Page 98 of Lady and the Hitman

I didn’t.

“Zara. Look. At. Me.”

I turned.

His jaw was tense now, eyes narrowed, heat simmering low in his voice. “You want me behind closed doors. In secret. But out there? In your real life? You want me invisible.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” He sat up straighter. “Feels true.”

“It’s not about you,” I said, throat tight. “It’s about what being with you could cost me.”

He laughed, low and bitter. “What about what it will cost me to stay in the shadows?”

My breath hitched.

His hand came to the bracelet still resting on my wrist. He turned it slowly, his fingers almost gentle again. “I gave you this because I wanted you to remember. Not just who you are to me. But who I am to you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I do remember.”

“Then stop acting like this is just a fling.”

My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. “It’s not.”

He leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Then act like it matters.”

I blinked hard, pulse pounding. “I’m trying.”

His expression cracked—just enough to show something wounded beneath the steel. “Try harder.”

I stared at him. At the man who had bathed me with reverence and taken me with hunger. At the man who could make me feel seen and shaken in the same breath.

I wanted to be brave. To get dressed and walk into that restaurant like I didn’t care who saw us.

But I wasn’t there yet.

And Ronan Hale didn’t want to wait.

“I want to make this work,” I whispered. “I really do. Just … not with an audience tonight.”

He said nothing.

His silence stretched so long, I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. But I could feel it—the charge shifting between us. The anger cooling into something colder. He was shutting down, and I was losing him by inches.

I reached for him.

“Ronan,” I said, voice shaking, “can we … can we just stay here? Order something in? Or—” I swallowed. “Let me cook for you. Please.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked back to mine.

“You want to cook for me?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or stalling.

I nodded, brushing my fingers down his arm. “I know my way around a kitchen. And I’d rather feed you myself than sit across a table wondering who’s watching and what they’re assuming.”

He studied me for a long moment—long enough that I thought he might say no just to punish me.

Then, finally, he sighed. “What would you make?”