19. Valentina

Chapter 19

Valentina

I wake up in Ronan’s bed.

Seriously.

I’m in Ronan Hayes’s bed, and I’m still naked.

Never, not ever, not in a million years, did I think I’d end up here.

Last night, after he got me off twice, we passed out together, his arms wrapped around my body. I was warm and comfortable, and I guess I never got dressed again.

I can’t decide if I’m mortified or what. It’s not like I was drunk—and I’m the one that came on to him.

I can tell myself I just wanted to talk but I know the truth. I snuck into his room because I wanted to kiss him again.

“Oh my god,” I groan, covering my face with both hands. He saw me totally naked. He pulled my pussy over his mouth and basically manhandled me until he got what he wanted. I was totally out of control and now I’m extremely embarrassed.

I pull on the clothes and sneak into the hall bathroom. I do my morning routine and think about escaping back to my apartment, but that’s where Julien nearly killed me, and that’s exactly where he’ll be waiting for me if he wants to try again.

Which means I’m trapped here.

With Ronan, the guy whose face I basically humped last night.

The smell of coffee finally lures me downstairs. I’m struck by how well decorated and cozy his place is all over again. It’s even nicer in the morning: long streams of soft sunlight fall over cream-and-brown leather furniture and spread over the leaves of gorgeous plants in perfect pots.

Who the hell is this guy?

The Ronan I’ve always known is a selfish prick. I had no clue he also had taste.

“Good morning,” he says from the kitchen. He’s still shirtless, which kind of annoys me. What does he think is happening here?

“Morning.” I keep my distance. He’s clearly trying hard not to grin at me. The fucking prick.

“Want something to eat? Eggs, cereal, toast?”

“Toast would be nice.” I clear my throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in this situation.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

“Come on, don’t stand there and stare at me like you’re not sure if you want to fuck me or punch me in the throat. Sit down at the table and pretend like nothing happened last night.”

I roll my eyes. And there’s the Ronan I’ve always known. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Listen, love, if you want to lurk on my couch and act like you don’t know what to say to the man that provided you with two very wonderful orgasms last night, that’s fair play, I suppose. But I’m making breakfast.”

My god. I made a huge mistake. Ronan is the most obnoxious prick in the entire world, and I want to scream. But if I stay in here and act all standoffish, I’ll just be proving him right.

I sit at the kitchen table—clearly a 1950s retro-style vintage piece, and of course it’s stunning—and watch him cook, still very shirtless, struggling not to be annoyed. He brings over coffee, which is frustratingly good, and pops good bread into his toaster oven. As it cooks, he leans against the counter.

“We should talk,” he says as I drink from my mug.

“That’s not happening again,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. God, am I really this awkward right now? Did fooling around with him last night fry my brain or something? I’m not normally this tongue-tied and unsure of myself. It’s pissing me off.

His eyebrows raise, clearly amused. “Which part, love? When you came into my room? Or when you came on my tongue?”

“See, that right there, that’s the reason why last night was a mistake.”

“Only curious, that’s all.”

“We can’t have that kind of relationship, okay? Last night was—” I lick my lips and try to find the right words.

“The best orgasms of your life?” he supplies.

I gave him a withering look. “Last night was fine .”

He laughs, hand over his heart. “Fine? Fine ? That’s practically challenging me to more, love, you realize that?”

“I’m sorry if your masculinity is bruised?—”

“No, baby, not my masculinity. It’s my goddamn sense of decorum. It’s not right to leave a woman wanting.”

“It’s fine, I’m fully satisfied, okay?”

His grin spreads. Yet again, he has baited me into saying something dumb. “Fully satisfied? Yeah, that sounds right, I’d say.”

I lean forward, face in my hands. “Can you just… turn it off for a minute? Please?”

“My charm? Impossible?”

I mumble every curse I know in Italian before facing him again. Ronan’s like a heat-seeking missile programmed to blow up my composure. So much for keeping it together this morning.

“Seriously, we can’t do that stuff anymore, okay? You have enough issues with your family, and if anyone finds out that we’re—” I make vague hand gestures in the air.

“Fucking each other’s mouths,” he says, nodding like that’s a very normal thing to say. “Yes, go on.”

I decide to ignore him for once. “That’ll only make your life harder. It’s just better if we don’t.”

The toaster oven dings. He looks at me, head tilted, smile fading, before he turns and gets the toast out. I feel small and dumb and take a drink from my mug to try to get my brain working again. I’m not sure what that last look meant, but he clearly didn’t like something I said.

He has to know I’m right. He and I fooling around last night was fun—I can’t pretend like it wasn’t extremely, amazingly fun—but doing it again is a mistake. We need to focus, and with him, I am very, very unfocused. That’s how Julien got the drop on me. That’s why he ended up punching Gregory in the face. And I’m afraid we’ll only screw up even more.

“Here, love,” he says, putting toast and butter in front of me. I get myself set up and eat while he sits across from me, saying nothing for a couple minutes. Then he breaks the silence again. “You’ll stay here for a few days.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just because we got each other off doesn’t mean anything’s changed. Your apartment isn’t safe until we make sure things with Julien are settled. You’ll stay here.” His tone doesn’t suggest there’s room for argument, and I don’t really want to. He’s completely right.

“I’ll need some things.”

“I can go back to your place and get whatever. Make me a list.”

“All right.” I lick my lips, watching him. “We shouldn’t tell anyone. You know, from your family.”

His head tilts. “Let me worry about that.”

“Definitely not Seamus. And not even Niall. If rumors start?—”

“I said I’ll handle it.” He leans back, jaw tight. I’m not sure what’s upsetting him, but I decide to let it go.

Breakfast is only slightly tense. He makes himself some eggs and we talk about safe topics, like the upcoming job. When I’m done with my toast, I retreat back upstairs,

This is for the best. I could tell he didn’t like our conversation, but we need to keep things professional. No more sneaking into his room—and definitely no more kissing. I’m staying with him for a short time, and it’s just like rooming with a work colleague.

We’ll keep things very professional, and we’ll get through this little speedbump without any more problems.