Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
"Are you afraid of me?"
My heart rate picks up even as I lift my chin. "Hardly."
"Then it has to be how I make you feel."
"You really love to flatter yourself, don't you?"
"Probably just as much as you love lying to yourself."
"I am not lying—-"
"Then why the red cheeks, darling?"
Oh, I've had enough of this!
I stare at him stonily. "Just get out of my way, will you?"
"Only if you say the magic word...and say it like you mean it, of course."
Seriously?
I step forward, fully intending to squeeze past him whether he moves or not.
At exactly that moment, the bus takes a sharp curve in the road. My balance, already precarious in my irritated state, completely abandons me, and the next thing I know, he's back on his seat...while I land directly in his lap.
Noooo!
The world narrows to the points where our bodies connect—his broad chest against my side, his arms encircling my waist, and most distressingly, the unmistakable hardness pressing against my thigh.
My breath catches. I know I should move. I know I should scramble away and put as much distance between us as possible. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But I don't.
I look up, finding his face inches from mine, those amber eyes now dark with desire. The playfulness is gone, replaced by something hungry and primal that makes my stomach tighten with an answering need.
"Acacia," he says, my name a rough whisper on his lips.
I swallow hard, my body betraying me with its response—the quickening of my pulse, the heat pooling low in my belly, the subtle arching of my back that presses me more firmly against him.
His hands tighten on my waist, and I can feel the restraint in his grip, the careful control he's exerting. He's waiting for me to pull away, to break this dangerous moment.
But still, I don't move.
My gaze drops to his lips, and time stretches between us.
The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to get up, to remember Claude, to protect myself from another mistake. But my body has other ideas, responding to Ronan's touch like a flower turning toward the sun.
I've never felt this kind of immediate, visceral attraction before. Not with Claude, not with anyone. It terrifies me—and thrills me in equal measure.
"If you don't move in the next five seconds," Ronan says quietly, "you'll come to know why I wanted you to know my name."
I let out a strangled gasp as the meaning behind his words hit me, and I can't jump off his lap fast enough.
Sheep, sheep, sheep!
Inside the small lavatory, I brace my hands on the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my pupils dilated, my lips parted. I look like a woman on the edge of making a terrible decision.
"Get it together, Cay," I whisper to myself. "You know better than this."
But do I, really?
Claude's betrayal had blindsided me completely. I thought I was a good judge of character, but I'd been catastrophically wrong. What makes me think I have any idea what Ronan's game is?
Because that's what this is, isn't it?
Some kind of game.
No man looks at a woman the way he looks at me without wanting something.
The question is: what does Ronan want from me?
And more disturbingly: why am I so tempted to give it to him?
Chapter Five
I SPLASH COLD WATER on my face before stepping out of the tiny bathroom. My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize—flushed, disheveled, eyes bright with something dangerous. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hair and straighten my clothes, as if that could somehow restore my composure.
When I return to my seat, I deliberately avoid looking his way. I can feel Ronan's eyes on me like a physical touch, trailing heat across my skin. I stare resolutely out the window at the midnight landscape rushing past, but it's no use. The darkness only serves as a mirror, reflecting his image to me.
The air between us crackles with unspoken tension. Each breath feels heavy in my lungs. My breasts seem to swell beneath my sweater, and to my mortification, my nipples harden into tight peaks. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping he hasn't noticed, but the subtle shift in his breathing tells me he has.
I bite my lip hard, using the pain to ground myself. I will not give in to this... whatever this is. I've made that mistake before, letting physical attraction cloud my judgment.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to think of anything but the man sitting across from me. The gentle hum of the bus engine eventually lulls me into an uneasy sleep.
When I wake again, the world outside is still dark. I check my watch, squinting at the illuminated dial. Four in the morning? I've been asleep for hours.
My neck aches from the awkward position, and I roll my shoulders to ease the stiffness. Almost against my will, my eyes drift to Ronan.