Page 94 of Lady and the Hitman

It should’ve felt wrong.

But it didn’t.

It felt like coming home to something I hadn’t known I was missing.

And when he finally pulled back, lifted me gently into his arms, and carried me inside without saying another word?

I let him.

Because I knew the next part of the night would ruin me in an entirely different way.

And I wanted every second of it.

18

Ronan carried me through a short hallway without a word, his chest still bare, his hands sure, like he knew exactly where we were going and what I needed before I could even voice it.

A turn. A door pushed open.

Then—

Candlelight.

Dozens of tiny flames flickering along the edges of a sprawling bathroom, their reflections dancing on the surface of a wide, sunken tub already filling with steam. The space was dark stone and glass, masculine but warm, the light bouncing off bronze fixtures and echoing against the high, wood-paneled ceiling.

It smelled like cedar and eucalyptus. Like tension unraveling.

He set me down gently, like I was something breakable now.

I should’ve said something. Asked something. But I didn’t.

I just stood there—barefoot, flushed,dazed—as he moved to the tub and adjusted the water, pouring something from a small amber bottle. It turned the water a pale blue and made the steam curl sweet and sharp.

And suddenly, I was back in Miami.

That night in the hotel—the tension between us so thick I could barely breathe. He’d drawn a bath for me then, too. Turned down the lights. Spoken to me with reverence and restraint. But he hadn’t touched me. Not like this. Not fully. I’d spent that night aching, longing so sharp it bordered on pain. I’d wanted him then with a desperation I couldn’t name. Wanted him to lose control. To let go. To take.

But he hadn’t.

He’d waited. Held back.

Now … now he’d fucked me so thoroughly I still felt him inside me.

Now I knew how his mouth felt on every inch of my skin. I knew how his hands moved when he was holding back and when he wasn’t. I knew what it was to break for him—and what it meant when he broke, too.

And that made this different.

The bath wasn’t a gesture anymore. It was a balm. A ritual. A way of sayingI see you. A way of sayingstay.

“I didn’t expect this,” I whispered.

He turned, meeting my gaze. “I know.”

His voice was rough but softer now, like it had been scraped raw by everything that came before.

He crossed the room and reached for the hem of my dress. I let him pull it off. No fanfare. Just silk sliding down skin, pooling at my feet like it had been waiting to be shed.

Ronan’s eyes moved over me like he was memorizing the shape of what he already owned.