Chapter 15 Ciara
Chapter Fifteen
CIARA
This place is not a home. It’s a fortress.
Every inch of this estate is too clean, too…perfect.
Though, I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the fact that Ronan and his brothers are always pristine.
I trail my fingers along the edge of the kitchen counter, eyeing the expensive appliances.
Even the coffee machine is sleek and, honestly, slightly intimidating, no doubt imported from Italy and worth more than the cost of my entire wardrobe.
Before my family’s downfall, we had wealth, but it was nothing compared to this.
The Sullivans have the kind of wealth that makes people feel small.
People like me.
I open a random cabinet overhead just to see what's inside and sigh as I find everything arranged perfectly. I pad over to the fridge, and even that’s organized to perfection, with organic and truffle written on almost every jar.
There’s nothing even remotely unhealthy, which only pisses me off more.
If I’m expected to stay here against my will, I’d at least like to do so while I gorge myself on pizza.
I pour myself another cup of coffee to act as my breakfast because I’m too damned scared to touch anything. I’m usually the type to add various syrups and creamers, but from the look of it, that’s not an option. So today, I’ll take my coffee black, like Ronan’s soul.
Picking up my steaming mug, I carry it over to the huge set of French doors at the far side of the kitchen.
Outside, the garden stretches endlessly in every direction, and it’s lined with ancient oaks and rose bushes that have been pruned to… perfection.
Holy shit. Perfection is pretty much the word of the day, in terms of this ridiculously perfect house.
Even the pool is pristine, with an outside pool house that looks to be bigger than my own family’s estate.
As I sip on my coffee, I wince at the bitterness. Somehow, Ronan has managed to ruin my favorite morning ritual, as well as the rest of my life.
As I stand looking out over the gardens, my thoughts drift to my father’s study.
He used to sit at his desk in his cracked leather chair, chain smoking as he bent his head over the account books.
Sometimes, he’d take his work to the TV room just so he could periodically yell at a football game as he worked, leaving a trail of ash and empty whiskey glasses behind him, but I never minded because it all reminded me of him.
Our house might have been falling apart toward the end, but it was warm and full of love. This house, on the other hand, is nothing but a trophy, a reminder of who came out on top.
I bite the inside of my cheek as my throat thickens. I’m not sure how I’m meant to ever get used to living here when everything serves as a reminder of what I’ve lost.
I retreat upstairs to my room and perch on the window seat, which looks out over the gardens.
Even though my things from home barely take up a quarter of the closet space, this room still feels like it belongs to me rather than him.
Is this how my life is meant to be from now on? Sitting around in this enormous mansion, drinking coffee and waiting for Ronan to come home?
God, I hope not, because it’s only been ten minutes, and I’m already bored out of my mind.
I grab an old paperback and attempt to read by the window, hoping to lose myself in a fictional world for an hour or two. But the words blur together, and I can’t seem to focus long enough to pay attention to what is going on.
After re-reading the same page for the third time, I slam the book shut and toss it on the floor, frustrated because all my brain wants to think about is last night.
I can’t believe I let myself get close enough to kiss Ronan, let alone have his face between my thighs.
My cheeks burn at the memory, not just from embarrassment but from how willingly I let him consume me.
If he hadn't stopped when he did, I would have let him do anything he wanted with me.
And that scares the shit out of me.
I let myself become consumed by my hatred because I thought it would protect me. But instead, all it did was make me take off my clothes and hand over my control on a silver platter.
That was not part of the plan.
Ronan Sullivan is arrogant and dangerous. He destroys lives and walks away with clean hands, yet I let him put his tongue inside me like he owns me.
He’s the reason my family lost everything, that I lost my father. What kind of daughter would that make me if I jumped into bed with Ronan the first chance I could?
I look down at the thin gold band on my ring finger, and my throat burns. I need to get a grip, otherwise I won’t survive this marriage.
Ronan might want me to be a housewife, but I need to use my brain, otherwise I’ll lose my mind. Not only that, but a routine will be good for me, if only to keep my mind busy long enough to stop me from thinking about his head between my thighs.
I used to do the accounts for my father, balancing the books as well as keeping track of our assets.
It wasn’t exactly glamorous work, but it mattered, and I felt like I was making a difference.
It allowed me to put my IT and cybersecurity degree to good work, and while it wasn’t my dream career, I’m decent with computers, and this was a way for me to contribute to the family business.
I liked that I could help keep us safe, just like my father had done for so many years.
Maybe I could do something similar for Ronan…
If I gained enough of his trust, he might allow me to help him with the business side of things. After all, I'm officially a Sullivan on paper, so it would be in my best interest to help my new family. If I play the part of the doting wife, he might be willing to give me access to the accounts.
It might be a long shot, but if I had access to his finances, there’s no doubt I could uncover something I could use against him to get out of this marriage because Ronan isn’t just going to let me go quietly. The man plays a dirty game, but that’s fine with me.
I’m not afraid of him.
And maybe, just maybe, if I can focus on making him pay for what he’s done to me and my family, I can hopefully stop wanting to climb into bed with him.
By the time Ronan’s car pulls up outside at six p.m., I’m finally finishing the last chapter of the book I’ve spent most of the day reading.
The sound of the front door slamming shut makes me jump in my seat at the kitchen island, and I brace myself for his imminent bad mood as I listen to his footsteps heading toward the kitchen.
When he enters, I glance over my shoulder and try to keep my expression neutral as I spy his tight jaw and tense shoulders.
He looks furious.
I watch him under my lashes, trying not to focus on how well his dark pants hug his muscular thighs or the white shirt stretched tight over his back as he stalks over to one of the drawers and pulls out a stack of takeout menus.
“Pick one.” He tosses them on the counter without looking at me.
I arch a brow as I close my book and set it down. “I’m sorry, were you asking or commanding?”
Ronan’s eyes darken as he finally looks at me.
Part of me was curious to see how he would act after what went down last night, but he’s as indifferent as he always is. It’s my cheeks that burn as I remember how I finished myself off last night while thinking of him.
“It’s food. Don’t make it complicated.”
My mouth is suddenly painfully dry, so I force myself to look at the menus instead of Ronan. Though as I sift through them, I can feel his eyes boring into me the entire time.
“I want pizza. Extra pepperoni.”
Ronan says nothing as he pulls out his phone and dials the number. For some reason, sitting at the counter while he orders my food makes me feel more like a child than a grown adult.
How am I this man’s wife?
I used to dream about getting married one day, spending my mornings wrapped in someone's arms as the sun came up and evenings spent on the couch watching movies and eating pizza. It’s so far from what I have in front of me that my eyes start to sting.
This is yet another thing Ronan Sullivan has taken from me.
After he hangs up the phone, he grabs two crystal glasses from one of the cabinets as well as an expensive bottle of whiskey and pours us both a glass. He slides mine across the island without a word before taking his own and downing half of it in one swallow.
He looks around the kitchen. His eyes land on my empty coffee mug beside the sink. “Thought you might have tidied up a bit.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His lips twitch as he looks at me over the top of his glass. Those soft, warm lips that brought me such intense pleasure that I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind…
“I’m just saying, you’ve been here all day.”
My eyes narrow, the thoughts of last night vanishing. “What am I, your maid?”
“Wife.” He takes another sip of his drink. “But same difference.”
“Maybe you should have saved us both a lot of trouble and hired a housekeeper.”
“I did. She’s just mouthier than I expected.”
“You’re such an ass.”
He smirks as he sets his empty glass down on the counter. “Relax, Ciara. I’m just messing with you.”
“That seems to be turning into your favorite pastime.” I slide off the stool and snatch up my book.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting whiplash from your personality changes. I’d rather wait for the food in my room than spend another second with you.”
Ronan’s eyes darken, but he makes no attempt to stop me, although I can feel his eyes following me as I leave the kitchen and head back upstairs to my room, my heart hammering so hard that it feels as if it’s going to explode.
I close the door behind me and walk straight into the private bathroom.
It’s enormous, with slate tiles and gold fixtures, and a freestanding tub, which would easily fit multiple people.
I blink away the intrusive thought of Ronan in the bath with me, pulling me against his muscular chest as his hands make their way over my stomach before dipping between my thighs—
“Get a grip,” I hiss to myself as I turn on the taps and pour in some lavender-scented bubble bath.
The room soon starts to fill with steam and the scent of the lavender, which seems to do the trick of calming my mind as I slide into the tub.
My muscles relax in the heat, and I let out a sigh as my eyes flutter closed and my brain quietens.
Until the door flies open.
I shriek as my eyes spring wide, and I jerk upright, sloshing water over the edge of the bath at the sight of Ronan standing in the doorway with an amused expression on his face.
“What the hell!” I hastily try to cover my breasts with my arms.
Ronan folds his arms and leans against the doorframe, looking completely unbothered, although I don’t miss the way his eyes roam over me.
“Your little present is waterproof, in case you were wondering.” His lips twitch.
My cheeks burn at the suggestion. “Get the hell out!”
He tilts his head, his eyes once again roaming over my body.
The bubbles hide a lot from view, but my bare legs and back seem to be enough to keep his interest.
“Relax. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Get. Out.”
He makes no attempt to move.
I could get up and leave, but that would involve exposing my naked body to him once more and look how well that ended for me last time. And from the smirk on his face he knows it too.
“Your dinner is downstairs.”
“Do you need me to eat with you, is that it? Are you incapable of being alone with your thoughts?”
“No. But my dinner is right here.” His eyes linger on my shoulders and then on my knees, which poke out above the bubbles.
Then slowly his gaze meets mine, and my breath catches as I spy a wicked gleam.
“Next time you forget to lock the door… I’m joining you.” With that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I let out a shaky exhale as I untangle my arms from around my chest and slide deeper beneath the water, undeniably turned on by the thought of Ronan stripping out of his clothes and climbing into the bath with me.
This marriage is going to kill me.
Or I’m going to kill Ronan.
At this point, I’m not sure which one will come first.