12. Chapter Twelve Ruby #2
I rolled my eyes and started up the stairs.
Each step felt heavier than the last. When we reached the door, he unlocked it smoothly, pushing it open with a quiet click.
The inside was just as impressive as the exterior—warm lighting, dark wood floors, and furniture that looked like it had been chosen with actual care rather than stolen from a bachelor pad catalog.
It smelled like leather and something faintly spicy—his cologne, probably. It was annoyingly familiar.
“You redecorate since the last time I was here?” I asked, feigning indifference.
Kieran smirked, shutting the door behind us. “I moved, Ruby.”
“I was joking. At least pretend I’m funny.”
“I’ll need a drink before I do that.”
“Ha-ha,” I said dryly.
I lingered near the entrance, unsure of where to go. He sighed, tossing both our keys onto a console table before disappearing into another room. A second later, he reappeared with a glass of water and handed it to me without a word. I took it begrudgingly, my throat suddenly dry.
“You should sit down,” he said, nodding toward the living room. “You look like you’re about to drop.”
“I’m fine.”
He arched a brow, unimpressed. “Your hand’s busted, you’re running on fumes, and your kid’s with your husband, who you don’t seem to like that much. You’re not fine.”
“He’s my ex,” I muttered. “We’re just not telling anyone yet. We’re worried it’ll affect the campaign.”
Kieran went still. Blinked once.
And then—smirked.
Slow, smug, infuriatingly satisfied.
“Oh,” he said, drawing the word out like it tasted good. “Well, that’s a relief.”
I gave him a look. “What?”
“I was gonna have to kill him.” He shrugged, all mock-casual. “This saves me the paperwork.”
I gaped at him. “Please tell me you’re not being serious.”
“You’re the one who keeps saying I’m some kind of danger to society,” he laughed.
“Well, you don’t have to respond like that. ”
“What? Honestly? Thrilled he fumbled you like an idiot?”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re impossible.”
“Not true,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m just very committed to your well-being. Which is why I’m going to look at your hand now, whether you like it or not.”
I groaned…but I had to admit there was a part of me that did, in fact, like it.
I let him lead me to the couch. It was ridiculously comfortable, the kind of couch you could sink into and lose all your pride.
I forced myself to sit stiffly, balancing on the edge like I might bolt at any second.
Kieran sat across from me, stretching out lazily, ankles crossed.
He’d kicked off his shoes at some point, and even that put me on edge—even undressing a little bit .
This…it was dangerous. More dangerous than being seen with him.
On pain meds, alone in his decadent house…mistakes could happen.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. Then he sighed. “Let me see your hand.”
I shot him a look. “A real physician already took care of it, Dr. Mafia.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure they gave you specific instructions to keep an eye on it and stay vigilant with your pain meds and cleaning it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Come on, Ruby. Just let me help.”
I hesitated. My instincts told me to keep my guard up, but I was too damn tired to fight him on this. With a small, reluctant movement, I stretched out my bandaged hand.
Kieran took it carefully, peeling back the first layer of gauze. His fingers were warm against my skin, his touch unexpectedly gentle. It pissed me off a little.
“See?” I muttered, looking down at the neat row of stitches and ugly, aching flesh. “Not that bad.”
He scoffed. “You’re lucky you didn’t need surgery.”
“I’d hardly call that lucky.”
He kept working, his focus entirely on my hand. It was strange, sitting here like this, his touch careful, his attention solely on me. We hadn’t been this close in years. Not since—
I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away.
“You should stay here tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice casual.
I pulled my hand back, wincing at the movement. “Not happening.”
“You can’t drive, and I don’t trust you not to do something stupid like trying anyway.”
“I’ll take a cab.”
He shook his head. “No, you won’t.”
“Kieran—”
“Look,” he said, still holding me, like he could use my stitched up hand as a leash. “It’s late. You’re exhausted. If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I think we both know you’re better off staying.”
I exhaled sharply. He was right. Again.
And I didn’t hate it as much as I had when I first saw him again a couple days ago…which was bad.
“Fine,” I muttered. “One night.”
His smirk was infuriating. “Of course.”
I leaned back against the couch, feeling my body betray me as the exhaustion seeped in deeper. The room was warm, quiet. Against my better judgment, I let my eyes slip closed for just a moment.
Just one night.
Nothing more.
And it didn’t mean a fucking thing. Tomorrow, I’d go back to my own life. And I’d have to forget about Kieran all over again.
Except, this time, it would have to be for good.