“Annie?”

I blinked, startled and mortified to realize I’d been staring, and snapped my mouth shut. With an effort, I lifted my gaze to his and set my jaw, fighting the urge to return my attention to the perfection of his body and the mystery of his tattoo.

“I—um—yes?”

Ronan shut the door behind him and stalked closer. His eyebrows lifted as he drew near, and his gaze moved over my face, dipped to my shoulders, detoured on my mouth.

“Enjoying your…bath?”

His eyes reminded me of chocolate in that moment, velvet dark chocolate, the kind used in succulent desserts, hot and silky, the kind you dipped strawberries in and savored as the juice from the berry and the sweet bitterness of the chocolate danced a euphoria over your tongue and down your throat….

I squirmed, my breath coming short, my arousal making me feel unsteady and lightheaded.

“Yes.” The word emerged as a breathless whisper, drawing his attention back to my eyes.

“You look uncomfortable. Is the bath too hot?”

I shook my head.

He hovered for a moment, surveying me—him and his epic torso—then sat at the edge of the tub and dipped his fingers into the water.

“What—what are you doing?” Again, my voice was breathless.

Part of me hoped he was going to say, Finishing what you started.

Another part of me hoped…oh, hell. Who was I kidding? Every part of me hoped he would say, Finishing what you started.

Instead he said, his lips twitching with poorly hidden amusement, “Just checking the temperature. You look flushed.” The back of his fingers brushed against my thigh, and I jumped, an inelegant squeak escaping my throat.

This was met with the rumbling sound of Ronan’s laughter and a rather obnoxious smirk. “You need to relax. Maybe you should take a nice, long bath.”

I glared at him and his grin, bringing my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around my calves. Nothing of my body was visible besides my shoulders, but I felt suddenly quite seen. “I was…I am perfectly relaxed.”

“I could help, you know.” He nodded at this assertion, his hand still in the water, his fairytale body and warm, silky chocolate eyes filling my vision. “I could give you a massage…or a rubdown.”

I gritted my teeth and shook my head, but I said nothing. Because if I spoke, I would undoubtedly say yes.

He thought he was so clever. And he was. He was entirely too clever. I could see that he knew exactly what I’d been doing, or about to do. Doubtless he’d even realized that he was the sole inspiration for my dirty daydream.

“It would be no trouble at all. I promise you’ll like it.” His hand in the bath moved to my shoulder, and he brushed the back of his fingers against my collarbone, leaving a wet trail of sliding bubbles from the top of my sternum to my shoulder.

I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from panting.

“Loosen your arms, and open your legs for me,” he said, his voice growing both solemn and soft; it was a command. His fingers slid down my arm to my knee, and he covered it with his palm, squeezing gently.

My eyelids drooped, and I half blinked, my heart hammering and hopeful. Everywhere he touched went lax. My arms fell to my sides, and my legs relaxed, opened as he nudged them apart. Then he skimmed his light caress between my thighs, and I held my breath.

His chocolate gaze grew fierce and demanding, a contradiction to the feather-light ministrations of his middle finger at my entrance. He stroked me, opening me, entering me. As well, his words were serene and hypnotic.

“Spread your legs, all the way. Let me touch you; let me help you feel good…that’s it. Oh, Annie dearest, you’re so fucking soft and tight. You feel like heaven.”

I swallowed the building thickness in my throat and instinctively reached for him, gripping the towel at his waist. My other hand moved to my breast, and my head fell back against the rim of the tub. I moaned.

“Shhh….” He leaned forward, briefly covered my mouth with his to silence me, and then whispered against my lips before pulling away, “Your Miss Patricia is in our room unpacking your things. You have to be quiet.”

My breath hitched, and I nodded, whimpering a little but not loud enough to be heard. His index finger joined his middle finger, stroking me while his thumb danced little rhythmic circles over my clitoris. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“No, no. Look at me,” Ronan demanded, his voice still calm and commanding. “Look at me when you come.”

I opened my eyes and found that he was skimming the top of the water with his free hand, pushing the bubbles out of the way so he could see me, where he entered me, where I cupped my breast. His eyes, avaricious and focused, moved over my body.

“You are magnificent.” His tone was dispassionate and removed as he studied me, as though he were an observer and not a participant.

My lungs were bursting with fire, and I couldn’t seem to breathe deeply enough, my inner walls grasping covetously as he moved in and out, filling me. But it wasn’t enough; his movements were too temperate. I needed him. I needed more than his tender fingers. I needed him to be harder, firmer. I needed him everywhere.

“Ronan,” I panted, reaching for his wrist between my legs, pushing his hand more firmly against my center. “Ronan, I want you. I need…. Please, please.”

“Hush,” he said, his touches still lithe and gentle, far too gentle. They were teasing. He was driving me crazy, and he sounded like he knew it. Looking at him, at the set of his jaw and the brutal gleam in his eyes, I had the distinct impression I was being punished.