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

It’s business.

It’s business, it’s business, it’s just goddamned business.

I’ve been repeating that mantra all day, ever since I picked her up outside her apartment early this morning.

It’s what I’ve kept telling myself the whole time at the airport, with her fussing about Arlo and everything else she’s reluctantly leaving behind for a few days.

And now, as she’s sleeping in the seat beside me as our charter jet hums along, I have to repeat it again.

Because every mile closer to Utah makes it feel like a bigger lie.

Let’s be real, these real estate ‘conferences’ are less about celebrating big ideas than they are glorified networking events. I’ve been to plenty in the past—alone.

No one ever questioned my solo appearances.

In fact, I fit right in with the sea of married or married-but-acting-single men. Once you know the jokes, the lingo, the backslapping, and the selfish, shitty attitudes from men who think they’re miniature gods, it’s easy to blend in.

Why, then, am I wanting to put on a show with Salem Hopper?

And why didn’t I just fucking tell her my real motive for inviting her, besides leaning on the flimsy mentorship excuse?

It’s not like I don’t want to see her armed for success.

I do.

I want her to blind the whole world with how much she shines in this field, even more after seeing the way she forced a barbed smile for that clown of a woman.

Kayla Persephone.

Fucking pill.

I’m sick that she’s the only reason Salem came to us, this done-up plastic doll who looks like she needs a day off her movie grade makeup and a brutal reality check.

Fuck me.

I hated seeing Salem, stranded and having to pretend she owes her life to this vapid woman. She shouldn’t have to answer to anyone. Not when she has all the qualities to thrive.

Maybe that’s when it turned personal for me.

This weekend of hobnobbing with the big fish in my world can’t hurt, and neither can a little pampering. Maybe some downtime will give her ego the boost it needs to internalize her real worth.

She mumbles and twists in her seat, her head slipping down the inflatable pillow to my shoulder.

I freeze.

Shit.

This must be karma, right on time to meet my dumb ass for creating this predicament.

I’ve walked into this setup like a certified imbecile.

Now, here we are.

And here she is, all warm breath and dreaming flutters against my neck, dead asleep and trusting and so killingly beautiful I can’t look away.

I’m marooned in my seat, watching her like a kid looking through a toy shop window.

Control yourself, man.

Can I, though?

Or is it already too late?

You knew this would happen.

I thought separate rooms at the resort would help, knowing there’d be no opportunity to touch her then.

Trouble is, when she looked online and saw how expensive this place is at four figures per night, she demanded to know if my suite had a second room.

It did.

And that was enough for her to justify the savings.

So now we’re sharing a suite and I’m going to have to sleep with her right up in my space, only one wall away.

How can a woman be so appealing when she breathes?

Maybe if I hadn’t kissed her that snowy night, this wouldn’t feel so lethal. But I know exactly what it’s like, and I can’t unknow it.

Hell, I know she wants me just as bad. If the kid hadn’t barged in, I would’ve gotten drunk on her moans, shredding her clothes like a starving animal.

I keep still, ignoring the hard-on from hell, half hoping she’ll roll back to her pillow. Hoping I can stand the weight of her head, the brush of her breath, the slight tickle of her stray hair without blowing a gasket.

I can do this, dammit.

I just have to forget every biological impulse chewing me to the bone.

No big deal.

Like now, I definitely don’t want to take advantage of the quiet, half-asleep morning flight to pin her against the seat and kiss her until she wakes up with a moan.

She stirs and sits up like she can hear the argument in my head, rubbing the grog from her eyes.

“Oh. Oh, crap,” she whispers. “Sorry. You should have just pushed me off.”

“I thought you could use the sleep after all that worrying this morning.”

She gives me a sheepish smile and settles back on her pillow. “For me, this is a big deal. It’s normal to stress a little.”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—you’ll be fine. You’ve got passion and a damn good head on your shoulders—and if those fail you, you’ve got me.”

She gives me a pained smile.

“Whatever. Tell that to my anxiety, Your Highness.” Her eyelids flutter closed again and her breathing evens out as she turns away.

Fucking hell, this whole trip is going to be brutal.

But for her—for both of us—I’ll try to be a good boy.

For Salem’s sake, I’ll try like hell to keep my hands to myself.

The Zion Peak Resort is a gem tucked in beautiful desolation.

Nestled in the rugged desert landscape, its luxe gold and white stone stands out against the sandstone canyons and the late morning shadows spilling across the landscape like black silk.

It’s the sort of otherworldly retreat that commands respect from everyone in this industry, including yours truly.

Salem looks around slowly as we pull up, predictably awestruck. I just hope she’s still breathing while I check us in.

“Patton, wow. This place is insane,” she repeats for the umpteenth time as we arrive in our suite. It’s one of the larger units, half built into the hillside with its own private heated pool and a wide stone patio for lounging. “No wonder a night here costs more than a month’s pay.”

“It’s pricey, yes. Another way this conference gatekeeps and makes sure it only pulls in the very best,” I admit. “In this case, the admission price is worth it. Zion Peak is a desert miracle and a magnificent property.”

“We have our own pool,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Dang. I’m sorry I didn’t bring any swimwear.”

I blink away the image of her in a colorful bikini.

A man can only handle so much fire in his blood.

“Don’t know that there’ll be much time for swimming, truthfully. However, the resort has its own little mall in the main building. You’re welcome to pick out something there, if you’d like.”

“You mean if I could afford a designer swimsuit?” She scoffs.

I don’t dare offer to buy it.

I’m already in too fucking deep. I’m a dead man walking if I have to deal with her prancing around half-naked.

“But this really is wild. Ludicrous. I may just sit and dip my feet in to warm up later. I know the desert gets chilly at night…” She trails off as we walk through the main room to the lone door across from a massive bathroom.

Wait, what? Shouldn’t there be a second door to another bedroom down the hall?

She stops cold with the same question, staring at the large earth-toned bed pressed against the wall in a fully furnished bedroom while I stand behind her.

The only bed.

With my jaw clenched, I check the suite number on my card again. I distinctly remember booking a two-bedroom suite.

Anything feels safer than watching Salem’s mouth drop.

“So, uh… where’s my room?”

It’s almost laughable.

Here we are in paradise, this lovely room with its bamboo accent wall, soft colors, and crisp, white modern furnishings, feeling like we’ve just been gutted. A masterful room clearly designed for couples.

Hell, the place wouldn’t be out of place for a honeymoon suite.

Dammit. I knew I should’ve gotten that second room.

“Somebody fucked us,” I say tightly in the empty silence. “Sorry. This suite was supposed to have two bedrooms. I’ll call reception right now and—”

“No, there’s no need.” She swallows before locking eyes with me again. “I mean, there’s a sofa in the other room. And this bed, it’s enormous. We could share it and be in different zip codes.”

Does she even hear herself?

She’s not wrong, though.

A person could starfish on the mattress two or three times over without touching anyone else on the other side.

Only, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s one bed.

One bed.

Only one bed for two awkwardly attracted people and a man fighting off his inner caveman like a feral monkey with a stick.

A single shared bed we’re somehow expected to sleep in without turning into ravenous beasts tearing each other’s clothes off.

“I’m calling them,” I growl.

“Hold up. I know how much a room like this costs,” she continues, running her fingers along the silky bedspread. “I checked, remember?”

“I can afford another room, goddammit. I’m sure there’s something available.”

“And if there isn’t?” She looks at me.

“Then I’ll take the sofa, woman. We need rest if we want to make the most of this weekend.”

“When you’re the one flipping the bill? Um, no. And that’s beside the point.” She juts her chin out so defiantly I almost laugh. When a woman gives you that look, it means you’ve already lost. “You paid for this room. I agreed to it, and I also asked for one room. We’ll be fine. I can survive a few nights in a place that makes my apartment look like a beat-up shed. One roommate, that’s a luxury—and you won’t even throw chicken nuggets around.”

I snort, biting back a grin.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

She’s insufferable.

She also might think it’ll be fine, but she hasn’t met my self-control, or lack thereof.

Right now, it’s hanging by its very last worn thread.

“Your choice,” I bite off. “One room. One bed. Whatever.”

“Okay. Now that we have that settled…” She sends me a nervous glance before stepping over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looking out at the mountains in the distance. There are more suites farther to our right, but the place does a remarkable job with positioning for maximum privacy.

It looks like there’s nothing else around.

No one to hear if we—

Stop. Right the hell now.

But there’s something else I need to ask her, and considering she’s insisting on this death sentence of one shared bed, there’s no time like the present.

“Salem?” Even saying her name feels weirdly intimate here—or maybe it’s just the fact that I know what I’m about to say next. “I need to come clean. There’s another reason I brought you here and you’re going to hate it.”

She stops halfway through smelling the fresh flowers on the small table by the window and flashes me a suspicious glance.

“Huh? You mean this isn’t just a learning lesson in a gorgeous place I’m lucky to step foot in?”

“It is, but I also hoped you might help me out with a little problem.” I clear my throat loudly. Her suspicious expression doesn’t ease for one second. “I was hoping you might attend the conference tomorrow as more than an employee I’m mentoring.”

Brutal pause. Her eyes sharpen.

“I’d like you to come as my girlfriend.”

I wait to hear a pen drop in the grim silence, if she doesn’t just pick up one of the large black ceramic coffee cups and hurl it at my head first.

She’s so frozen I wonder if she heard me at all.

“Your what?” she croaks.

“I know it sounds insane. It’s a big fucking ask.” I hold up my hands before her gaze sets me on fire. “And yeah, it’s breaching professional boundaries and breaking common sense… but a lot of these guys are married. Most of them, in fact.”

“And you’re not.” She folds her arms, her lips twisted sourly. “But so what? Why does it matter?”

“Because these men have egos bigger than the moon. They’re obsessed with optics. If they’re not marching in with their wives, they’re flaunting their weekend arm candy, whatever model mistress or exotic sugar baby they’ve hired to impress.”

“Gross!” She inhales sharply. “And you—what? You want me to play that game? To be your accessory?”

I swallow.

“I want you to be taken seriously.” I hold up my hands. “There are a lot of pigs who come to feed at these conferences, but that’s not everyone. There’s another class of professionals who shows up here. The classic power couple. Men with wives and girlfriends who have their heads in the game, usually sharper than their partners. They’re some of the biggest movers and shakers around, and I’ve always had trouble connecting with the type when I’m a damn loner.”

Her lips twist, mulling over my breathtaking stupidity.

“But if I walk in there with a brilliant woman on my arm, it could help us both connect with the real players. Have you thought about your future after Higher Ends, assuming you stay in real estate? There’s no telling the doors these people could open.”

“What, because they think I’m connected to you?” She huffs a breath. “How many connections do you think I’ll make? Or really, how many connections would make this ruse worth it?”

“I’m not asking you to like it. Real opportunities never come easy in this biz.”

“No, you’re just ambushing me in this beautiful place in a slick room you paid for after you flew me in on a private jet. And I’ll feel like a giant bitch if I don’t agree just by being here.”

Bam. Right between the eyes.

She’s spelled out the asshole I am in two sentences.

Sighing roughly, I shake my head.

“You always have a choice, Salem. No gun to your head, I promise.”

“So what happens if I say no?”

“Nothing.” I shrug indifferently, like I’m not half hoping she does when I’d deserve every bit of it. “I’m asking for a favor. You turn me down, fine. We’ll still go to the conference, work the crowds, and take in plenty of big speeches. You’ll walk away knowing ten times more than you did before you came here.”

“A favor as my boss. Right.”

“As a friend. I’m coming to you because there’s no one else I could ask to put on a show like this.”

There’s no gold in her eyes now. They’re so walnut dark I can’t see any other color at all. They bring out the flush on her cheeks, though.

“As a friend,” she repeats numbly.

“Remember how well we played it up at the casino years ago? I saved you with a play like this years ago. That was a hell of a night.”

“Hell is right,” she mutters under her breath.

I cock my head and stare at her.

“Dude, it’s just… I didn’t need you to save me,” she flares, then stops, suddenly regretful. “I did appreciate it, though. I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t need an answer right away. I just thought it might help us both to figure this out sooner.”

The idea that any connection to me might help her career clearly upsets her.

I’m not expecting it when she holds out her hand.

“You know what? Fine. For this conference only, I’ll be your girl. After this, we’re even.”

“Even Steven. Conference only. Deal.” I shake her hand.

“No hanky-panky, obviously.”

“Fuck no.”

Liar.

“And you’ll take me out for a nice dinner or two. I’ve never dreamed of eating at a Michelin star place before this weekend, but this place has one. I’d love to experience it just once.”

“Done. Bring your appetite and a dictionary for the most pretentiously named food in existence.” I give her a mock bow.

She laughs, eyeing me suspiciously like she can read what’s really on my mind, but then she nods and turns back to the window.

“Let’s go exploring while we can,” she says. “If we’re going to be here, I might as well see what’s out there.”

The answer is a whole lot of nothing beyond the resort’s landscaped gardens and flawless stone walking paths.

I’ve never been one for endless desert landscapes, but Salem doesn’t seem to mind the alien desolation compared to our Missouri home. In fact, as we wander around the large complex, taking in the scenery, she gasps with new discoveries.

We’re near the resort’s giant infinity pool when she goes off again.

“This is humongous,” she whispers, absently sliding a hand through my arm. “Look at the pool chairs, Patton.”

They’re nice, these freakishly ergonomic modern chairs, probably built to push your spine back into place without needing a chiro.

“I thought you’d like it here,” I tell her.

“It’s heaven.” She kicks off her shoes and sprawls across a white lounger, tipping her head back into the evening sun. “Maybe I didn’t bring a bikini, but nothing will stop me from a little sunbathing.”

After the winter back home, the warmth really is pleasant, even if it’s less than seventy degrees. I join her, lying back on the sun lounger and letting the heat trickle over my skin.

From here, the only thing I can hear is that empty, hollow sound of the desert valley between the mountains.

“This doesn’t feel real,” she says.

“The perks of hard work. Enjoy it.”

“For you, maybe. I’m just riding your coattails. I could never afford this place without you.”

“Maybe not now. In a few years, who knows? Find the right opportunity, serve the market, and the money comes faster than you think.”

She sighs, shading her face with her hand as she looks at me. And maybe it’s stupid to think, but lying here makes it feel like we’re a lounging couple, not two people on a work trip.

“You put a lot of confidence in me. I’m not sure why.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m me, Patton. Like, even if I wind up with a stable gig, I’ll never reach this level.”

I snap my fingers loudly, pausing while she stares at me.

“What was that for?” she whispers.

“I’m done listening to you doubt yourself.” I close my eyes. “Today, we’re going to soak in our success and enjoy it without any worries about tomorrow.”

I wish I only meant business.

“Is that an order?”

“Will you follow it?” I growl back.

She laughs. A heady, cheerful sound I haven’t heard often enough.

“Okay, fine. I’ll enjoy the evening and bring my game face tomorrow,” she says.

There’s still a smile in her voice. I can picture it without looking at her, the way her eyes crinkle and she bites her bottom lip when she’s overthinking.

“Then it’s decided,” I say.

“Yeah.” She pauses and there’s a rustling sound as she sits up. I glance across at her, but she’s watching the shimmering pool like she’s imagining diving in. “Patton,” she starts and pauses again. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re the one doing me a favor, honoring my jackass request,” I tell her. Her lips curl into another smile, and she looks away to hide it. “Just don’t tell the guys I have eleven toes or an extra nipple or something.”

This time, her laugh comes straight from her belly.

The warmth makes me laugh, too.

And our combined laughter echoes into the afternoon and melts under the silent, staring desert sun.

For the first time in ages, I remember how to relax.

Dinner goes down without a disaster.

She’s remarkably good at playing the glamorous girlfriend—Dexter, eat your fucking heart out—and it’s a solid trial run even if it’s just the two of us.

She’s attentive and kind. I enjoy watching her reaction to the overpriced French-inspired modern cuisine more than I do the food itself.

In another life, I’d call it a perfect night.

Until now, crumpled up on a fine plush mattress that feels worse than a prison bed.

It’s so dark I can barely see past my nose. The only light gleaming in comes from the distant stars on a moonless night. They all remind me I should be long asleep.

Instead, I’m here, flat on my back with Salem gently snoring away at the other edge of the bed, fighting a hard-on that could hit a home run.

Torture.

My brain sprints in a hundred directions, yet it always comes back to the same place, the same urge to take a great big bite of the forbidden fruit next to me.

If it wouldn’t wake her, I’d get up and creep down to the gym, where I’d beat my muscles to exhaustion and pass out in the locker room.

But I’m trapped here, staring at the goddamned ceiling with ten thousand dirty thoughts stretched out for miles.

And damn, the girl can sleep.

I know she wants me—the kiss she gave back told no lies, dammit—but clearly the thought of sharing a bed isn’t doing the same thing to her as it is to me.

Small relief. I think I’d be doubly screwed if Salem wanted it too, lying there wide awake next to me, but at the same time—

Fuck.

I try to wrench the oversized blankets from her, but sleeping beauty is apparently a lot stronger than any waking human.

She has them in a death grip, and yes, she hogs them all.

There’s no getting them back.

What the hell ever.

I’ll beam my frustration into the darkness, I decide, waiting for the sandman to show up and knock me out.

When I wake up next, it’s still dark and I’m warm.

Wait, why am I warm?

Velvety hair tickles my face. Not my hair.

I blow it away from my mouth so I can breathe. When I open my eyes and my brain finally catches up with what’s happening, it’s a miracle I don’t yell.

Oh, no.

Oh, shit.

Salem Hopper.

She’s what’s happening.

Tucked up, invitingly warm, devilishly close Salem.

Maybe she’s just a cuddler by nature whenever she shares a bed.

Either way, she’s here now, up close and personal with her head on my chest and an arm slung over my stomach. She’s even hooked her leg over mine and my skin bristles under her smoothness.

Kill me.

This close, it’s impossible not to think of what could happen if either of us snapped right now.

It’s impossible not to smell her.

My nostrils flare, tickled by that light citrusy cinnamon scent that’s all Salem.

Before her, I never realized any woman could smell so good.

Everything about her feels like a formula patented to trigger every dormant bad habit I have.

Six years ago was long enough to start forgetting before she walked into The Cardinal.

But now—now, I’m stuck here and my dick knows what it wants to do about this.

About this proximity.

About us, with every inch of this disgustingly large bed to defile.

She shifts in her sleep, and I half hope she’ll wake up.

Not because I want her to move, but because I don’t know what will happen if she doesn’t.

Don’t think about that, you upside-down fuckhound.

Think unsexy thoughts.

IRS audits.

Dexter’s kale lunch wraps.

Arlo putting his sticky little hands all over my aquarium, smudging up my precious view.

Then she turns her face closer to mine.

The night changes to dusk, just enough to make out her silhouette in detail. I can’t tell if she’s having a pleasant dream or a nightmare. All I know is that if her leg moves up any higher, she’ll encounter something I can’t plan for.

My cock jerks, anticipating her touch, her heat.

Then she whimpers something that sounds an awful lot like my name and the entire world stops.

Holy Mother of God.

This is it.

I’m dead.

Done.

If she’s dreaming about me…

Of course, she could be dreaming about anything, but the way her voice sounded—well, I’ve heard her sound this way once before.

Six years ago.

I force myself to play like I’m as dead as I feel while she sleeps on beside me, every inch of me screaming to give in to a terrible mistake.

There’s no chance I’m falling back asleep before my alarm goes off.

And I can’t fathom how I’ll survive three more nights of this sleepless tease, silently self-destructing next to the only woman I can’t have.