Page 112 of Lady and the Hitman

Of course, it was.

We followed him past a sea of soft lighting and murmured conversation, my heels clicking against the herringbone wood floors, my dress brushing the backs of my thighs like a whispered promise.

The room they led us to wasn’t just private—it was hidden. Tucked behind a curved velvet curtain, it was alldeep shadow and candlelight. One table. Two chairs. No audience.

I stepped inside, and Ronan didn’t just follow—he filled the space. Claimed it. Claimed me.

He pulled out my chair without a word and waited until I was seated before sinking into his own with a slow, deliberate ease that made my pulse tick upward.

I reached for the bread already waiting at the table. “Did you tell them we were coming?”

He just smirked. “Didn’t need to.”

“Of course, not.” I sipped. “Does that work everywhere?”

“Only the places I go twice.”

“And this is one of them?”

His eyes flicked over me, lingering. “It is now.”

My thighs pressed together under the table.

It was surreal. The way he looked at me—like I was already undone, already his. Like he saw past every layer I’d spent years perfecting and wanted all of it anyway. No man had ever looked at me like that. Like I was the one he’d chosen, not because I fit some box, but because I didn’t. Because I challenged him. Tempted him.Matchedhim.

He wanted me.

That knowledge pulsed through me with a heat I couldn’t control. I was wet already, aching, and he had barely touched me.

My God, his eyes. That stare. Possessive. Deciding.

It was heady. Addictive.

I shifted slightly in my seat, the movement small but necessary, trying to find relief and only making it worse. This man, this moment—it felt like a dream I hadn’t earned. And yet here I was. Sitting across from a man most women would never even get the chance tofantasize about. And he was looking atmelike he was the one coming undone.

Wow.

The waiter appeared with a bottle of something expensive and a menu I barely registered. Ronan waved off his recitation of specials, ordered for both of us, and dismissed him with a nod.

Then it was just us again.

His gaze pinned me to my seat. “You look good here.”

“Here?”

“In the light.”

Heat curled in my belly. “You mean in public.”

“I mean,” he said, voice low, “I like when people see you with me.”

My mouth went dry. “This isn’t Charleston.”

“No.” He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “But it could be.”

“Ronan—”

“I’m not asking you to shout it from the rooftop. Yet.” He cocked his head. “But you will.”