Page 6 of Save Me (The Wolf Hotel Mermaid Beach #2)

His admission catches me off guard. Four years is longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. “How long ago was that?”

“We broke up a little over two years ago.”

“What happened?”

His minty breath skates over my face with his sigh. “She wasn’t ready for a commitment.”

I can’t help it—I snort.

That earns a sexy smirk. “What? You don’t believe me.”

“No. I don’t. What actually happened?” I watch his face closely. Will he be honest? If he cheated, would he admit to it?

“She’s younger than me, and she wanted to experience other people before she settled down.”

That isn’t the answer I was expecting. “Settled down like?—”

“Marriage. Yeah, we’d talked about it.”

This guy? That’s … unexpected? “Did you love her?”

“I did. Yeah.” He reaches up to adjust the showerhead and then angles my head back with a finger under my chin.

Water rains down, rinsing away the suds with the help of his fingers as I process this new bit of information—acutely aware of his gaze on me. So, Ronan is capable of commitment. But from the sounds of it, he can also fuck his way through a cheerleading squad. “Do you still love her?”

“No.” No hesitation. Not for a second .

“Not even a little?”

“No. I did, for months after we broke up. That’s when I moved down to Miami and met Connor. And Ryan.”

Pieces in the Ronan puzzle are beginning to click. “That’s when you two hooked up?”

“Yeah, for, like, two weeks. If that. We were both freshly broken up, and neither of us was looking for a relationship. She hated my guts at the start, but we ended up being good friends. Then, Connor and I left for Alaska, and yeah, I’ll admit, maybe I took full advantage of my single status.”

Meaning he fucked around. A lot. That part doesn’t surprise me.

“So, what Ryan said about you and Connor…” I let that question drift.

“Ryan said a lot. You’ll have to be more specific.” By the twinkle in his eye, he knows damn well what I’m poking at, but he wants me to ask it.

Where do I even begin with this topic? “Are you strictly into women? I mean, is Connor more than a platonic?—”

“Only women.” There’s no waiver in his voice. “Dick doesn’t do it for me. Pussy does.”

I inhale sharply, the sound of that single word on Ronan’s lips stirring something deep inside. “But Connor and you have been with women together.”

“He’s been involved from time to time, yeah.”

“Just Connor? I mean, you haven’t tag-teamed with other men?”

He hesitates. “Once, with a couple. Why all the questions about men and Connor? Is this something you’ve wanted to try?”

“No.”

“Because Connor would be game?—”

“ No .” Oh my God, just the thought has my cheeks burning.

A slight frown furrows his brow. “So what are you concerned about, then?”

“I’m not concerned. I’m just pointing out how different we are.”

“Right, the whole vanilla thing.” He snorts, echoing my words from yesterday. “Tash and I would have been labeled that, and I never had any complaints, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Tash . She’s the one who was texting him on the cruise.

“Do you still talk to her?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible, holding my breath as I wait for him to lie.

“I didn’t until recently, but we’ve reconnected as friends.

She’s coming to the hotel this weekend with a bachelorette party.

Look, I don’t care who you’ve been with or not been with.

” He pushes a strand of clinging hair off my forehead with gentle fingers.

“And I’m not really interested in running through our score cards. Are you?”

“No, I don’t think I am,” I admit. Maybe it’s better I don’t know how many women Ronan has slept with. That way, I can deceive myself into feeling like I’m enough for him. On a positive note, he didn’t lie to me about his ex. That’s something. “So, you went to Alaska and then what? ”

Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t read.

“Then I went back to Miami. I still wasn’t anywhere near ready for a relationship.

About a year ago, I decided to turn over a new leaf.

No more meaningless hookups and friends with benefits.

Then I came to Mermaid Beach, and I met you.

” He steps in closer, until our chests graze each other, and stares down at me with an intensity I wasn’t expecting.

What is he telling me—that he’s looking to settle down?

Another wave of nerves hits me with the stark reality that I am pregnant with this man’s baby.

Is it wrong to continue this charade? To hold this enormous, life-altering secret from him? Maybe not, but I haven’t digested it myself. I’m not about to ruin the illusion of whatever this is between us yet.

But the weight of this is almost too much to bear, and suddenly, all I want to do is use his strength. On impulse, I lean in and rest my cheek on Ronan’s chest.

He stiffens for a split second, but then his body relaxes, and his muscular arms fold around me.

If Ronan is all wrong for me, then why does this feel so right? Why do I suddenly wish I could live in these arms all night, every night? Drag him into my bedroom and forget all my worries.

I know where that would lead, though. Not that I’d complain.

A loud rooster caw sounds, followed by another. It’s Ralph’s signature call. “Frank’s home.”

Ronan groans. “His timing is impeccable.”

I try to pull away, but Ronan’s grip only tightens .

“Are we going to get in trouble, being in here together?”

“ I ’ll be fine,” I joke, though I’m not so sure. What’s Frank going to say when he finds out my big news? There’s not much I can keep from that guy for long. And if Ronan does what I expect him to when he finds out—ghost me—then God help him if he crosses Frank’s path in this town.

“I should get home now anyway.” He says this, and yet he holds me for another one …

two … three long seconds before pulling away.

“I have to memorize facts about Phyllis’s cats and Layla’s life-altering trek up Kilimanjaro.

Don’t ask,” he mutters when he sees my face pinch with confusion. “I can’t wait until this week is over.”

“Me too.” Though it won’t change anything. “The sooner I get used to having that stupid hotel beside me, the better.”

With another strange, hard look flickering across his face, he reaches around me to turn off the tap. Collecting my towel, he drapes it over my shoulders to cover my upper body. The simple move is gentle and kind.

I tug at his soaked shirtsleeve. “This wasn’t smart.”

“No, but it was safe. If I’d undressed, you would have taken advantage of me.”

“Shut up.” I slap his chest playfully.

He gathers my hand before I have a chance to pull away, weaving his fingers through mine. His other hand curls around my nape, pulling me toward him until our bodies are flush again. A grazing thumb strokes my skin, back and forth, teasing and comforting me at the same time.

I tip my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. “Ronan.” His name is barely a whisper. There’s something I need to tell you.

But no, not yet. Not now.

Without any hesitation, he leans in to meet my lips with his in a fervent, frantic kiss, as if he wants to squeeze as much intensity into this moment as possible before we’re forced apart.

And maybe we will be—not by Frank or any other outside forces, but by the reality that we can’t seem to be this close without losing control.

Even now, with my hand fisting his shirt, wishing for it to vanish, for all his clothes to vanish, I sense our good intentions for an honest conversation about to go awry.

My body certainly isn’t helping matters, as it slides against his, reveling in the hard length pressed against my stomach.

All I would take is a quick unfastening of his belt and fly, a tug on my bikini bottom string, and I could have Ronan exactly where I like him—inside me.

As if sensing my thoughts, and perhaps sharing them, Ronan’s lips suddenly break free of mine. “I really need to go,” he whispers, the muscle in his jaw taut.

My breathing is ragged. “Phyllis’s cats.”

“Something like that.” He releases me and backs up, collecting first his pocket’s contents from the shelf, then his shoes. The prominent bulge in his clinging pants is unmistakable.

My pulse races as I chastise myself for staring. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place.

“I have a dinner thing tomorrow night,” Ronan blurts suddenly.

“A dinner thing?” I echo. “Okay …”

“Come with me.”

“To your dinner thing?” Is Ronan asking me out on a date?

“Yeah.” His smile is wry. “It’s at the hotel.”

Caution creeps in. “Who’s going to?—”

“Henry Wolf.”

My mouth gapes. “Are you crazy? You want me to have dinner with Satan himself?” The man would probably instruct the chef to poison my food.

“Listen …” Ronan purses his lips as he seems to choose his words. “I think it would be good for both of you to get to know each other.”

“Why? Do you think I’m going to be charmed by Henry Wolf, and everything he put me through in the last five years will suddenly be okay?” Does Ronan think I’m a fool?

“No, he’s a fucking prick. You won’t like him.”

“So then why would I go there to meet him?” I’m baffled. “And, also, I thought he told you to stay away from me.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“So then …” A thought strikes me. “Henry Wolf doesn’t know you’re inviting me, does he?”

“He doesn’t need to know. And I don’t care about him. It’s Abbi that I want you to meet.”

Satan’s wife? “Why?”

He bites his bottom lip. “Because she’s one of my best friends, and it would be good if she met you. ”

Why do I feel like there’s more to his reasoning? Either way … “I can’t sit across from a table and play nice with that asshole. I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll throw my butter knife at him, and then I’ll go to jail for assault.” I’ll be forced to have a baby in prison!

Ronan chuckles. “There’ll be a bunch of people. You won’t have to sit across from him. I promise.”

I’m shaking my head when he pushes, “Just think about it, okay? I’ll come by tomorrow at around six, and if you’re ready to go, great. If not …” His eyes rake over my towel-wrapped body, lingering on my bare thighs. “I’ll convince you to come.”

“Good luck with that.” My stomach clenches, though. Something tells me Ronan could convince me to do just about anything.

Another door slams shut, signaling more arrivals.

“Six o’clock. Wear something nice.” He strolls away, his bare feet leaving wet prints on the stone.