Page 79 of Lady and the Hitman
“I’m not,” I said quickly, shooting Ronan a warning glance.
“Wonderful,” she said. “We just finished planting a whole round of lemon balm and butterfly bush. It smells like heaven. If your friend wants to join, remind him we have a big pool out back. Might want to bring a swimsuit.”
There was a pause then—a beat too long. “We’ve had to cut back on landscaping a bit,” she added lightly, like it didn’t matter. “But it’s still nice. Still home.”
My stomach pinched. My mom never commented on money. Not even when things were tight. And lately,there’d been more of these little remarks. Just enough to make me wonder what I wasn’t being told.
I made a strangled sound.
Ronan’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
And then—mercifully—she kissed my cheek and turned toward her car.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
She waved at Ronan like they were already friends and drove off.
The silence that followed was thick.
“I turned toward him, arms folded. “You just let her interrogate you.”
“She didn’t scare me.”
“She terrifies me.”
“She’s protective. I like that.”
I sighed and started up the steps. He followed.
But even as I tried to shake off the moment, my thoughts drifted to my dad. If my mom was protective, Greg Hughes was a damn fortress. He didn’t raise his voice or make dramatic pronouncements—he just observed. Quiet. Intense. And when something didn’t sit right with him, the silence got louder. I could already imagine the look on his face if he ever met Ronan. The calculation in his eyes. The way he’d size him up, trying to decide if this man belonged anywhere near his only daughter. And I already knew the answer. My dad had spent his life building things with his hands, grounding himself in family and soil and legacy. A man like Ronan? He’d see him as a threat. A storm. A wrecking ball wrapped in good suits and bad intentions.
And maybe he wouldn’t be wrong.
At the door, I turned. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
Ronan’s voice was low. “You sure you want me to leave?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Because no—I wasn’t sure. Not at all.
But I nodded anyway. “For now.”
His eyes searched mine. And then he leaned down, kissed my cheek like it was a promise.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Tomorrow night.”
And then he left.
Leaving me standing on my porch, heart racing, pulse humming, and absolutely no idea how I was going to make it through the next twenty-four hours.
15
The next morning, I woke to twenty-seven unread emails and a headline that made my stomach turn.
“Senator Lyle Garrett Slams Underground Escort Service Operating in South Carolina Under the Guise of ‘Empowerment’”
