driver adjusted course, heading toward a quieter stretch of sand behind a private beach club. The tinted windows kept us in our own little world. Or maybe our own little pressure cooker.
Because when Ronan reached into the bag beside him and handed me a scrap of green fabric no bigger than a silk ribbon, my throat tightened.
“What is this?” I asked, holding it like it might combust in my hands.
He looked amused. “It’s a bikini.”
“This is a threat.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked green.”
“I do,” I said slowly, fingers working over the strings. “But there’s barely enough fabric here to cover?—”
“That’s the point.”
I gave him a look. “I can’t wear this to the beach.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just watched me like he was already imagining it. His gaze dragged over my body, lingering at my collarbone, my thighs, the flush rising in my chest.
“You’ll wear it,” he said. “You’ll put it on in the car. Right now.”
I gawked. “The driver’s right there.”
