I glance over my shoulder.Nothing.
I exhale sharply and keep walking.
It’s just paranoia. It has to be. I have lived half of my life looking over my shoulder, scared of whatever’s lurking in the shadows. I moved to a different state, moved all the way to this small town, just to run away from that feeling.
There’s no way he’ll find me here.
I keep telling myself that, but I can’t shake away the dread that clings to me like a second skin. By the time I reach my tiny apartment, I’m on edge. I double-check the locks, flick on all the lights, and try to convince myself that I’m safe.
I left my old life behind. And my stepbrother in it.
I take a long shower, letting the hot water ease the tension in my body, but even as I close my eyes, I see Ronan. I feel the way my pulse jumped when he said my name. The way his presence filled the room, swallowing the space between us.
It’s reckless and stupid, but I want to see him again.
And the next morning, I get my wish. I arrive at the medical wing earlier than required, hoping to get lost in my new routine. Anything to keep my mind occupied.
But as soon as I step inside the clinic, my breath catches in my throat. Ronan is here. Waiting for me.
He’s sitting on the exam table, a lazy smirk curving his lips, his hands resting on his thighs like he owns the place.
“Good morning, Mr. Callahan,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “How may I help you this morning?”
“Aren’t we way past last names, Eleanor?” he asks, his lips tilting upward in a smug smirk.
My cheeks flare up in embarrassment. “You’re my patient.”
“Call me Ronan.”
“How may I help you, Ronan?” I ask, suppressing the urge to laugh when he arches his brows playfully.
His smirk deepens. “I have a little…stomachache.”
I blink at him in confusion. He looks nothing like someone with a stomachache. I glance at the guard who escorted him in, noticing the looseness in his stance…the way he’s actively ignoring us. And it clicks.
“Did you fake a sickness just to be here?”
“What if I did?”
My heart skips with excitement, but I keep my expression neutral as I grab a pair of gloves and step closer. “Well, since you’re here, I might as well check.”
His smirk doesn’t fade as I press my fingers against his abdomen, feeling for any signs of real distress. His skin is warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his muscles rigid beneath my touch. He watches me the whole time, his gaze burning intensely into mine.
“Am I dying, doc?” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes, unable to hold back a burst of laughter. “I’m not a doctor. And you’re fine, Mr. Calla—Ronan.”
“But I don’tfeelfine,” he counters with a nonchalant shrug. “I think you should examine me again.”
He’s dangerous, Eleanor.
Gina’s words flash in my head, unbidden. I should send him back to his cell…should tell him to leave…but instead, I linger.
Instead, I meet his gaze with a defeated sigh. “Why exactly are you here, Ronan?”
“To see you, Eleanor.”
There’s something so intimate about the way he says my name, the way he’s looking at me…
