Chapter 5 Just Breathe
JUST brEATHE
LANEY
“Laney? Sweetheart? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hey, you need to come back to me, Ariadne. I got you.”
As my consciousness gradually returned, the first thing I saw was a chubby gold baby with wings and ribbons wound around its thighs. I squinted—nope, that was a cherub carved into the crown molding.
The second thing I saw were the matching gold flecks in Ronan Black’s concerned eyes beneath a wayward curl that had fallen over his brow.
Unable to stop myself, I reached up and pulled the curl. When released, it sprang back to its original position with a pleasant bounce.
A surprisingly warm smile drew across his face as he stroked my cheek. “There she is. Welcome back, gorgeous. You had me scared there for a moment.”
“I fainted, didn’t I?” I didn’t know why I was asking. The answer was obvious. Especially as I registered the fact that my cheek wasn’t nestled against a pillow, but Ronan’s very warm, very muscular chest.
That cheeky grin broadened, revealing two dimples deep enough to poke with my finger. “Like the most graceful sack of potatoes on the planet. The Russian judge gave you a nine-point-five, but she’s always been tough on the Americans.”
He was joking, but something sharpened in the back of his expression. Something under that jester’s mask that looked oddly like genuine concern.
My husband cupped my face and brushed his thumb across my cheekbone. “Don’t do that again, all right? I can only take so many surprises in one day.”
Oh, God. Husband.
Just like that, the flutter in my chest returned, and my breath deserted me all over again. I pushed up to sitting too fast, which brought on a second, albeit milder dizzy spell.
“Laney, Jesus. I said don’t do that again.” Ronan hovered an arm in front of my chest, clearly ready to catch me again if necessary.
“I need—my pills. There’s an emergency stash in my—my clutch,” I sputtered. “It’s—the gold—”
“On it. Don’t move.”
Ronan settled me into a pillow, then left in search of my bag. I pinched my nose while I forced my breath out against the closed nostrils.
“What are you—ah, baby, I think you need to open your airways to breathe, not close them.”
Once again, I was gathered against that ridiculously broad chest, and oddly, I found it difficult to resist. There was something about him that soothed me better than any vagal exercise.
I released my breath, but didn’t answer him until I managed to sit back up, locate the little pillbox inside the clutch he’d retrieved, and toss back one of the pills.
“Not,” I said with another, shorter gasp, “when you’re trying to reset” —another breath— “your heart’s electrical signals.”
I proceeded to demonstrate the maneuver again, this time doing it hard enough that I knew my face turned red from exertion. This time, it worked. My breath returned to normal, and the flutter in my chest dissipated.
Or maybe it was just seeing Ronan’s arms outstretched, ready to pull me back to his chest if I fainted again, that calmed me completely.
He looked just as concerned, but also curious. “That’s a neat trick.”
I shrugged. “I prefer ice water.”
He cocked his head. “Ice helps your heart?”
I pulled my sheet, which had loosened a bit around my torso, a bit tighter. “Yes. Stimulates your vagus nerves and sort of shocks your heart back to a normal rate.”
Ronan watched carefully as I went back to the box breathing we’d done together before I passed out. In four. Hold seven. Out five. And again.
The breathing he’d guided me through.
Huh.
While I doubted Ronan Black also had Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome (he would know things like vagal maneuvers if he did), clearly he made use of anti-anxiety breathing techniques for other reasons.
“What?” I asked finally.
He was outright staring now. “I—nothing. Well, not nothing. You’re quite something.”
I frowned. “That’s not what you were thinking.”
“No, it’s not. I was thinking—well, actually, I was going to propose an idea—but it’s moot now.” He gestured vaguely at the pills still clutched in my hand.
For the first time since I’d walked out of the bedroom, he wasn’t looking at me like he was trying to figure out how to undress me again.
It was a familiar shift. Every schoolyard friend, every boss or mentor, every romantic interest—they all looked at me differently once they realized my heart did funny things like speed up too quickly at inopportune moments.
I went from being the fun kid, the interesting girl, the competent woman to fragile Laney with the broken heart.
Maybe that was the real reason I’d been so willing to break all my rules last night. For the first time in a long time, Megan didn’t stop me, and it felt so good to be normal. Even if it was just for one night.
Clearly, that had been a mistake. After all, I wasn’t normal at all.
I wasn’t sure why Ronan’s shift, however, bothered me so much. It should have been a relief. The woman who had attracted this beautiful man last night was carefree and didn’t come with a host of family woes and heart issues. His Ariadne was no less a myth than her namesake.
Now, my heart literally couldn’t take it any longer, and the reality check hurt even more than the lack of oxygen.
I stood. “I should probably get going.”
Ronan rose with me. “What? Are you sure you can—”
“Yes,” I cut him off. “That’s what the pills are for. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course. Right. It’s only…does that…happen often?”
I couldn’t meet his gaze, unwilling to see the mild panic most people wore when they realized I could potentially die on them at any moment. Instead, I ignored the question completely. “Do you happen to know where my dress ended up?”
“Your—oh, right.” He seemed almost surprised to be reminded I was still just wearing a bedsheet. “Yeah, I think it’s over there in the corner.” He was clearly desperate for something to do and fetched it for me. “I, ah, think it might be torn a bit.”
I accepted the silk and surveyed the damage. He was right—one of the seams at the back was damaged. Last night, he’d obviously been in a hurry to get it off me.
Now he was probably just in a hurry to get rid of me.
“I’ll just…” I held up the dress.
Ronan nodded and gestured toward the bathroom. “Please. I’ll just be here contemplating the origins of the universe.”
A few minutes later, I reemerged from the bedroom with a clean face, fully dressed, and armed with a plan. I was going to leave as quickly as possible, but not without getting contact information from my “husband” (I had to imagine the air quotes or risk fainting again) to pass on to a lawyer.
Could you still get an annulment if we had technically consummated the marriage?
I decided it didn’t count if no one could remember the details.
Unfortunately, the plan disintegrated when I found Ronan lounging on the sofa, flipping through the TV channels with an array of silver-covered plates in front of him that smelled like breakfast.
Good God. The man looked indecent in boxer briefs, but he really was absurdly hot in casual clothes. How could anyone make jeans and a T-shirt look pornographic?
His eyes sparked with interest before he seemed to remember himself (or maybe my heart issues), and a blander, somehow distinctly platonic mask shifted into place as he sat up.
“You want anything? Crepes? Maybe eggs and bacon if you’re carnivorous, vegan stuff if you’re not.
Coffee—there’s regular and decaf. I also ordered tea. ”
Every square inch of the large coffee table was covered with food, which on top of the dishes he offered, also included a selection of pastries, a fruit salad, what looked like a tofu scramble, along with yogurt, granola, and French toast.
“I—no, thank you.” Really, I should have probably eaten something, but my appetite had deserted me. There were too many mixed signals happening, and this man was too good-looking and far too smooth for his own good. I wasn’t equipped for this.
I needed to get out of here and get on with my walk of shame. Then again, what did I know about walks of shame, considering this was my first one?
Besides, there was a conversation I needed to have. I just had no clue how to start it.
Ronan swept a hand toward the spread. “Sit down. Eat.”
I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, so I took a seat at the opposite end of the couch—as far from my husband as possible while still being on the same piece of furniture. He watched over the rim of his coffee cup, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his full, wicked mouth.
Before my stomach did a full somersault, I decided to look over the food.
“So. You faint when you’re stressed.” It was a casual observation, like he was talking about the weather.
I examined a croissant with far too much intensity. “Sometimes, yes.”
“Any other stimuli I should be aware of as your next of kin?”
That did it.
I put the croissant back down and turned. “We should get some things straight.”
“As your husband, I completely agree.” His eyes gleamed with something that wasn’t quite amusement. Something darker. More dangerous.
The expression should have sent me running. Why, then, was I fighting the urge to scoot across the couch right into his lap? Like my body wanted to return there for something it knew in its bones but not conscious memory?
He grinned, like he could read every confused thought.
I scowled. “Stop that.”
“Stop what? Telling the truth?”
“Goading. Do you do that to everyone when you’re uncomfortable or just me?”
For a moment, those dark eyes dropped to my lips before coming back up. The desire in that expression hadn’t abated, but at least the cockiness had. A little. “Astute, aren’t you? The few who know me would say everyone.”
“Well, stop it.” I did my best to sound firm. “We have some things to figure out, and the jokes are just making it harder.”
“Harder.” Something in his tone made my thighs clench together. “That’s for sure. Though by ‘things,’ I assume you mean this.”