Page 70 of Lady and the Hitman
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Good girl.”
The SUV rolled to a stop.
He stepped out first, towering and confident, then reached for my hand. The driver opened the rear door but didn’t look at me again. Maybe he was smart. Maybe he wanted to keep both eyes.
I stepped out, the ocean scent hitting me full force—salt and sunscreen and sweat. It was decadent. Animal. Alive.
And for the first time in my adult life, I wasn’t overthinking how I looked in a bikini.
I could feel Ronan’s gaze burning through me like a brand.
Even through the gauzy white cover-up I’d pulled on in the car, his stare was a weight on my shoulders, a promise at my back. And the moment we reached the chairs—a set of sleek loungers half-shaded by a cabana and flanked by bottles of chilled water and sunblock—he stepped aside and waited.
For me to undress.
I hesitated just long enough to feel the heat creep up my neck. Then, slowly, I lifted the hem and peeled the cover-up over my head, letting it slip down my arms and flutter to the chair behind me.
The air hit my skin like a caress.
So did the stares.
Two men walking by on the sand—both shirtless, both too obvious—let their gazes drag across my body like it was an invitation. One of them turned his head so far, he nearly tripped over a beach bag.
Ronan’s jaw flexed.
He didn’t say a word. Just stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that the implication was clear.
Back the fuck off.
The men kept walking.
I tilted my head, lips twitching. “Jealous?”
He leaned in, brushing my hair back from my shoulder with a single finger. “I don’t get jealous,” he said, voice low. “I get territorial.”
My breath hitched.
We didn’t sit right away. He led me down to the water’s edge, the waves curling around our ankles, warm and soft like silk. The sand shifted under my feet as I walked beside him, conscious of every sway of my hips, every glance he gave me.
Once we were waist-deep, I turned toward him. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“What was?”
“Me. Barely clothed. Soaking wet. At your mercy.”
He smiled slowly. “I like to be prepared.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You and your … what? Military background?”
“That’s right. Comes in handy.”
The water lapped higher. I stepped closer, my legs brushing his, the salt air curling between us like a dare.
“Tell me something,” I said. “Do you really want to see me in Charleston, or is this just part of the game?”
“I want to see you,” he said, instantly. “Charleston. Your world. I want to know what it looks like when you’re not pretending.”
“I’m not pretending now.”
