Page 50 of Sinner’s Game

“Oh.” I’m disappointed, but I get it. “Well, the bright side is that you don’t have to keep working on it. Want to watch a movie?”

He glances at his watch. “No.”

I try to hide my disappointment. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure he just wants to go to sleep, but I want to spend time. Talking. Being normal. Ideally with a glass of wine and his arm around me telling me this is all going to work out okay.

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I get up off the couch. “No worries,” I tell him. “I should probably crash. It’s been a long day.”

“Hey, hold up,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I meant no to a movie.” He taps his watch. “Isn’t Ellie on that LA-based show in five minutes?”

“Oh, my God. You’re right. I can’t believe I forgot.” I settle back in next to him, thrilled when he puts a pillow on his lap and tells me I can lie down if I want.

“Since you’re tired,” he says.

“Oh. Thanks.” I snuggle sideways on the sofa, my head on the pillow, his fingers stroking my hair. My whole body reacts to the soothing motion, so much so that even when the camera follows Ellie walking onstage after the opening monologue, I have a hell of a time concentrating.

“She looks good,” Ronan says. “Tons of confidence, not the slightest bit nervous.”

“That’s my bestie.”

We watch as she talks about the research she did on her book, Saints & Sinners, which details the rise of the foundation—and the juicy secrets about its founder, Devlin Saint, who they bring on stage in the latter half of the interview.

To be honest, except for being able to tell them they looked great, I’m only half-watching. After all, I know this story. More to the point, I can’t concentrate with the way Ronan is stroking my hair. I’m not even sure if he realizes he’s doing it; he’s probably tuned in to the program. But me? I’m hyperaware.

The light pressure. The way his fingers move my hair, making it brush lightly over my skin. The touch of his fingertips as he traces a lock to my arm, bare below the sleeve of my tee.

When he idly traces the curve of my ear, I feel a jolt of warmth shoot all the way through me, ultimately pooling between my legs, and it’s all I can do not to moan aloud.

His touch is magic. Hypnotic. It’s taking me away to a warm and safe place, and I just want to slide deeper and deeper. So much that when he finally clicks off the television, I’m startled out of what feels like a dream state.

“Is it over?”

“Did I lose you?”

“Just dozing,” I say. And fantasizing…

“Come on,” he says as I force myself to sit up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He stands in front of me, his hand extended to help me to my feet. I take it, then stumble because my foot has fallen asleep, and I gasp from the unexpected tingling. His arm goes around me, holding me up as he steadies me. I look up, only to find him looking down at me, and my breath catches in my throat.

I never really believed in that time-stopping cliché, but it’s true. I can feel the universe going on, the world turning, but I’m entirely removed from it. It’s just me and Ronan and this moment, and if I could figure out a way to capture this feeling and put it in a bottle, I would.

“Brandy.”

That’s all he says. Then he bends down, his lips brushing mine. A question that I greedily answer. Yes. Oh, yes, please.

I part my lips, my arms going around his neck. I rise on my toes, wanting to taste him. Wanting to touch him.

Just wanting him.

“More,” I whisper.

“Brandy, are you—”

“More.” I take his hand, then tug him back to the couch. He sits, then pulls me into his lap. I’m straddling him, and I can feel how hard he is, and it doesn’t make me nervous at all. It feels right. I feel ready. And oh, so alive.

His hands cup my rear, and I moan softly as he tugs me closer. He draws in a deep breath, and I move my hips, stroking him. Wanting to take us both further.

I close my eyes and hear my name, Brandy, Brandy, and it’s only when I open my eyes and see that he’s not speaking that the oddity of the moment washes over me.