The only way I’ll get what I want is to ask for it boldly. He’s letting me have control. It’s as scary as it is heady.
This knowledge thrums in my brain, clearing any remnants of fuzzy-headed feeling from the champagne.
Can I do this?
Holding hands is electric. I imagine what else those large, calloused hands can make me feel.
Just dancing with him earlier made my panties wetter than they’ve been in years. Maybe ever.
I clear my throat. The sound is loud in the silence. “I don’t do this. I’ve never done this.” I don’t explain what “this” is.
“I know.”
There’s no coercing. No false flattery. Just “I know” in that deep voice that’s as rough and raw as a storm-swept ocean.
He inclines his head, and I catch a slight smile before it disappears. He’s not expressionless as I first thought. He has his tells. They’re just subtle. A softening of the eyes. A quirk of the lips.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know. But you’re thinking something.”
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re not drunk.”
“I’m fine. The coffee, water, and time helped. I’m just—” I search for the right words. “Just a little smoothed out around the edges.”
His gaze rakes over mine before sliding down my body. “You say you don’t do this. But do youwantto?”
My breath whooshes out. “Yes?”
His eyes meet mine. His smile doesn’t unfurl as I hoped it would. Instead, his frown deepens. “You don’t sound certain. And even if you’re not drunk, I’m not sure you’re completely sober either.”
I want to deny it. I can’t imagine I’d ever regret sex with someone as perfect as Ronan Masters. But my head is still swimming. Maybe a little from the champagne. Mostly from being near Ronan. And from the emotions of the day. My breakup with Derek was so recent. I can’t erase twelve years as easily as he has. Acknowledging that I’m torn and realizing that Ronan Masters is too much of a gentleman to sweep away my doubts and ravish me, is one of the greatest disappointments of my life.
It’s my fault for being so unfamiliar with one-night-stand etiquette. If I had more experience, maybe Ronan would be less reluctant to do all the things I desire. All the things I need. And all the things I’m nervous about.
“Ugh. You’re probably right,” I say with a deep, disappointed sigh. “But it sucks.” My grumpy frown matches his.
Then a slightly mollifying thought occurs. Maybe I could have a little treat? Just a taste of what naughty feels like. “Can I have a kiss, though?” I rush out. “I’ve only ever almost kissed a movie star once.”
That small, sly smile of his is back. I’m getting addicted to the quirk of his lips.
“You better be talking about me,” he growls, almost sounding jealous, which is divinely thrilling.
Unlike earlier, he moves with swift surety.
One moment, I’m asking to be kissed, and the next, he’s the lord and master of my lips. Demanding and worshiping, commanding and revering.
With tongue.
He’s good at this—of course he is—is my last coherent thought.
CHAPTER5
82 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS
Ronan
