Chapter 8 Ronan pulls his sleek car into a spot in the shade outside the hotel. "You good?" "Debatable." I'm about to lose the battle I've been fighting with my nerves all afternoon since I retrieved this dress from its garment bag. "How is this going to play out? What name are we going with? Ann or Sarah, or ..." He cuts the engine. "You're into role-playing? Is that your bag?" "No, but it's probably better if you don't introduce me as, you know, the 'crazy rooster commune lady.'" I air quote that ridiculous nickname. "Sloane is unique, but there are a million Sarahs. Or Avas. I've always loved that name. Or ..." He slides out of the driver's seat without answering. I'm careful with the hem of my dress as I climb out of my side, ever aware of the revealing slit that Ronan's focus snagged on earlier. I could feel his hot breath on my skin as he was crouching to collect my purse. It was nearly my undoing, and less than minute after I declared a no-sex night. I am doomed with this man-absolutely zero control-a reality I am aware of but continue to deny like a fool. A row of luxury cars lines up next to us. A Porsche 911, a Viper, another Porsche, a Jag. "Seriously, what kind of dinner is this?" I ask. Ronan rounds his bumper. "Mostly friends. It's supposed to be casual. Whatever that means with these people." "These people?" I guess they're not Ronan's people. Where did he come from, besides Indianapolis? "Yeah, rich-from-birth elite, trust fund brats. Except for Abbi. And as far as introducing you as anyone other than who you are, there's no point. Henry will recognize you." I frown. "How? We've never met." He shakes his head, his laugh derisive. "Never assume he doesn't know everything about everyone in the room." "That's creepy." "It sounded worse than it is. I just mean he has an investigator on retainer." "An investigator? Henry Wolf had me investigated?" I don't know why that's shocking. Ronan exhales heavily. "This is not going well." "No, it's really not." "Listen." He steps forward and settles his hands on my biceps, his thumbs gently stroking my skin. It's a gesture that's likely meant to soothe but instead stirs my pulse. "He had his people do some digging, given your, how should I call it-" His plump lips twist with a hint of amusement. "-passionate opposition to the hotel. He knows what you look like, which is why he didn't want me anywhere near you." His eyes scan my face. "He knew I wouldn't be able to resist you." "What does it matter, though, if we're together? The hotel is built. The damage is done." Why did it matter in the first place? "It doesn't. If he doesn't like it, fuck him. Anyway, I told Abbi about us, and she really wants to meet you." Hearing Ronan say the word us makes a flutter stir in my chest and pushes aside any little red flags that I sense waving in my subconscious. But I still have doubts. "So, you're not worried about Henry firing you anymore." "Nah, he's all talk. And if I'm wrong, oh well. It's just a job. I can find another one." "Another one like this one?" I have no idea what he did to get his position here, but it can't be a dime-a-dozen role. He's staying in a beach mansion, dressed in pricey clothes, and driving a sports car. If he isn't one of "these people," it means this job is spoiling him. "Are you always this reckless about important things in your life?" Ronan collects my chin between his thumb and his index finger. "No, I just have my priorities straight and will never choose a fucking hotel-or any job-over important people." His gaze is penetrating as he leans in to kiss me softly on the lips. "Ready?" he whispers when he pulls away. I nod, because I can't seem to find words. I am pregnant with this man's baby. This irresponsible, possibly brainless, most likely soon-to-be unemployed manwhore. And I think I'm swooning. "There's one familiar face for you." Ronan juts his chin toward the concierge desk, where a broad-shouldered blond man leans over the counter, chatting with the woman standing behind it. "Huh. I barely recognize him without his board shorts." Connor is transformed by upscale dress clothes that hug his muscular body in all the right places. He looks good. If I didn't know what a buffoon he is, he'd earn more than a second's glance from me. "Yeah, he's a brute, but he can clean up. Con!" he calls out. Connor peers over his shoulder at us, his blue eyes snagging on my plunging neckline for a few beats. With a pat against the desk and a wink for the woman, he strolls toward us, a slight limp to his step. "Ahoy, Captain," Connor says by way of greeting. I'm about to respond with a simple hello, but then he envelops me in his beefy arms until I'm smothered against his chest with my arms pinned between us and inhaling a potent citrus-and-leather cologne. This is a completely inappropriate and ridiculous greeting-I barely know the guy, and he's acting like we're long-lost pals-and yet I find myself laughing as I endure. "Fuck, you smell good, Cap." Connor inhales. "Okay. You can let her breathe now," Ronan chides. I press my hand against his hard middle, and he eases up on his death grip, allowing me to break free. "How's the knee?" "A little sore after being on it all day." He bends his leg as if in proof. "Nothing like poor Katie, though. She's gonna be on crutches for a bit. They should be landing in Miami right about now," he adds, checking his watch. "Good thing Kyle's with them to help with the luggage. Why she packed all that shit for three days is beyond me. She was in a bikini the entire time anyway." Connor might be an ignorant meatball, as Ryan put it, but he's a meatball who cares for his friends. "Yeah, I heard. I called Ryan earlier to check in." "You did?" Ronan's eyebrows arch with surprise. "Of course. It was the right thing to do." Even if Katie wasn't the reason I did it. "And what'd she tell you?" "Basically what Connor just said. Plus, that she's writing the Sea Witch a glowing review." The corner of Ronan's mouth twitches. "Anything else?" "Why? What else could she have told me?" There's a playful challenge in my voice. He shrugs. "Who knows? She's related to this bigmouth." He jerks his chin toward Connor. "I never know what's going to come out of his trap. Was she sober?" I chuckle. "I don't think she'll be drinking again for a while." "Oh, yeah." Connor grimaces as if remembering the unfortunate turn of events on Sunday. "I made her clean that bathroom." "She probably cleaned the whole house before they left anyway," Ronan throws in. "I hope she folded those towels I left on the couch." Connor rubs a palm over his jaw. "Damn, I miss living with her." I shake my head. "You guys live like frat boys, don't you?" "Why don't you come over tonight and see for yourself?" Connor's gaze shines with a mixture of curiosity and something I can't identify. I'd assume it was an innocent invitation if I didn't know what these two have gotten into in the past. Is he hoping Ronan will share me? Would Ronan share me with his friend? My stomach tightens with unease at that thought. "Maybe another time." "Come on, you gotta. Wolf set us up with a killer pad. Four-story house right on the beach. Pool, rooftop patio. It's mint." "He set me up," Ronan corrects. "You are a squatter." "And I shall reap the benefits. Opal Reef?" Connor asks, backing away. "Seraphina's first. Cocktails for sunset." "Okay, then let's roll. I'm fucking famished." Connor pats his stomach and the washboard abs I know are hiding under there. "You're always famished," Ronan says. "You should be happy I'm so predictable." He aims for a lengthy hallway. I smile at their easy banter. Maybe Connor's invitation was innocent and I'm imagining things. I shouldn't assume he's attracted to me, even though he's an incessant flirt and as smooth as butter on a hot day. Cody joked a few times about inviting Rebel or Skye into our bed. I should have caught the red flags, but that's beside the point. My answer was always an abrupt no, followed by a fight. No, I wasn't willing to share him. He never suggested bringing another man in-to share me. I can't even wrap my head around that. How many of the women Ronan and Connor end up with have never considered the possibility until they find themselves facing these two? They're charming and easygoing, the vibe around them warm and inviting. Add in a few drinks, and how many would decline? Would I, honestly? A mental picture hits me then as my imagination takes off in sordid directions of where this night could end, and a furious flush heats my cheeks. "You good?" Ronan settles a hand at the small of my bare back, the heat of his touch sending a warm shiver along my spine. "Yeah. Great." Though I'm beginning to wish I were completely clueless about these two and their extracurricular activities. We fall into step with Connor, me sandwiched between the two tall pillars of easy confidence as we stroll. I take in the arched ceilings with tropical plant leaves painted in murals over them, and the marble floors, and the stone water fountain that spouts water from a mermaid's mouth. The décor is rich and lush; every detail appears painstakingly considered. Even the air smells expensive-of Japanese cherry blossoms. "Not bad, right?" Ronan asks as if reading my mind. I shrug it off with an "It's all right." No way will I be caught dead admiring this place. I will admit to myself, though, I may have cursed every day of this build and prayed for spontaneous fires, termites, even a hurricane to tear it down, but as I walk along the corridor, it would be a luxurious hotel to stay in. Up ahead, two female staff members tend to a lush living wall. When they note us coming, they pause their task to watch us approach with rapt interest. Or rather, watch the two men who bank my sides. I can't fault them for that. Ronan and Connor were both granted divine gifts in the physical department. They could grace magazines. Hell, Ronan basically did for the Wolf wedding. Clearly, they appeal to the staff of the hotel. But do people around here know exactly how good of friends these two are? "Hey, Con," the dirty blond calls out, pulling off her gloves to smooth a crease in her botanical green uniform. "Lily." Connor flashes a million-watt smile in greeting as his pace slows a touch. "You having people over this weekend?" she asks, toying with her ponytail. The brunette pretends to be focused on a succulent while stealing frequent glances at Ronan. It sounds like these girls have been to their house. They're both young and attractive. Did they all hook up? Am I going to be looking at every woman and wondering this? "Nope. Sorry, got out-of-town guests," Ronan answers for him. "Next week, for sure," Connor promises. "We'll see." Ronan spears him with a warning glare. Lily shrugs. "Okay, sounds good." I get a cursory glance from both women then, just enough for them to assess my dress, my face, perhaps Ronan's outstretched arm and their level of competition, before they offer a chorus of "laters". "Stop inviting women that work in my department home, man," Ronan scolds as soon as they're out of earshot. "You're gonna get me into shit with HR." "Why? You're not fucking them." But by his tone, it's clear that Connor is. "I can't remember the brunette's name," he continues. "Mary? Marie? No ..." He pauses, scratching his chin in thought, before he suddenly snaps his fingers. "Marni. That's it. Damn, she was something. She does this thing with her tongue⁠-" "Dude." "What, I can't even talk about it now?" Connor scoffs. "Just 'cause you're the big kahuna around here, the top dog, the grand pooh-bah⁠-" "Shut up," Ronan mutters. Connor leans in to mock whisper, "He used to be way more fun." "I can only imagine." But the ill feeling that started to build in my stomach has vanished instantly. "You know, he got kicked out of a bar in Miami once for getting a blow job in the middle of-oof!" His words cut off as Ronan's hand leaves my back to reach around and shove him. My mouth gapes. That seems to egg Connor on. "And you wouldn't believe what he ordered me to do tonight. His boss, Belinda, needs⁠-" "I swear to fucking God, Con," Ronan warns with a growl. They exchange looks, and a silent conversation seems to pass over my head-literally and figuratively. With a devilish grin, Connor finally quiets. "So, what's on the menu for tonight?" I ask, steering the conversation away from Connor's needling and stories of Ronan's past sexcapades. "No clue. I was told I have to be here, so I'm here. I'm sure it'll be good, though." Ronan's fingers trace a circle on my back before his palm settles there again. I stifle my sigh of contentment. "Fuck, I hope it's not like that weird shit they had at the wedding," Connor complains. "What was it called again? Those flying fish eggs." Ronan chuckles. "Tobiko." "They had that weird crunchy popping texture." Connor's face morphs with disgust. "I'll try anything once, but, man, I'd rather drink a glass full of cum than ever put those in my mouth again." I grimace. "Yeah, see?" He points at my face. "That's me, but with tobiko." "Did I say he cleans up well?" Ronan shakes his head at his friend as we swing right and out of a set of doors "Wow." It slips out from my lips unbidden. "Right?" Ronan nods in agreement as we take in the hotel's outdoor bar that overlooks the beach and the gulf waters. I've seen it from the other side, while walking along the shoreline, but the vista from this angle is decadent. The color scheme is sand and gold, which only amplifies the idyllic view of the fiery sunset descending into the water horizon. Palm trees sway above while an expanse of stonework allows for various levels, maximizing the opportunity for a good view. Front and center is a square bar with a roof above and seating all around to accommodate at least two dozen patrons. Twenty or so well-dressed people mill around, chattering in small groups, while a server in a blush-colored uniform weaves around with a platter. I see what Ronan means now, about my dress matching the hotel's color scheme. Not quite, but close. "Sliders. Now, that's what I'm talking about." Connor charges away, leaving Ronan and me alone. "He seems very food motivated," I note as we watch him carve a path through people. "Yeah, I had a golden retriever just like him when I was a kid. His name was Pickles. You couldn't trust him with food on the counter, and he humped a lot of legs." Ronan shifts his stance to face me. "You seem on edge tonight." "Do I?" I shouldn't be surprised. I have a lot going on-this surprise pregnancy, crashing my archenemy's dinner party, dating a guy who enjoys casual threesomes with his best friend. "Wouldn't you be if you were about to meet Henry Wolf for the first time?" He studies me for a few beats. "You sure that's all it is?" Ronan is too perceptive, far more than I expected. But I should have. I've had him pegged all wrong since the moment he stepped into the Sea Witch. I decide to flip it around. "Why? What do you think I'm on edge about?" He steps in closer, his fingertips toying with the gauzy material in my dress. "Does Connor make you uncomfortable?" "No." The truth is he doesn't, despite his boisterous personality and invasion of personal space. There is something oddly comfortable about being around them. "Is it because of what I told you about Connor yesterday?" "You mean your penchant for threesomes?" No point being vague. A hint of a smile curves his lips. "I don't know if I'd call it a penchant." "What would you call it, then?" "More like a drunken 'sure, fuck it, why not' situation." "Funny, my drunken 'sure, fuck it, why not' situations usually involve ordering extra meat on my pizza." "Doesn't sound too different." Ronan smirks. "Oh my God." My face flushes as we both share a laugh at the double entendre I didn't intend. But I can't let it go yet. "And how often do you find yourself in that sort of situation?" Because I need to know what I'm getting myself into, if I'm setting myself up for a guy who's not ready to give up that lifestyle. His humor slides off as a somberness takes over. "Over a year now. Since Abbi and Henry's wedding." "At a wedding? I mean, how'd it happen?" How do these two friends end up in these compromising positions? "You want details?" he asks skeptically. "I don't know," I giggle nervously. "Maybe?" Is it curiosity about this man or a need to prepare for pitfalls, because I'm quickly seeing how a few drinks around them could lead to all kinds of unexpected things. Ronan falters. "I don't share specifics. It feels wrong." "Oh, right. Of course." Ryan did warn that Ronan doesn't kiss and tell. Still, an unexpected wave of disappointment washes over me that he won't be open with me. Ronan cocks his head as he studies me for a few beats. "But you're the type that needs to know, aren't you?" I swallow. "Yeah, I think I am." He pauses, his lips pursed. "It wasn't a⁠-" "Hello, hello! Fancy meeting you here," a familiar voice cuts in. I spin on my heels and find Jeremy in a peach-colored button-down and beige dress pants, holding a tray of champagne flutes. "Hey!" My smile is genuine, even if his timing is lousy. Jeremy nods at Ronan. "Sir, good to see you again." "Oh fuck, don't 'sir' me, man. Seriously." Jeremy chuckles. "Okay, got it." "You're working here tonight?" I ask. Obviously, but it's a Tuesday. The deal Ronan negotiated was weekends only. Jeremy shrugs. "They needed an extra body last-minute, and I was finished my cruise shift. Missed you out on the water again today." "Yeah, I had some appointments and other things. I'll be back tomorrow." "Good. Don't expect a great review for Tiki One today." Jeremy widens his eyes with meaning. "I thought Frank was going to toss one of the guys over the rail." I groan. "Can't wait to hear that story." Though as bad as it is for business, it's always entertaining hearing Frank's version of events. Jeremy holds out his tray. "I know this isn't Sapporo, but⁠-" "Yes, please." I don't let him finish before I snatch a glass and take a sizeable gulp. Only when my mouth is full of champagne do I remember that I can't drink it. At least, not until I make a decision. Panic erupts inside me, and I do the only thing I can think of-I spit the champagne back into my glass. Jeremy and Ronan wear matching frowns. "It's gone bad," I croak, the only excuse I can come up with for my unladylike action, and a terrible one at that. "Really?" Jeremy lifts a glass, sniffs it, then samples it. "Tastes good to me. More than good. It's Cristal." "Uh, yeah, I guess I'm not a champagne kind of girl," I lie, setting my glass down on a nearby table. Dammit, when will I ever get a chance to drink Cristal again? And how am I going to get through tonight, let alone the next nine months, without a single drink? "No worries, I'll get you your beer," Jeremy says. "No!" "Uh ... okay?" His gaze narrows with an unspoken question I adjust my tone. "A tall glass of water for now would be great. My head's been hurting on and off all day." "You got it. Comin' right up." Jeremy strolls away, pausing to hand out champagne to a couple in his path. If Ronan thinks anything of my odd behavior, he doesn't let on, too busy surveying the crowd. "He's not here, is he?" I looked for Henry Wolf but couldn't spot him. I've seen a thousand pictures of the man's face, but maybe he's photoshopped and less handsome in real life. "Not yet. Come on, let's do the rounds." His hand slides into mine as if that's where it belongs, as if that's where it's always been, and he guides me to where Connor is, chatting up two men who look familiar. "Brisket and cantaloupe," Connor says by way of greeting, holding up a half-eaten slider. In his other hand is a tall pint of beer. "Who woulda thought." "Strange combo," Ronan agrees. "Whatever. Like I said, I'll try anything once." Connor winks at me, his words laced with innuendo. "Guys, this is Sloane, but we call her Cap. Sloane, this is Merrick and Preston." "They were groomsmen at Henry's wedding," Ronan elaborates, shaking each one's hand in greeting. The wedding. Of course. It's hard to forget faces like these. It makes sense that they'd be Henry Wolf's friends. They're dripping money. "So, 'Cap.' That's got to be a story," the raven-haired man on the left says, his British accent posh-sounding. "Not really. I run a small tiki cruise company, and I sometimes play captain." "Captain of a tiki cruise." A condescending glint sparkles in his eye as he says the words tiki cruise. "I think the term skipper would be more appropriate?" "I don't give a fuck what you stuffy bastards think. She's 'Cap' to me, and that was one fun ride." Connor gives my bare shoulder a friendly squeeze before he's distracted by a passing platter of mushroom tartlets, and he's gone chasing food again. "It was a great day." Ronan's warm palm caresses my back again. "You guys are certainly selling it." Preston notes the affectionate move. "Maybe I'll charter one of these cruises while I'm here." His hazel eyes drift over my dress, stalling on my neckline before lifting again. "Get the full tour." Surprise, surprise. I don't think I like Henry Wolf's friend Preston much at all. And he clearly knows Ronan and Connor well enough to assume this "fun ride" comes with more than just a trip to Starfish Island. I plaster on a wide, fake smile. "Just let me know and I'll make sure Frank treats you right." Beside me, Ronan chuckles. "I think she just called you a pompous prick." The guy with cropped, dark ash-blond hair on the right-Merrick-murmurs. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time a woman has called me that." Preston sips an amber-colored drink, seemingly unbothered as he scans the white walls and balconies behind us. "The bastard really outdid himself with this one." "Makes me wish I could move the Empire near the ocean," Merrick agrees. His words are wistful, and yet his features are stony, unyielding. "The Empire?" I ask curiously. Crystal blue eyes slide back to me. There's something heavy and dark in them. "My hotel in Vegas." He says it so nonchalantly. "Right. Of course. And where is your hotel?" I ask Preston. He grins. "I don't own hotels. I just make people enough money so they can fund them." "Don't let their soft, manicured hands fool you. These two have worked hard for everything they have," Ronan quips, his tone laced with sarcasm. "We can't all curry favor with Wolf's wife for our good fortunes." Preston smirks, the twinkle in his eye a challenge, like he has a secret he's not sharing. Ronan sips his champagne. If the taunt bothers him, he's good at hiding it. "Are you local to Mermaid Beach, Sloane?" Merrick asks as Ronan draws circles over my back with a teasing fingertip. His hands aren't soft or manicured. They're toughened by calluses, the scratchiness delicious against my skin. I hadn't really noticed when they were all over me before, but I'm acutely aware now. I clear my throat, temporarily distracted. "Born and raised." No need to mention where, in case they've heard about the crazy neighbor. "And what do you think of this new hotel?" "It's ..." I search for a word that doesn't force me to lie and settle on "something." Merrick's stony face cracks then, revealing a beautiful smile. "You're not a fan." "She hates it." Preston laughs through another sip before waving down a waiter to get a refill. "Do me a favor and allow us to be there when you share your opinions with Wolf. We like watching his enormously inflated ego get knocked down a peg or four." Ronan snorts Clearly, they haven't connected the dots. "I wonder what he would say if we told him that he's missed the mark on this one," Preston continues. "You're angling for a throat punch tonight?" Merrick asks. "Because he thinks this is the pinnacle. More than Alaska." "Nothing is more precious to him than Alaska," Preston counters. While they argue about which luxury hotel is Henry Wolf's favorite, my attention wanders, first to Ronan to gauge his opinion as he watches their chatter-does he like these guys?-then around Seraphina's. A blond woman with sharp features and red lipstick stands in a small group ten feet away, staring at me, her face hard with displeasure. Who could that be? It's not Abbi, I know that much. "Oh, hey, here you go." Jeremy swoops in then with a tall, stemmed glass filled with ice and strawberry slices floating in a pink-tinged concoction. A pale pink rose floats on top. "What is this?" I ask warily. "Just something I whipped up that I thought you'd like." He leans in to whisper, "No booze, I promise. I'll keep 'em coming all night." With a wink, he peels away and continues on with his tray of drinks. My stomach drops as his meaning sinks in. Shit. Jeremy figured out that I'm pregnant. How the hell did he put two and two together so quickly? I knew he was smart, but he's a guy. "That looks good," Ronan says. I hum through a sip, stealing a glance to see him watching my mouth with interest. Nothing about his demeanor says he has any clue what's really going on here. Thank God. I'm not ready to ruin this thing between us yet. "Is it just me, or is that blond woman at my two o'clock trying to murder me with her eyes?" With a casual sip of his drink, Ronan follows my direction. The quiet "fuck" that slips from his lips is delayed, but it's clear. "It's not you she has it out for. Not yet, anyway." Connor swings back around then, carrying a crostini in his hand. "Here, try this, Cap," he says through a mouthful. "I'm not really hung-" My words are cut off as he thrusts the appetizer into my mouth. "What the fuck?" Ronan scowls at him as I struggle to chew, my taste buds identifying the potent flavors. Peach, ricotta cheese, lemon, and ... balsamic vinegar? "But it's delicious!" Connor argues. "I don't care. Don't shove shit into her face!" Ronan adjusts his stance as he squares off against his best friend. "Relax, man." Connor wears a what the fuck is wrong with you? expression. Preston tsks as the tension mounts. "Huh. Well, isn't this cute? Someone finally doesn't want to share⁠-" "Shut the fuck up," Ronan warns without peeling his eyes from his best friend. "I think Belinda's looking for you." Connor gives his friend another long, hard look before nodding. "Yeah, boss. On it." And he's gone again. Ronan watches me wash down the appetizer with a gulp of my drink. "Sorry, he shouldn't have done that." "It's fine." It didn't upset me as much as it obviously did Ronan. "And he wasn't wrong. It was delicious," I admit. "Yeah?" He reaches up to slide the soft pad of his thumb over the corner of my bottom lip. When he pulls away, I see the smear of white cheese I missed. "You want more?" "No." If not for the anticipation of meeting Henry Wolf and the intimidating woman sizing me up, I'd hunt down the platter myself. Ronan does another skim around the patio before downing his champagne in one gulp. "Let's get out of here." "But we just got here." "We'll be back in time for dinner. Come on." He slips his hand through mine and nods toward the beach. I hold up the glass in my other hand. "What about⁠-" "Bring it." He leads me away, Preston and Merrick chuckling. In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. As their romance blossoms, Hector grapples with concealing his true identity to capture Jane's heart. However, their love story takes a tumultuous turn when jealousy rears its ugly head, threatening to unravel the delicate balance they've built. This modern romance novel delves into themes of hidden identities, unexpected love, and the complexities of maintaining a relationship shrouded in secrecy. 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