Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ronan
"All I can think about is his face, his hands...."
"You think a guy that big would be good in bed? You have no idea how hot he was..."
I read the message word by word, then skimmed it again. Deep down, I knew right away—it was her.
I leaned back in my chair, and the image from the lawn that day hit me hard.
She sprawled on the grass, the lace edge of her bra peeking out, her full breasts half-exposed, curving just right.
I could almost see the faint pink of her nipples.
When I picked her up, her soft waist sank into my arms. And those clear blue eyes, full of embarrassment, stubbornness, and that raw vulnerability, even the light freckles on her cheeks, were damn adorable.
Heat pooled low in my gut, tightening like her plush body was right there under my hands, mine to play with.
This was just some random chat, nothing to do with me. Logic said ignore it. I'd always gone solo, never carved out space for anyone, especially not some random nobody who'd just complicate things. But she crashed into my world without warning.
I stared at the phone screen, took a deep breath, tried to shove the images away, but they only got sharper—her breasts bouncing, those blue eyes wet with shame and defiance...
Fuck, my dick was rock hard, pants front already damp. Shit. I was in trouble.
I sucked in air, forced down the heat surging inside. I should check on Rose. She'd been off lately. Time to switch her therapist again.
I got up and headed to Rose's room. Tonight, she slept sound, no nightmares. She curled under the covers, arms tight around that old teddy bear, face relaxed. I crept over, tucked the slipped blanket back, leaned down, and kissed her forehead softly.
My phone buzzed. Her again?
"Don't forget tomorrow's morning meeting, 9 sharp, no being late!"
"Last time you were 40 minutes late, those boardroom fossils almost ate Marco alive."
Declan was great and all, but the guy talked too damn much.
Back in bed, I shut my eyes, but my fingers still felt her from earlier—her hair slipping through my palm, soft and fine, lingering. I tossed and turned, couldn't settle, so I stared at the ceiling, counting to fifty. But the thought sharpened: I wanted her right here, gripped tight in my hands.
When I finally dozed off, morning light yanked me awake. I lay there, sheets kicked to my feet, chest heaving. The dream clung—her in my suit jacket, nothing underneath, at the window, shooting me a sultry look. I pinned her against it and fucked her all night.
I grabbed the phone from the pillow.
It rang three times before she picked up, voice lazy and hoarse, like soft cat claws scratching my ear. Clearly still half-asleep.
"Hello, who's this?"
Just that, and my lower half stirred.
"You took my number and forgot me already?"
A clatter came from her end, like something dropped in a panic.
"Ronan... no, Mr. Valerius..." Her tone shot to flustered. "I got the suit dry-cleaned, rushed it, picking it up this afternoon. I'll bring it right over..."
"I'll come get it myself."
"What?"
"I said, you owe me that coffee."
"Mr. Valerius, I-I haven't set a time..."
"Call me Ronan." I cut her off. "No need to be so formal."
Sheets rustled on her side—she probably bolted upright.
"I-I'm really busy today. Classes in the morning, pick up the suit in the afternoon, night shift, mentor checks work Friday..."
"When are you free?"
"Huh?"
"You pick. I'll make it work."
She went silent.
"Six? Is six pm okay?" She tested cautiously. "Just twenty minutes, then I gotta run to my shift, time's tight..."
"Fine. Location later."
She coughed lightly, awkward. "Mr. Valerius, you always this... energetic in the mornings?"
She had no clue what was churning inside me.
"Today especially." I rolled over, sheets brushing my gut. I bit back a groan.
A confused hum from her. I could picture her lips parted, eyes dazed and innocent—made me want to... fuck, stop thinking.
"Remember. Six."
I hung up, tossed the phone on the pillow. Six. Ten hours. Fuck, too long.
At five, I hit the closet for clothes. Grabbed a usual shirt, but oddly, I pulled out a deep blue one instead.
In the foyer, Marco lounged against a pillar, chewing gum lazily. He spotted me on the stairs, whistled sharp and teasing. The sound echoed in the high-ceilinged space.
"Boss, new shirt?" His eyes raked me, smirking.
"Handle your own shit."
I arrived at the restaurant fifteen early. Manager Jerry hustled over, led me to the quiet private room in the back as usual. I sat, told the waiter to open white wine and let it breathe. Then leaned back, waited.
Five-fifty, she showed at the door. Dark jeans, ivory sweater, hair loose, paper bag in hand. She'd picked loose stuff to hide, but those soft curves still showed through.
She stepped to the table, set the bag down, and pushed it my way respectfully.
"Mr. Valerius, suit's clean." Eyes down. "Thanks again, you really saved me—"
"Ronan." I shoved the bag aside and nodded at the waiter. He poured her white wine. "Drink first."
Her gaze bounced between the glass and me, panicked, hesitant. She clearly just wanted to drop the suit and bolt, but no way I'd let her.
"You haven't eaten dinner." I slid the menu over.
"No, no—" She backed up, waving her hands.
"Pick what you want." I pushed it closer.
She bit her lip, finally sat stiffly, and flipped pages. Two in, eyes widened, then she looked up shyly. "Any... recommendations?"
"Milanese osso buco's good."
"That then." She snapped it shut, no more dallying.
The waiter left, room went quiet for half a minute. She sipped, set it down, fingers twirling the stem absently. Cute.
"What's your name?"
"Ryan Clark."
"Your job's housekeeping?"
"No, just one of my side gigs."
"Student? Or graduated?"
"Still in school."
Interesting.
"Stop looking at me like that." She met my eyes suddenly, awkwardness gone, tone sharp like I'd poked a nerve. "Every regular girl does this."
I leaned back, hands on knees, watching her, amused.
"That... 'oh, what an inspiring poor thing' look." She mocked it exaggeratedly, self-deprecating. "I've seen it plenty."
"I was just thinking, juggling school and jobs, how much time's left for you?"
"Enough." Chin up.
"Most would whine nonstop."
"Whining doesn't pay rent or loans. I don't live off talk."
"Smart."
"Thanks." She said it, then dropped her head and mumbled something unclear.
"What?"
"Nothing!" She waved it off. Then the appetizers arrived. Ryan eyed the fancy plating, fork hovering, unsure.
"Where do I start?" she whispered.
"Anywhere," I said. "No one's grading."
She relaxed, forked a bite.
"Try this." I nudged the wine closer. A few sips in, she loosened up, talked more.
She told me about Mrs. Smith's Afghan hound's antics—nearly diving into Central Park's duck pond, chasing a jogger three blocks, and drooling on a lady's Chanel bag in the elevator this morning.
Her face lit up, blue eyes sparkling from the wine, gestures big, even sliding next to me to show how long Cleo had ripped the sofa.
"Hey! Let me tell you, it's ridiculous—"
She turned, our faces close. Distance vanished. Her blue eyes were stunning up close, her skin flushed pink from wine, the scent of it light around her. Lips parted, sweet breath hitting me, sinking in.
Her cheeks went crimson, and she tried pulling back. I reached out and wrapped her waist.
"Speaking of," I said slowly, pulling my phone from my pocket. "I want your take on this."
Ryan looked confused, but as I read it word for word, she stiffened, face shifting from pale to red to purple, squirming in my hold, one hand trying to cover my mouth, the other grabbing for the phone.
"Stop! I didn't... I..." She stammered, reaching for my raised hand.
I ignored her, kept reading.
"Enough!" It burst from her throat. "That wasn't for you. It was to my friend. You—"
"I know." I pocketed the phone.
"You knew, why not say so!" Blue eyes glared, flames in them. "You dragged me here on purpose, to mess with me, watch me squirm..."
"Ryan." I pressed my finger to her soft lips. "If it was just for fun, I wouldn't sit here two hours eating with you."
She froze, eyes wide.
"Cute." I rubbed her lip. Her flush deepened.
I tightened my arm, pulled her slim waist, lifted her easily onto my lap, close to her ear.
"You're into me, right?"
No words. But her dodging gaze, the tiny shivers, they sold her out.
"You can deny it," my finger slid from nose to lower lip. "But your body's honest."
"You're such a—" Voice hoarse, like something stuck.
I didn't let her finish, dipped down, kissed her hard. Her lips cool, easing the burn I'd had since last night. Shoulda done this sooner.
Soon, she wrapped my neck, tongue eager. My dick teetered on the edge.
I scooped her up bridal style, out the back door, into the car seat. Partition up, kisses going. Her soft moans like an aphrodisiac, I couldn't hold back. I unbuttoned her top, rubbed my hardness against her full breasts, thrusting. She surprised me, licking the tip, hand kneading my balls.
"Mmm... vixen..." I nearly came.
She shot me a seductive smile, eyes pulling me in, hands undoing my shirt.
Then, the car stopped.
"Boss, we're here."
Fuck, perfect timing.
I cursed low, drawing her giggle. I smacked her ass hard, yanked up my pants, wrapped her in the clean suit jacket, straight to the elevator.
The door shut behind us. We stumbled kissing to the bed, her golden curls fanning on dark sheets as she fell. I leaned over, lips trailing her collarbone down, biting hard at her nipple. Her rose scent hit stronger than in the car.
"Your scent's damask rose," I said between kisses, inhaling deep.
"Wh... what?"
"Like you, fiery, stubborn, all thorns." I unzipped her pants, tossed them, and plunged a finger deep into her soaked pussy. "But once blooming, can't look away."
"Mmm... Ronan..."
Her eyes rimmed red suddenly. She hooked my neck, yanked me down.