Chapter 10 #2
Ronan's hand found hers. His fingers were warm, steady.
"He was protecting you. The less you knew, the safer you were."
"And now I know everything, and I'm not safe at all."
"You're not alone. That's the difference." He squeezed her hand. "Your father was working in the dark, without backup, without resources. You have Shadow Ops. You have Caleb, my co-worker. You have me."
She looked up at him. In the dim light, the hard edges of his face seemed softer, more human. Not the operative. Not the security consultant. Just a man standing in a small kitchen, holding her hand like it mattered.
"What happens after the centennial? After we expose Warren and take down whatever network he's built?"
"I don't know." He didn't look away. "I've never stayed anywhere long enough to find out."
"Would you want to?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implications neither of them was ready to name.
"Ask me again in two weeks," he said finally. "When this is over. When you're safe."
"And if I'm not safe?"
"Then I'll make sure you are." His voice dropped, rough at the edges. "Whatever it takes, Lila. Whatever it costs."
She stepped closer. The space between them narrowed to inches.
"That sounds like more than a professional obligation."
"It stopped being professional a while ago." His free hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "You know that."
"I know." She leaned into his touch. "I'm just waiting for you to admit it."
He kissed her then—not the soft, tentative kiss from the park, but something deeper, more urgent. She tasted coffee and something darker, something that spoke of long nights and hard choices and a man who had stopped believing he deserved gentleness until she'd walked into his life.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.
"This is a terrible idea."
"Probably."
"We should be focused on the mission. On the evidence. On keeping you alive."
"Probably." She smiled against his mouth. "But I've spent two years being careful. Playing it safe. Following the rules. And you know what? It didn't protect my father. It didn't expose the truth. It didn't change anything."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying maybe it's time to stop being careful." She kissed him again, quick and fierce. "At least about this."
He laughed—a real laugh, surprised and warm—and pulled her closer.
Outside, the night pressed against the windows, full of shadows and dangers they couldn't see. But inside this small cottage, for just a few hours, they let themselves forget.
Ronan's mouth found hers again, slower this time. Deliberate.
Lila's back pressed against the kitchen counter as he stepped into her, his hands sliding from her waist to her hips, pulling her closer. Tomorrow, they would plan. Tomorrow, they would strategize and document and prepare for the battle ahead.
Tonight was something else entirely.
She gripped the front of his shirt and tugged him toward the hallway.
He went willingly, his mouth never leaving hers, one hand finding the small of her back to guide her.
They bumped against the doorframe. She laughed against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until her laughter turned into something hungrier.
The bedroom was small, spare. A bed with a dark comforter, a lamp on the nightstand, blinds drawn against the night.
She barely registered any of it. Her focus was on him—the solid weight of his body, the heat of his skin through his shirt, the way his hands moved over her like he was memorizing her shape.
"Lila." His voice was rough. "Tell me to stop and I will."
"I don't want you to stop."
He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, intent. Searching for something.
"I need you to be sure."
She reached up and touched his face. The stubble along his jaw was rough under her fingertips. "I've spent two years being careful. Being smart. Being alone." She held his gaze. "I'm sure."
His breathing changed, and his eyes widened. The control he always maintained—the careful distance—cracked open.
He kissed her again, harder this time, and his hands found the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms and let him pull it over her head. Cool air hit her skin, followed immediately by the warmth of his palms sliding up her sides, her ribs, the curve of her breasts still covered by her bra.
She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Got three undone before giving up and pulling it over his head instead. He helped, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside.
For a moment, she just looked.
He was lean and hard, his chest marked with old scars she wanted to trace with her fingers, her mouth. A puckered line along his left side. A starburst near his shoulder. Evidence of a life lived dangerously, of battles survived.
She pressed her palm flat against his chest. Felt his heart beating fast beneath her hand.
"You're staring," he said.
"I'm appreciating."
His mouth curved. Then he reached around her back and unhooked her bra with practiced ease. It fell away, and his hands replaced it, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened.
She sucked in a breath.
He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth. Licked. Sucked. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as sensation shot straight down between her legs. He switched to the other side, and she arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking friction.
They moved toward the bed. She didn't remember who pushed or who pulled, only that suddenly she was on her back and he was above her, his weight braced on his forearms, his hips settling between her thighs.
She could feel him through their jeans. Hard. Ready. She rocked up against him and watched his jaw clench.
"You're making this difficult," he said.
"Good."
His hand slid down her stomach, popped the button on her jeans, and tugged down the zipper. She lifted her hips, and he peeled the denim off, taking her underwear with it. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her.
Lila resisted the urge to cover herself. The way he was looking at her—like she was something precious, something worth protecting, something he wanted desperately—made her feel powerful instead of exposed.
"You're beautiful," he said. Simple. Direct. Like he was stating a fact.
"You're overdressed."
He stood and shed his jeans and boxers in one efficient motion. She took her turn to look, to appreciate. He was hard, thick, and when he climbed back onto the bed and settled over her, she felt the length of him press against her thigh.
His hand slid between her legs. Found her wet and ready. His fingers parted her folds and stroked, slow and deliberate, learning her responses. When he circled her clit, she gasped. When he slid one finger inside, her hips bucked.
"More," she said.
He added a second finger, stretching her, filling her. His thumb kept working her clit as his fingers moved in and out, building a rhythm that had her breathing hard, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"Ronan." His name came out ragged. "I need—"
"I know what you need."
He withdrew his hand and reached for the nightstand. Pulled out a condom and tore the wrapper with his teeth. She watched him roll it on, watched the way his hand moved over his own length, and felt another rush of heat between her legs.
Then he was back, positioned at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her, but not pushing in.
"Look at me," he said.
She met his eyes.
He pushed inside.
The stretch was exquisite. She'd been ready for him, more than ready, but the feeling of being filled so completely still made her gasp. He gave her a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot on her face.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Move."
He did. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. Long, deep strokes that hit every nerve ending. She wrapped her legs around his waist and changed the angle, and he groaned against her neck.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You feel—"
She didn't let him finish. She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him as he started to move faster.
The bed creaked beneath them. The headboard knocked against the wall.
She didn't care. All she could focus on was the pressure building inside her, the friction of his body against hers, the sound of their breathing mingling in the dark room.
He shifted his weight onto one arm and reached between them. Found her clit again. Rubbed in tight circles as he thrust.
The orgasm hit her hard.
She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her inner walls clenching around him. He kept moving, kept stroking, drawing it out until she was shaking, until the pleasure was almost too much to bear.
"That's it," he said, his voice strained. "Let go."
She came down slowly, her body still pulsing, and watched his control finally slip. His thrusts became harder, faster, less coordinated. His jaw clenched. The muscles in his arms stood out as he braced himself above her.
"Lila." Her name was a groan, a prayer.
Then he came too, his hips jerked, his whole body tensed as he buried himself deep inside her. She held him through it, her hands on his back, feeling the tremors run through his muscles.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then he rolled off her, dealt with the condom, and pulled her against his side. She went willingly, tucking herself into the curve of his body, her head on his chest.
His heart was still racing. So was hers.
"I should probably tell you," she said against his skin, "that I don't usually do this."
"Do what?"
"Sleep with men I've known for less than two weeks. Men who are investigating my town. Men who could disappear tomorrow and I'd never see them again."
He was quiet for a moment. His hand moved up and down her arm, slow and soothing.
"I'm not going to disappear tomorrow."
"You can't promise that."
"No." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But I can promise that if I do, it won't be because I wanted to. And I can promise that right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
She lifted her head and looked at him. In the dim light from the window, his face was all shadows and angles. But his eyes were clear. Honest.
"I'm trusting you," she said. "With everything. My father's files. My investigation. My body." She paused. "My heart."
"I know." His hand came up to cup her face. "I won't let you down."
She kissed him then—soft and slow, without urgency. A promise of her own.
Tonight, they simply held on.