Page 9
“Not gloating,” she returned calmly. “Merely commiserating.”
Gazes still locked, he slowly lifted his glass and touched it to hers. Around them, the low buzz of bar chatter mingled with the clink of glasses and the soft scrape of stools against the floor. The sharp, yeasty scent of beer and worn wood hung heavily in the air.
“To dead cheating spouses and—” He lifted a brow, the overhead light creating a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. “What’s your story?”
The answer came easily. “Dysfunctional family.”
He let out a dry chuckle, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Figures,” he muttered, voice rough. For a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade, leaving only the unspoken weight between them. “Guess that’s why we’re here, huh? Trying to drown the ghosts.”
“Maybe. Or just trying to make sense of things that never will.”
His smile was crooked. “Good luck with that,” he rasped, lifting his glass to his lips.
Felicity watched the muscles in his throat tense and pulse as he drained the glass, the slow, deliberate motion stirring a sudden, unexpected flare of heat deep inside her. And she had a sudden vision of him hovering over her, his throat contracting as he—
Seriously?
Yet the heat spread, tightening deep within her.
She lifted her glass, savoring the smooth liquid as an idea slowly took hold.
Since their last encounter, he’d been on her mind. More than was reasonable. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, and she certainly wasn’t looking for forever, but a quick fuck would scratch the itch and put an end to the distraction.
Ronan cleared his throat, and his eyes found hers again, his stare dark and penetrating.
As if he were reading the unspoken thoughts swirling inside her head.
He lowered the empty tumbler to the counter. “Bad idea, Deputy,” he drawled, the lazy Texas cadence turning a simple warning into something altogether more dangerous.
Steady and unflinching, she challenged him. “Bad ideas are my specialty, Marine.”
His jaw worked, the muscle ticking as if he were biting back a reply. Then he dropped a couple of bills on the counter and slid off the stool. “Let’s go test that theory.”
The words hit her low in the gut. She didn’t hesitate — just followed him through the press of bodies and out into the cool night air.
The walk to his hotel was silent, save for the scuff of boots on concrete and the low hum of the streetlights. Every step ratcheted the tension between them tighter.
The door had barely closed before his hands caught her hips, dragging her hard against him. His mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, all heat and demand, his stubble scraping her skin. She — the one who never kissed — answered with equal force, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer, refusing to yield.
They shed their clothes in equal fervor, eyes roaming, hands exploring, lips touching.
He walked her backward, the world narrowing to the feel of his body, the raw strength in every movement. The backs of her legs hit the bed, and they went down in a tangle, the mattress creaking beneath them.
“Shit,” he muttered into her neck. “Don’t have a condom.”
“In my purse.”
He pushed off the bed and searched through the heap of clothes before tossing her the small black cross-shoulder bag.
Felicity paused for half a heartbeat, a small warning flitting through her mind. Ronan was not a man to toy with. Not like her usual bed partners.
She flicked a glance at the waiting man.
The sight of him stroking himself sent a fresh surge of desire through her.
The warning dissolved like mist in the morning sun.
Her fingers closed around the small foil packet, and she held it up between them. He tore it open, sheathed himself, and lowered his body back onto the bed.
