He rubs his thumb over his mouth as he thinks of a response, and I find that I’m jealous of it. I want to be the one touching his lips. “Not always. Just when—”
“Ronan, you know what I’m feeling.”
“But not what you’re thinking.”
“The only thing that matters is what I’m feeling.” The music slows, and I take his hand. He takes a moment before he follows, but eventually, he lets me lead him back to the dance floor.
Gods, he’s beautiful, even when he’s angry. Even when he’s being ridiculous. The tightness of his jaw. The darkening of his eyes. He’s so gorgeous it’s difficult to look at him. Difficult to breathe around him.
I wonder how I could ever have felt differently.
He takes my hand, his fingers straining against the urge to hold it tightly, and places the other one on the small of my back, his touch agonizingly light.
I think of the bruise he healed a few weeks ago, the way his fingers slipped into the fabric of my dress.
He’s keeping me at a distance now as we begin to step to the music, and I hate it. I want to be in his arms, pressed to his chest. Safe.
“I flirted with Titus because I wanted to see if I could feel anything for him,” I say to him. He looks at me but doesn’t meet my eye.
“And did you?”
“No.” It’s the truth. As much as I enjoyed spending time with Titus, it wasn’t the same. I stroke Ronan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t think it would upset you. I thought it would be obvious what I was truly feeling. And who was making me feel that way.”
“Don’t,” he whispers. His hand clutches at the back of my gown.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that.” He presses his other hand over mine to still it.
Is he this angry with me? Over a little flirting?
He sighs. “Come on.” He leads me from the dance floor, through a door, and onto a balcony. He drops my hand and leans against the stone railing, facing out to Faros.
“Is this about Titus?” I ask. “Really, it meant nothing—”
“No, it’s not about Titus.” His shoulders tense. He won’t even look at me. “I can’t do it, Sylvie. I can’t take it anymore.”
“I can’t do it, Sylvie. I can’t take it anymore.”
I freeze, my mind reeling. What is he talking about? Fear clutches at my throat, making it hard to get the question out. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head slowly, his hand clenching in front of him. Then he turns suddenly, taking my face in his hand, his grip trembling. “This. I can’t take this. I know you’ve been pretending. I felt it when we met. I let you…I thought maybe your mind would change eventually. But I can’t go on like this if you’re still lying to me.”
My breath catches, guilt coiling in my chest. I am lying, at least about some things. I still haven’t told him the truth about the reason we came here. The plan we had.
But does it truly matter now? Now, when I know in my heart I can’t do it anyway?
He brushes my cheek and then my lower lip with his thumb. My lips part at his touch.
“I’m desperate for you,” he whispers.
His words burn through me, lighting me up like a candle. The heat and light travel down my neck, down my back, and settle in my core. I sigh as he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me to him.
He leans back, closing his eyes. “I can feel it when I touch you. I can feel your body respond to me, ache for me. I can feelyour desire. And I want to give you what you want. I want to give myself to you. I want to take you, body and soul. But I can’t, not if you’re pretending. Not if it isn’t as real to you as it is to me.”
He removes his hand from my waist and pushes me away.
I take him by his neck, and I pull him back.
