Chapter 14
Ronan
“It would be my honor.”
The way Carlos said those words to Francesca after she asked him to dance had me grinding my teeth. All debonair and full of genuine affection.
The words hit me like a jab to the ribs.
My teeth clenched as he lead her toward the dance floor.
The back of her gown is nonexistent, and I know exactly how soft and smooth her skin is there.
The sight of them walking off together twisted my gut—an ugly ball of fury expansively growing by the minute.
I shouldn’t care. Not when I showed up with Amelia on my arm, smiling for the cameras like I meant it. The truth is, I committed to bringing her to this event weeks ago. Before I knew what it would be like to have Francesca’s breath against my neck, her body under mine.
Still, watching her laugh as Carlos talks, letting him guide her with that easy, familiar touch—it’s enough to curl my hands into fists.
Amelia’s voice drifts in from beside me, some polite comment to Posey, but it’s background noise. All I can focus on is the slow sway of Francesca’s hips and the way Carlos’s hand settles a little too low on her back.
Guilt prickles—because yes, I brought another woman here.
It’s an untenable situation. I’m standing here, arm loosely around Ameila’s waist as she’s smiles at something Posey just said, champagne sweating in my hand—but all I see is Francesca.
The slow turn of her body in Carlos’s arms. The way her head tilts toward him like they’re sharing a private joke. His mouth near her ear.
My pulse spikes, heat flooding my chest. I want to rip him away from her. Flatten him into the parquet. My fingers flex against the glass because if I don’t hold on tightly, I’ll do it.
And yeah, I know. Hypocrite of the year.
But Francesca doesn’t know what I know—that Amelia’s no one special.
We see each other sometimes, usually when one of us needs a plus-one for an event such as this.
We sleep together occasionally, sure, but there’s no pretense.
No expectation. And there’s sure as hell no way that’s happening tonight. Not after last night with Francesca.
But she doesn’t know that either. All she sees is me walking out of her bed in the middle of the night and into this ballroom hours later with another woman.
Carlos’s hand moves again—too low. Francesca smiles and leans in, and my vision tunnels. I’m about two seconds from walking over there and rearranging his teeth when the song ends.
She kisses his cheek, quick and light, and then she turns and walks toward the edge of the dance floor. Away from him. Away from me.
I drain the rest of my champagne in one swallow, shove the glass at Amelia without meeting her eyes. “Hold this,” I say, already moving.
Francesca weaves through the crowd, confident and graceful at the same time. She slips into the side corridor toward the restrooms, and I follow without hesitation.
They’re the gender-neutral kind—single occupancy, lockable doors, and she’s stepping into one when I catch up. I push inside right behind her, hear her gasp of surprise and click the latch before she can react.
Francesca whips around, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”
I take a second—just one—to look at her.
The sweep of her hair, the curve of her breasts, the fire in her eyes.
Her back is to the large mirror over the vanity and all that golden bare skin from neck to the top of her butt mocks me.
She’s gorgeous in her racing gear, but like this?
Full-glam Francesca is lethal. And tonight, that weapon is aimed right at me.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“I can’t believe you followed me in here,” she snarls while crossing her arms over her chest, which plumps up her breasts and draws my eye. “Shouldn’t you be back with your date?”
The word date drips with disdain and my eyes snap back to hers. I can take Francesca’s anger, but I can’t have her disgust. I can’t come back from that.
So I deflect. “What about you and Carlos?”
Francesca frowns, and fuck if she doesn’t look genuinely confused. “Carlos? We’re just friends.”
“His hands near your ass didn’t look like just friends to me,” I snap.
Her eyes sparkle with vindication. “Ahhh… you’re the one who’s jealous.”
I scoff. “Please… what’s to be jealous of?”
For a moment, she looks unsure of herself, but it’s fleeting. Uneasiness bottoms out in my stomach as her mouth curves into a wicked smile. She tries to step around me, sounding all light and breathy. “In that case, I think another dance with Carlos would do a woman good.”
Yeah… that’s not going to work for me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a hold of her upper arm and spin her into me. My hands catch her waist, and I kiss her—hard.
She stiffens for a moment, pushing at me. I kiss her deeper, tasting the faint bite of strong liquor under the sweetness of champagne, and for a second, she melts. Her mouth opens to me, her hands clutch into my shirt, and her fight falters.
Yes, I might not be able to reason with her or adequately explain my actions, but if I can keep her compliant like this, maybe none of that matters.
I slip my fingers into her hair at the back of her head, grip hard and kiss her deeper.
Francesca groans and my entire body tightens.
I’m thinking about grabbing her by the hand, leading her out of the bathroom, out the back door of this hotel and right to my flat here in London where I’d give her so many orgasms, she’ll never think of Carlos or any man again.
But then Francesca shoves me backward with such force, the kiss breaks. She glares at me, breathing hard, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare kiss me when you just had your arm around another woman’s waist.”
Little hypocrite.
A sharp laugh escapes me—more a bite than humor. “What’s the problem, Accardi? Didn’t like the view from the dance floor?”
Her chin lifts. “You think I’m jealous?”
“You seem to be awful mad I brought another woman here tonight,” I shoot back, because the alternative is admitting how seeing her with Carlos boiled my blood.
She scoffs, but the color brightening her cheeks tells me I’ve hit a nerve. “Okay, fine… I’m pissed because you left my bed in the middle of the night without saying goodbye and showed up with her like last night meant nothing.”
“It didn’t mean nothing,” I retort.
For a second, we stand there, breathing hard, the air between us charged. She narrows her eyes. “Then what did it mean?”
I rake a hand through my hair, wishing I had a clean answer. “I don’t know. This is new territory for me.” I’m not about to admit to her that I didn’t like watching her wrapped around Carlos. She already called me out on my jealousy once and it’s a feeling I’ve never had before.
Her mouth parts, surprise registering before it hardens again. “So, it’s fine for you to play escort, but I can’t dance with a friend?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Because you don’t want me with anyone else,” she says, voice low, “but you still get to keep your options open?”
The accusation hurts because she’s not wrong—not entirely. I step in closer. “I don’t want you with anyone else. And I’m not keeping my options open.”
There’s a beat where her gaze softens slightly, like she’s hearing me for the first time.
“She’s not my date,” I say, low and certain.
“Oh, really?” Her arms cross tighter, chin lifting. “Because it sure as hell looked like it when you helped her out of the car and into the event like a perfect gentleman.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “She’s a friend. I asked her to come to this weeks ago. And I couldn’t bail last minute.”
“You’ve known her awhile?”
“Amelia and I have seen each other off and on over the years. It’s casual.”
“And you’ve slept with her,” she says softly. Not a question but a suspicion confirmed.
I can’t lie. Really, I don’t want to lie to her. “Yes… it’s been a friends-with-benefits thing. A few times a year.”
Francesca’s regard drifts to the side and she draws her lower lip in between her teeth as she contemplates. Her golden eyes come back to me. “Sort of like what we agreed to, right?”
Fuck… that sounds bloody awful when put into context. “We didn’t discuss boundaries, Francesca.”
“No, because you snuck out in the middle of the night,” she accuses.
“Yes, I did. But let’s have the conversation now.”
“It’s kind of moot, Ronan. You’re here with another woman and while I might be okay with a casual relationship, I don’t share.”
“Neither do I,” I grouse. “So, we agree… we don’t share.”
Francesca cocks an arched eyebrow at me. “And yet… you’re here with another woman.”
“And Carlos was an inch away from grabbing your ass,” I retort.
She rolls her eyes, an indication that she finds me ridiculous. “I told you… we’re friends.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. How do I get this back on track?
When I open them again, Francesca is leaning against the vanity, hands pressed to the granite, her expression unreadable. I step closer, willing her to hear me. “I’m not going home with Amelia. I never intended to.”
Her voice is quieter now, but sharp. “Why not?”
I let the silence stretch, the answer weighing on me heavily before I finally give it air. “Because I want to go home with you.”
Her eyes search mine, wary but curious. “You want to go home with me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no room for her to doubt.
A beat passes, scrutinizing my face like she’s looking for the lie—and then she nods, slow, deliberate. “All right. But I’m not doing this if you’re still… seeing other people.”
“I’m not. And I don’t want you to either.”
Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “So… friends with benefits, but… exclusive?”
I let out a short breath, like it’s a deal being sealed. “Yes.” For a moment, it’s quiet, an unspoken but heavy agreement settling between us. Then I add, “But no one needs to know.”
I see the hesitation in her eyes, the way features tighten to tell me she doesn’t love that. But she nods anyway. “Fine.”
I don’t let myself think about why her agreement doesn’t feel like a win. “I’m going to have to spend the rest of the evening with Amelia,” I admit, voice low. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”
Francesca tips her head like she’s weighing the truth of that. “Fine. But keep your hands to yourself.”
A slow smirk pulls at my mouth. “Tell Carlos to do the same.”
She rolls her eyes.
I don’t push it. Truth is, I believe that they’re only friends. And watching that faint flush climb her cheeks is… cute. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
I glance toward the door, then back at her. “I’ll check the hall.”
When I’m sure it’s clear, I step aside for her to slip out first. But I catch her wrist, tugging her back just long enough to steal one more kiss—quick, hot, enough to make her gasp against my mouth. “I’ll text when I’m on my way to your place.”
She gives me a sly smile. “I’ll be naked and waiting.”
A groan rumbles out of me. “Witch.”
She grins, eyes dancing, and then she’s gone down the corridor.
I head back into the main ballroom, weaving through the crowd until I spot Amelia at the bar, waiting on a drink. On the dance floor, Lex and Posey move together easily, smiling in a way that makes the whole room fade around them.
Amelia turns when I approach, lips curving into a mix of flirtation and expectation. “There you are. I was starting to think you’d ditched me. What do you say we blow this place and head to your flat?”
“That’s not going to happen tonight.” I keep my tone polite but firm. “I’ve got an early morning in Woking, so I’m heading back there.”
Her expression falls for a second before she pastes on a faint smile. “Suit yourself.”
“You okay here for a few moments? There’s someone I need to talk to.”
“Of course,” she says breezily. Amelia’s the type who doesn’t mind striking up conversations with anyone who will listen.
I give her a brief nod, then turn toward the dance floor as the song ends. Lex and Posey are walking off, hand in hand, and I cut across to intercept them.
Posey’s eyes lands on me, and her steps falter, expression wary.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask her.
She hesitates, glancing at Lex who nods. “Okay.”
Lex gives me a look I can’t quite read—then claps me on the shoulder as he walks away.
I shift my weight, looking Posey in the eye. “I’m not good at apologies.”
Her brow arches. “That so?”
“Yes. But I need you to know I regret how I handled things before. I was a bastard. Didn’t give you a fair shot, didn’t give Lex the benefit of the doubt.
I let my own shit color how I saw you, and that wasn’t fair.
I was a bastard for outing you to the press, and I know it hurt both you and Lex.
I’d even like to say that wasn’t my intention, but it was.
I know I can’t take it back, but if I could, I would. ”
She studies me, quiet, then says, “That’s quite a mouthful.”
“I practiced in the bathroom mirror this morning,” I quip, making a joke because I’m nervous.
Her lips twitch. “Lex mentioned you might say something. I wasn’t sure I believed him.”
“Well,” I say with a shrug, “believe it. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I wanted you to know I regret it.”
“Why now?” she asks. “You and I don’t have to get along. We could happily ignore each other.”
I think about that a moment, and I wonder how much of this has to do with Francesca. I don’t have a good answer. “I know that you make Lex happy. And from here on out, I’ve got his back. Which means I’ve got yours too.”
Her eyes soften. “Thank you. And I know you don’t expect it, but I do forgive you.”
And then, to my utter shock, she steps forward and hugs me. Brief but warm, and before I can react, she’s walking away toward Lex.
I watch her for a second, a tightness unclenching in my chest, before turning back toward the bar. Amelia’s still there—now leaning in to talk to another driver, her smile practiced and perfect. I scan the crowd for Francesca, but she’s nowhere in sight.
That’s fine. I’ll be seeing her soon enough.