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“Why?” she choked, swirling around. “How can you just sit there and listen to me tell you what a fucking coward I am — and not want to leave? Not t-turn away in disgust? Call me a coward.”

Her breath hitched. “That’s what he did. Sergei. Called me a coward, took the pistol from my hands, and hit me with it.” Her hand lifted to her cheek. “And all I could see — lying there on the floor — was the horror on my sister’s face. I could’ve ended it. I should have ended it.” Her voice broke. “But I didn’t. I didn’t.”

She dragged her hands through her hair, shaking her head hard. Her eyes squeezed shut. “He pointed the gun at me. Told Inessa to get on her knees — or he’d shoot me.”

A tremor ran through her.

“She did what he said. Unzipped him. Put her mouth on him. When she started to gag…” Felicity’s voice dropped, roughened. “Something in me snapped. I got up. Went for him. Jumped on his back.”

She pressed her fists to her temples. “It was utter chaos. A few seconds, maybe. And then…” She swallowed. “He was down. Knife in his neck. Blood everywhere.”

Ronan moved before he could second-guess himself. His hands found her, one at her back, the other at her nape, drawing her in. When she didn’t fight it, he held her. Solid, steady. “I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t cry. Just stood in his arms, rigid, breathing hard.

A second, two. Three. Then she folded into him.

Her arms slid up his chest, around his neck, her face pressing into his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin.

For a split second, his body responded.

He locked it down, anchoring himself in what mattered — her.

“What do you need from me?”

33

Trust

There was nothing Felicity needed more than just him. His steady presence. His quiet strength. The way he made everything feel … calmer.

But above all, she wanted to forget.

For a moment. A minute. Maybe even an hour.

Forget about the coming confrontation with Raegan.

Forget the years under Sergei’s control.

She moved her hands to his shoulders. Strong. Broad. Warm beneath her touch. “I want to be with you. And I know it’s unfair.” Her voice softened. “There’s no tomorrow for us, Ronan. My time in Clearbrook is almost up. I never intended to stay. If—” She stopped, swallowed, her throat suddenly thick.

Ugh. Why was she even asking? It wasn’t fair to him.

“Never mind,” she whispered, dropping her head. “Forget I asked. You should leave.” It took every ounce in her to utter those last three words.

He drew back, his hand cupping her cheek. “Hey … look at me.”

She lifted her eyes, caught the concern there — and something steadier beneath it.

“Staying.” He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly over hers. Slow. Careful. As if she were something fragile. Something worth handling gently. Nobody had ever touched her with such infinite care the way Ronan Murphy did.

As a child, she was a commodity. To be groomed, sold to the highest bidder. The lessons had been rough. And so very, very wrong.

But this … this was right.

This was pure. Ronan was pure. And just for a moment she wanted to absorb his goodness, chase the shadows, the memories, the feeling of being used.

She pressed closer, desperate for more. “Take me to bed.”