Perfectly Scripted (25 page)

Speaking of pain, three long weeks had finally passed. Ronan was coming home in less than twenty-four hours. My heart ached to see him again.

After my appointment, I strolled back to the office, my shadow, Blake, a few steps behind me. It was a warm spring day, the first official nice day, not a grey cloud in sight. I stopped off at Walgreens around the corner from Charlotte’s building to grab a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix.

When I left the drugstore I slipped my jacket off, and slung it over my arms, enjoying the feel of the sunshine on my skin. As much as I loved winter, I was definitely looking forward to spending my first summer with Ronan.

I rolled through the rest of the morning, and into the afternoon only stopping to grab a small Thai Chicken salad from the café. I returned a few emails, and noticed the time was nearly two o’clock. Charlotte and I had a late afternoon of pampering scheduled at the Madera Spa at The York following our meeting with the event coordinator from Crush NYC, an upscale boutique. We were going to finalize the details for Charlotte’s spring shopping and styling event coming up in a few weeks.

After running the weekly sales report, I sent it off to Maya. I picked up my phone and dialed Blake asking him to bring the car around. Charlotte planned to meet me at The York after her luncheon at
Belle Magazine
. As I sat in the car, I could hardly contain my excitement for my afternoon of pampering before Ronan came home. The clouds began to darken, and faint sounds of thunder boomed as we drove through bustling traffic.

Guess that spring sunshine didn’t want to stick around.

When I arrived at The York, I received a text message from Charlotte. She was on her way, but Lucinda from Crush NYC was running behind schedule. I decided to sit near the fireplace to wait for her, the same spot where I’d met Ronan months ago. The sound of thunder jerked my head towards the window, where I witnessed a streak of lightning as it flashed against the now-dark sky. Seconds later, bursts of thunder ripped the sky open and rain came pouring down.

A server approached, carrying a drink tray. “Here you are, miss. One Chocolate Kiss.”

I laughed. I had been somewhat of a regular here, but surely not everyone on staff knew I liked this drink.

“But I didn’t order this,” I replied, shaking my head.

“No, but
I
did.”

My stomach flipped at the sound of a familiar gritty Irish accent. I could hardly believe my eyes when Ronan stepped forward.

“Thank you” he said to the nice, young server who delivered my drink.

Jumping up, I wrapped my arms around Ronan’s neck, pulling him close for a kiss. “What…what are you doing here?” I asked, nearly breathless from our kiss.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he answered, hugging me tighter. “Charlotte and Blake helped me with the plan.”

I buried my face in his chest, taking in the familiar scent of clean soap mixed with a crispness I could only describe as icy mountain spring water. It was uniquely Ronan.

“Well, you definitely surprised me, but I have a meeting to get to and then I have plans with Charlotte…”

By the silly look on Ronan’s face, I figured all of that was part of the plan.

“There is no day of beauty, is there?”

“There is. It’s just not with your sister,” he said, giving me a devilish smirk.

“So, what exactly is your plan, Mr. Connolly?”

“Well, Miss Prescott,” he said, motioning for me to sit. “I booked the penthouse for the weekend. No work or distractions. You and me—a romantic weekend for two.” He drew my hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back.

The server approached again, this time carrying a glass of amber liquid, and placed it in front of Ronan. The smell of whiskey raced up my nose, and I loved it. Sitting there by the fireplace with Ronan felt wonderfully right. Everything was completely
perfect
.

The warm bath water sloshed against the tub and spilled over the sides as I came down from my third orgasm of the night. My head was spinning, and my heart was racing. I was sure this was only the beginning of Ronan’s romantic weekend plans. I anticipated several more mind-blowing orgasms before we left Sunday evening. The orgasms, the wine, and the heat from the water all fused together in some kind of dreamy euphoria.

Ronan traced his fingers over my inner thighs, rubbing the spot of smoothness that once bared burn marks.

“I cannot believe you decided to have your scars removed. You were so adamant about keeping them.”

“I decided it was time for a change and to let go. I think a part of me wanted to keep them, because it was a sign of my journey— where I’d been and how far I’d come. But, I don’t need the physical reminder.”

His finger traced over the scar on my shoulder. “I’ll take you to your remaining appointments, if you like.”

“You’re sweet, I’d love that. And
that
mark will be gone next. My body belongs to me,
not
him.”

He exhaled, before drawing my fingertips to his lips for a kiss.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, wiggling my ass against his cock.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

His wet fingers drifted up my rib cage and cupped my breast, alternating between rolling and pinching my nipple. I relaxed against his chest, his hands continuing their lazy glide over my skin.

“You know that film
Out of Africa
?”

“Of course. It’s only one of my most favorite movies of all time.” I rolled my head so that my cheek rested on his chest. I couldn’t help but run my fingers through the dark smattering of hair.

“Is that right?” he murmured, his fingers intertwined with mine.

“Yes. Meryl Streep is brilliant in the film, and I get swept up in the sheer beauty of it all—the music, the costumes, the love story. Even if the ending was extremely sad.”

I began reciting my favorite line from the film. Ronan laughed and kissed the top of my head.

“Why were you thinking about it?”

“When Redford washes her hair by the river while reciting Coleridge—that was positively romantic.” His hands tangled the loose ends of my hair.

“That poem is
not
romantic, Ronan.”

He huffed out a laugh. “No, the poem is not, but it’s classified as British Romantic Literature. I personally don’t see anything alluring about a man wearing a dead bird around his neck. That is certainly a harsh penance for guilt.”

“Driven by guilt and forced to roam the ends of the Earth, telling your story to serve as a lesson for others—that is terribly sad.” I sat up and twisted to face Ronan. “I read somewhere that the Mariner was a reflection of Coleridge himself—a sad, wise man.”

Ronan’s green eyes dazzled as his smile widened. “Look at you and your knowledge of Romanticism.”

I scooped up some water and playfully poured it over his head. After shaking the excess water from his hair, he curled his arm around my waist, pulling me back against his damp chest. His embrace was the most wonderful feeling in the world. As I settled comfortably into his frame, he rested his chin atop my head.

“I can’t imagine living such a lonely existence. Feeling sad, cloaked in a heavy burden of guilt from one simple mistake.”

While running my fingers along his pectoral muscles, I kissed his chest. “Don’t shoot the albatross and you’ll never feel that way,” I whispered.

Holliday

When I woke twisted in the sheets the next morning, he was gone. I took in my surroundings, the place where Ronan and I had begun our love affair. My heart raced with beats of excitement while I lay there thinking about that incredibly passionate week we’d spent there and the few months since. Loving each other had been easy. Moving in together had seemed like a dream.

I’d never imagined I’d find a man who could love me with all of my baggage. Or that I would allow myself to overcome my own emotional issues and find love. It was some kind of wonderful miracle that I’d found Ronan.

With each passing day, I was falling deeper into his world.

Deeper into us.

I stretched out from underneath the tangle of satiny softness that smelled of sex and Ronan and slipped out of bed. On my way to the bathroom, I noticed a pretty pale-pink silk robe draped over the bench. Smiling, I slipped it on over my shoulders.

After I brushed my teeth, I wandered to the living room and peered out the window—nothing but rain and fog. It was an ugly day, but perfect for snuggling and watching movies. My jellied legs somehow managed to carry me to the butler’s pantry. There was a note by the coffee maker from Ronan along with the room service menu.

I scanned the breakfast menu, and my stomach rumbled. Pastries, fresh fruit, and French toast. Yep, I ordered it all, along with orange juice and some English breakfast tea for Ronan.

The coffee maker beeped, and I poured myself a cup, adding some sugar. I slid into the chair at the breakfast bar and flipped on my iPad. As I was downing my hot beverage, I received a Google alerts email that I had set up to notify me of news stories about Ronan. A few posts related to the film, reviews, and some pictures from the events in Hollywood and Miami came up.

One particular headline grabbed my attention.