WREN’S POV
The night stretched long and restless. I lay in bed shifting from one side to the other, my body heavy with exhaustion but my mind refused to quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, images of Ronan flickered behind my lids with his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.
Frustrated, I threw the covers off and padded to the kitchen. The house was still, the only sounds were my bare feet against the cool wooden floor and the faint crash of waves outside.
When I opened the fridge, I found it fully stocked with meats, vegetables, fruits, everything I needed to prepare a feast. My lips pressed together. Had he done this? Ronan didn’t strike me as the kind of man who paid attention to such things but then again, he was full of contradictions.
