Page 122 of Lady and the Hitman
Ididn’t pull away.
Not when logic told me to. Not when fear whispered that I still had time. I laced my fingers through his and held on like it meant something—because it did. Because I was tired of pretending it didn’t.
He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
The bartender slid another drink in front of him without being asked—clearly familiar, clearly respectful. Too respectful.
Ronan didn’t touch the glass. His eyes were only on me.
“Let’s sit,” he said, not a suggestion.
I nodded, and we moved to a booth in the far corner—secluded but visible. A spotlight without a stage. If anyone looked, they’d see. And that was the point.
I sank into the leather seat, heart hammering. My hand still in his.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m aware.”
He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Just brushed his thumb over my knuckles and waited until I met his eyes again.
“What’s the worst thing that happens,” he asked, “if someone sees us?”
“I lose my column. My adjunct teaching position at College of Charleston. My credibility. My audience. The thing I built from nothing.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I lose you.”
The words came out before I could stop them. Before I could think better of it.
Ronan went very still.
“That’s what you’re afraid of?” he asked quietly. “Losing me?”
“I’m afraid of what you are,” I said. “And I’m afraid of what I’m becoming when I’m with you.”
His jaw worked like he was grinding down something sharp.
“You’re not becoming someone else,” he said. “You’re just not pretending anymore.”
I looked down at our hands.
“You scare me,” I whispered.
“Because I want all of you?”
“Because you already have it.”
That earned me a low sound from his throat. A growl barely leashed. His hand tightened around mine. Not enough to hurt—just enough to hold.
“You still don’t know what I’d do for you,” he said, voice thick.
“I’m starting to.”
He let go only to reach into his jacket pocket.
