Page 158 of Lady and the Hitman
My smile faltered.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I’d been young enough to believe that kind of love would be enough. That comfort and affection could carry me through decades of real life. That wanting to build a future together was the same as actually knowing how to build one.
Trevor tucked the shell in my hand. “We could still have that. You and me. We were good together, Zara. We had something real.”
I ran my fingers over the shell’s edge, sharp in places, smooth in others.
We had.
I didn’t pull away.
Not when he shifted closer again, his thigh pressed against mine. Not when he reached for my hand fully this time, lacing our fingers together.
His palm was dry. Steady.
Not like Ronan’s.
Ronan’s hands had scorched me. Possessed me. Spoken to parts of me I didn’t know existed. When he touched me, it wasn’t comfort—it was combustion. A controlled burn that licked along every nerve ending and left me aching for more.
Trevor’s touch didn’t hurt.
It didn’t thrill.
It just … was.
Could that be enough?
I looked at him then, really looked. His eyes searched mine like he was hoping for something—permission, maybe. A sign that I wanted this. Wanted him.
And I almost said yes.
Almost leaned in.
Almost let the moment become something.
31
The sky was just beginning to lighten when we finally turned onto my street.
Pale lavender bled into a canvas of charcoal gray, the soft hum of morning stillness settling over the quiet row of townhouses like a prayer not yet answered. My body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry—limp, cold, and stretched too thin.
Trevor slowed the car as we approached my place, his gaze flicking toward the sidewalk. “You sure you want to go in alone?”
I didn’t answer right away. My eyes had already found the figure standing in the shadows near my front steps.
Ronan.
He was leaning against the wrought-iron railing, arms crossed, his posture deceptively relaxed. But even from a distance, I could feel the tension radiating off him. His shoulders were too still. His gaze too focused.
And the moment he saw Trevor’s car—his entire body changed.
He straightened, stepped off the stoop, and stalked toward the curb like a loaded weapon.
Trevor hit the brake. Hard.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s him.”
