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For a heartbeat neither of them moved.
The air between them tightened — hot, charged, brittle.
Then Felicity surged forward at the exact moment Ronan bent his head.
Their mouths collided. Not gentle. Not tentative. A clash of teeth and breath and pent-up frustration.
His grip on her wrist loosened just enough for her to twist free, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the back of his neck as she hauled him closer.
Ronan made a rough sound low in his throat. His hand dropped to her waist, pulling her hard against him.
The kiss deepened. Like neither of them quite knew whether they wanted to fight or devour each other.
Felicity’s pulse hammered in her ears.
This was a terrible idea.
She kissed him harder anyway.
His hand tunneled under her top and closed over her breast. Hard. Just this side of bruising. She groaned. His thumb found her nipple, the rough pad of it dragging across the tightening peak.
Her breath hitched, heat curling low in her belly.
Ronan went still. Then his forehead dropped briefly against hers, his breath rough against her mouth. “Last chance, Felicity.”
Her pulse kicked harder. “For what?”
“For you to walk out that door.”
*
It took everything in Ronan to give her that final warning.
Because he burned.
With anger he couldn’t quite explain. With desire that rode him hard and relentless. Desire fueled by something he barely recognized.
Hearing Felicity talk about fucking a stranger…
Something ugly had risen in his chest.
Hot. Immediate. Possessive.
Jealousy.
His hands had curled into fists before he’d even realized it.
He’d never been the jealous type. By the time he’d discovered Violet’s infidelities, it was too late for jealousy.
What he’d felt then had been hurt. Confusion.
A cold, simmering anger that had taken months to fade.
Not jealousy.
But this? This was different.
Then her words had registered.
