Chapter 10 #2
“I don’t want to forget this,” I murmured.
“You won’t,” Ronan said.
The car pulled away, headlights slicing through the dark as the compound disappeared behind us.
I leaned into the seat, heart still racing, thighs damp with want.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He glanced over, smirk tugging at his lips. “Somewhere I can keep my promise.”
I swallowed. “Will we sleep?”
“No,” he said simply. “There are better things to do.”
I exhaled a shaky breath.
“What if I need rest? ”
“You can sleep when you’re back at your townhouse in Charleston.”
My body tightened at that.
Because we both knew I wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.
Not with the way he was looking at me.
Not with what he was about to do.
The SUV glided through Miami’s streets like it owned the road.
Like it didn’t answer to red lights or traffic patterns or the rules that governed lesser men.
The city was quiet now, softer in the hours just before dawn, but the air still buzzed—thick with humidity and heat and the weight of everything that hadn’t happened yet.
The car pulled up to a luxury oceanfront high-rise hotel in Miami Beach, fronted by sleek marble and a discreet awning. A valet opened the door without question.
I stepped out, and immediately felt the sting.
Eyes on me.
From the doorman. The concierge behind the desk. The man waiting in line with a garment bag draped over one shoulder. Their stares flicked from my bare back to the slit climbing high up my thigh to the silk clinging to my breasts—and I knew exactly what they thought.
Whore.
Escort.
Paid.
Or worse.
My cheeks flushed before I could stop them, shame crawling up my throat. I suddenly felt every inch of bare skin, every brush of fabric, every tremor still lingering in my muscles from the night we’d just lived .
And then I felt Ronan’s hand at the small of my back.
Steady. Grounding. Possessive.
He leaned in, voice low and absolute. “Don’t shrink. You were made to be looked at.”
The words hit something deep. Knocked the breath out of my shame and turned it into something else entirely.
Pride. Power. Desire.
He led me past the front desk without hesitation. No reservation check. No ID. The man behind the counter didn’t blink—just handed over a black keycard and dipped his head like Ronan was royalty.
Maybe he was.
The elevator doors closed behind us, and I finally exhaled.
“Do they know you?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. Just said, “They know not to ask questions.”
The elevator climbed. Fast. Silent.
I leaned into the corner and studied him—the dark suit, the coiled strength in his frame, the utter calm in his jaw. “You don’t strike me as a tech billionaire,” I murmured.
“I’m not.”
“Then how?” I asked, genuine curiosity threading through the lust. “How do you have this much money? These connections?”
His eyes met mine, unreadable.
He didn’t answer right away.
A long silence stretched between us, thick with heat and tension. I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his gaze flicked away for just a second—like he was weighing something. Like he wasn’t used to being asked, and even less used to answering.
“I don’t usually talk about it,” he said, voice low. “Not because I can’t. But because most people wouldn’t believe me. Or they’d wish they hadn’t asked.”
That only made me more curious.
“But I’m not most people,” I said softly.
He studied me for a beat longer. Then nodded, barely.
“I spent ten years in military special operations,” he said finally. “Classified work. Off-books. When I left, I didn’t leave empty-handed. I made deals.”
“Deals?” I repeated.
He nodded once. “Certain people owed me favors. Others owed me silence. I parlayed that into contracts.”
“So you’re not a criminal,” I said slowly. “But you’re not ... not.”
“I’m what people hire when they want results. And no trail.”
“And now you ... hunt women in zoos.”
His lips curved. “Only the ones who ask for it.”
My thighs clenched.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened onto a private suite floor—marble and gold and lush carpeting that whispered beneath our feet.
He didn’t hesitate.
The suite was absurd. Modern and massive.
A wall of glass looked out over the city.
The furniture was soft and curved, low light casting everything in amber glow.
There was champagne chilling in a silver bucket, already sweating from the humidity of the room.
Rose petals, scattered deliberately—not cheesy, but decadent.
I turned in a slow circle. “Did you plan this?”
“No,” he said. “I had it ready. ”
My breath caught.
“For when?” I asked.
“From the second I read your letter.”
He stepped closer, voice dark and deliberate.
“I knew you’d come.”
Heat bloomed between my thighs. My pulse throbbed low and deep.
The dress clung to me like a second skin, but suddenly it was too much. Too hot. Too covered.
He stopped just short of touching me.
“I should go slow,” he murmured.
“You won’t,” I breathed.
“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.”
And then he closed the distance.