I’m suddenly tired. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to see the woman who’s sleeping with the man I thought I’d marry. Any magic had faded from our relationship long ago, so we were closer to old friends than passionate lovers, but it still hurt. It destroyed my youthful hopes and dreams and dented my pride.
I want someone to make me feel wanted.
I want someone to make me forget.
I want someone to take me outside of myself.
I want Ronan.
I only have a few seconds before Derek and Monique arrive at our side, and maybe it’s the diminishing effects of the champagne or the sadness of the last few weeks or just a level of fucks I no longer have to give, but I grasp onto Ronan and say, “I need to leave.”
“Be ready to run,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re making a getaway.”
He puts a hand on my back and navigates me around a column to block us. I turn to see Monique looking around for us. When it’s safe, he grabs my hand and leads me toward the stairs. He opens the door to the stairwell and pulls me in, shutting it quietly behind us. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed he didn’t choose the elevator. I wouldn’t mind getting stuck in there with him again, this time with the two of us alone.
I take off my heels, and we run up the stairs. Or, more accurately, I run to match his casual stroll.
When we make it to our floor, he continues to follow me until we reach my door.
I turn but can’t look him in the eye. I fiddle with my key card.
“Do you—do you want to come in?” I ask, sure he will say no. The request can only mean one thing. A woman doesn’t ask a man to come back to her hotel room to chat or play Pictionary. Even as the words leave my lips, I want to swallow them back in a gulp of embarrassment. But I don’t. I force myself to meet his light blue gaze.
He leans down, way down, and brushes the hair out of my face.
He watches me.
When I first met Ronan, his lack of words was unnerving. But now, there’s something about his steady silence that I crave.
His eyes say what his mouth does not.
His eyes are storm clouds of heat. They’re glaciers on fire. They’re rivers of ice and flame.
His frozen words and hot gaze speak volumes.
I only hope I’m hearing him correctly.
I’m both hesitant and unbearably excited, waiting for his answer. Nerves dance in my belly. My face feels poker-hot.
Without speaking, he takes the key card from my hand and opens the door with one smooth swipe. He steps aside to let me slip through the doorway first. When I turn back to him with a shy glance, he stands at the threshold.
Is this his answer? I can’t tell.
Shaking, I hold out my hand, and he takes it.
There’s something about Ronan’s watchful presence that emboldens me. I’m rarely shy, but the idea of propositioning a celebrity seems out of the question, as unlikely as a trip to the moon. And here I am, touching a literal star.
I know there’s nothing beyond this night, but he makes me feel safe and cared for.
He follows me into the room, and we reach the bed in only a few strides. I’m not in a suite like he is. There’s no plush sofa. No coffee table or side chairs. Just an ornate king-sized bed that keeps drawing my attention. We stand at the foot of it.
The only place we touch is where our hands are clasped, his so much larger than mine, with his thumb brushing back and forth over the sensitive skin of my palm.
Still, he doesn’t speak.
Still, he doesn’t make a move.
I want him to take me in his arms, to kiss me until the doubts and insecurities that bubble up in my head pop. I want to be ravaged, ravished. But he doesn’t do any of that. He waits.
