Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“I’m perfectly happy with mine, thank you,” I tell him.
“Smart.” He smiles. “I’m Kirk Harrington. And you are?”
“Rayne Silva.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His eyes roam appreciatively down my body. “How long have you known our resident billionaire recluse?”
“Long enough.” I shift, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Actually, scratch that. His very presence makes me uncomfortable. “Are you a friend of Ronan’s?”
He laughs. “More like a friendly competitor. We’ve crossed paths in business. Though I’d be happy to cross paths with you in a more ... personal capacity.”
Ew, disgusting. His implication is clear, and I take a step back. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Why not? Everyone knows Ronan doesn’t do relationships. Whatever arrangement you have—”
“Is none of your business.” Ronan's voice cuts like ice as he materializes beside me, his arm sliding around my waist. The tension radiating from him is palpable.
James raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation, Ward.”
Ronan’s grip tightens possessively. “Find someone else to converse with.”
When James walks away, I exhale slowly. “That was ... a little intense. You didn’t have to come off so strongly.”
Ronan’s jaw works. “He was out of line.”
“He was just flirting.”
“With what’s mine.” The words slip out before his expression shutters. “Dance with me.”
He leads me to the dance floor where couples sway to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” His hand splays across my back, drawing me close, our bodies moving in perfect sync.
“I don’t like sharing,” he says quietly.
“I noticed.” I can’t help but smile. “Is that why you never bring dates to these things? Too much sharing required?”
Something flickers in his eyes. “I never bring dates because no one has been worth bringing.”
The simple statement steals my breath. “Until now?”
His only answer is to pull me closer, his cheek resting against my hair. We dance in silence, and I let myself pretend this is real—that I’m really his, that tomorrow won’t come, that this feeling of belonging can last.
The illusion shatters when we step off the dance floor, and I overhear a conversation not meant for my ears.
“—clearly a gold-digger. Did you see that dress? As if she could afford it. Ronan bought it, for sure.”
“I give it a month before he gets bored. Remember that redhead from his office last year?”
“This one’s different, though. He’s actually showing her off. Must be spectacular in bed.”
I freeze, heat flooding my face. Ronan, still holding my hand, turns to me with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, but my eyes betray me, flicking toward the trio of elegantly dressed women nearby.
His expression hardens as he follows my gaze. “Ignore them.”
“Hard to ignore the truth,” I say, trying for lightness but failing. “I don't belong here.”
“You belong where I say you belong, and right now, that’s at my side.”
He leads me toward the bar, but we’re intercepted by the same women whose whispers cut so deep. The tallest—a willowy blonde with arctic blue eyes—steps directly into our path.
“Ronan! I thought that was you. It’s been ages.”
“Vivian.” His acknowledgment is curt.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your ... friend?” Her gaze slides dismissively over me.
Ronan pulls me closer to his side and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Rayne, this is Vivian Anderson. An acquaintance.”
The deliberate downgrade from whatever relationship they previously had makes Vivian’s smile tighten. “Such modesty. We’re old friends.” She turns to me. “And how did you two meet? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at these events before.”
Her tone suggests I couldn’t possibly have been invited to such gatherings, and something in me snaps.
“That’s because I usually avoid places where the champagne is more genuine than the people.” I sidle closer to Ronan and give her the fakest smile I can muster. “But Ronan insisted, and I do enjoy Christmas decorations.”
One of Vivian’s friends gasps. The other smothers a laugh.
Vivian’s eyes narrow. “How ... refreshing to hear such candor. Though perhaps some environments require more ... refinement than others.”
“Agree,” I say. “But I’ve found kindness works in any environment, and there really are some things money can’t buy.”
Ronan’s hand slides up my back in silent approval, and I melt into his touch. God, I’ve never been clingy, but why does this feel so good? Knowing he’s here and he won’t let anything happen to me?
Vivian opens her mouth for another salvo, but Ronan cuts her off. “If you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”
We make it halfway across the room before Vivian’s voice carries to us again, deliberately loud. “I wonder how much he’s paying her? That dress alone must have cost—”
Ronan whirls, his expression thunderous, but I catch his arm. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”
“No one speaks about you that way.”
“People will always talk.”
“Not if they value their social standing.” He steps away from me, striding back to where Vivian holds court with her friends.