Ronan's POV
I set the phone down on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation.
*I don't regret it. Not one bit.*
I'd meant every word of it, which was the part that should've bothered me more than it did.
Ten years of discipline, ten years of building a man out of guilt and repetition and prayers I half-believed even on my best days, and one confession booth with Anne Whitlock in it had undone the whole architecture in under an hour.
I wasn't sorry. I kept waiting to be sorry, the way you wait for a storm you can already smell coming, and it just never showed up.
If anything I wanted her again already I wanted to skip the whole charade of a normal day and go straight back to whatever the hell we'd started in that hallway.
Christ. Even my thoughts didn
