“Sir,” called one of the attendants from the customer service desk. “You need to wait in the lounge for all arrivals.”
“Ronan,” Mac called. “Security protocol says?—”
“Sue me!” I shouted to both of them as I yanked the door open and ran out.
Laney was being escorted down the stairs by one of the attendants—or maybe a pilot who seemed very interested in the beautiful snack he’d just flown across the country. She had that wide-eyed look that I had a feeling she’d worn since learning I had upgraded her flight from commercial to private. But unlike most people outside my family, whose awestruck expressions were typically tinged with greed after this sort of treatment, Laney’s remained nothing but curious. She was enjoying herself—who wouldn’t enjoy buttery leather seats, private service, and zero security?—but she didn’t need it.
It made me like her all the more.
Then she saw me, and her smile lit up by about a thousand watts. “Ronan!”
Any remaining desire to look the slightest bit cool evaporated right then and there. I closed the space between us at a hard jog, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs just in time to sweep her off her feet and greet her with the kiss she deserved.
“Oh!” she squeaked against my lips.
Then her arms wound around my neck, and she was kissing me back. Somehow, the world was right again. This moment was all that mattered. The way her mouth fit mine like a jigsaw puzzle. The way her weight felt perfect in my arms. The way the taste of her was better than anything I’d eaten in weeks.
Laney. My Laney.
Fuck.
I lowered her feet back to the pavement, both of us breathing and trying to ignore the knowing smiles of the staff milling around us.
“Hey,” I said stupidly.
She grinned. “Hey yourself. Talk about a warm welcome.”
For some reason, that was the comment that brought me back to my senses.
“Paparazzi.” The lies started coming easily again as I stepped back. “Never know when they’re watching.”
It just about killed me when those green eyes dimmed. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
But I was getting ahead of myself. Way ahead.
Liam was right. I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.
With that, I took her hand and pressed a much more sedate kiss to her knuckles. The sort a husband might give his wife, versus the kiss a degenerate playboy might give the girl he reallywanted to nail. “Welcome to Boston, wifey. I’ll show you where we live.”
20
BELLE AND THE LIBRARY
LANEY
It didn’t take long for Ronan’s security detail—who I gathered was actually named Brady MacNamara but went by Mac—to drive us to a part of Boston that was far more charming than anything I’d seen on the internet.
I said so, having spent a good amount of time over the past few weeks researching the city I’d never visited but had somehow committed to living in for at least six months.
“That’s because it’s Charlestown,” Ronan said as Mac turned the Range Rover down a quiet, tree-lined street full of house after brick colonial house. “I mean, there are plenty of nice parts of Boston, but Charlestown is special. It was actually founded two years before Boston. Paul Revere rode through here. It’s its own thing.”
“Charlestown, huh?” I turned to him as the car came to a stop in front of a particularly charming brick townhouse. “What about the high-rise apartment in the business district I read about on the internet?”
Mac’s eyes flashed toward me, then shot Ronan a knowing glance through the rearview.
Ronan just looked smug. And maybe a little annoyed. “I see the eminent scholar has been Googling again instead of reading the contract I sent.”
My cheeks flushed immediately. The contract. Oh, the contract.
