Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
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.
I watch the sunlight slowly creep toward her hand, her slender fingers curled around a coffee mug. Rayne hasn’t noticed me yet. She leans against the kitchen island, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the gardens beyond.
Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, catching the light. Gold on gold. She’s still in a pair of pajamas slightly bigger than her size—a silk short-sleeved button-down top and shorts. It shouldn’t be provocative. But the casual intimacy of her in my kitchen, comfortable enough to let her guard down when she thinks no one's watching...
I want to memorize this moment.
“Sleep well?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen.
She startles, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her mug. “Jesus. You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You startle so easily. Should I start wearing a bell around my neck to announce my presence?”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “If you want.”
I cross to the coffee machine, hyperaware of how the air changes when I pass near her. The slight intake of her breath. The way her body tenses, not with fear but anticipation. The widening of her eyes.
So she affects me pretty much the same way I affect her. Good.
“You have quite the place here,” she says, aiming for casual. Failing. Cute. “I explored a little this morning. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Did you go to the basement?”
“No, why?”
“Good, then I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
“What do you—” Realization dawns on her, and she laughs. The sound is so sweet I’d bottle it if I could. “Oh my God, you have such a dark sense of humor. What’s in the basement, huh? A machete, a ski mask?”
I just smirk and shrug. “It’s for me to know and for you to wonder.”
“Sadistic. Also quite on-brand for billionaires, if I’m honest.”
I pour myself coffee, watching her over the rim of my mug. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“The library.” Her eyes light up. “It’s incredible. Three stories of books, and that spiral staircase? I have photos of those in my Pinterest boards.”
I don’t know what the hell a Pinterest board is, but she’ll think me ancient if I ask. “You like books?”
“Yes! I love to read. Though I'm guessing most of your collection is business strategy and investment banking.”
“No.” I move closer, settling against the counter beside her. It seems I find myself wanting to be near her all the time, and I’m drawn to her almost like iron filings to a magnet. “Contemporary fiction.”
She squints at me and tilts her head to the side. “You don’t strike me as a fiction kind of guy.”
“You don’t know me yet.”
Her cheeks flush at the "yet"—the implication that she will, that this weekend is only the beginning. “I suppose not.”
I should back off. Give her space. Keep things polite and casual, at least until she's more comfortable. But being near her makes restraint feel like a foreign concept. Every movement she makes—the nervous tuck of her hair behind her ear, the dart of her tongue across her lower lip—feels designed to test my control.
I’ve always prided myself on my self-control, but that is currently nowhere to be found. I am, after all, still just a man.
“What do you have planned for today?” she asks, her voice slightly higher than normal.
“That depends.”
“On?”
I turn to face her fully. “On what you want, Rayne.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I’m ... not sure what you mean.”
“Yes, you are.” I set my coffee down, take hers from her hands, and place it beside mine. “We can pretend we’re just having a pleasant weekend. Polite conversation. Proper distance. Or…” I close the distance between us until my face is just inches from hers. “We can stop dancing around what’s happening here.”
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating. “And what exactly is happening here?”
“You tell me.” I dip my head closer, my voice dropping to a murmur. “Your heart rate picks up when I’m near you. You watch my mouth when I speak. Last night in this kitchen, you wanted me to kiss you.”