He glances back at me. “The day I bought my first company.”
“And that one?” I point to a stylized phoenix on his bicep.
A smile plays at his lips. “Are you cataloging my tattoos, Rayne?”
My name from his mouth sends a shiver down my spine. It feels so much like a caress. “Just curious.”
“Curious about my body?”
“About your tattoos,” I say a little too defensively, though we both know it’s not entirely true.
Seems to me, lying to Ronan is basically pointless.
His omelet sizzles in the pan, filling the silence between us. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, softer. “The phoenix was my first. Got it when I was eighteen. It means what you'd expect—rising from ashes. A bit of a cliche, I know, but I was angry and determined and desperate to prove myself.”
Our eyes meet, and something passes between us—a current of understanding, of recognition. We’re both more than we appear to be.
I would never have thought I’d find a billionaire relatable, but here we are.
I finish my omelet and take my plate to the sink. When I turn, Ronan is right there, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. We stand like that for a heartbeat, two, three. I can count his eyelashes. See the faint scar above his left eyebrow. Feel his breath, warm against my forehead.
“Excuse me,” I finally whisper, my voice embarrassingly husky.
He doesn’t move immediately. “You unmoor me, Rayne, because you’re so far from what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone already trying to get into my bed by now.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe I have more self-respect than that.” Or control because God knows that’s exactly where I want to be.
“Or maybe,” he says, finally stepping aside, “you’re just better at the game than most.”
“This isn’t a game to me.” The words come out sharper than I intended. I think of my mom, lying in bed, waiting for all the treatments we can’t yet afford.
He studies me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Good. Because it isn’t to me, either.”
I slip past him, acutely aware of every inch of my body as it passes near his. My skin tingles with awareness. With want. The intensity of my reaction to him is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want Ronan, and it terrifies me.
At the kitchen doorway, I pause and look back. He stands exactly where I left him, watching me with that same unwavering focus.
“Goodnight, Ronan.”
“Sweet dreams, Rayne.”
I flee down the hallway, my heart racing, my body humming with unspent energy. Back in my room, I slide between the sheets, knowing sleep will be even more elusive now. All I can think about is Ronan—his body, his eyes, the electricity between us.
Men like him don’t go for women like me. So what does he really want?
3
RONAN
Ifeel like absolute shit. It’s probably because I’ve had exactly zero sleep or because I’ve taken two cold showers and jerked off both times, just so I wouldn’t knock on Rayne’s door and stake my claim right there and then.
I’ve never felt the lack of self-control as much as I did when I wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless.
This morning, she looks rested. And rest is the last thing on my mind.
