Page 67 of Ruthless Savior
Ronan turns to face me, lifting the glass to his lips for a moment. I watch his throat move as he swallows the whiskey, and a sudden thought flashes through my head, making me wonder what his mouth tastes like with the whiskey on his lips.
And then he speaks, just as heat floods my body at the thought.
“I know this isn’t how we thought today would go,” he says quietly, his voice a low, rumbling burr. "But we're married now. Legally, officially married."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Ronan takes another sip of the whiskey, and I see his hand tighten around the crystal. "Which means," he says, his voice dropping low and rough, "we still need to consummate the marriage."
17
LEILA
The words hang in the air between us, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
Consummate the marriage.
It sounds so formal. So impersonal. Cold, for three words that make me feel as if my insides are suddenly molten. But this is impersonal, isn’t it? This isn’t about desire. This isn’t about the climax of what happened between us in the library that night; this is about making sure that what we’ve done today is, ironically, bulletproof.
I nod. I can’t manage to speak. Ronan swallows down the rest of his whiskey and pours another splash into the glass; oddly, that makes me feel worse.Does he have to be drunk to go through with this?But surely a man like Ronan would need to pound more whiskey than that to even catch a buzz.
"I..." I start, then stop, not sure what to say. My hands instinctively touch the bodice of my wedding dress.
Ronan's expression is unreadable. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he says quietly, taking another sip. "But legally, if this marriage is going to hold up under scrutiny, if it's going to protect you the way it needs to..."
He doesn't need to finish. I understand. We’ve talked about this before. A marriage that exists only on paper won't be enough, especially now that we've made such a public statement, especially after the attack. De Luca will be looking for any weakness, any reason to question the legitimacy of what we've done.
"I know," I whisper.
“I know this is your first time,” Ronan continues. “Obviously. I’ll try to make it—” He clears his throat. “Good for you.”
The gentleness in his voice almost undoes me. This morning, I was a single woman who'd never been with anyone, and now I'm married to one of the most dangerous men in Boston, about to give him something I've never given anyone else. I thought this moment would be something different. I never needed it to mean something, but I thought it would be more of my choice.
Ronan is offering me one, but it isn’t really one at all, just as the marriage wasn’t. We’ve come this far, and we have to finish it.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder what he sees there. Fear, probably. Uncertainty. But also something else, something I don't want to examine too closely. Because despite everything—the circumstances, the danger, the fact that this is supposed to be temporary—I still feel what I felt that night that he kissed me in the library. Desire, mixed up with curiosity, a need that I don’t understand. I want him, but this is so much more complicated than that, and always has been.
"We can wait," he says, finishing off the whiskey and setting the glass down. "If you need more time?—"
"No," I interrupt, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. "No, I… I want to. I mean, I want to get it over with. For the legal reasons." I fumble the words, my cheeks heating.Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe?—but he nods.
"Okay."
The room suddenly feels very small. Ronan runs a hand through his dark hair. For the first time since I've known him, he looks uncertain.
“You can’t get out of that dress on your own, can you?” he asks, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I shake my head nervously. “No,” I manage. “I—I do need help.”
For the first time, it registers with me that not all of Ronan’s tux is still on him. His tie is off, the jacket gone. The shirt is dusty and blood-spattered. I watch, frozen, as he undoes the cufflinks at his wrists, setting them down next to the whiskey glass as the cuffs hang open at his wrists. I catch a glimpse of black ink, and my stomach flutters, turning over with a nervous anticipation.
Slowly, as if he’s trying not to spook me, he walks toward me. Behind me, his hand reaches to brush loose pieces of hair from my neck before he reaches for the first button.
That touch of his hand sends goosebumps prickling over my skin. I suck in a breath of air without meaning to, and I feel Ronan go very still behind me for a moment before he flicks open the first button.
And then another, and another, and another. One button at a time, my new husband begins undressing me, until my dress is open to just below my shoulder blades.
