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Iwake up in Ronan’s bed.
Seriously.
I’m in Ronan Hayes’s bed, and I’m still naked.
Never, not ever, not in a million years, did I think I’d end up here.
Last night, after he got me off twice, we passed out together, his arms wrapped around my body. I was warm and comfortable, and I guess I never got dressed again.
I can’t decide if I’m mortified or what. It’s not like I was drunk—and I’m the one that came on to him.
I can tell myself I just wanted to talk but I know the truth. I snuck into his room because I wanted to kiss him again.
“Oh my god,” I groan, covering my face with both hands. He saw me totally naked. He pulled my pussy over his mouth and basically manhandled me until he got what he wanted. I was totally out of control and now I’m extremely embarrassed.
I pull on the clothes and sneak into the hall bathroom. I do my morning routine and think about escaping back to my apartment, but that’s where Julien nearly killed me, and that’s exactly where he’ll be waiting for me if he wants to try again.
Which means I’m trapped here.
With Ronan, the guy whose face I basically humped last night.
The smell of coffee finally lures me downstairs. I’m struck by how well decorated and cozy his place is all over again. It’s even nicer in the morning: long streams of soft sunlight fall over cream-and-brown leather furniture and spread over the leaves of gorgeous plants in perfect pots.
Who the hell is this guy?
The Ronan I’ve always known is a selfish prick. I had no clue he also had taste.
“Good morning,” he says from the kitchen. He’s still shirtless, which kind of annoys me. What does he think is happening here?
“Morning.” I keep my distance. He’s clearly trying hard not to grin at me. The fucking prick.
“Want something to eat? Eggs, cereal, toast?”
“Toast would be nice.” I clear my throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in this situation.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
“Come on, don’t stand there and stare at me like you’re not sure if you want to fuck me or punch me in the throat. Sit down at the table and pretend like nothing happened last night.”
I roll my eyes. And there’s the Ronan I’ve always known. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Listen, love, if you want to lurk on my couch and act like you don’t know what to say to the man that provided you with two very wonderful orgasms last night, that’s fair play, I suppose. But I’m making breakfast.”
My god. I made a huge mistake. Ronan is the most obnoxious prick in the entire world, and I want to scream. But if I stay in here and act all standoffish, I’ll just be proving him right.
I sit at the kitchen table—clearly a 1950s retro-style vintage piece, and of course it’s stunning—and watch him cook, still very shirtless, struggling not to be annoyed. He brings over coffee, which is frustratingly good, and pops good bread into his toaster oven. As it cooks, he leans against the counter.
“We should talk,” he says as I drink from my mug.
“That’s not happening again,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. God, am I really this awkward right now? Did fooling around with him last night fry my brain or something? I’m not normally this tongue-tied and unsure of myself. It’s pissing me off.
His eyebrows raise, clearly amused. “Which part, love? When you came into my room? Or when you came on my tongue?”
“See, that right there, that’s the reason why last night was a mistake.”
“Only curious, that’s all.”
