Chapter 5
Rebecca
The hotel room door clicks shut behind Luca, and I stand there clutching the VIP pass like it might vanish if I blink.
Did that actually just happen?
I look down at myself. Still wearing Leo’s t-shirt and sweatpants that he gave me before I left. It smells like him—wood and clean sweat and something uniquely Leo. My thighs ache. There are marks blooming purple on my neck.
Oh my God. I just spent the night with three men.
I pull my phone form my purse. Fourteen messages from Sienna, escalating from How’s the convention? to REBECCA ANSWER ME.
I grab it with shaking hands.
Something insane happened
Her response is immediate. TELL ME EVERYTHING
I can’t type it
She calls. Obviously.
“Rebecca Marie Thompson, start talking.”
So I do. In whispered, frantic sentences. The bar. Leo with his tattoos. James with his voice. Luca with his abs. The penthouse. Everything.
Everything.
The silence goes on so long I think the call dropped.
“Sienna?”
“You had a reverse harem night with a carpenter, an audiobook narrator, and a cover model.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re freaking out because Leo wants to meet you downstairs and you don’t know if you should go.”
“What if it was just a one-night thing and now it’s weird and—”
“Stop. He wants to meet you there, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“So go right now and don’t think twice. This gorgeous man who just gave you the best night of your life wants to spend the day with you. At a romance convention. With a VIP pass.” She pauses. “Stop overthinking and go get what you deserve.”
She hangs up before I can argue.
I force myself into the shower. When the hot water hits my sore muscles, reality crashes over me. Last night was real. Leo’s hands on my hips. James’s voice in my ear. Luca’s mouth between my thighs. The way they looked at me like I was beautiful. Desirable. Perfect exactly as I am.
Brett never looked at me like that.
When I get out and stare at my reflection, the marks on my neck are darker. Purple blooming across my skin. Evidence of last night written on my body.
They marked me. They want everyone to know.
I should cover them. But something stops me. These marks are proof that I was brave. That three incredible men wanted me enough to leave evidence.
I trace one gently with my finger, remembering the moment Leo’s mouth was there, the way James whispered “gorgeous” against my skin, how Luca’s teeth scraped just right. My stomach flips at the memory.
Maybe I don’t want to hide that. Maybe I want to own it.
I go to my suitcase and pull out the dress Sienna convinced me to buy. The one I said I’d never have the confidence to wear. Burnt orange wrap style that cinches at the waist and shows just enough cleavage to be interesting. Hits mid-thigh.
I pull it on before I can talk myself out of it.
It fits perfectly. Hugging my curves in all the right places. The V-neck shows the marks on my neck without being obscene.
Fuck it. Let them see.
Makeup. Hair down in loose waves. Book-themed earrings again. The VIP pass around my neck.
Twenty minutes until I’m supposed to meet Leo. I grab my tote bag with my books to be signed and head for the elevators.
The lobby is packed with convention-goers. Lanyards and tote bags everywhere. But I don’t see Leo.
Then I spot him near the coffee shop, talking to a group of women. One of them laughs and touches his arm, leaning close.
Oh.
My stomach drops. Of course there are other women. Look at him in that fitted black t-shirt and those jeans. Why would he be waiting for me when he could have anyone?
I should leave him to it and make my way to the VIP line. Or turn around and go back upstairs.
Then his eyes scan the lobby and find me.
The smile that breaks across his face is brilliant. Genuine. Like he’s been searching and finally found what he was looking for.
“Rebecca!” He calls out loud enough that people turn to look.
He pushes past the women without a glance. “Excuse me, my girl is here.”
My girl. He called me his girl in front of everyone.
Oh my god. Oh my GOD.
The women stare at me. Some curious, some clearly jealous. But Leo’s already moving, crossing the lobby in long strides headed straight for me.
When he reaches me, he pulls me into a hug that lifts my feet off the ground.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says against my ear, just loud enough for me to hear.
“You look fucking incredible.” He sets me down, cups my face, and kisses me right there in the lobby.
Not a quick peck. This is claiming, possessive, his tongue sliding against mine briefly before he pulls back.
“Been dying to do that for the last hour.”
“You—there were women—”
"They just recognize me from other conventions. Luca's fans, mostly." His thumb brushes my cheek, eyes locked on mine. "But I only have eyes for you, sweetheart." His gaze travels slowly down to my dress, then back up. "Fuck, this dress. You trying to kill me?"
"Is it too much?"
"It's perfect. You're perfect." His fingers trace one of the marks on my neck, satisfaction clear in his expression. "And you didn't cover these up."
“I thought about it.”
“Don’t.” His fingers trace over one gently, possessive. “I like everyone knowing you’re taken.”
“Taken?” My voice comes out breathless.
Taken. He said taken.
“For the weekend at least.” He grins, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. “Unless you want to extend the arrangement. Come on, convention’s already started.”
We pass through the entrance into the main convention space, and it’s overwhelming. Booths everywhere, banners hanging from the ceiling, the buzz of excited readers filling the air.
“Rebecca!”
I turn. Luca’s at a booth, shirtless photos of him on book covers displayed. Women are already gathering.
Of course they are. Look at him.
Leo steers us over. “Busy already, mate?”
“Can you blame them?” Luca grins, then his eyes land on me with clear heat. “Well, look at you, beautiful. That dress should be illegal.”
“That’s what I said,” Leo agrees.
Luca’s gaze drops to my neck. His grin widens. “Nice accessories.”
I flush. “Luca—”
“Own it.” He winks. “You look amazing. Have fun at the panels. I’ll catch you later?”
As we walk away, Leo leans in close. “He’s going to be insufferable all day now because he’s thinking about tonight. Just like I am.”
Tonight. Oh god, tonight.
We find the panel room for James’s talk and settle into the third row. Leo’s arm goes around the back of my chair immediately, his fingers playing with my hair.
“You nervous?” he asks.
“A little. This is surreal.”
“Which part? The convention or the fact that you spent last night getting ruined by three men?”
“Leo!” I hiss, looking around to make sure no one heard.
He laughs. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t help myself.”
The lights dim and James walks out onto the stage in the dark grey button-up I watched him put on this morning, with the sleeves rolled. His eyes scan the audience and stop on me. The smile is subtle but unmistakable. A small smile just for me before he turns to the moderator.
He sees me. He knows I’m here.
James talks about his craft, about finding emotional truth in characters, and his voice fills the room in that deep, smooth way that’s absolutely mesmerizing.
But there’s an edge to it today. An intensity.
When he demonstrates how to narrate an intimate scene, his eyes find mine in the audience and hold.
It feels like he’s narrating directly to me, like every word is a reminder of last night.
“The key is making the listener feel like they’re the only person in the world,” he says, voice dropping into that register that makes my toes curl. “Like every word is meant just for them.”
That voice. God, that voice.
I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together. My face is burning.
Leo notices, because of course he does. His hand drops to my thigh and squeezes, fingers digging in possessively. “Behave, sweetheart. We’re in public.” But his voice is rough with approval. “Though I don’t blame you. He’s doing that on purpose. Making you squirm.”
“Is he always like this at panels?” I whisper.
“No.” Leo’s grin is wicked. “This is special. Just for you.”
When the moderator asks James about his favorite type of scene to narrate, his eyes find mine again.
“I’m particularly fond of scenes where the characters can’t touch each other but desperately want to.
The tension of wanting something you can’t quite have yet.
The anticipation of what’s to come.” He pauses, and I swear his lips quirk slightly. “The waiting is half the pleasure.”
Oh my God. He’s torturing me on purpose.
After the panel ends, we grab coffee and head to Isabelle Stone’s talk. The room is already crowded—she’s popular, and her readers are devoted.
“You okay?” Leo asks as we settle into our seats.
“Nervous. I’ve been reading her books for years. And now I’m going to be in the same room as her.”
“She’s going to love you.” His hand finds mine and squeezes. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. Don’t forget that.”
When Isabelle walks out, I’m glued to every word. She talks about her rockstar series, about writing why-choose romance, about creating characters that readers fall in love with.
Near the end, the moderator opens it up for questions. My hand twitches—I want to ask something, want to tell her how much her books mean to me—but I can’t. Fear holds me back.
What if I sound stupid? What if I can’t get the words out?
“Ask your question,” Leo murmurs.
“I can’t. I’ll sound stupid.”
“You won’t. What did you want to ask?”
“How she writes intimate scenes with multiple partners. How she makes it feel emotional instead of just physical.”
“That’s a great question.” Before I can stop him, his hand goes up.
“Leo!” I hiss.
Too late. The moderator points at us. “Yes, the gentleman in the third row?”