Ronan lets go of me, buries his hands in my hair, his fingers cradling the back of my skull, and pulls me toward him until our mouths clash aggressively. My body immediately reacts to him, to his touch, to his tongue, as a sense of having lost something and finding it again washes through me.

Yet it’s a kiss full of hate and yearning.

It’s fire on my lips, burning them, burning me to the ground.

It’s a beautiful war.

And it feels like coming home.

Stunned and under his spell, I melt in the haven of his arms and let emotion override logic. Our tongues tangle in a passionate battle that demands total surrender from both of us, and for a short moment I give in, drugged by his taste, his essence, by him. I push myself closer to him as though I am trying to fuse our bodies into one, feeling a surrendering shudder rake through me, or is it him? And what a glorious torture it is. But then reality comes crashing down on me and I realize what I’m doing. What I’m allowing to happen. I move my arms between us, gather all my strength, and push him away from me, ending the kiss abruptly.

My chest rises and falls at rapid speed. I stare at a cool Ronan, who seems untouched by the kiss while I struggle to remain upright.

“You feel that, Blaire? That’s the fucking truth. But keep lying to yourself, I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

I rub my lips with the back of my hand, trying to soothe the sting of his kiss, or maybe, I’m trying to rub it in deeper until it’s engraved on my skin. In a moment of weakness, I crack. “You were supposed to be out of my life. You weren’t supposed to be back messing everything up.”

“But I am.” He moves my hand away and rubs my lower lip. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I’m with Lawrence now.”

At the mention of Lawrence, his expression darkens with hate. “I could’ve given you the world, Blaire. I fucking loved you.”

Tears sting my eyes, pain settling deep within my chest. “No, you couldn’t have. But Lawrence can.”

Then I break into a run, seeking the solace of the party before I have a chance to make a fool of myself and beg him to take me back.

Ronan

I sag defeatedly against the trunk of a tree as she runs away from me. Shaken, I reach for my pack of cigarettes, open it, grab another one, and place it loosely between my lips. As I’m lighting it, I notice dispassionately how badly my hands are shaking. I bite my lip after taking a deep drag and blowing out the smoke. Hope and fear that the trace of her flavor is gone from my mouth blend as one, but I can still taste her and it’s fucking torture.

Fuck.

When I make it back inside the house, I go in search of Rachel. I find her talking to Alan and Loretta Vanderhall, the smile on her lovely face stiff and unnatural. Ah, she knows.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, I whisper in her ear, “Want to get out of here?”

She places her hand on top of mine, nodding. As we walk toward the exit of the house, she says hollowly, “She’s lovely, Ronan.”

“Don’t give her another thought. She’s part of the past.” I stare at her and grab her hand, bringing it to my lips and kissing it. “I’m looking at the future, and that’s all that matters.”

That next morning, I quit work and give Carl a call. My first interview will be with the Times magazine, and it’s set to take place in two weeks.

I will forget you, Blaire. I will. I will conquer my love for you even if it costs me my own soul.

Blaire

I MAKE MY WAY BACK to the party in search of Lawrence, except I don’t want him to hold me anymore; the magical moment we shared on the dance floor forgotten. I don’t have it in me to continue fooling myself, not when every fiber in my body is begging me to go back to the garden. Not when my skin still tingles with the memory of being in Ronan’s arms after going so long without him.