Chapter Twenty-six #3
“Time zones,” she said and pinned her hair up, “I—”
I cleared my throat, making my presence known, and she turned around, a look of shock present on her face.
“Stai bene?48” Ronan asked, as he probably saw how fucking annoyed I looked.
“Ti sembra che io stia bene, cazzo?49” I asked, and he sat up in his chair.
“I didn’t see or notice you there,” she said, making her way over toward me, an unmistakable sway in her hips. “I’m Rachel. It’s lovely to meet you, Ms.?”
“You didn’t look to notice,” I answered, my voice sharper than intended. “Miss Moretti.”
My eyes were fixed on her, sensing a look of discomfort, when Ronan broke the silence.
“Here you go, Rachel,” he said, handing her the files, “have a great night.”
“You too,” she responded, then turned to face me. “Have a great night.”
His intense gaze found my eyes as he rose and sauntered over, settling into the chair beside me.
“You are breathtaking,” he gushed, his voice smooth as silk. “Even more so that you’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” I scoffed, my tone laced with disbelief. “You’re delusional.”
“Delusional? In love with you? Observant? Aren’t they all the same thing, amore mia?50”
It took every ounce of self-control to stifle the smile threatening to break through. Instead, I rolled my eyes, crossing my legs casually.
“Definitely delusional,” I repeated dryly.
“I don’t mind,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
“She calls you Ronan.”
“She?” His eyebrow arched, feigning innocence.
I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Ronan.”
“I love it when you say my name,” he drawled, his eyes locking onto mine. “She who?”
“Who do you think?” I retorted, feeling a mix of irritation and an undeniable spark. “Which woman could I possibly be talking about?”
“I don’t think about other women nearly as much as I think about you,” he replied nonchalantly, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that told me he meant exactly what he said.
“Your assistant,” I admitted reluctantly, the tension between us palpable. “Racia.”
“You mean Rachel?”
“I don’t care what her name is,” I whispered aggressively, clenching my fists as his nearness unsettled me.
His chuckle was low and knowing, which only fueled my annoyance.
“Definitely jealous,” he remarked, his voice low and husky, the words hanging between us.
“Answer the damn question,” I demanded, my voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.
“I don’t know why she calls me Ronan. Sometimes it’s ‘sir’ or ‘Dr. Romano’ or ‘Ronan,’” he replied, his tone softening slightly, sensing my inner turmoil.
“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath, my jealousy and longing simmering beneath the surface.
“How?” he probed gently, his eyes searching mine with a mixture of curiosity and a hint of longing.
“‘Sir’ is fine or ‘Dr. Romano,’ but your first name? Unprofessional,” I noted sharply, trying to mask the turmoil his presence stirred in me.
I didn’t even care. Why the hell was it getting under my skin?
He leaned closer, the air crackling with unspoken tension. “Admit it, amore. You don’t like the thought of another woman calling me ‘Ronan.’”
I scoffed, unable to deny the pang of jealousy twisting in my gut. His ability to provoke me with a few casual words was infuriatingly effective.
“And what if I don’t?” I asked begrudgingly, my voice quieter than intended, my gaze locking with his in a battle of wills and desires.
He grinned triumphantly. “I missed that about you.”
“Zitto,51” I snapped, though the truth in his observation unsettled me, stirring memories and emotions I thought I had buried. “Definitely delusional.”
His grin widened, enjoying my discomfort far too much. “Definitely in love with you.”
I rolled my eyes again, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite my efforts to stay composed.
Deep down, I knew he thrived on pushing my buttons and watching me react.
Damn it, he was still very good at it.
Finally, unable to bear the strain of it any longer, I changed the subject, my voice softer now, tinged with a hint of longing and uncertainty.
“I’ll be at the gala tomorrow night,” I announced, watching his reaction carefully.
His eyes sparkled with desire. “è un appuntamento.52” His voice was low and intimate, like a promise.
I rolled my eyes but smiled, betraying my emotions. “Not a chance.”
“Hungry?” he asked, his gaze lingering with an intensity that made my breath stop. “I could take you somewhere.”
I shook my head. “Inaya and I had dinner.”
We paused, caught in the pull of each other’s presence.
“Why did you have to make me hate you?” I whispered, the words slipping out, raw and vulnerable.
He looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“Nothing,” I muttered, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”
He studied me before nodding. “Are you sure?”
“It’s late,” I said, standing up, needing distance. “I should go.”
“Let me take you to your hotel,” he offered softly.
“I’ll Uber,” I replied, heart racing with mixed emotions.
Without another word, I turned and left, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away with a cloud of uncertainty floating in the air.