“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 myannoyance.
“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.”
