Ronan started for the door, shaking his head. “You don’t ever have to thank me for meeting your basic needs, Laney. Just be straight with me about them. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay, but Ronan?”
He turned back. Those deep bedroom eyes called to me, and this time I was gripping my pajamas, a chair, anything to stop myself from running into those big arms, where I had a sneaking suspicion I belonged.
Dangerous thing, belonging. Especially to a mercurial beast like Ronan Black.
“What is it, Ariadne?” he asked softly.
I swallowed. “Just… be straight with me too, okay? You don’t have to do it with anyone else, but I only want the version of you that’s real. That’s all that matters to me.”
He blinked, those long lashes casting a shadow over the bones of his face. “Good night, Laney. Sleep tight.”
The doorsof Ronan’s nineteenth-century townhouse were original to the home. The reason I knew that was that the solid wood blocked a lot of sound when they were closed and many of the old brass hinges squeaked when they opened. Just like mine was doing when someone entered the bedroom about an hour after I had turned out the light.
I sat straight up in bed, clutching the puffy comforter to my chest as I stared into the solid darkness. The house was old, but Ronan’s room-darkening blinds were definitely not. Everything was pitch-black. “Who’s there?”
“Relax, Ari. It’s me.”
“Ronan?” I vaguely turned in the direction of the voice, which now seemed closer to the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Shhh!”
Suddenly, I was pulled back down to the mattress, my mouth covered by a strong hand while another equally strong arm yanked the covers up and over my shoulder. Before I could fighthim, the floorboards outside the bedroom shrieked under the clip-clop of what could only be a pair of women’s high heels.
“Shea’s here,” Ronan whispered into my ear.
I tried to twist around, but he wouldn’t let me. So instead, I took a bite.
“Ow!”
“Don’t gag me with your palm,” I whisper-hissed.
“Hard limit?”
“Right now it is. What do you mean, your sister’s here? I thought your family didn’t know about this place.”
My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. I could vaguely make out the outline of his hand on my white pillowcase.
“Shea’s the exception. Baby sister and all. I took pity on her when she was a teenager and gave her a place to come when she can’t deal at home.”
I managed not to point out that Shea wasn’t a teenager now, nor did I think she was without funds to find a hotel room or something like that in the city. Ronan had told me a while ago that until recently, she had been based out of San Francisco and/or bouncing between friends’ yachts. Now she was back, apparently trying to prove herself to their father.
It was the siren call of the Black family, apparently.
“She’s drunk,” Ronan whispered. “I heard her come in and managed to slip across the hall before she realized I was in the other room. If she caught me there?—”
“She’d know something was up,” I finished quietly.
The hand at my waist relaxed a bit. I supposed it didn’t really matter why Ronan wouldn’t want his family to know whether we were getting along—contract or not, it was clear to me that perceptions were important in this family. So much so that none of them ever seemed to tell each other the truth.
We listened as the door to the other room squealed open, then closed. The house went quiet again, and both of us exhaled.
“So, can I stay in here after all?” he asked quietly.
“You only have two bedrooms. There isn’t much of another option, is there?”
His chuckled was warm against the back of my neck. “Not really, no. I could take the couch.”
