Page 13 of Save Me
If Ronan is all wrong for me, then why does this feel so right? Why do I suddenly wish I could live in these arms all night, every night? Drag him into my bedroom and forget all my worries.
I know where that would lead, though. Not that I’d complain.
A loud rooster caw sounds, followed by another. It’s Ralph’s signature call. “Frank’s home.”
Ronan groans. “His timing is impeccable.”
I try to pull away, but Ronan’s grip only tightens.
“Are we going to get in trouble, being in here together?”
“I’ll be fine,” I joke, though I’m not so sure. What’s Frank going to say when he finds out my big news? There’s not much I can keep from that guy for long. And if Ronan does what I expect him to when he finds out—ghost me—then God help him if he crosses Frank’s path in this town.
“I should get home now anyway.” He says this, and yet he holds me for another one … two … three long seconds before pulling away. “I have to memorize facts about Phyllis’s cats and Layla’s life-altering trek up Kilimanjaro. Don’t ask,” he mutters when he sees my face pinch with confusion. “I can’t wait until this week is over.”
“Me too.” Though it won’t change anything. “The sooner I get used to having that stupid hotel beside me, the better.”
With another strange, hard look flickering across his face, he reaches around me to turn off the tap. Collecting my towel, he drapes it over my shoulders to cover my upper body. The simple move is gentle and kind.
I tug at his soaked shirtsleeve. “This wasn’t smart.”
“No, but it was safe. If I’d undressed, you would have taken advantage of me.”
“Shut up.” I slap his chest playfully.
He gathers my hand before I have a chance to pull away, weaving his fingers through mine. His other hand curls around my nape, pulling me toward him until our bodies are flush again. A grazing thumb strokes myskin, back and forth, teasing and comforting me at the same time.
I tip my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. “Ronan.” His name is barely a whisper.There’s something I need to tell you.
But no, not yet. Not now.
Without any hesitation, he leans in to meet my lips with his in a fervent, frantic kiss, as if he wants to squeeze as much intensity into this moment as possible before we’re forced apart. And maybe we will be—not by Frank or any other outside forces, but by the reality that we can’t seem to be this close without losing control. Even now, with my hand fisting his shirt, wishing for it to vanish, forall his clothesto vanish, I sense our good intentions for an honest conversation about to go awry. My body certainly isn’t helping matters, as it slides against his, reveling in the hard length pressed against my stomach.
All I would take is a quick unfastening of his belt and fly, a tug on my bikini bottom string, and I could have Ronan exactly where I like him—inside me.
As if sensing my thoughts, and perhaps sharing them, Ronan’s lips suddenly break free of mine. “I really need to go,” he whispers, the muscle in his jaw taut.
My breathing is ragged. “Phyllis’s cats.”
“Something like that.” He releases me and backs up, collecting first his pocket’s contents from the shelf, then his shoes. The prominent bulge in his clinging pants is unmistakable.
My pulse races as I chastise myself for staring. That’s how I got into this mess in the firstplace.
“I have a dinner thing tomorrow night,” Ronan blurts suddenly.
“A dinner thing?” I echo. “Okay …”
“Come with me.”
“To your dinner thing?” Is Ronan asking me out on a date?
“Yeah.” His smile is wry. “It’s at the hotel.”
Caution creeps in. “Who’s going to?—”
“Henry Wolf.”
My mouth gapes. “Are you crazy? You want me to have dinner with Satan himself?” The man would probably instruct the chef to poison my food.
