Exposed on Ice

Chapter 8

Sienna Cross

I don’t sleep.

Not really.

I try.

I close my eyes, shift under the blanket, adjust Oliver twice even though he’s perfectly fine—and then I just… lie there.

Staring at the ceiling.

Because this bed?

This isn’t mine.

This room?

Definitely not mine.

And the fact that I’m in Ronan Vale’s bed?

Yeah.

My brain is having a field day with that one.

“Great,” I whisper to myself. “Fantastic life choices, Sienna.”

Oliver lets out a soft little sigh beside me, completely unbothered by my internal crisis.

Of course he is.

Must be nice.

I turn my head slightly, watching him for a moment, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing calm me down.

This is what matters.

Not the apartment.

Not Ronan.

Not the fact that I can still feel his presence in this space—like it’s soaked into the walls or something equally ridiculous.

God.

I need sleep.

I close my eyes again.

One minute.

Two.

Three—

A creak sounds from somewhere outside the room.

My eyes snap open.

I hold my breath, listening.

Footsteps.

Soft.

Careful.

And for some reason, my heart starts racing.

Not fear.

Just—

Awareness.

The door is still slightly open, just like he left it.

A sliver of light cuts through the darkness.

And then—

A shadow moves past it.

I swallow.

“This is stupid,” I whisper.

He lives here.

Obviously he’s moving around.

Still…

I push the blanket back gently and sit up, careful not to wake Oliver.

Maybe I just need water.

Yeah.

That’s normal.

People get water.

At… whatever time this is.

I slip out of bed quietly and step into the hallway.

The light in the living room is still on.

And so is he.

Ronan is standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a glass in his hand.

He looks up the second I appear.

Like he already knew I was there.

Of course he did.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low.

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself slightly.

“Not really.”

He nods, like that makes perfect sense.

“Yeah. Same.”

I glance at him.

Really look this time.

His hair’s messier now.

T-shirt slightly wrinkled.

Barefoot.

Relaxed.

And somehow that version of him is worse.

More dangerous.

Because it doesn’t feel like the Ronan everyone sees.

It feels… real.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say.

“You didn’t.”

“You were already up?”

“Wasn’t sleeping,” he admits.

There’s a pause.

Then—

“Want water?” he asks, pushing off the counter.

I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He grabs a glass, fills it, and hands it to me.

Our fingers brush again.

And this time—

Neither of us pulls away immediately.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough.

I clear my throat softly, taking the glass.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches between us.

Thick.

Not awkward.

Just… charged.

I take a sip, trying to focus on literally anything else.

Failing.

“Is this weird?” I ask suddenly.

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

He considers that.

Then shrugs slightly.

“Yeah,” he says. “A bit.”

I smile faintly. “Good. At least it’s not just me.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not just you.”

There’s something in his tone.

Something that makes my stomach flip in a way I do not appreciate.

I shift my weight slightly.

“This isn’t… normal for me,” I admit.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says, watching me.

“I mean it,” I add. “I don’t usually… end up in strange men’s apartments.”

His brow lifts. “Strange men?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t like that description.”

I roll my eyes slightly. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

That pulls a small laugh out of me.

God.

This is too easy.

That’s the problem.

It shouldn’t be this easy.

“You’re not what I expected,” I say before I can stop myself.

His expression shifts slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Worse or better?”

I hesitate.

Because the honest answer?

Dangerous.

“Different,” I settle on.

He watches me for a second longer than necessary.

Then nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Same.”

That hits.

Harder than it should.

I look away first, focusing on the glass in my hands.

Because this—

This is exactly how things get complicated.

And I don’t do complicated.

I can’t afford complicated.

“Ronan…” I start, not even sure what I’m going to say.

He steps a little closer.

Not much.

Just enough.

Enough that I notice.

Enough that I feel it.

“What?” he asks.

And now he’s too close.

Not touching.

But close enough that I’m very aware of everything.

His height.

His presence.

The way the air feels different.

I swallow.

“This is just… temporary,” I say.

There it is.

The line.

The boundary.

The thing I need to hold onto.

Something flickers in his expression.

Fast.

Gone just as quickly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

But he doesn’t step back.

Neither do I.

Which is—

Yeah.

Not helping.

At all.

My heart is beating faster now.

Too fast.

And I hate that I don’t move.

That I don’t create space.

That I just stand there, looking at him like this is a mistake I’m about to make.

“Go back to bed, Sienna,” he says quietly.

His voice is different now.

Lower.

Rougher.

Like he’s telling himself the same thing.

I let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Good idea.”

But I still don’t move.

Neither does he.

And for one stupid, reckless second—

I think about it.

About leaning in.

About closing that distance.

About doing something I definitely shouldn’t.

His jaw tightens slightly.

Like he’s thinking the same thing.

“Seriously,” he mutters. “Go.”

That snaps me out of it.

I nod quickly.

“Right. Yeah.”

I turn, maybe a little too fast, and head back toward the bedroom without looking back.

Because if I do?

I’m not entirely sure I’ll keep walking.

I slip back into bed, pulling the blanket up and staring at the ceiling again.

Heart still racing.

Breath uneven.

“Great,” I whisper.

This is exactly what I didn’t want.

Complicated.

Messy.

Dangerous.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of me…

Didn’t hate it.

At all.