The Hooker and the Hermit
Page 46

So maybe she wasn’t going to come clean, but at least she didn’t think I was an awful person for having been with someone like Brona. When we arrived at the hotel, I paid the taxi driver and tipped him handsomely. By the time we got to our suite, Annie looked just about ready to keel over from exhaustion. I fervently wished she wasn’t so exhausted because seeing her dolled up like she was tonight, wearing a dress that showcased her body to perfection, had me worked up like a sailor on his first day of leave.
I lifted her into my arms and strode through the suite, entering the bedroom and laying her down on the mattress. Tiredly, she thanked me before resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes. A moment later, I heard her breathing deepen in slumber. Well, it didn’t look like I’d be getting any action tonight. Not that I would have gotten any even if she was awake. Annie was always a tricky one. You never quite knew if something was going to be make her scurry away or open up like a flower. Visions of her in the bath filled my head, how soft and silky and deliciously slippery she’d felt in my hands. How pliant she’d been to my demands, and how it had taken the willpower of a saint not to have her right there and then.
I was no saint, though.
The main reason I didn’t take her was because I wanted the first time I sank inside her to be perfect. I’d been fantasizing about it for weeks.
A little sigh escaped her, her long mahogany hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo. I sat down on a chair beside the bed, rested my elbows on my knees as I leant forward and just watched her. I let out a long, distracted breath. She was so beautiful, so perfect it was painful. I loved her thick, dark lashes, the delicate curve of her lips.
I loved her pale, flawless skin. I loved the way her eyes crinkled and lit up when she smiled. I loved her soft, rounded belly and her lush, curvaceous thighs. I loved the musical cadence of her voice when she spoke.
Shit, I just loved her.
Loved. Her.
I was in love with her.
And I was fucked.
Time passed as I imagined a hundred different ways of telling her how I felt. And every single time I saw her withdraw. I saw her tuck herself away into a tiny square of paper that I could never unfold. It terrified me. Then I thought of how much braver she was online. How she never minced her words or beat around the bush. How she was still Annie, just with the fear subtracted.
With trembling hands, I stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the lounge. My laptop sat on the desk waiting for me with all its potential for both creation and destruction. I opened it and began to type. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to send the message; it just felt freeing to get the words out in some way.
March 30
3:24 a.m.
Dear SML,
I know you’re away on holiday right now; but I need to talk to someone, and you seem like my best option. I’m all mixed up. If you’ve been following the “news,” you probably already know that I’m back home for a couple of days. Annie came with me. It’s been crazy. The press are twice as nasty and far more in your face over here, so it’s been really hard to keep calm. It’s been even harder for Annie. This isn’t the life she chose, and yet she’s doing it all for me. I’m not sure if I deserve it. She’s handling this shit better than I ever have—even though I know it must be twenty times more difficult for someone who’s unaccustomed to the limelight. And it’s a revelation because she’s actually so much stronger than I am. She’s handling it all so gracefully.
I’m in awe of her.
But here lies the rub: she’s all I think about. She’s the only person I want to spend time with. I’m fascinated by every little thing she does.
And the fact of the matter is, I’m in love with her. Heartbreakingly, soul-wrenchingly, earth-shatteringly in love with her.
It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before. And I need her to love me back more than I need to take my next breath. I can’t imagine a greater agony than this big, pulsing, fierce love I have for her being unreciprocated. I would rather take a hundred blows to the head out on the field, suffer a thousand concussions, than not have her beside me for the rest of my life.
You probably think I’m being melodramatic. I’m not. I’ve always known what I wanted from life. I don’t have a single indecisive bone in my body. And I know with all my heart that I want Annie. I need to make her happy.
But how do I tell her? How do I explain to her the extent of my feelings without frightening her away?
I am a ship out on the ocean seeking a compass for guidance. Be my compass, SML; otherwise, I might screw this whole thing up spectacularly.
Yours,
Ronan
I read over the message several times, my finger circling the mouse, the cursor hovering over the “send” button like the ultimate test of courage. I was running on too little sleep to tell whether or not this was the move of a duplicitous fuckwad or the most ingenious idea ever. I thought that if I could give Annie advance warning that I was in love with her—give her some time to digest it and come to terms with it—then maybe she’d allow herself the chance to discover that she loved me back. I knew that she did. She just didn’t know it yet. I also knew from past experience that she would lie to herself instead of stepping off the cliff with me.
So, this was it. I hit “send.” I just hoped I wouldn’t regret my decision.
When I returned to the bedroom, Annie was still fast asleep, still fully dressed, too. Taking my time, I removed her strappy heels and her gown. I was oh, so careful not to wake her. She mumbled a little in her sleep; and I thought I heard my name pass her lips in a sigh, but I couldn’t be certain. Still, it made me hard enough to cut steel. Once I had her under the covers, I hovered. I knew sleeping on the couch was the gentlemanly thing to do, but I just couldn’t tear myself away from her. Her body was so warm and soft and welcoming. The couch was a dried-up old rice cake, and she was a filet mignon. Finally decided, I undressed in record time and slid under the covers with her. When I wrapped my arms around her, she rolled over, her body instinctively sinking into mine. It felt right. It felt perfect.
And it was like this that I fell into the most peaceful sleep I’d had in a very long time.
***
When I woke up, I got a feeling that someone was watching me. I couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin anymore, so I knew that Annie must be awake already. Blinking a few times, I turned my head to see her lying on her side, holding herself up on her elbow as she stared at my exposed torso. I must have thrown the blankets off in my sleep, because I was completely uncovered.
I shot her a lazy grin. “Enjoying the view?”
Her gaze snapped to attention. It was clear that she’d been so intent on studying my body that she hadn’t even realized I’d woken up. And yeah, I took a certain degree of satisfaction from that. I loved her eyes on me, looking at me like I was an éclair she wanted to sink her teeth into.
She cleared her throat, her cheeks growing pink. “I was just admiring your tattoo.”
I looked down at the thick black script that spelled Mo teaghlach, mo chroí from one collarbone to the other.
“It’s handy that’s there, isn’t it?” I smiled and shifted closer. “Otherwise, you would have had to admit you were ogling.”
I put my hand on her shoulder before gliding it down her arm to her hip. She was wearing a baggy blue T-shirt that I distinctly remembered not putting on her last night—which meant she’d gotten up and put it on herself. I didn’t like that she felt the need to cover up.
Her brows knitted together, but the hint of a smile played on her lips. “I wasn’t ogling. I don’t ogle. I was wondering what the words meant, if you must know. Sorry if you mistook my wonderment for oglement.”
I took her hand in mine and brought it to my chest, placing her palm flat to my skin. “First off, ‘oglement’ isn’t a word. And second, my tattoo is Irish for ‘My family, my heart.’”
She sucked in a breath and nodded. “So you got it for Lucy and your mom?”
“Well, I sure as shit didn’t get it for the Fitzpatricks.” I chuckled derisively.
“I told you last night. Not knowing you is their loss, Ronan.”
“Fuck yeah, it is. Family isn’t always the one you’re born into. Sometimes it’s about people who get into your blood, inside your heart, and under your skin all on their own.” I stared her intensely, gripping her hand tight. She blinked, like she’d been in a trance for a moment, and drew her hand away. When I realized she was about to scamper, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her back into the bed. She struggled a little—which ended up with me hovering over her, her wrists bound together above her head.
Her breathing grew rapid, which caused her breasts to move up and down, pressing them into my naked chest deliciously. She twisted this way and that for a moment before giving up. Her body went limp, and I sank myself into the space between her thighs. I rotated my hips just enough so that she could feel how hard I was. Her gasp was muted by the sound of the main door to the suite opening and Patricia’s voice calling, “Don’t mind me. I’m just leaving your breakfast out here, Annie.”
“I ordered food,” Annie whispered and bit her bottom lip. “I hope that’s okay.”