Page 625 of End Game

“I stop.” The answer comes before he finishes.

Ronan looks at me for a long moment.

Something in his face eases.

Not fear exactly.

Vigilance.

A small amount of it finally setting itself down.

I lift my hand and stop before touching him. “Can I?”

His eyes flick toward my fingers, then return to mine. “Yes.”

This kiss is different.

Not hotter at first.

Slower.

Ronan lets me open his shirt. Lets my fingers slide over his chest. He takes mine off in return, and his eyes pause over my tattoos the same way they did the first time we were here together.

Then his gaze drops lower. “Turn.”

I blink. “Inspection?”

He smiles. “Yes.”

I turn enough for him to see.

The cooler air catches the marks again.

His fingertips hover over one bruise, close enough that I feel warmth without contact.

“You did good work,” I say.

His hand stills.

I look over my shoulder. “That was praise.”

“I know.”

A flush creeps up his throat.

Before I can enjoy that information too much, he taps my hip.

“Bed.”

We undress the rest of the way without rushing.

By the time Ronan settles back against the pillows, naked, something in my chest has started beating too hard.

Not because I'm worried he'll change his mind.

Because he hasn't.

He looks at me and deliberately opens his legs enough for me to move between them.