Page 117 of Lady and the Hitman

I came hard. Fast. My body clenching around his fingers, my moan muffled against his shoulder as my thighs trembled. I shattered, and he held me through every pulse of it, never looking away. Never letting me fall, his fingers slowing but never stopping, drawing out every aftershock until I was boneless, leaning into him, my forehead pressed against his chest.

He kissed the top of my head, a surprisingly tender gesture that made my heart ache even as my body still hummed with the aftermath.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere, like he was confessing something he hadn’t meant to.

I looked up at him, my breath still uneven, my mind a tangle of want and fear and something deeper. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and for a moment, the world felt still, like we were the only two people in it.

But the distant sound of footsteps on cobblestone snapped me back. Reality crashed in—the alley, the city, the life waiting for me back in Charleston. I pulled away, smoothing my dress, my cheeks burning with a mix of shame and exhilaration.

“We should go,” I said, voice shaky.

He didn’t argue, but his eyes stayed on me, intense, unreadable, like he was already planning the next time he’d have me like this. He took my hand, his grip firm, and led me out of the alley, back into the glow of Savannah’s streets, where the world felt too small to contain what had just happened between us.

22

Over the weeks that followed, our arrangement had continued—secret, intense, and somehow more addictive with every passing day.

I’d managed to convince him to give me time, even though I could feel how much it grated against his instincts. He wanted to be seen with me in Charleston. To stake his claim in the light, not just the shadows. But he’d given me space, reluctantly, and in return, I’d given him everything else.

We’d flown to cities that blurred together now—Atlanta, Asheville, Chicago, even New Orleans for a wild forty-eight hours that ended with beignets and bruises I didn’t want to explain.

Always the same rhythm. Dinner somewhere exclusive and dimly lit. Tension simmering through appetizers. His strong hand on my thigh before dessert. And then, inevitably, a semi-public corner where he’d ruin me with nothing more than his mouth, his fingers, or the low rasp of my name in my ear.

He seemed to enjoy making me come completely undone.

In between those stolen moments, my parents had called—brief check-ins that seemed casual on the surface, but something in their voices felt off. Brittle. My dad, especially. He hadn’t come right out and said anything, but he kept mentioning the cost of fertilizer, how foot traffic was down this season, how they might skip replanting a few beds. Little things. Normal, maybe. But together, they felt like a quiet alarm I was trying not to hear.

And yet it all faded whenever I was with Ronan.

He hadn’t fucked me again, though. Not since that one night at his house.

It had become the sharp edge of my obsession, the thing I couldn’t stop turning over in my mind when I should’ve been writing or sleeping or thinking about anything else.

I was starting to think he was holding back on purpose. Like he was waiting for something. Like he wanted me to crack first.

Meanwhile, my parents had been calling more than usual. Not incessantly, but enough that I noticed the uptick. My dad, bless him, seemed to have convinced my mom to dial it back a little—give me some space without giving up the surveillance entirely. Still, they’d been … watchful. Not suspicious, exactly. Just keenly interested in how I was doing, like they sensed something was shifting. Maybe they were hoping it was finally something good. My mom had even mentioned, twice now, that I could bring a guest out to the nursery sometime. “The pool is looking beautiful,” she’d said the last time, in a tone so unsubtle it was practically a wink.

The idea of Ronan Hale taking a dip at my parents’place—lounging by the pool with a glass of sweet tea while my dad grilled hot dogs—was so comically absurd it almost made me choke on my coffee.

Which was why, when Mina slid into the chair across from mine at the coworking space with a suspiciously knowing look, I barely managed to smother my groan.

“No hello?” she asked, setting down her smoothie and cocking an eyebrow. “Just the sound of your soul leaving your body?”

I glanced around the open-concept floor, but no one was paying attention. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

“I do know something,” she said, stealing a sip from my coffee. “I know you’ve been floating around here with that post-orgasmic glow and trying to pretend it’s just good skincare.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you have a point?”

“Oh, I have many. But let’s start with this one: are you going to tell me what’s going on with Tall, Dark, and Dominant? Or do I need to bribe someone for security footage?”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “It’s ... complicated.”

Mina snorted. “Of course, it is. You look like a woman who’s being absolutely emotionally and physically annihilated in the best way possible and is terrified it might ruin her life.”