Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
CIARA
My stomach flutters as I toss a bunch of clothes into my carry-on.
Knowing Ronan’s taste, the restaurants we’ll go to will likely require a dress code.
Standing in my rather lacking closet, I pull out the fanciest dresses I’ve brought with me, neither of which will likely live up to Ronan’s standards, but they’re all I’ve got.
And if he dares to have a problem with it, he’s more than welcome to take me shopping.
A laugh spills from my lips so suddenly that I stagger backward, clutching a pair of heels to my chest as I stare down at my suitcase.
“This isn’t going to fix anything,” I mutter to myself in the hopes of lowering my expectations because this is Ronan we’re talking about.
Two plane tickets and a hotel suite can’t undo the last month of emotional whiplash.
But regardless of that, I still pack because I’m tired of fighting with Ronan and even more tired of fighting myself. I also can’t deny that I want to know what this version of him, this softer, more apologetic version, is up to.
I open up the top drawer of my dresser to start pulling out some underwear when I spy the vibrator he bought me. For a brief second, I consider packing it too, but just as my blood starts to heat at the thought of him using it on me again, I slam the drawer shut.
“God, what the hell am I doing?”
There’s something between Ronan and me, that much is obvious. It lingers beneath every argument, every hungry look that’s passed between us. But wanting something and trusting it are two very different things, especially when that something is Ronan Sullivan.
Not to mention the very inconvenient truth that he killed my father.
What kind of daughter does that make me if I’m excited by the prospect of a weekend away with his killer?
Or more importantly, what kind of person?
Clearly, the kind who throws her moral compass out the window in exchange for a couple of first-class tickets and the promise of a few orgasms.
I pack up the last of my toiletries and throw them into the suitcase, all traces of my earlier excitement gone because ultimately, this trip isn’t going to change anything.
Even if there’s something growing between us, Ronan is too focused on his empire for us to ever have a real relationship.
The kind where I would be prioritized and seen for who I am, rather than what I can do for him.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself because I can’t allow myself to fall for this man.
His hands are stained with blood, yet he thinks nothing of it. The pain he has caused my family is irrelevant to him, just like everything else and everyone who doesn’t aid him in growing his empire.
How could I ever love a man like that?
“Quite easily, unfortunately.”
I try to ignore the knot of guilt in my stomach as I zip up my suitcase.
Ronan works on his laptop the entire car ride to the airport, which bugs me more than it should. Even when we’re making our way through security, he’s either on the phone or checking emails, barely acknowledging I’m even there.
I shouldn’t be surprised, yet a tiny part of me had hoped that his attention would be solely focused on me for the duration of this trip.
Once again, I find myself disappointed that Ronan Sullivan isn’t living up to expectations he has no business living up to.
When we finally settle into our first-class seats, I try not to look too impressed, but I’ve actually never flown first class before.
Ronan and I have two seats together in the center aisle, and there’s so much legroom that I can completely stretch out as I enjoy a movie on the screen in front of me while I’m supplied with endless glasses of champagne.
Suddenly, I’m looking forward to the prospect of sitting next to Ronan for the next six hours.
I pull out my phone and send a message to Mila to let her know I’ll be out of town for a few days, but as I click out of our text thread, my eyes land on Callum’s name, and I stiffen.
I still haven’t decided whether to bring up the conversation I had with my brother to Ronan or not. I’m completely stuck in the middle.
If Ronan finds out I knew Callum was planning something, he’d never let me hear the end of it. But at the same time, I can’t just throw Callum to the wolves…
“You okay?”
I blink, glancing to my right to see Ronan watching me closely. “Yeah.”
I quickly turn my phone off.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.” I fiddle with my seatbelt.
The plane rumbles as we taxi to the runway.
I keep my eyes forward, trying to focus on my breathing as my entire body vibrates in my seat as the engines ramp up.
Now that I’m actually on the plane, all of the emotions I’ve been feeling toward Ronan disappear and leave me with the one emotion I had been hoping to avoid.
Fear.
“Ciara.” Ronan places a hand on my arm, but I instantly pull away from his touch as my pulse spikes.
“I’m fine.” I dig my nails into the armrest as the plane starts to pick up speed.
“You look the picture of ease.”
I turn to glare at Ronan, but I’m surprised when there’s no amusement dancing in his dark eyes, only concern.
“Talk to me.” His voice is low and surprisingly soothing.
The sound of the engines roaring fills my ears and suddenly all thoughts of Callum and Ronan empty from my brain, replaced by the unrelenting fear that I’m in a metal box that’s about to hurtle through the sky.
“Oh, god.” I screw my eyes shut.
I’d hoped the novelty of being in first class would be enough to distract me from my terror of flying, but it seems my naivety was short-lived.
“Ciara.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat as I try not to focus on the feeling of the plane lifting off the ground.
“I just... I hate flying.” A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
“You’re afraid of flying?”
I nod stiffly as I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised I don’t crack a molar. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
I force my eyes open and turn to look at Ronan again, and just like before, there’s no amusement in his expression. Only concern.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and without warning, takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine.
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest, and not because of the plane but because of him.
He holds my hand in silence as the plane pulls upward.
I screw my eyes shut once more, focusing on the feeling of Ronan’s calloused thumb rubbing back and forth along my knuckles, and soon enough my breathing calms and the panic begins to pass.
“Do you want a distraction?” he asks the second the seatbelt sign turns off.
I keep my eyes firmly shut but nod.
He doesn’t say anything else, but then someone approaches, followed by low muttering and the sound of glass clinking.
“Okay, you can open your eyes.”
I peel my eyes open to find a selection of mini liquor bottles lined up on the tray in front of Ronan, and I frown. “What are those for?”
“We’re going to play a game.” He picks up the bottle of tequila and cracks it open before handing it to me. “We’re going to guess each other’s favorite things, and the loser has to drink.”
I narrow my eyes. “This seems rigged...”
“Only one way to find out.” He flashes me that signature smirk that melts me. “Besides, it’ll keep your mind off of flying.”
“Fine. But I’m starting.”
He rolls his eyes before picking up the bottle of whiskey and twisting off the cap.
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Baby blue,” Ronan says without even a second of hesitation.
I blink, surprised not just that he guessed blue, but also the right shade.
Oh, he’s good.
“Am I wrong?”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
“How did you know?”
He shrugs. “Most of your clothes are that color.”
“You’ve been paying attention?”
“I always pay attention.” His eyes flick to my lips, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Your turn.” I take a quick sip of the tequila and wince as it burns my throat.
“You really want to guess my favorite color?” he asks with amusement.
“Well, it’s not exactly a difficult question given your all-black ensemble.” I gesture to the black shirt that hugs his muscular physique a little too well. “I’m going to guess black.”
“Wrong.”
“What?”
“It’s navy blue.”
I scoff. “No, it’s not.”
“Why would I lie?”
“To get me drunk.”
He wets his bottom lip with his tongue before leaning in. He’s so close that I can feel his breath tickle my cheek.
“And why would I want to get you drunk, Tine Bhaeg?”
I scowl as my cheeks burn at his ridiculous nickname. I’d hoped it would wear off eventually, but it seems I was wrong. “You tell me.”
“I’m just trying to take your mind off flying.”
“Well, it’s not working.”
Ronan chuckles under his breath.
He still hasn’t moved away, and somehow I find myself leaning closer to him, so that his powerful thigh brushes against mine.
The heat radiating from his body sends a shiver down my spine, so I quickly take another sip of tequila in an attempt to distract myself from how much I want to climb into his lap right now.
“What’s my favorite movie?” he asks.
“The Godfather.”
He chuckles again, and my lips twitch as I look at him.
He’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him as he lounges in his seat, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his thighs spread wide.
I expected him to spend the flight working, but here he is, giving me his undivided attention just to make me feel better.
“It’s Good Will Hunting.”
“No, it’s not. Don’t lie,” I counter, which elicits another laugh from Ronan.
“Why can’t that be my favorite?”
“Because…”
“Please, enlighten me.” He angles himself to face me even more. But before I can answer, one of the flight attendants approaches our seats.
I stiffen as the woman looks only at Ronan, her bright red lips pulled into an eager smile.
She’s classically beautiful, with her dark brown hair styled in a neat chignon and her form-fitting uniform hugging her generous curves.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Sullivan?” She bends over just enough to give Ronan a perfect view of her cleavage.