Chapter 7 Leila #3
As I sit there in the growing light, trying to figure out what to do next, an idea starts to form in my mind. It's crazy, and probably stupid. But it feels like it might be my only option for going home.
I think Ronan feels the same attraction that I do. He called me beautiful. I saw the look in his eyes when he grabbed my wrist last night and I was close to him. And men like him, powerful men who are used to getting what they want, they don't usually deny themselves when it comes to desire.
What if I could use that? What if I could offer him what he wants in exchange for what I need?
The thought makes my stomach clench with a mixture of fear and anticipation. I've never done anything like this before, never used my body as a bargaining chip. The idea should repulse me, should make me feel cheap and desperate.
But Rocco was going to use me like this against my will. Neil was going to sell my body to cover my debt. Why can’t I do it on my own terms?
It makes me feel oddly powerful to consider taking control of the situation like this. If I can use whatever desire Ronan has for me to get what I need—to get my mom the help she needs and get myself out of this situation—then maybe it's worth it.
I can’t say it wouldn’t be a memorable first time, that’s for sure.
I get up and walk to the window, pulling back the curtains to look out at the estate in the growing daylight.
It’s beautiful, covered in snow, a winter wonderland with the trees dripping in icy crystals and every inch of the grounds drenched in white.
It’s pristine and sparkling, nothing like the city slush after a day of traffic.
It looks like something out of a fairy tale—if it was a fairy tale involving gangsters and kidnapped women.
The irony isn't lost on me. A few months ago, I was worried about things like finishing up my finals before graduation and where Alicia and I wanted to have our joint graduation party.
I was worried about first-time interviews and whether my internships would be enough to land me the position I wanted.
Normal twenty-two-year-old problems. Now I'm standing in a mansion, planning to seduce a dangerous man in exchange for my freedom.
I want to ask myself how my life got so off-track, but the truth is, I know.
And it’s no one’s fault. It’s bad luck, and a cruel twist of fate, and then a bad decision on my part.
It got off track the moment my mom got sick, the moment I realized that all my careful planning and hard work weren't going to be enough to save her.
Everything since then has just been a series of increasingly desperate attempts to fix something that might not be fixable.
At least this time, I might actually have some control over the outcome.
I walk into the bathroom, looking in the mirror as I try to decide how best to go about this.
All I have are someone else’s clothes and whatever natural attractiveness I have to offer.
I don’t have any makeup, any hair products, anything to dress myself up the way I would for a night out on the town.
But then again, the desire I saw in Ronan’s face was when I’m without all of that.
So maybe it doesn’t matter.
I settle for brushing my hair until it’s sleek and shiny, and I strip off my sleep clothes, rubbing some more of the rich body butter into my skin until I smell like honey and my skin feels impossibly soft.
I pinch my cheeks a little for color—I’m paler than usual after the ordeal of the past week, and I wish I could cover up the fading yellow of the bruises.
But they look better this morning, and that’s the best I can do.
For clothes, I opt for one of the pairs of jeans, rolling them up at the ankles.
They’re loose on my hips, so I grab the leather and chain belt from the dress and use that to keep them up on my waist where they’re supposed to be.
I take the deep green silk blouse out of the closet and slip it on, glancing in the floor-length closet mirror to see that, without a bra, my nipples peak against the silk in a tantalizing way.
That ought to help.
There’s no jewelry or anything, so this is the best I can do.
I run my fingers through my hair one last time.
I’m starting to hear sounds from elsewhere in the house—voices, footsteps, the normal sounds of a household waking up.
I wonder if Ronan is awake yet, if he's thinking about last night, if he has any idea that I saw him.
I hope not. I want the element of surprise on my side, for him to be startled enough by my offer, aroused enough by it, that he won’t think too hard.
The lock clicks, and the door opens as I’m still standing in the closet. My heart jumps, expecting it to be Ronan, but it’s Ida instead. I smother my disappointment, my pulse still racing in my throat, and step out into the bedroom.
“Oh,” she says briefly, looking at me. “You look… nice, Miss Murphy.” There’s something odd in her voice, and once again, I wonder whose clothes I’m wearing. “You should come down for breakfast.”
I lick my lips nervously. “I want to talk to Ronan. Where is he?”
Ida pauses, then seems to decide that there’s no harm in giving me that information. “He’s in his office. Doing some early morning work, I suppose. I can show you the way.”
I nod, taking a breath as I follow her, my bare footsteps silent against the cool wood floor. She leads me back down that long, curving staircase, and I feel my stomach clench at the memory of the guard catching me last night and escorting me back to my room.
Ida leads me to a different wing of the mansion, stopping in front of a closed door. She knocks once, firmly, and Ronan’s voice comes from the other side.
“Come in.”
She nods to me and walks off, leaving me there to decide what I’m going to do.
My pulse feels like a trapped butterfly. I breathe in shakily and reach for the knob, opening the door slowly.
Ronan isn’t in a suit, which somehow surprises me.
He’s wearing chinos like the night before and a soft-looking, cocoa-colored sweater, and he looks shockingly normal.
His hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and I catch a whiff of his cologne as I walk toward the desk, mixed in with the scents of books, and wood, and leather polish.
He looks like a man. A wealthy, powerful one still, but more of a man than he did in his suit, or even at the dinner table last night.
It gives me a little more courage. His jaw is clean-shaven, and I force the image of him in the shower, naked with water dripping into the crevices between his muscles, out of my head.
When he sees me, his eyes do a quick sweep from head to toe before he catches himself and looks away, back at his computer screen. "Good morning," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "I hope you slept well.”
"I did, thank you." The lie comes easily. "The bed is very comfortable." I’m tempted to say something about the guard escorting me back to my room, but I don’t want to invite questions about where I might have been in the house last night. I don’t want him to start thinking about whether or not, if he heard any noise outside his room, it was me.
He nods, still not quite meeting my eyes. "I wanted to talk to you about the arrangements for your mother. I've made some calls, and—"
"Actually," I interrupt, taking a step toward him. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about first."
He goes very still, and I can see the wariness in his expression. "What's that?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. This is it. This is my chance to take control of the situation, to turn my attraction to him into something useful instead of just a source of confusion and guilt.
"I have a proposition for you," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Something that might benefit both of us."
His eyes narrow slightly. "I'm listening."
I take another step closer. The scent of his cologne is stronger now, and it’s intoxicating, the kind of scent that would cling to a woman’s clothes for days after and remind her of everything he did to her the night they were together.
His hazel gaze holds mine, and I can feel myself losing my nerve.
I step closer still, edging around his desk so that I’m standing at the corner of it nearest him, and I see that wariness in his eyes intensify.
I force myself to speak before I can chicken out.
"You want me," I say simply. "I can see it in the way you look at me, hear it in your voice when you talk to me. And I... I want you too."
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch as his expression shifts. The wariness vanishes, replaced by a flash of heat that quickly changes into shock and alarm. His hands flex against his thighs, and he shakes his head.
"Leila—" he starts, but I cut him off.
"Let me finish." I take one more step, close enough now that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
"I know you're trying to be honorable, trying to protect me.” I don’t know that, actually, but it sounds good.
And flattery is probably my best chance at making this work.
“But what if I don't want to be protected?
What if I want something else entirely?"
"What are you saying?" That wariness has returned, but I can hear a rough note in his voice, his accent thickening as it drops to a lower register. Something in me reacts to it, heat flooding me at the sound of his voice rasping through the air.
"I'm saying that I'll sleep with you," I tell him, my heart hammering so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it. "I’ll give you my virginity. I'll give you what you want, what we both want. But in exchange, I want you to pay off my loan and let me go home to my mother."
The silence that follows is deafening. Ronan stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and I start to wonder if I've made a terrible mistake. Maybe I misread the situation. Maybe he doesn't want me as much as I thought he did.
Then he speaks, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it.
"You have no idea what you're offering."
"Yes, I do." I lift my chin, trying to project a confidence I don't entirely feel. "I'm offering you my virginity in exchange for my freedom. It seems like a fair trade to me."
Something flickers in his eyes at the word 'virginity,' something hot and possessive that makes my breath catch. But then he shakes his head, standing abruptly from his chair and taking a step back, putting distance between us.
"No," he says firmly. "Absolutely not."