Chapter 6 #2
“You have your moments of openness.”
His lips quirk. “Only with you.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications I’m afraid to examine too closely.
The Bergman Christmas Gala transforms a historic hotel ballroom into a winter palace.
Crystal chandeliers drip with silver icicles, massive Christmas trees dripping with ornaments flank the entrance, and strings of white lights create a canopy overhead.
A string quartet plays carols in the corner while waiters circulate with champagne.
I grip Ronan’s arm tighter as we enter, suddenly conscious of every eye turning our way.
“Breathe,” he says close to my ear. “You’re throwing everyone else to the shade.”
In my borrowed finery—the midnight blue dress, diamonds at my ears and throat that Ronan insisted were “just on loan,” and heels that add inches to my height—I should feel confident. But these people belong in this world. I’m just playing dress-up.
“Everyone’s staring,” I whisper.
“Because I never bring anyone to these things.” His hand settles possessively at the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric. “And because you’re stunning.”
Before I can respond, we’re approached by an older couple, the woman dripping in jewels, the man’s handshake firm as Ronan introduces us.
“Thomas Bergman, his wife Eleanor. The hosts.”
“Ronan! We were beginning to think you’d skip this year too.” Eleanor’s eyes sweep over me with interest. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“Rayne Silva,” I offer my hand, praying it isn’t sweating.
“Charmed,” she says, though her expression suggests she’s reserving judgment. “How did you two meet?”
Ronan smoothly intercepts. “At a charity function. Rayne works with children.”
It’s not entirely a lie—I did work at a daycare before being laid off—but the ease with which he invents our story unsettles me.
“How wonderful,” Eleanor says without enthusiasm. “You must meet our daughter, Elise. She’s just returned from Europe.”
The evening progresses in a blur of introductions.
Ronan keeps me close, his hand rarely leaving my waist. I sip champagne, careful not to drink too much, and try to memorize names and faces.
Most people are polite if distant, clearly curious about the woman who broke Ronan’s pattern of attending events alone or not attending at all.
“I need to speak with Bernard about a contract,” Ronan says after nearly an hour. “Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
“Of course.” I smile, though anxiety flutters in my stomach. “I’ll just admire the decorations.”
He kisses my temple, a casual claiming that makes my pulse jump, before striding toward a group of men in the corner.
I drift toward one of the massive Christmas trees, admiring the artful arrangement of ornaments, when a male voice breaks into my thoughts.
“You must be something special to have caught Ronan Ward’s attention.”
I turn to find a man, probably slightly older than me, blond hair swept back, holding two champagne flutes. He offers one to me.
“I’m perfectly happy with mine, thank you,” I tell him.
“Smart.” He smiles. “I’m Kirk Harrington. And you are?”
“Rayne Silva.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His eyes roam appreciatively down my body. “How long have you known our resident billionaire recluse?”
“Long enough.” I shift, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Actually, scratch that. His very presence makes me uncomfortable. “Are you a friend of Ronan’s?”
He laughs. “More like a friendly competitor. We’ve crossed paths in business. Though I’d be happy to cross paths with you in a more ... personal capacity.”
Ew, disgusting. His implication is clear, and I take a step back. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Why not? Everyone knows Ronan doesn’t do relationships. Whatever arrangement you have—”
“Is none of your business.” Ronan's voice cuts like ice as he materializes beside me, his arm sliding around my waist. The tension radiating from him is palpable.
James raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation, Ward.”
Ronan’s grip tightens possessively. “Find someone else to converse with.”
When James walks away, I exhale slowly. “That was ... a little intense. You didn’t have to come off so strongly.”
Ronan’s jaw works. “He was out of line.”
“He was just flirting.”
“With what’s mine.” The words slip out before his expression shutters. “Dance with me.”
He leads me to the dance floor where couples sway to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” His hand splays across my back, drawing me close, our bodies moving in perfect sync.
“I don’t like sharing,” he says quietly.
“I noticed.” I can’t help but smile. “Is that why you never bring dates to these things? Too much sharing required?”
Something flickers in his eyes. “I never bring dates because no one has been worth bringing.”
The simple statement steals my breath. “Until now?”
His only answer is to pull me closer, his cheek resting against my hair. We dance in silence, and I let myself pretend this is real—that I’m really his, that tomorrow won’t come, that this feeling of belonging can last.
The illusion shatters when we step off the dance floor, and I overhear a conversation not meant for my ears.
“—clearly a gold-digger. Did you see that dress? As if she could afford it. Ronan bought it, for sure.”
“I give it a month before he gets bored. Remember that redhead from his office last year?”
“This one’s different, though. He’s actually showing her off. Must be spectacular in bed.”
I freeze, heat flooding my face. Ronan, still holding my hand, turns to me with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, but my eyes betray me, flicking toward the trio of elegantly dressed women nearby.
His expression hardens as he follows my gaze. “Ignore them.”
“Hard to ignore the truth,” I say, trying for lightness but failing. “I don't belong here.”
“You belong where I say you belong, and right now, that’s at my side.”
He leads me toward the bar, but we’re intercepted by the same women whose whispers cut so deep. The tallest—a willowy blonde with arctic blue eyes—steps directly into our path.
“Ronan! I thought that was you. It’s been ages.”
“Vivian.” His acknowledgment is curt.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your ... friend?” Her gaze slides dismissively over me.
Ronan pulls me closer to his side and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Rayne, this is Vivian Anderson. An acquaintance.”
The deliberate downgrade from whatever relationship they previously had makes Vivian’s smile tighten. “Such modesty. We’re old friends.” She turns to me. “And how did you two meet? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at these events before.”
Her tone suggests I couldn’t possibly have been invited to such gatherings, and something in me snaps.
“That’s because I usually avoid places where the champagne is more genuine than the people.” I sidle closer to Ronan and give her the fakest smile I can muster. “But Ronan insisted, and I do enjoy Christmas decorations.”
One of Vivian’s friends gasps. The other smothers a laugh.
Vivian’s eyes narrow. “How ... refreshing to hear such candor. Though perhaps some environments require more ... refinement than others.”
“Agree,” I say. “But I’ve found kindness works in any environment, and there really are some things money can’t buy.”
Ronan’s hand slides up my back in silent approval, and I melt into his touch. God, I’ve never been clingy, but why does this feel so good? Knowing he’s here and he won’t let anything happen to me?
Vivian opens her mouth for another salvo, but Ronan cuts her off. “If you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”
We make it halfway across the room before Vivian’s voice carries to us again, deliberately loud. “I wonder how much he’s paying her? That dress alone must have cost—”
Ronan whirls, his expression thunderous, but I catch his arm. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”
“No one speaks about you that way.”
“People will always talk.”
“Not if they value their social standing.” He steps away from me, striding back to where Vivian holds court with her friends.
I follow, heart in my throat, as conversations hush around us. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The last thing I want is a scene.
“Vivian.” Ronan's voice carries in the sudden silence. “You seem confused about something, so let me clarify. You insult my woman, and, you insult me. You really don’t want to insult me, do you?”
The room goes still. Vivian pales.
“I-I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” His smile is all teeth. “But you won’t again. Not if you want your family’s foundation to continue receiving funding from Ward Enterprises.”
She blanches. “Ronan, really, it was just girl talk—”
“It was petty and beneath you.” His gaze sweeps the gathered onlookers. “Anyone else have comments about my date? If you can’t say it to my face, then don’t say it at all.”
The silence is deafening, and I try not to show how good it feels to have someone stand up for me. Yes, I don’t belong in this world. That doesn’t mean they get to insult me. They just don’t have the right. After all, they’re not feeding me or paying for Mom’s treatments.
Ronan returns to me, taking my hand. “Let’s get some air.’
He leads me to a balcony overlooking the city. Christmas lights twinkle below us, and my breath forms clouds in the cold night air. Ronan drapes his jacket over my shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly.
“Yes, I did. No one disrespects what matters to me.”
My heart stutters. “And I ... matter?”
Instead of answering, he cups my face and kisses me deeply, possessively, his body pressing mine against the stone balustrade.
Everything melts into the background, and nothing matters anymore.
Nothing but his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, eliciting sounds I’m pretty sure everyone can hear.
God, I get lost in a kiss so easily with him.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, pulses pounding and I have to hold onto his biceps for support.
“Does that answer your question?” he asks roughly, his face darkening.
It does and it doesn’t. It tells me he wants me, maybe even cares for me. But tomorrow still looms like a shadow over this perfect night.
Tomorrow, our deal ends. Tomorrow, I take the money and walk away. For tonight, though, I let myself have this—his warmth, his protection, his desire.
I lean into him as we watch the city lights, his arm secure around my waist, and try not to think about how empty I’ll feel when it’s gone.