RAYNE
Istand frozen against the counter, frantically smoothing my borrowed pajamas while my face burns hot enough to fry an egg. My hair’s a wild mess, my lips still tingling from Ronan’s kisses. If there was ever a moment I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole, it’s now.
Like, please.
A little boy rockets into the kitchen, clutching plastic monster toys in both hands. His dark hair and eyes make him a miniature version of Ronan. There’s just no mistaking whose child he is. He skids to a stop when he sees me, eyes widening with curiosity rather than suspicion.
“Who are you?” he asks, tilting his head.
Before I can stammer out an answer, an older couple appears in the doorway. The woman carries takeout bags that smell like heaven, while the man behind her holds a drink carrier with coffee cups. They both freeze mid-step, taking in the scene: me, disheveled in borrowed pajamas; Ronan, whose usual composure seems slightly cracked; and the kitchen counter where, minutes ago, we were about to—
Oh God. I’m going to die of embarrassment right here.
“Well, hello there,” the woman says, recovering first. Her smile is warm and genuine, completely at odds with the awkwardness of the situation. “I didn’t know Ronan had a guest.”
Ronan clears his throat. “Mom, Dad, this is Rayne Silva. Rayne, these are my parents, Thomas and Maggie.”
His parents. His parents are here. And I’m wearing pajamas with my hair looking like I’ve been thoroughly kissed because I HAVE been thoroughly kissed by their son, who purchased me at an auction less than twenty-four hours ago.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Maggie says, setting down the bags on the counter and approaching with outstretched hands. When she takes mine, her grip is firm and warm.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice embarrassingly squeaky.
Thomas nods at me, his weathered face creasing with a slight smile. “Morning,” he says simply, setting down the coffee.
Ryan tugs at Ronan’s pants. “Daddy, is she your friend? Can she see my toys?”
Ronan ruffles his son’s hair, and the tenderness in the gesture catches me off guard. “Her name is Rayne, and yes, she’s my friend. And I’m sure she’d love to see your toys. After breakfast.”
Maggie’s already unpacking the bags, revealing stacks of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns. The smell hits me, and my stomach growls loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Perfect timing,” Maggie laughs. “Let’s get this food on plates before it gets cold. Ryan insisted on your favorite diner, Ronan.”
“Best pancakes in the state,” Ryan tells me solemnly, as if sharing a profound secret. He inches closer to me. “Do you like pancakes? Which ones? Blueberry, strawberry, with peanut butter and whipped cream?”
“I love pancakes,” I say. “I’m not a fan of whipped cream, though. Maybe with fresh fruits.”
“With syrup or without?” His eyes narrow, like this is a test.
“With. Lots of it.”
He grins, displaying a missing front tooth. “Me too! Daddy says I use too much, but Nana says there’s no such thing.”
“Your Nana sounds very wise.”
“She is! She knows everything.” He leans even closer. “Even more than Daddy.”
“I heard that,” Ronan says dryly, but there’s amusement in his eyes.
Before I know what’s happening, Maggie herds us all to the dining table. I try to hang back, feeling like an intruder on this family moment, but she’s having none of it.
“Sit, sit,” she insists, practically pushing me into a chair. “Any friend of Ronan’s is family at our table.”
If only she knew. I’m not a friend. I’m a charity case he bought at an auction.
Ryan scrambles into the chair right beside me, placing his toys carefully beside his plate. “This is Godzilla,” he explains, pointing to the largest monster. “And this is Rodan, and this is Mechagodzilla. He’s a robot.”
“They’re very cool,” I say, genuinely impressed by his enthusiasm.
“Do you like monsters?” he asks, eyes wide and hopeful.
I consider this seriously. “Kind of. I think they’re misunderstood. Everyone thinks they’re scary, but maybe they’re just different.”
Ryan’s mouth drops open. “That’s what I always say! You all heard it, right? Daddy, she gets it!”
Across the table, Ronan watches us with an expression I can’t quite read. He’s quiet, passing plates and pouring juice, but his eyes rarely leave my face. Every time our gazes connect, heat floods my cheeks as I remember his hands on my skin, his mouth on my—
“Syrup?” Thomas asks, breaking my inappropriate train of thought. He holds out the bottle, his expression neutral but somehow knowing.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting it with shaking hands.
“What books do you like?” Ryan asks, mouth already full of pancake. “I like dinosaur books and monster books and space books.”
“Ryan, chew and swallow before you talk,” Ronan says.
I smile at the boy. “I like all kinds of books. Stories about adventures and magic and brave people.”
“Do you read bedtime stories?” He stabs another piece of pancake. “Daddy reads the best bedtime stories. He does all the voices.”
I nearly choke on my coffee, trying not to picture Ronan, intimidating billionaire, doing silly voices for children’s books. It’s an oddly endearing thought, and it tugs at something inside me. Something I’d rather not unspool right now.
“I bet he’s very good at that,” I say, and when I glance up, Ronan’s watching me with heat in his eyes.
“What’s your favorite food?” Ryan continues, seemingly determined to know everything about me. “Mine’s pizza and ice cream and pancakes and dino chicken nuggets and—”
I chuckle. “Sounds like you have lots of favorites.”
He nods vigorously. “What’s yours?”
“Hmm. My mom makes this amazing pasta with garlic bread. I think that’s my favorite.”
“I love pasta! Daddy, can we have pasta tonight? Can Rayne’s mom come make it?”
My smile falters. “My mom’s not feeling well these days. That’s why I’m … visiting your dad.” Not technically a lie.
Ryan’s face falls. “Is she sick? My friend Ethan’s grandma got sick and had to go to the hospital.”
“Something like that,” I say softly, guilt already eating at me. Mom’s at the hospital, and here I am, enjoying breakfast as though I have no care in the world. As though everything’s normal. As though I deserve this.
“I hope she gets better,” he says with such sincerity that my heart twists.
“Thank you, Ryan. That’s very kind.”
“Are you staying forever?” he asks, leaning against my arm as he reaches for his juice.
The table goes quiet. I feel everyone’s eyes on me.
“No, just for the weekend,” I answer carefully.
Ryan frowns. “But I like you. You should stay longer. We can talk about monsters, and you can read me bedtime stories. I bet you’re better than Dad with the voices.”
“Ryan,” Ronan cuts in, his voice gentle but firm. “Remember what we talked about? Never force people.”
“But—”
“Why don’t you go get your new books to show Rayne?” Maggie suggests, smoothly changing the subject. “The ones we bought yesterday?”
Ryan brightens immediately. “Okay! Don’t move!” He slides off his chair and races from the room.
The moment he’s gone, Maggie reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. Her eyes are bright with emotion.
“I have to tell you,” she says, voice thick, “Ryan doesn’t do this. He only ever talks this way with us and his teacher. He never takes to strangers like this.” She squeezes my hand again. “You’re special, dear.”
I blink rapidly, completely caught off guard by her words and the sudden lump in my throat. “I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say,” Thomas adds quietly. “Boy knows good people when he sees ‘em.”
I look at Ronan, who’s watching me with an intensity that steals my breath. There’s something possessive in his gaze, but also something vulnerable.
The realization hits me like a thunderbolt: I fit here. With this little boy’s easy chatter, Maggie’s warmth, Thomas’s quiet acceptance, and Ronan’s smoldering presence. I fit. Like I’ve found a place I never knew I was looking for.
And that terrifies me because I don’t belong here. Not really. In less than two days, I’ll be gone, back to my real life with its mounting debts and constant worry. This warm kitchen, this family, this feeling of belonging—it’s all borrowed time.
But as Ryan races back in with books clutched to his chest, his little body immediately pressing against mine as he opens the first page, I can’t help but wish it could be real.
Iwatch from the doorway as Rayne kneels beside Ryan’s bed, her voice soft as she finishes the story about a dinosaur who couldn’t find his way home. My son’s eyelids are heavy, fighting sleep to hear one more word from her. He’s been glued to her side all day—following her around the house, showing her every toy, every book, asking endless questions.
Each time I watched them—my eyes never left her, if I’m being honest—my chest constricted. This wasn’t how I planned to spend the the first twenty-four hours with her, but I’m not complaining.
“Good night, Rayne,” he says softly, eyes finally closing.
“Goodnight, Ryan.” She brushes his hair back from his forehead—a gesture so natural it makes an unnamed, unfamiliar feeling rise to the surface.
I step forward. “Time for sleep, buddy.”
Ryan’s eyes flutter open one last time. “Is Rayne gonna be here tomorrow when I wake up?”
“Yes,” I answer before she can.
“Good.” He smiles, already drifting off. “She’s the best. I like her.”
I bend to kiss his forehead and guide Rayne out of the room, keeping my hand at the small of her back. The contact isn’t necessary, but I can’t seem to stop touching her. All day I’ve been waiting for this moment—for Ryan to fall asleep so I could have her to myself.
“He really likes you,” I say as we walk down the hallway. It’s not a compliment but a statement of fact that surprises even me. Ryan has always been shy around strangers, especially women. I haven’t dated anyone since his mother left, but each time I introduced him to a colleague or friend, he retreated into silence, wary and distant.
“He’s a wonderful boy. So curious and sweet.”
“He’s never taken to anyone like this.” The words come out rougher than intended.
She glances up at me. “I take it you haven’t dated much?”
“No.” I guide her toward the living room, where the massive Christmas tree I had delivered stands bare in the corner. “Not worth the effort. Women see the money, not me.”
“Must be hard to trust anyone’s intentions.”
Something in her tone makes me look at her more closely. She’s fidgeting with her hands, uncomfortable. She’s hiding something. I’ve been in enough boardroom negotiations to recognize evasion when I see one.
I won’t press, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do whatever I can to find out. If she needs help and is too shy to ask for it, then I’ll solve all her problems for her anyway … with or without her knowing.
We reach the living room, and I watch her reaction to the twelve-foot Douglas fir dominating the space. Boxes of ornaments and lights sit unopened beside it. Every year, Ryan picks a theme. This year, he wants all the colors of the rainbow. I can’t really complain. It’s so much better than last year’s dinosaur decorations. Imagine a T-Rex on top instead of a star.
“You’re decorating?” she asks, clearly changing the subject.
“We are. Ryan will be asleep for hours. I thought we could surprise him.”
Her face softens. “That’s a lovely idea.”
I open the first box of lights, unwinding the strand between my hands. “What were your Christmases like growing up?”
She takes the other end of the lights, helping me untangle them. “Small but special. Mom always made sure we had a tree, even when money was tight. We’d make paper chains and popcorn garlands.” She smiles at the memory. “What about you?”
“Quite similar to yours. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, especially when a new mechanic showed up in town. Mom didn’t make a lot as a seamstress, either. We usually just had eggnog and cake at Christmas. It was fine. I wasn’t big on holidays.”
“And now?”
“Now I have Ryan.” I look up at her, holding her gaze. “I make sure he remembers every single Christmas we spend together.”
We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes, circling the tree with lights. Her hair catches the glow, turning golden. I find myself watching her more than the decorations. If last night I thought her stunning, whatever feelings I have for her have grown tenfold. My self-control already snapped earlier. It’s now so close to breaking point again, I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if I even want to.
“Ever sit on Santa’s lap?” I ask, deliberately breaking the silence.
She laughs. “Once. I was five and terrified. I refused to tell him what I wanted because I was convinced he already knew.”
“Smart girl.” I reach around her to adjust a light, my chest brushing her back. She stills, and I feel her breath catch. “What would you ask for now?”
“Nothing complicated. Financial security. Health. The usual adult wishes.”
There it is again—that evasion. Something about money troubles, which is pretty obvious given her participation at an auction, but there’s something else she won’t share. I make a mental note to have my investigator look deeper into her background. I need to know what drove her to that auction, what desperation pushed a woman like her to sell herself to strangers. I have a feeling it’s more than her mom’s medical bills.
“Hand me that box of ornaments,” I say, deciding to press later. For now, I just want to see her smile again.
She brings over a box of crystal snowflakes, carefully lifting one. “These are beautiful.”
“They’re new. I bought them the other day.”
Her eyebrow raises. “You went Christmas ornament shopping?”
“I had my assistant do it.”
She laughs. “Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?” I take the ornament from her hand, letting my fingers brush hers.
“It means you’re exactly what I expected.” She reaches past me for another ornament, her body close enough that I start to burn. “Billionaire who delegates everything.”
“Not everything.” I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Some things I handle personally.”
Her skin turns bright red. She steps back, nearly stumbling. I catch her elbow, steadying her.
“Careful, sweetheart,” I say, not letting go. “These floors can be slippery.”
“T-thank you.” She pulls away, busying herself with the ornaments.
We work our way around the tree, her hanging ornaments at the bottom while I place them higher. The domestic rhythm feels oddly right. Natural. As if we’ve done this before.
“You’re too tall,” she says, stretching to reach a bare spot near the top. “It’s unfair.”
I move behind her, reaching over her head to place the ornament. “Better?”
She turns, finding herself trapped between me and the tree. “Show-off.”
“Can’t help it. Why waste time with a ladder when I’m right here?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, then quickly away. “Did you decorate trees with Ryan’s mother?”
The question catches me off guard. “No. She left when he was six months old. Decided motherhood didn’t suit her lifestyle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Her loss.” I reach for another ornament, forcing her to stay close to me. “What about you? Ever do this with someone special?”
She shakes her head. “Not since Mom got sick. The last few years have been … complicated.”
“How sick is she?”
Her eyes widen slightly. I’ve surprised her with the directness.
“It’s treatable but … expensive.” She looks away, hand trembling slightly as she hangs another ornament.
“Is that why you were at the auction?”
She freezes. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why not?” I press my palm against the tree trunk, effectively caging her in. “Ashamed?”
“No.” She lifts her chin. “Desperate, not ashamed. There’s a difference.”
“Tell me why.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tries to duck under my arm, but I don’t move.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” Her voice rises slightly. “It was a business arrangement. You paid for the weekend. What does it matter why I was there?”
“Because I want to know everything about you.” The truth slips out before I can filter it. “Because nothing about you makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re educated, beautiful, intelligent. You don’t fit the profile of people at that auction.”
She swallows hard. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
I lean closer until my mouth ghosts her skin. “I know more than you realize.”
“W-what does that mean?”
Instead of answering, I reach up and plug in the lights. The tree illuminates, bathing us both in soft, multicolored light. Her face transforms in the glow—worry giving way to childlike wonder.
“God, it’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“Yes, it is.” But I’m not looking at the tree.
Her eyes meet mine, and something electric passes between us. All the tension from the day—watching her with my son, seeing her move through my house like she belongs there, the constant, maddening distance I’ve forced myself to keep—it all converges into this moment.
And I fucking snap.
I cup her face in my hand. “I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone.”
“But Ryan—”
“Is asleep.” My thumb brushes her lower lip. “And I’m done waiting.”
I kiss her, finally, under the half-decorated tree. She responds immediately, her body melting against mine, her lips parting. The kiss deepens, turns hungry and urgent and demanding. I back her against the wall beside the tree, pinning her there with my body.
“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” I say against her neck, dragging my tongue along the outer shell of her ear.
Her hands grip my shoulders. “Me too.”
I lift her, and her legs wrap around my waist, dress riding up her thighs. She’s warm and perfect in my arms. I carry her to the floor beneath the tree, laying her down on the thick rug, the lights casting patterns across her skin.
“I want to see you,” I say, fingers finding the zipper of the sundress she found in the guest bedroom. “I can’t fucking wait to see you.”
She nods, lifting slightly to help me remove it. The dress slides away, revealing cotton underwear beneath. She’s perfect so fucking perfect—soft curves, skin like silk, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, trailing my fingers along her collarbone. “Every inch of you.”
Her hands fumble with my shirt buttons. “You too. Please.”
I strip quickly, efficiently, never taking my eyes off her. When I’m down to my boxers, I lower myself over her again, the contact of skin against skin drawing groans from us both.
“Tell me what you want,” I say, kissing down her throat.
“You. Just you.”
I unclasp her bra, revealing full breasts that fit perfectly in my hands. I take one nipple into my mouth, circling it with my tongue, drawing a gasp from her.
“So responsive,” I murmur against her skin. “So perfect.”
My hand slides between her legs, finding her already wet through the thin fabric of her panties. “Look how ready you are for me.”
She arches against my touch. “Please…”
“Please what?” I tease her through the fabric, watching her eyes glaze with need.
“Don’t tease.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“You,” she gasps. “Inside me.”
I hook my fingers into her panties, dragging them down her legs. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see that pussy.”
She complies, face flushed but eyes determined. I kneel between her thighs, taking in the sight of her completely bare before me, illuminated by Christmas lights.
“Good girl,” I praise, watching her reaction to the words. Her pupils dilate, body responding. “Look at you opening for me. Look at that glistening pussy ready and waiting for my cock. But not yet.”
I lower my head, tasting her with a long, slow lick. She cries out, hips bucking against my mouth. I hold her thighs apart, devouring her like a man starved. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to make me growl against her. I flatten my tongue on her clit as I slip a finger inside her tight pussy.
Fuck, she feels good. I need my cock inside her.
“Ronan—” she gasps, thighs trembling.
I pull away, making her whimper. “Not yet.” I crawl back up her body, kissing her deeply so she can taste herself on my tongue. “I want to be inside you when you come.”
I strip off my boxers, my cock heavy and aching between us. Her eyes widen at the sight.
“Worried?” I smirk.
“Y-yes. I don’t think that will fit.”
“It will, sweetheart. Your body was made for me.”
“O-okay.”
“I’ll go slow.” I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock teasing her wetness. “Until you beg me not to.”
I push in slowly, watching her face as I fill her inch by inch. Her body stretches around me, so tight it takes every ounce of control not to slam into her.
“That’s it, baby. Take all of me.”
“Ronan, it’s so good. God.”
I begin to move, setting a slow pace, letting her adjust to my size. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips rising to meet mine. Beneath us, the lights of the tree reflect off our sweat-slicked skin.
“More,” she says, wrapping her legs higher around my waist. “Deeper and faster.”
I growl, picking up the pace. “Greedy girl.”
I lift her suddenly, carrying her to the wall without breaking our connection. I pin her there, driving up into her from below, using the wall for leverage. Her head falls back, exposing her throat to my mouth.
“This body,” I grunt between thrusts. “Every inch is mine.”
“Yes. Yours. Take me, Ronan.”
I carry her back to the floor, this time lying on my back, positioning her above me. “Ride me,” I say. “Show me how much you want this.”
She straddles me, sinking down on my cock with a moan that nearly undoes me. My hands grip her ass, guiding her movements. She’s glorious above me—hair wild, breasts bouncing, face transformed with pleasure.
“Look at you, sweetheart. Taking me so well. Such a good girl.”
The praise makes her clench around me, her rhythm faltering. I sit up, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other hand tangling in her hair to pull her face to mine.
“Are you close?” I ask against her lips.
She nods, eyes half-closed. “So close.”
“Come for me.” I shift my angle, hitting deeper. “Now, Rayne.”
She shatters around me, her inner walls clamping down so hard I follow immediately, emptying myself inside her with a hoarse shout. We cling to each other, trembling through the aftershocks, our skin damp and hot despite the cool air of the room.
Slowly, I cradle her against my chest, my heart feeling like it’s about to escape its cage. My head spins, my emotions all over the place.
Above us, the Christmas lights twinkle, casting multicolored shadows across our entangled bodies.
“I think,” I say after our breathing has calmed, “we should finish decorating the tree.”
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Maybe we should put some clothes on first.”
“Eventually.” I stroke her hair, enjoying the weight of her body on mine. “No rush.”
Looking up at the half-decorated tree, with Rayne warm in my arms, I realize something that should terrify me but doesn’t: For the first time in years, I actually want Christmas for myself.
And I know with absolute clarity that when the weekend ends, I’m not letting her go.
