Page 110 of Lady and the Hitman

His jaw flexed. “You’re still afraid.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Ronan stared at me, his eyes scanning every inch of my face like he was trying to crack open the code that kept me tethered to fear. I watched the war play out behind his eyes—anger, frustration, something that looked too close to heartbreak.

Then, he said, “What do you want, Zara?”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Unbearably intimate.

I licked my lips. “To be with you. Just … not with an audience.”

His expression didn’t soften, but it shifted—just enough to let me breathe. “Where?”

“Somewhere else. Somewhere private.”

“That’s vague.”

I held his gaze. “Do you still have access to that plane?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Curiosity. Approval.

“It’s always available,” he said.

Of course, it was. Because Ronan Hale didn’t just have wealth. He had power. The kind that slipped behind velvet ropes and into private airfields. The kind that moved through the world like it owed him something.

“Then take me somewhere,” I whispered. “Just us. One night. One dinner. Somewhere it doesn’t matter who sees us.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared, chest rising and falling like he was measuring the cost of giving me what I asked for.

Finally—

“Savannah.”

I blinked. “What?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, already typing. “There’s a place I like. Overlooks the river. Quiet. They’ll give us privacy.”

I stepped closer, heat curling in my belly. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’ve done everything before,” he said without apology. “But not with you.”

My breath caught.

“You want a night away?” he added, looking up. “Then let me give it to you. Say yes.”

And God help me—I did.

Twenty minutes later, I was changing into a silky black dress in my upstairs bedroom while Ronan waited downstairs, pacing the hardwood like a panther forced into patience.

The dress was simple. Elegant. The kind of thing I usually saved for political fundraisers or alumni events where I needed to look like I had my shit together.

But tonight, I wasn’t trying to impress donors orvoters. I was trying not to unravel completely under the weight of Ronan Hale’s gaze.

I stepped into my heels, smoothed the dress over my hips, and took one last look in the mirror.

I didn’t look like myself.

Maybe that was the point.