One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)

My head hasn’t stopped spinning since we arrived at Zion Peak.

Everything about this place is dialed up to eleven and I haven’t decided yet if that means I’m dreaming. The top of my arm might be bruised from how many times I’ve pinched it.

But that’s only half of it.

The other half, that’s entirely down to sleeping with Patton Rory but not actually sleeping with him.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you,” a man in a beige suit says with a grin too wide for his face. He takes my hand and kisses it like we’re in some period drama. “Can’t remember Pat ever bringing a lady around before.”

Yeah, like it’s any secret why.

I glance at Patton and the intent look in his eye. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he’s jealous.

Just looking at him feels dangerous considering how we woke up this morning.

Correction: how I woke up this morning—curled around him like a little monkey hugging a tree. He didn’t know I was awake, of course, but being that close felt so good I couldn’t help just lying there in the blissful confusion, somewhere between sleep and a very conscious what-is-happening panic.

My face whips away.

Yeah, looking at Patton right now is a bad idea.

I force my attention back to the stranger in front of me. He smells like pungent cigars and money.

There’s a languid woman hanging by his side. Probably twenty years younger but still looking older than her true age.

“Charmed,” she says. “You must be quite the woman to pair up with a workhorse. Please tell me you don’t put in the long hours he does?”

“Oh, we find our balance. And it’s wonderful to be here, truly,” I tell them both. Patton sends me an approving smile. That, at least, isn’t a lie. “I just can’t believe he hasn’t brought anyone else around before.”

“He’s a ladies’ man, I’ve heard,” the lady drawls. She’s practically dripping real diamonds, and not the lab grown kind, I’m sure.

Patton slides an arm around my waist and I lean into him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your wicked reputation?” I tease.

I wonder why I don’t feel more nervous.

I should be crawling out of my skin.

Instead, it feels scarily natural, falling into this weird role with him.

“A man always has one if he’s any man at all. The nice part about reputations is they can be rewritten,” he says, giving the lady a wink.

She throws her head back and laughs.

“And you?” the man probes. “What’s yours, Miss Hopper?”

“A lady never tells—at least, not when she’s keeping the lights on at the hottest place in Kansas City,” I say.

They give back satisfied laughter.

They don’t know it’s a real miracle I’m pulling this off in the face of people so manicured and high profile they make Delly Rory look like a slob. A few of the Vegas developers alone here can buy off entire countries.

It makes me appreciate how real Delly seems. She keeps up a beautiful home and isn’t frantically running from one plastic surgery appointment to the next, trying to cheat her mortality like everyone else here.

Wealth is a strange thing.

Sometimes when people work overtime to hide their flaws, it just reveals deeper ones—the kind that aren’t fixed.

Patton drags me away for introductions with several other people, mostly the important power couples. They’re a minority in the sea of older men.

Most of the guys come alone, and even the ones who wear wedding bands try to flirt like they don’t.

I try to take it in stride, smiling and talking about The Cardinal. I laugh along with their lame jokes. Sometimes, Patton intervenes to help us escape—usually when the men start watching me like I’m tonight’s dinner.

“That’s enough, Grayson. I won’t have you stealing her from under me,” he says to a man in his mid-thirties who looks chiseled enough to cut rock.

Grayson looks at me with a grey-eyed sparkle that could be his namesake. “Isn’t that for the lady to decide?”

“She has terrible taste. That’s why she’s with me,” Patton jokes, and I laugh. There’s an expression in his eyes I can’t decipher, and it makes my stomach clench.

Smile. Play it cool.

It’s all just a stage.

This is where I should grin and flirt back—either with Patton or Grayson or both—but I’ve never been great at flirting. That hasn’t changed since I was twenty-one and clueless about how complicated life can get after one drunken night.

Patton offers me his arm.

“We should get going,” he says to Grayson, who tips his drink to me.

It’s a buffet brunch with a massive spread. Everything from eggs Benedict with Swiss chard and green olives to banana bread waffles and fresh fruit flown in from California. Patton guides me through the chattering crowd and over to the food with surprising grace and poise.

“You’re killing it. Keep it up,” he says under his breath.

“Is everyone always so flirty?” My face screws up. “I thought that last guy was going to make a play for me right in front of you.”

“When they see a beautiful woman, it’s not unheard of. People with nine figures aren’t used to taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

My stomach leaps at the reminder of how just big the money here gets.

I almost miss his next introduction as a broad man steps in front of us. He’s an elderly guy with a thick Texas accent and old-fashioned Southern charm. He’s actually decent, though, grandfatherly in a way, and he makes me feel at ease for the first time all morning.

“You be careful lettin’ this pretty one wander too far, Mr. Rory,” he growls. “I hear she’s saving your ass with that fancy hotel that ain’t a hotel, huh?”

“Yeah. Beauty and brains. I’m the luckiest asshole here today and I know it,” Patton tells him.

My heart somersaults as they laugh.

Pray for me.

Patton thinks I’m beautiful.

Or maybe he doesn’t and he just said it for the ruse.

But I guess it worked either way. When we leave the breakfast room for a few light presentations, I feel better.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

It’s a half day of pep talks about earnings and rave successes with every speaker trying to one-up each other. By the time we’re leaving just ahead of the small crowd, I’m less on edge.

“I didn’t realize you brought me here so you could show me off like a new piece of jewelry,” I tell him as we head back to our suite to change. “To be fair, I’ve never felt so shiny in my life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Lady Bug. The women like you too, and you can trust their motives. You’re not such a black cat after all and it’s time you started believing me.”

I want to argue back, but for once, he’s not wrong.

Today, I feel lucky.

“Well, what now? I’m surprised they cut the first day short.”

“We’ll get into the real meat tomorrow, but remember, it’s more about networking than anything else.” He shrugs. “Next stop: Antelope Canyon. We have just enough daylight.”

Back in our room, I change into capris and a cardigan. It’s cool enough here, but a far cry from the winters back home.

“So, I know this might sound strange, but being hit on isn’t the huge compliment you think it is.”

His mouth curls into a smile. “I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard to run away from being the most interesting person in the room.”

“…I don’t know if you mean I’m interesting because of my appearance or because I’m with you. Neither of them are that appealing. I’d like to have a few more in-depth conversations if possible. I came here to learn, remember?”

“You will,” he promises. His tone is good-natured, and when he flashes me another grin—not one of those awful forced smiles—I can’t help smiling back.

That is, until I remember how it felt to wake up in his arms this morning.

God, I’m so confused.

This place may look like heaven, but surviving the rest of this long weekend promises pure hell. Especially at night.

How do I keep my distance when he’s close enough to breathe? When I can’t help accidentally rolling into his arms?

“So, Antelope Canyon? The couple who mentioned it this morning made it sound like a big deal.”

“It’s worth the drive,” he says. “If you’ve ever wanted to visit another planet, this place is the closest thing.”

“Sold. I don’t get out enough. I can still count the national parks I’ve visited on one hand.” My throat pinches.

I really don’t want to explain why, how crappy my parents could be growing up, alternating between controlling tendencies and barely checking in on my life.

I also regret not bringing Arlo along for the ride. But that’s why I came, isn’t it? Not for sightseeing or to act out dumb roles with my boss, but so I can arm myself with a few more tools to give us a financial leg up.

Someday, when the money comes, I’ll bring my son wherever I please. And if Patton Rory’s knowledge and reputation helps me get closer to that, I can make peace with leaning on Lucifer later.

It’s weird.

Being in a car with him for the hour-plus drive somehow feels more intimate than sharing a bed. I know that makes no sense. Maybe it’s because we’re wide awake and we should be making conversation.

His rental car has all kinds of advanced cruise control features, this hybrid SUV that drips expensive, and it lets him safely drive it down the highway with one hand.

His other hand sits between us the entire way, close enough to touch.

Close enough so I can see every detail.

Freckles, scars, blemishes.

The masculine bulge of his forearm, the path of his veins. I don’t usually find veins interesting, but his are like a map I could study all day.

Ugh.

I’ve never felt this before.

I don’t like it.

This man radiates an unsettling magnetism that flips my heart like a pancake. The way I could stare at every part of him and feel like I’m still finding something new every time…

Insane.

It defies all logic, and a twisted little part of me loves that it does.

The fact that he’s calling me Lady Bug on top of everything else doesn’t help, pulling me back to a time when life and love were endless possibilities.

We travel in near silence, and whenever I’m not consumed with his hand being so close to my thigh, I gaze out at the stunning scenery.

There’s a wild allure to the high desert. The hills, the canyons, the way the sunlight and shadows dance across the landscape.

It’s nice to roll down the windows and enjoy the fresh air. Sixty-four degrees, according to the car’s screen. In the sun, it’s warm enough to pull off my cardigan.

Soon, we’re parking in a large lot and striding across the gravel to the ticket booth where Patton buys us both tickets. Then we join the guided tour, heading into the canyon. As soon as we’re touring the wind-scoured rocks, I forget about the weather and basically everything else.

Antelope Canyon is flipping stunning.

Just not the way you’d call the sky or the sea or imposing mountains beautiful. This place is shock and awe in a serene, passive way.

This beauty feels like sunbathing as you take it in.

“Wow,” I whisper almost breathlessly.

“Yeah.” He presses a hand to my back, inviting me to lean into him. “A few thousand years of floods and erosion will do that. Give it enough time and even stone melts like butter. Pretty heavy stuff to think about.”

“You’ve come here before?” I look at him.

“Three times. I always get out here whenever this conference comes up at Zion Peak. I like to think of it as Mother Nature showing off, reminding us how easy it is to leave a mark on the world if you throw enough raw power at it.”

“A very Patton thought.” I laugh. “Do you ever stop brooding? Just enough to stand back and admire the view?”

He nods slowly, turning his eyes to the gorgeously tinted walls. I never knew red could have a thousand shades.

I’m not sure if I believe in higher powers, but this place makes me feel small.

It’s like peeking in on the universe itself, so vast and unyielding it steals my breath away.

The way he touches me isn’t half-bad either.

Before I know it, I’m letting him run his hand down my back, leaving goosebumps on my skin.

Disaster imminent.

Yeah, this is definitely more intimate than sleeping in the same bed.

We’re sharing a moment.

A lovely experience I wouldn’t be having without him, and I wonder if he’d say the same.

With his money, he could come here anytime. But would he be looking at these rocks the same way?

Would he look at another woman the way he glances at me now with that sapphire glow in his eyes?

I wonder, and it scares me.

We take in the sights slowly, lingering behind the tour guide. I reach out and run my fingers along the stone.

Here, almost underground, the sun can’t reach us and it feels cool. I stretch my arms out like I can borrow a few more precious seconds from this magical place.

The guide’s voice drifts away into the distance, but that’s okay.

For now, I’m taking this slice of reality and storing it away just for me.

“Salem?”

I open my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them.

We’re practically alone in this maze of petrified waves with the rest of our small group moving on.

“What are you doing?” A frown touches his face. His fingers fall against mine, asking for my hand, urgent yet unsure if I’m crazy enough to give in.

Honestly, I don’t know what I want to give him.

So I let my fingers decide—and they find a home tucked in his hand.

“I’m fine. I guess I just…” I shrug, embarrassed. “It’s a vibe here. This place has been around forever. It’s crazy to think about how long. But it’s so peaceful. I wanted to absorb it a little, as weird as that sounds. The good energy, I guess.”

“Good energy,” he repeats skeptically. “Will you be breaking out the crystal healing wands next?”

“You never know.” My voice drops. “I’m a walking disaster, Patton. Watch out.”

Too honest.

But he doesn’t flinch as he smiles.

“You don’t need good energy, woman. You need a damn break. And you need more company than a hyperactive five-year-old who keeps you running ragged. You need me to—” He pauses as our tour guide rounds the corner, irritation written across his face after noticing we’re missing.

“Guys, can you please try to keep up with the group?” He’s polite but exasperated.

Patton pulls a face behind me. I struggle to keep my expression straight as the guide blusters and takes his place at the front while we rush up behind him to rejoin the group.

“Like I was saying,” he starts pointedly, and Patton winks at me.

I dissolve into silent laughter.

I’m happily listening to the guide’s lecture, but I’m not sorry we drifted off. Being here with Patton feels like the kind of luck and company that can’t possibly be bad for me.

By the time we head out later, my hand still pressed in his, I’ve found my own energy.

I’m walking on sunshine.

We get back in plenty of time for another fancy dinner, this time with a group of large real estate investors from across the country.

The sun ripples, bloodred on the horizon as we change into our dinner clothes. Patton emerges in a crisp black suit.

I’m wearing the best frilly red cutout dress money can buy from a secondhand store.

Not that you’d ever be able to tell.

He stops and stares at me so hard I wonder if I’ve smeared my makeup.

“Um, what? Too much skin?” I ask nervously. “Just say the word and I’ll change. I brought a few options.”

“Too much you,” he growls raggedly, striding forward until we’re a breath apart. “Fuck, Salem, you make this too easy—and too damn hard to keep pretending. Can’t decide which one’s worse.”

I shiver.

Because I know he’s not just stroking my ego. There’s no mistaking the molten look in his eyes, the raw hunger, the way he looks at the cutout around my waist.

If looks could tear my clothes off, I’m pretty sure I’d be naked right now.

“Don’t change a thing,” he rumbles. “And if anyone touches you or makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.”

There’s a violence in his voice that makes me shudder again.

“Um, okay. It’s modern enough, though? No designer label, of course, but it was the best I could find on short notice. I’m honestly more worried what the ladies will think.”

“You can stop. It isn’t the dress at all. I promise you at least half of the women here would kill for your look. They shell out small fortunes trying to pretty themselves up the way you do naturally.”

No words. I turn away, hopelessly trying to hide the redness creeping into my face.

That’s serious praise I’m not sure I deserve. At least I’m grateful this getup fits flawlessly.

“I’m ready,” I say, grabbing my black purse. “Let’s go swim with the sharks.”

Patton looks me up and down one more time, a strange expression etched on his face.

“Tonight,” he says, “we’re the goddamned sharks.”

“Maybe you. Me, I’m bait,” I say with a laugh.

“When we get back, woman, we’re working on your self-esteem.” And he offers me his arm as we step into the cool night to walk the short distance to the restaurant.

Although it was warm enough during the day, the evenings are still cold, and I wish I’d thought to bring a shawl or something.

“I’m nervous,” I admit just before we head into the large well-lit entrance to the eatery. “I feel more like I should be serving these people at The Cardinal. Not pretending I’m their peer.”

“You deserve to be here more than a lot of them. Trust me.” He snorts. “Half these folks were born with money and venture capital coming out their ears. They built empires on easy mode without ever worrying about grit or debt.”

“Well… I appreciate the fact that you’re trying to make me feel better, Patton. But there’s a hard limit to what I can make myself believe.” I square my shoulders and flick him a glance as we stop near the door. “Shall we?”

“Tonight, I’m all yours,” he says, and there’s a midnight tone to his voice.

Holy Mother of God.

I don’t dare think too hard about what that means as he whisks me inside, or that cryptic remark about my self-esteem.

The place is about what you’d expect, this time decked out for a large private dinner.

It’s all the glitzy glamour worthy of a modern day Gatsby. Draped crystal chandeliers that almost touch the floor and gilded chairs. A white tablecloth and the fanciest forks known to man that require a degree in etiquette to use correctly.

Patton keeps a tight hold on my arm as we find our seats. His eyes scan over people, his smile equal parts invitation and warning.

“See that man there?” he whispers as we walk past a tan man with a creased face and a red tie. “That’s Harry Goldblum—no relation to Jeff—and last year he bought a golf course in Oklahoma that lost his company almost twenty million. His kids fucking hated him when he had to give up the private jet.”

“What?”

“And the guy one seat over, beside you? He’s been married five times, always to these supermodels from Belarus. All five girls left him before a year was up and went back to the motherland loaded.” He nods at a middle-aged woman in a black dress with gold crosses a little farther down. “And her? She was the duchess of Chicago real estate once upon a time. Then she blew herself up with bad deals by marrying a football player with the IQ of a grubworm. She’s been in and out of rehab for drinking more times than I can count.”

“Oh my God. But why are you telling me this?” I hiss into his ear.

“So you’ll understand they’re not all winners here. You think you’re out of place because you’re not as rich and you’ve stumbled a few times?”

I blink at him, my lips forming a silent O as the realization sets in.

I appreciate the point he’s trying to make.

But not as much as I’m gobsmacked by the warmth and sincerity, the way he’s trying to build me up.

No one’s ever done that before.

No one ever cared.

I’m choking back a lump in my throat as we sit. The serial supermodel lover introduces himself right away.

Life has taken its toll for sure with this one. His dyed black hair looks pretty odd on top of a face that sags. But it’s more telling when he shifts so his knee brushes mine.

I rip my leg away and tilt closer to Patton.

No flipping thank you!

We make polite conversation and not even ten minutes in, I see Patton’s point.

These people aren’t geniuses or business gods or money magicians.

They’re human. Conflicted people who, despite their enormous wealth and success, are just as flawed and corrupt as the rest of us.

And if they can stack up big money with their demons and a few connections, why can’t I do the same with some elbow grease?

“Miss Hopper,” Divorced Dude says again, leaning forward. I’ve already forgotten his name. Sweat gleams on his forehead and I look away. “I recommend the Hokkaido scallops. They’re impeccable here. The sensation on the tongue—vanishingly few things can ever compare.”

Yuck. And I don’t mean the scallops.

Usually, I would give him a tight smile and ignore him the rest of the night. But tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, I’m on the arm of Patton Rory, self-made hotshot from a family that rubbed shoulders with presidents. I don’t need to shrink down and hide.

“Scallops, huh? Sounds a little boring with this menu. I had my eye on the coq au vin.”

I toss my hair over my shoulder and look at him through my eyelashes for a few seconds too long. Just so he starts to sweat harder.

Then I smile until his face sags like a flattened tire.

Man, for such powerful men with mammoth egos, it sure feels easy to twist their balls.

“And what was your name again? I’m terrible with names. Sorry, I can’t remember if we met this morning—or maybe I just met your date.”

He clears his throat loudly.

“Joseph Richardson. No date. Not yet, anyway.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he mutters, “You’re Patton Rory’s fling, I know that much. Didn’t realize he liked them so mouthy.”

Ohhhh.

It’s hard to keep the plastic smile pinned on my face. Harder not to sidekick him square in the shin under the table.

So I just tap Patton’s arm pointedly, pulling his attention away from another man on his opposite side.

“Babe, did you hear that?” My voice is artificially light—brittle, like it could shatter at a moment’s touch. “Mr. Richardson called me your mouthy fling.”

“Did he?” There’s no mistaking the ice in Patton’s voice—or the possessive way he leans over the back of my chair. “Why would he do that? Joe, are you drunk already? How many have you had? I haven’t even seen a single gal here from east of London.”

“My mistake.” Joseph’s face turns an unflattering shade of red as he huffs again, still too loud. “Fucking smart-ass.”

“Sure was,” Patton agrees and hands me my menu. “What are you feeling tonight, Lady Bug?”

I’m high as a kite on adrenaline.

This whole thing might be for show, but it doesn’t matter.

We talk about the menu and I’ve almost decided on going French, but then he points out a local option I can’t resist.

I pick the guajillo seared pork with roasted green chili. Patton opts for a wagyu filet mignon with a creamy lemon risotto. Then the lesson really begins.

It’s a masterclass in the art of negotiation.

Patton shows me off without seeming to show me off. He talks up Higher Ends’ success without boasting.

He advises and laughs, ingratiating himself with personal comments aimed at each of the people he’s talking to.

Mostly, I listen, hating that I’m a little in awe.

“I hear your new venture is going well. You must be pleased,” a man says as we order dessert.

I choose a slice of chocolate truffle layer cake.

Patton leans back in his chair. “The Cardinal? Yes, it is doing extremely well, but I can’t take the credit. Salem here has taken it to the next level. Without her wading through the daily operations, we’d be treading water.”

I flush for the hundredth time tonight.

“You must take some credit. You helped me get there. You bought it.”

“And the single best decision I made was hiring you.” There’s that sincerity in his voice again. It completely brings me down. “Also,” he announces to the table, “she’s done everything with one hand tied behind her back ever since I met her. This lovely lady’s achieved everything while being a single mother.”

A few gasps ring out. A loud murmur passes around the table, and even the people who weren’t listening before lean toward us, tuning in now.

“Bravo!” a big man yells, raising his glass.

A few seconds later, the whole table follows him.

“Holy crap, Patton.” I press my fingers to my burning cheeks. Even the chocolate cake that’s coming up won’t help me recover anytime soon. “You… you didn’t need to tell them that.”

I’m dumbfounded he’s staking his own reputation. What will they think of him dating a single mom?

“Proof of how hard you work? I think I did,” he throws back.

And I die.

The lady I met before at brunch—the languid one, who seemed disinterested in me—claps her hands, her bangles jangling.

“Oh, dear! Most of the men here can’t possibly understand, but I do,” she says, “That’s a lot of life you’re juggling. Raising a child all alone, that’s a feat by itself. Never mind the rest of it. You simply must hold your head high.”

Her eyes glisten like it’s a familiar story.

I flash her an empathetic smile.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“She’s a superhero,” Patton says, and I think he means it. When he looks at me again, the pride in his eyes dances like stark blue starlight.

I’m wilting by the time dessert arrives, holding in a sigh.

Thank God.

Now I can turn my attention away and relax a little. Patton carries on, smoothly discussing his future plans without revealing any major details, all while he probes the others into revealing their plans.

It’s no surprise they like to hold their cards close to their chest and require some coaxing.

Everyone, that is, except Harry Goldblum, who brags about his negotiations to take over another ‘sure win’ golf course in Miami.

I can’t decide if he’s stupidly determined or just plain stupid.

Dinner ends with a few people lingering for drinks, but we can leave the table.

A few men step outside into the night air to smoke. Patton leads me back to our room, one hand possessively resting on the small of my back, slowly burning me down.

“Wait,” I say as we reach the room. “I know it’s cold, but the stars are so beautiful tonight.”

“Hardly the only thing.”

I cough awkwardly.

“The evening’s over, dude. I really appreciate everything you’ve done but… you don’t need to keep up the act.” Even though every single word he says reverberates in my chest, carving another mark on my heart.

Yes, this is pure insanity now.

Reckless and dumb and self-destructive.

But I don’t stop him as he heads into the room and finds me on the patio a minute later, carrying a leafy green blanket that feels like a cloud.

“There,” he says softly, passing it over and holding up a couple drinks he pulled from the mini fridge in our room. “No need to be cold. Or sober. Nice selection of local brews, if you’ll join me.”

No need for another drink. I had plenty of wine over dinner, and I can already feel it going to my head, but I accept it anyway.

We’re already drowning, aren’t we?

Why fuss when I can just admire the waves, even as they swallow us up?

“How’d you know I was a beer girl?” I ask, clinking the bottle against his. The loungers are soft, but I opt for the floor, leaning against the wall as I stare at the night sky. It’s vast here. The near lack of moonlight makes the stars stand out like multicolored diamonds.

“Intuition, I guess.”

“Did I ever tell you?”

“You told me a lot of things.” He shrugs and sits beside me, popping open his can. “You’re a dreamer, Lady Bug, always looking at the sky. That’s the important part.”

“I guess the sky’s usually prettier than what’s down below.” I sigh. “Not counting the present view, I mean.”

“Didn’t say you were wrong.”

I open my can and slurp beer.

My tongue tickles with delight and fizz.

It’s not the cheap, watery stuff you can get everywhere—this stuff is locally brewed and there’s real depth, an apple and toffee flavor that goes perfectly with this cool, fall-like evening.

“You outdid yourself tonight,” Patton says after a moment, leaning his head against the wall. I pull the blanket up to cover my bare shoulders. “I know it’s not easy mingling with that crowd of show-offs and blowhards.”

I smile. “It wasn’t so bad once I got the hang of it. You helped a ton.”

“Helped you find your confidence? I hope so. I remember the first time I came to one of these things with Dex, years ago…” He rubs a hand across his face. “I felt like a minnow in a roaring ocean.”

“And now all the big fish salute you and want a piece of your business.”

“Our business,” he corrects sharply. “I might be alone, but I’m representing my brothers, too.”

“Didn’t they want to come?”

“Dexter’s too busy with married life these days, and Archer just hates this shit. Socializing, I mean. If it wasn’t for Colt, I think he’d find the last cave in Kansas City and crawl into it forever.”

I laugh at the ridiculous image.

I haven’t seen much of Archer. Although he’s pretty reserved, there wasn’t anything obviously anti-social about him.

“So you’re the social butterfly?” I nudge him in the side. “Or are you the bootlicker?”

He hesitates before he speaks.

“The sacrificial lamb. That’s more accurate.” His chuckle fades into the night. There’s just the empty desert ahead and bright pinpricks of starlight beaming down.

Somehow, the silence accented by this landscape doesn’t feel so suffocating now.

“I meant it, you know. What I said about you back there,” he says quietly.

I don’t know what to say.

But I am feeling things.

It meant a lot.

And where would I be without Patton Rory?

God, without the man who gave me my son?

New guilt rushes up like a man-eating wolf and bites me hard.

The night sky swirls with secrets, everything I want to say that’s tearing my heart to pieces.

Without knowing what I’m doing, I lean closer.

First, my arm brushes against his, and his skin feels too warm, too inviting. I can’t help leaning in.

With a surprised look, he tucks me against his side.

We share the blanket with our legs almost touching. And it’s the almost that makes me turn my face up, staring with questions mirrored in the starlit night.

Every place we touch burns.

Every place we don’t burns more.

Holy hell, the places I want him…

I swallow hard, praying he doesn’t notice.

I’m not sure where my inhibitions went, but when his lips find mine, they’re totally abandoned.

His kiss comes hot and wild like summer heat stolen from the distant white sands.

In the cool air, his mouth smolders, and he tastes like beer. My fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Salem,” he growls against my mouth.

I moan back.

His hand brushes my hair away so his hungry eyes can see my face, just waiting to be devoured. He pauses, and I freeze, wondering if he’s going to turn me away after all this in a flash of reason.

But he shakes his head.

“You’re so goddamned beautiful tonight,” he tells me and kisses me again.

I can feel the electric current all the way to my toes.

I’ve never had any man kiss me like Patton.

It’s not a whisper, not a question—it’s a brute demand and God, I want to give in.

I want to give him everything.

When his tongue sweeps fully into my mouth, mine meets it.

When he pulls me into his lap, my legs straddling him, I whimper.

Gripping his shoulders, sliding my hands through his hair, trembling in his arms. Even when he’s so clearly turned on, it’s hard to let myself just be.

And when he picks me up, cradling me against his body like I’m weightless, I just wrap my arms around him and keep my mouth molded to his, savoring every spearing thrust as he claims my mouth.

His hand finds my breast, fingers stroking roughly through the fabric. It only takes a single bead of pressure from his thumb over my nipple.

I’m flipping melting.

Moans become hot gasps.

My legs part as his other hand roams my thigh, so deliciously greedy.

“Fuck,” he rasps, breaking the kiss.

His eyes snap to mine, all blue witchfire.

There’s no hesitation left in my brain.

None whatsoever as he hauls me up a second later and carries me inside.

I already know we’re heading straight to the bed.

And I have exactly one panicked second before the déjà vu hits.

This feels so familiar as he lays me on the bed before him and eclipses me with his body.

Except this room is more luxurious, the bed larger, and I’m older and more certain and supposedly wiser.

Less drunk, at least.

I suck my bottom lip as his hands cover my breasts, picking up where he left off, teasing me with this rough pressure that leaves me shaking and soaked.

It’s a struggle to hold my eyes open, and only then, so I can appreciate the rigid muscle of his torso as he leans back and pulls his shirt off.

I think he rips a button in his haste.

But he’s bare for me, this broad-chested beast in all his wild, divine glory.

My hands slide down his abs—how are they even harder than I remember?—and then my mouth.

“Woman, go to town,” he urges. “Fucking touch me wherever you please. I’m all yours tonight.”

The edge in his voice gives me courage. So does the way he caresses my face. I kiss a trail down his neck to his beltline, and soon those hot little kisses become licks.

He groans like thunder.

Wow. I never knew how much I missed that sound.

“I like this dress, it looks damn good on you,” he says, right before he shears it open. The material splits, seams tearing loudly, and for once I’m not thinking about money. “But I like it better gone. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Holy shit. Um, I’ve never had a man physically rip off my clothes before.”

“You’ve never been with a man, then. Present company excluded.”

I. Am. Dead.

No, I don’t bother telling him my experience with men has been stunted and hilariously nonexistent since my last encounter. I’ve spent my twenties in a sexual desert that rivals the remoteness outside.

Juggling a job and a kid as a single mom doesn’t leave much time for dating, much less hooking up with guys who can cause you more trouble.

He throws what’s left of my dress to one side and slides back off the bed, standing like an angry god as he looks me up and down.

Oh, I’m so tempted to cover myself in the face of perfection—the stretch marks on my belly, the fact that my boobs aren’t half as perky as they were last time. But he shakes his head and swats my uneasy arm away from my chest.

“Don’t.”

I never thought a single word could be so loaded.

“But I’m not… I’m not as young or hot as you remember,” I whisper.

“Bullshit, Lady Bug. I dreamed about you,” he rumbles, moving back on the bed and pushing me down under him. “You know how many nights I thought about seeing you again? How many times I fucking came in my hand, remembering how we burned?”

Holy shit.

I tremble.

There’s no faking the sincerity in his voice.

The feral glint in his eye would make any red-blooded woman weak, and I’m no exception. I’m so drenched I can barely think.

“I want you, Salem Hopper. From your eyelashes down to your toes, but mostly, I want to be buried in your tight little pussy.”

My throat tightens. It’s this weird, heady mix, being so aroused but so nervous, too.

“I hope I don’t disappoint you.” I definitely didn’t wear the right bra for this. And if he notices the stripes all over my hips, he’ll re-evaluate his life choices.

I’m not anywhere near the same league as the Instagram perfect women he’s been with.

He grabs my hands with a snarl.

“Look down. Look down right now,” he tells me, and when I do, there’s a massive bulge in his pants. “If that doesn’t prove I’m into you, what will?”

“Another kiss, maybe. That might help,” I whisper.

“Where?” His grin is so wicked it’s lopsided.

Before I have time to breathe, he’s hooked his fingers down the waistband of my panties and he pulls them down in one long jerk.

Then I’m open, a willing slave to his tongue.

He licks me.

Oh my God, he licks me. Hypnotic, teasing circles, leaving me so delirious the rest of the world goes silent.

When he finds my clit, there’s nothing left to do but ride the storm.

So I close my eyes and arch my back, fisting my hands in the covers as his mouth takes me to the brink of insanity, sucking and licking until I’m completely gone.

When he stops, I almost faint.

With one hand, he slides a finger inside me.

Just one.

And it’s enough.

My walls convulse and that fireball in my core goes off.

“Patton!” His name grinds out in this torn whisper as he wrings every last drop of sin from my skin.

Even with the whole world spinning, I force my eyes open, watching as he pushes my legs over his shoulders and devours me completely.

Watching the vicious pride in his eyes as he makes me ride his face to the bitter end.

Watching with my legs still shaking and his finger raised as he holds it up and sucks.

“Fucking decadent,” he tells me, and then he’s kissing me again.

He makes me taste myself on his lips.

It’s frantic then, this feeling of falling, of not knowing where we’ll land, of desperately trying to find every inch of pleasure together before we do.

When I have my wits again, I rip off his pants just as fast as he disposed of my dress. He fists my hair as I grind against him until he growls and shoves my legs open.

Just when I think he’s about to take what’s his—what’s always been his alone—his weight shifts until he holds back, dragging his cock against my entrance.

“Tease!” I gasp. I’m breathless but I don’t care. “Patton, please. I need you in me.”

“Where’s the fun in that if I can’t make you suffer?” He licks the sensitive skin beside my ear.

He nibbles down my neck to my breasts.

“Say it again,” he rasps. “Beg for me, Lady Bug.”

There’s something primal in his voice now. A dark thirst that pushes buttons I didn’t know I had.

“I… I want you to fuck me, Patton…”

“Say please.”

I’m moaning as he drags his cock against my clit, pulling back just enough to tap his swollen head on it.

“Please!” I’m almost screaming.

Finally, his gaze hardens with violent determination.

And his hips rear back as he bares his teeth, swallowing a curse as he pushes in. One relentless inch at a time until he’s buried to the hilt.

Flipping electric.

It’s obscene how much I feel him, every seething inch, turning me inside out.

It’s so good I almost climax again in under a minute.

But I shift, encouraging him to run rampant, the better to take his punishing cock.

It’s a primal thing, this need to be owned, just for tonight.

Tomorrow, we’ll have all the time in the world for regrets.

For now, there’s only this moment.

There’s just Patton Rory, joined to my flesh, which is already begging to feel him come for a second time.

Call me insane—especially considering what happened before—but I only think about the missing condom for a split second.

I’m that ravenous, reduced to this depraved thing worshipping every thrust he gives.

“Salem, look at me,” he growls, slowing his pumps and holding himself in me.

Gently at first, like he’s testing my limits, then harder. Faster.

“I want your eyes on me while I fuck you.”

Ohhh, shit.

My panting deepens. This is new and familiar and fierce.

He grips my thighs, pushing my legs back so he can look at me properly.

“Fuck,” he grinds out. “Play with your clit before I come in you.”

I happily oblige.

Without a second thought or fear or hesitation.

I’m so close to the brink I can’t think.

There’s just hot breath stalled in my lungs and the steady churning roar of my own heartbeat as I reach down.

I play with myself as he pounds into me, mimicking the movement of his tongue with my fingers, and my pussy tightens and throbs until I can’t take it.

“Patton,” I whisper. It’s a warning, more messy breath than words. “Patton!”

“Fucking go,” he orders. “Come on my cock. Come like you’ve wanted since the last time I fucked you.”

He grips my thighs and raises my hips at the very last second.

Then I’m crashing over.

I shatter.

I drown in foaming pleasure.

I scream into his mouth when his teeth capture my bottom lip, drowning my ecstasy.

When he picks up speed and goes harder, deeper, I know he must be close, so I wrap my legs around him, digging my nails into his back.

A screwed-up part of me still hates this man for blowing up my life without even knowing it.

But a sicker part adores what he does to me.

No one else could ever splinter me like this or make me ache for his eruption like the desert craving rain.

And God, it’s only the second time, but it already feels like a basic need I’ve been missing for far too long.

The sheer intensity, the way he fucks like he’s just as conflicted, each stroke brimming with love and hate and unholy passion.

And I want him more than the air in my lungs when he bows up, tenses, and bruises me.

He slams his hips against mine with a guttural noise that might be my name—half curse and half prayer.

I never know.

Because another orgasm rips me in two as his cock swells, heaving in my depths, flooding me with magma.

Delirious.

I don’t know I’m cradling him until I am as the rhythm dies in breathless rutting strokes, as my pussy milks him, as he empties his soul into me.

“Holy. Shit,” I whisper, just as he collapses on top of me.

The smiling kiss he plants on my forehead feels oddly sweet as he rolls off, sprawling out and making the bed feel so much smaller.

Holy shit is right. What now, Lemmy?

What happens now that you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life a second time?

I don’t know. He might be twisted up with the same horrible regret behind that smug mask.

Honestly, I can never seem to read all the different sides to Patton. He’s absolute chaos, so multifaceted the light only reflects off of him and lets me see one edge at a time.

Right now, I’d give just about anything to read him, but I’m scared what I’ll find if I dig too far.

Instead, I cuddle up with him in the vibrating silence, listening to our breathing and feeling the slow, steady hum of our hearts.

It feels wrong to speak.

But at least that familiar silence isn’t scary. Not when it’s so dangerously comforting.

And this time as I drift off to sleep, unlike on the riverboat, I know he’ll still be there when I wake up.