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RULE #14: PLAY WITH FIRE AND YOU’LL GET BURNED
Daisy
Oh, he’s taking me to that club. Whether he likes it or not. He can’t possibly keep treating me like some naive little girl. It’s not like we’ll be the ones having sex, but I still want to see it. I mean, who wouldn’t?
After we eat at this adorable cafe on the street with little brown wicker chairs under the canopy, he has the driver come pick us up to bring us back to his apartment.
It’s even more beautiful than his apartment back home, with its tall ceilings and intricate white crown molding. I poke around the apartment, looking at old artwork and trying to figure out how the hell I wound up in Paris with Ronan Kade. This feels like a dream. All day I tried to memorize every little detail. Every moment felt like a line in a song. The warm flakey croissant. The sound of children playing in the park. The way his strong arm felt with mine wrapped around it. The comfort of his protective touch on my back.
Ronan’s bedroom door is open, so I wander my way in and find him opening the door of his room that leads to a wrought-iron balcony with a near-perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. Two steps into the room, I gasp.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mutters when he sees me. “This room has the best view.”
My mouth is hanging open as I approach him. “It’s breathtaking.”
Pointing to the two chairs and small table, he adds, “You can have your coffee here. It would be a great place to journal or write your songs.”
I bite my bottom lip as I let my fingers dance over the iron railing. “That sounds perfect.”
“Will you take me to the tower tonight? To see it sparkle?” I ask as I feel him step closer. I’ve noticed the way he eats up the space between us lately, and I love it. It’s like his will to stay away from me is wearing thin. It’s the little things that tell me this. Tiny touches and lingering glances.
Like the way he is right now, stepping up behind me until he’s so close, I could lean on him. But he doesn’t give in. It’s like this is all he wants—nearness, contact, connection.
“Of course,” he replies as I feel his fingers gently stroking the strands of my hair.
Suddenly, his phone rings, shattering this tender moment. He reaches into his pocket and glances down at the screen for a moment before turning away from me and hitting the answer button.
“Hello,” he says in a curt greeting. I hear a man’s voice on the other end of the call, and I crawl onto the bed, although it’s clearly Ronan’s, watching him with a weird sense of anxiety in my belly. It’s ridiculous for me to be jealous of whoever is on the other end of that call or to be concerned that they will take Ronan’s attention away from me, but I can’t help it.
What if the man on the line wants to meet with him? What if he leaves me? What if he goes to that club and finds a woman who knows how to be his sub? What if he gets tired of me?
Have I become so dependent already? This is ridiculous.
Still, I wait in discomfort while they talk business, and when he says, “Tonight?” I stop breathing.
He glances back at me for a moment, and I hope my face conveys just how pathetic I feel.
“Yes, we can meet tonight. Eleven works.”
“But you said—”
He clenches his jaw and furrows his brow as he stares at me with pity. “See you then. Bye.”
“Who was that?” I ask, as if I have any right to know.
“It was an old friend and business partner,” he says gently, as if he’s afraid of disappointing me. Too late.
“You’re meeting him tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Where at?” I reply, afraid of the answer.
“A club.” The word sounds heavy as it escapes his lips. He might as well have slapped me with it.
“A sex club?” I reply, my voice sounding weak.
“Yes.”
