15. Olivia
Iwant to cook with Ronan, and I want to look good doing it—as good as I can look.
He doesn’t care about those things, but I do. And that’s okay. I care about looking good around him but fundamentally, it is the fact that I like to make an effort for him. So, I try to fix my hair as best as possible, and then I place my hand on his, and he leads me out of the bedroom that has been my prison for the past few days.
I can’t say how many days it has been because I stopped counting. In the end, some things lose relevance when another life-threatening event occurs.
I give him a small smile as we step out of the room, and he throws me a glance over his shoulder. He looks as tantalizing as ever. A green petrol cardigan, darker than his eyes, is drawn up above his wrist on black jeans. His dirty blonde hair stroked to the side with a roughness around the edge.
I squint as we saunter down the stairs. The hallway has little to no light, but with each step down, it gets brighter until the glow of the champagne gold light from the chandelier in the parlor welcomes us.
It is almost as if I forgot how magnificent the place is.
I didn’t know how dangerous his world was, and I thought I could comprehend it or I had comprehended it when he shared some of it, but being the target has shown me that I am basically drowning in ignorance.
Part of me would love for it to remain that way. But I want the man, and I cannot have him without fully embracing his world.
We enter the kitchen. I stop in my tracks. Now, this could become my new home, I could just move into this room until the end of my days.
There are splashes of red, gold, and brown from the wood. And glossy. Everything in here, including the man now standing beside me, sparkles.
“You like it,” he is not asking, but I nod.
Like? I love it.
I get the same rush I always get when I step into a kitchen, and my hands begin to itch, wanting to meddle with ingredients.
“What are we making?” I spin to face him, and this time, my smile is solid, bold, and wider.
“Anything you want to make,” he shrugs, coming a little closer.
“How about everything?” I rub my hands together, my mood picking up. “Everything,” I smile to myself this time as images of all the things I used to make with him, all the things I wished I could make with him, and all the things I’m looking forward to making with him splay through my mind.
He goes over to a drawer, opens it, and comes back with something in his hands. He spreads it out, and I see that it’s an apron. He goes behind me and gently ties it behind my back.
It’s a simple tying of the straps around my waist, but it feels like he is stroking feathers along sensitive parts of me.
He closes the distance, and the urge to lean back, to smother my body against the hard press of his body, snakes through my spine, but I hold still.
He brings his hands forward, this time to pull the straps for the neck up, and his thumbs brush lightly on my breast before he takes the strap to my neck. Does he do it on purpose?
I inhale sharply as he ties the strap in place and his fingers keep stoking the nape of my neck.
He steps away from me, and I can finally breathe again.
He strides to what looks like a pantry. I can see from here that it has everything I need to make anything I want to cook.
I scamper past him and start picking everything I will need.
If there is anything I love other than cooking, it’s shopping for the things I cook with. Grocery shopping is a chore I love with a passion. Selecting the secrets to produce the magic feels more like an honor than an errand.
Ronan moves quietly behind me as I pick up things and throw them into a basket he hands me.
“What?” I shy away from his heated gaze, and he shrugs. “What is it?”
“Nothing, baby,” he says, and I can see the shock on his face as he says that. “Olivia, that is,” he throws his eyes above my head, looking past me, but I won’t let that slip away.
“I like it,” I take a step closer to him, and he nods but refuses to look at me, “I miss it.”
I miss it a lot. I miss the girl I was with him. And it might not make any sense, but I miss the woman I could have been with him.
“I know,” he drops his eyes to me now, and I watch them cloak, taking the form of darker gemstones, “I miss it too,” he dips his voice to say that part.
”A lot has happened,” I say as I briskly approach a section and grab a protein bar. I want to rip it open and bite into it, but I don’t have the energy.
”Let me,” he says, andI jerk since I hadn”t noticed him move. ”Easy,” he wraps his arm around my waist to steadyme. ”Let me,” he breathes.
His arm around my waist is scorching, his eyes are like stones in an inferno, and his body is now pressing closer to mine.
I hand him the protein bar, and he clears his throat, peeling his arm off me and stepping away.
I watch him tear the wrap open and bring it to my mouth.
“Eat,” he orders. I shake my head. “How about I do this instead,” he holds my gaze as he takes a large chunk from it, and before I can protest, he slams his lips against mine, making me swallow my complaints.
I gulp, the taste of chocolate and granola slinging across my tongue and down my stomach. I moan, my body ticking from the shuddering force of his kiss. I let myself melt into it.
I open up, and he feeds me the granola. I’m kissing and chewing at the same time. My arms fling to go around his waist, and I love how he groans into my mouth when my hands fist his cardigan.
He brings one hand to the small of my back while the other travels between my legs with an urgency that I love.
I can’t think about the details of the kiss because everything pales in comparison to the fire darting from my brain to the tip of my toes. Everything is inconsequential as his hand finds my bare sex, reminding me that I’m not wearing any underwear.
Everything loses meaning to me, and I only care about what he is doing to my body as he strokes my clit with his thumb, slipping it into my sex, quickly invading me before pulling out.
He slows the kiss and starts to trail with his lips down my body. He stops briefly to plant some on my nipples through the fabric of my clothes and continues until he is down on his knees in front of me.
“Put your leg on the shelf,” he orders. He doesn’t wait to see me do as he is told. Instead, he is on his knees, gathering the fabric of my dress, and without wasting any time, he buries his face between my legs.
I place my foot on the shelf and dig my fingers into his hair for balance.
His tongue strokes, teasing my clit, and I’m spinning into space. Another stroke of his tongue but this time I’m shooting across the galaxy. Another stroke and…
“Ronan,” someone hollers from outside. He stops and grunts, “It’s Liam, and it’s important.”
Ronan growls before standing up. He helps me adjust my dress back in place and feeds me some of my wetness with a quick but firm kiss.
He smiles softly at me, then turns his eyes to the pantry door, “What is it?”
“Something you really should know,” Liam answers.
“This better be fucking important, otherwise you are a dead man,” he struts to the door and throws it open.
“I really think you should see this,” Liam hands him something, so I strut over to them to see my apron and a bottle that looks like a vial in Ronan’s hands.
“What is this?” Ronan spikes an eyebrow.
“We found the empty bottle of laxative in her trash, and the apron has some of it on it too, plus it was tucked away in her pantry.” The blood in my veins rushes to my brain.
I shake my head.
“Laxative?” I blink, “Barbara died because of a laxative?”
Liam nods, “According to the autopsy. She was allergic, and the dose was too strong.”
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t even know she was allergic to laxatives,” I keep shaking my head, my body starting to tremble. “I noticed the guests filing up to use the restroom after the cupcakes were served. I wouldn’t have been that stupid to use it on everyone.” I try to think how any of this could be possible. Then I stop. “The apron,” I point at it and shriek as a small opening for redemption comes to mind, “I had it brought to my seamstress because it had ripped. It belonged to my grandmother and I am very attached to it.” I go closer. “She still had it the week before the wedding because I didn’t have time to pick it up, and I haven’t been to my store since then.”
“Then how did we find it in your pantry?” Liam demands.
“I don’t know,” I gulp, knowing that’s not good enough. “The only person who could have known the seamstress’ address is Ruth, my intern, because she dropped it off for me...”
“This is getting interesting,” Liam whistles. I honestly don’t care about what he thinks of me. However, I keep staring at Ronan, waiting for him to say something.
“Your intern?” Ronan compresses the apron in his hand, and I nod. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Olivia. It better be true,” he stomps out of the pantry.
It’s the truth.