9. Sloane
NINE
SLOANE
Sloane woke up to the scent of pine and rain, and the lingering warmth of another body against her own.
The sun sliced through a gap in the heavy curtains, painting a golden stripe across the rumpled sheets of the impossibly large bed.
She reached out instinctively for the solid warmth that had been wrapped around her all night, her hand searching the space beside her.
But her fingers found only cool linen.
She opened her eyes fully, the sleepy contentment evaporating like morning mist as she realized Kozue was gone. The side of the bed where he'd slept was neatly smoothed, as if he'd carefully extracted himself to avoid disturbing her.
A familiar, hollow pang bloomed in her chest. The familiar feeling of things she was starting to want disappearing.
The job that fell through after she finally felt settled.
The foster family whose circumstances changed right when she'd started calling their couch 'her spot.
' The fleeting hope, then the inevitable loss.
She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist, and looked at the indentation on his pillow.
Of course he's gone, she told herself. You told him to pretend for one night. And he gave you a perfect night. Stop expecting a sunrise after a one-night stand.
It was a practiced script. It had played in her head countless times before. The rational part of her brain knew it was better this way. But the rest of her felt a raw, stupid hurt that scraped against her ribs.
She pushed the sheets aside and stood up.
The polished hardwood floor was cool under her bare feet as she walked through the opulent suite, the morning light making the space feel strangely sterile and empty.
Her gaze landed on the sprawling sitting area by the stone fireplace.
Her clothes were scattered near the massive sectional where she had the most passionate encounter of her life, the scene a silent, chaotic testament.
A fresh wave of hurt tightened her throat, sharp and unwelcome.
This was the other hurt. The one that came after the initial disappointment, when the memories rushed in to mock her.
She gathered her clothes, each piece a tactile reminder of the night before.
The soft cotton of her shirt, still faintly smelling of pine.
The cool metal of her bra clasp. She pulled on her panties, then her jeans, trying to armor herself against the sting of rejection.
Don't think about the way he looked at you, she commanded herself as she hooked her bra. Don't remember how he said you deserved the world. Don't replay the feeling of him moving inside you or the connection that felt less like sex and more like recognition.
She tugged the t-shirt over her head, the fabric whispering against her sensitive skin.
It was useless. The memories played anyway, vivid and sensual.
The feel of his strong hands on her hips, the burning intensity in his green eyes, the way their bodies fit together as if designed specifically for each other.
Get over it, she snarled at her reflection in the dark television screen. It was a one-night stand. You've had dozens. It satisfied a need. Now move on.
She sat on the edge of the couch to pull on her boots. But as she was tying the second lace, a firm knock sounded on her suite door. Her traitorous heart gave a hopeful leap. Kozue. He'd come back. Maybe he'd just gone to get coffee. Maybe he'd regretted leaving.
She crossed the room, her boot heels clicking on the hardwood, and pulled the door open. But it wasn't Kozue.
Ronan stood in the corridor, looking like a storm cloud contained in human form.
He wore dark jeans and a simple grey henley that stretched taut over his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal powerful forearms. His short black hair was perfectly in place, and his blue eyes clear as they landed on her.
Her heart raced anyway, a frantic, confusing drumbeat. The attraction to him was just as potent, just as illogical as it was for Kozue.
It made no sense.
"Good morning," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I trust you had a good night last night."
But his gaze didn't stay on her face. It moved past her, and into the suite.
It swept over the sitting area—the rumpled cushions on the sectional, the two pillows on the floor, the distinct absence of Kozue but the palpable presence of what had happened there.
Then his eyes returned to her, and they seemed to see everything.
The slightly swollen set of her lips. The tousled state of her hair.
The satisfied languor she couldn't quite hide beneath her posture.
She felt her cheeks ignite, a hot blush spreading rapidly.
He could sense it. He knew.
"Yes," she managed, her voice coming out too high. She cleared her throat. "It was… fairly relaxing. And I slept really well."
Ronan's brow furrowed just a fraction, but it screamed his suspicion. He knew she hadn't slept alone. Panic and vulnerability tightened her chest. She couldn't stand here under his penetrating blue stare, feeling exposed and foolish. So she blurted out the first practical thought she could grasp.
"Could you take me into the nearest town to go shopping? I only have two pairs of clothes. That's really not going to work for a long-term situation here."
The effect was immediate. The slight frown smoothed away, replaced by something warmer, almost pleased, and his whole posture seemed to lighten.
"Of course," he said. "I can take you to the general store. They have a reasonable selection. But it's about an hour drive south."
"That's fine," Sloane said, the words rushing out. "A nice car ride sounds like just what I need right now. Some time to clear my head."
"Good." Ronan's smile became more definite and he turned, a clear expectation that she would follow.
She grabbed her room key from the dresser and stepped out into the corridor, pulling her suite door shut behind her.
She fell into step beside him, his long strides forcing her to walk briskly to keep up.
They moved down the quiet hallway, then through the warm lobby with its soaring ceilings and massive stone fireplaces.
Emerson was behind the front desk and offered a cheerful wave, which Sloane returned with a weak smile.
Then they pushed through the heavy front doors and emerged into the crisp morning air.
The sky was a clear, brilliant blue over the towering pines.
But Ronan seemed to have a single-minded purpose as he led her across the gravel parking lot to a polished black truck that looked both rugged and expensive.
He opened the passenger door for her once they were beside the truck, the gesture old-fashioned and effortlessly commanding, and she climbed up into the high seat.
Ronan closed her door after she settled in, sealing her into the confined space that carried his intoxicating cedar and spice scent.
As he slid behind the wheel and started the engine with a deep, powerful rumble, Sloane scanned the parking lot, the lodge entrance, and the surrounding woods.
But there was no sign of Kozue.
The pang returned, sharper now, mixed with a nervous dread. How would she face him again? Would it be awkward? Would he regret it?
Ronan backed the truck out of the space and aimed it down the long, tree-lined driveway that led away from Hale Lodge.
As the grand timber building receded in the side mirror, Sloane felt another, deeper pang—a strange ache at leaving the place that, against all logic, was starting to feel dangerously like home.
The hour-long drive to town passed in a silence that wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but thick with everything left unsaid.
The towering pines and winding mountain road streamed past Ronan's truck window, but Sloane barely registered them.
Her mind was a closed loop of Kozue and the crushing weight of his absence.
Ronan, to his credit, didn't try to fill the void with pointless chatter. He drove with a focused stillness, his large hands resting lightly on the wheel, giving her the space to wrestle with her private storm. She was grateful for it, even as the silence amplified the hum of her chaotic thoughts.
When the truck finally rolled to a stop on the gravel shoulder outside a weathered clapboard building with a sign that read 'Mountain General & Supply', Sloane was out of her door before Ronan could cut the engine.
She didn't want him opening doors for her again, not when she felt this raw and off-balance.
The cool mountain air hit her face as she strode toward the store's entrance, her boots crunching on the gravel. Her hand was reaching for the handle when the realization slammed into her like a freight train. She froze, and her stomach dropped immediately.
My cash. The envelope with eleven thousand dollars was sitting on the dresser in her suite.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, closing her eyes in frustration. Of all the stupid mistakes.
A heavy presence materialized at her shoulder. "What's wrong?" Ronan's voice was low, a rumble that vibrated in the quiet morning.
She turned, meeting his clear blue gaze. "I forgot my cash. Left it in the room. So much for shopping." The admission tasted like failure.
But he didn't hesitate. His large, warm hand settled on her shoulder, and that now-familiar jolt of electricity shot through her, sharp and sweet. His touch was grounding and unnerving all at once. "Don't worry about it. I'll cover you for now."
"I'll pay you back. I promise." The words were automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of never wanting to be in anyone's debt.
He gave a single, firm nod, as if her promise was a foregone conclusion. "I know." Then he reached past her, his arm brushing hers, and pushed the store door open.