by Lauren Rowe
I bite my lip watching Ryan, my abdomen tightening with desire.
I want him.
Quickly, it becomes clear who the stand-outs onstage are, and, as if by design, the guys group themselves into two “teams” onstage—Josh, Reed, and Henn on one side versus Zander, Keane, and Ryan on the other—and we women cheer and scream, goading them into a fierce and funny three-on-three hula-off.
Oh my God, I’ve died and gone to heaven. I’m crying with laughter. I glance down my long table and discover Kat, Hannah, and Sarah at the other end, all of them crying tears of laughter, too. By chance, Kat glances at me while I’m looking at her, and, without hesitation, she blows me a kiss before looking back at the stage.
And, just like that, I suddenly feel like I’m right where I belong in this world. With these people—a part of this wonderful family. A family who so obviously loves each other unconditionally.
Tears well up in my eyes and I wipe my cheeks, suddenly not sure if I’m crying tears of laughter at the performance onstage—or if, after this past year of shocking betrayal and heartbreak in my life, if, maybe, just maybe, I’m crying about something else entirely.
The dance-off is over.
Everyone in the audience resumes their seats, wiping their eyes from laughter, and the professionals prepare to resume their show.
But as our men put their shirts back on and begin walking offstage—Ryan bounds over to the emcee and whispers something in her ear.
She nods and hands Ryan the microphone.
“Hey, Keane,” Ryan says into the mic. “Hold up.”
Keane stops descending the steps of the stage and waits.
“Alooooha!” Ryan booms to all of us in the audience.
Everyone replies in kind, all of us already well trained how to respond to this greeting here in Hawaii.
“Before we let the show resume,” Ryan says, “I think we should get the two best hula dancers of the night up here for a dance-off. What do you think?”
Everyone shouts and applauds their enthusiasm for the idea.
“Keane, come back up here, man.” He turns to look at the line of professional dancers, standing off to the side. “Can we get my brother back into a hula skirt?”
A male dancer quickly descends upon Keane to dress him.
“And will our other stand-out dancer of the night please come on up here, too? Coco? Come on up here, honey!” Ryan finds Coco’s little face in the crowd and his gorgeous face lights up. “Hello, beautiful. Come on up here, sweetheart. Time for you to beat Keane’s booty in hula dancing.”
The crowd explodes with excitement as Coco pops up and eagerly works her way toward the stage.
“Word on the street is my brother Keane challenged Coco to a hula-dancing duel on the flight over here,” Ryan explains. “In fact, Keane’s exact words were that he was gonna ‘beat her booty in hula dancing.’”
Everyone boos loudly and Keane instantly assumes the body language of a villain-wrestler in the ring.
“Time for Keane Morgan to learn how to be humble, right, Coco Puff?”
As Coco ascends the steps of the stage, Keane rips off his shirt, crouches at the front of the stage like a lion in a hula skirt, and cups his hands to his ears like he’s begging us to boo him even louder (which we do between fits of laughter).
Finally, Coco reaches the stage and walks across it timidly toward Ryan, obviously feeling a bit unsure. Ryan moves to her, bends down to her level, his body language gentle and attentive, and talks to her for a moment. Coco nods. Ryan puts his palm up and she high-fives it and he kisses the top of her head and rustles her hair.
And... I... just... died.
May Tessa Rodriguez rest in peace.
Ryan rises to standing and addresses the crowd, his face aglow. “Okay, folks, Coco says she’s ready to kick some Keane-Morgan booty. Let’s do this!”
The professional dancers descend on Coco, tying a grass skirt around her waist and slipping a flower lei around her neck, and, immediately, a ukulele-accompanied dance-off begins.
Oh my God. This is absolutely hilarious and lovely. Coco’s moves are earnest and sweet. (Man, that kid’s really giving it her all up there!) And Keane’s moves are absolutely spellbinding (though not even remotely reminiscent of an actual Hawaiian dance). Side note? Holy hell, Keane Morgan can move! Even though he’s obviously doing PG-rated versions of his moves for this particular audience, it’s nonetheless very clear to me I should drag Charlotte to a Ball Peen Hammer show for her birthday next month.
But, as compelling as Keane and Coco are up there, my eyes quickly drift to Ryan. He’s standing at the side of the stage, belly laughing and cheering Coco to her inevitable victory—and, for some reason, everything he’s doing—everything about him—is making my ovaries vibrate and my heart physically ache for him. Oh my God, he’s absolutely stunning up there. A work of art. Beautiful. Inside and out.
The dance-off ends and Ryan walks between the contestants, microphone in hand.
“Great job, guys,” he says. “Okay, everyone, it’s time to select our winner through applause. First, let me hear from you if you think Keane’s our winner!” He raises Keane’s hand into the air and a loud tidal wave of boos crashes onto the stage, followed by raucous laughter.
“Wow, Keane,” Ryan says. “Not lookin’ good for ya, bro.”
Keane grabs the microphone. “You guys are lame.”
More boos slam into the stage and Keane flexes every muscle in his body, yet again playing the part of the villain.
“Okay, okay,” Ryan says. “And now... let me hear from you, nice and loud, if your vote is for... Coco!” He holds up Coco’s hand and everyone explodes into enthusiastic applause and cheers.
Keane does a whole sore-loser thing behind Coco but ultimately shakes the victor’s hand and rustles her hair and picks her up and takes her on a giggling victory lap around the stage. And, through it all, I still can’t seem to take my eyes off Ryan Ulysses Morgan. The way he’s smiling at Coco and his brother—the way he’s laughing and so obviously enjoying this moment—the fact that he thought to engineer this shining moment for Coco in the first place... Oh my God, I’m so turned on right now, I’m gonna have to change my panties before I head to the 22 Goats concert later on.
Finally, Ryan, Keane, and Coco leave the stage and resume their seats and the professional show continues... and, the minute Ryan’s seated at the other end of my long table, I steal a long, aching look at him, my cheeks blazing and my crotch pounding. Slowly, Ryan turns his face away from the show that’s resumed onstage and looks straight at me, his eyes smoldering.
He smiles and my entire body jolts like I’ve been struck by a Taser gun.
I lick my lips.
And then return his smile.
And then, the same way Ryan did at the opening party last night, he taps the face of his watch as if to say, “It’s only a matter of time.”
Only this time, unlike last night, I nod, acknowledging the inevitable.
Chapter 48
Tessa
As I watch 22 Goats performing onstage in the resort’s nightclub, I’m floored by how great they are. Seriously, who knew Dax and his two friends were this talented? Their videos are great, yes, but they don’t come close to doing this amazing band justice. Just like Reed said, Dax Morgan is a needle in a haystack. Get that boy the right exposure and he’s gonna be a mega rock star. And the other two guys in the band? Forget what Reed said: they’re great, too. In their own ways, of course. I mean, obviously, Fish and Colin don’t shine nearly as brightly as Dax up there, but who could? Dax is in a league of his own—otherworldly. I mean, thanks to Dax’s showmanship and charisma, I feel like I’ve got the best seat in the house, and yet I’m at the very back of the club against a wall.
I scan the crowd, hoping to spot Ryan again, and, this time, when my eyes land on him, he’s across the room, rocking out and singing along to every word in a happy cluster with his immediate family, all of them obviousl
y enthralled with their beloved rock star.
My heart flips over.
God, I love that family.
“Hey, you,” a voice says.
It’s Reed, holding two drinks, smelling vaguely of cologne, and looking at me like he wants to fuck the living hell out of me.
“Hi, Reed.”
“Mai tai?”
“Thanks. Great hula dancing earlier.”
“Gee, thanks.” He hands me one of the glasses. “You enjoying the show?”
“I’m loving it. 22 Goats is phenomenal—way, way better than I expected, and I had high expectations.”
Reed nods and takes a sip of his drink.
“And you?” I ask. “You like what you see?’
Reed’s eyes darken with heat. “Definitely.”
Crap. I hadn’t intended my comment as some sort of come-on. “I meant the band. You like the band?”
Reed grins. “I knew what you meant.”
I swallow hard. “So do you think you’re gonna sign them?”
Reed flashes me a sexy smirk. “What do you think I should do, T-Rod? Tell me your honest opinion.”
“That’s easy: I think you should sign them,” I say, and it’s the God’s truth. “And not just Dax—the entire band. In fact, if you truly want my honest opinion...?”
“I do.”
“I think if you don’t sign the entire band, then you’re a fucking idiot and completely devoid of a soul.”
Reed bursts out laughing. “Aw, come on, T-Rod, tell me what you really think.” He takes a sip of his drink as his eyes blaze a path from my face to my low-cut neckline and back up again. “You know what I’m gonna do, T-Rod? Just because you’re so damned passionate about this? I’m gonna leave the decision up to Dax. I’ll make him two offers: option one, a solo offer for X dollars, and, option two, an offer to the band for the same X dollars. I’ll let the kid decide if he wants the whole pot to himself or if he wants to split the same amount of money three ways.”
I jut my chin at Reed defiantly. “Suit yourself,” I say, and then I shock myself by adding, “but there’s no doubt in my mind Dax is gonna take the offer for the band.”
“Oh, you know Dax pretty well?”
“No, I just met him yesterday. But he’s a Morgan—and I know for a fact Morgans don’t screw their friends.”
A wide smile spreads across Reed’s face—a smile that tells me he thinks I’m naïve.
My heart rate spikes. “Reed, listen to me,” I sputter, all my bravado from a moment ago fading. “You gotta offer only one deal—the deal to the band.”
“Why? If that’s what Dax wants, then that’s the deal he’ll take.” He looks at me sideways. “You afraid our boy’s gonna take the money for himself and make you lose all faith in humanity?”
“No. My recommendation isn’t for me—it’s for you. If you play it the way you’re saying, you run the risk our boy’s gonna think you’re a total prick for putting him in that horrible position—maybe even a prick with whom he has no desire to do business at all. And that wouldn’t be in his interest or yours.”
Reed looks thoughtful for a moment. “Have I ever mentioned you’re a badass, T-Rod?”
“No.”
“Well, let me fix that oversight now: T-Rod, you’re a badass.”
“Thank you. So are you.”
“You want me to make one offer to 22 Goats?”
“Yes, I do. For your own good.”
“And are you gonna break my legs if I don’t?”
“Yes, I am. In multiple places. With a baseball bat.”
Reed laughs. “God help me. Fine. Consider it done. I was just fucking with you, actually—just wanted to see what you’d say.”
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’m not always nice.” He flashes me a truly wicked smile. “Now, throw back the rest of that mai tai and put your glass down, hot stuff. I wanna dance with a smokin’ hot badass to celebrate my brand new band.”
I throw back the rest of my drink, as instructed, and then let Reed lead me by the hand toward an area that’s become a makeshift dance floor.
“I’ll dance with you, Reed,” I shout over the music as we get closer to the blaring speakers. “But that’s all you get. I’ve seen you on TMZ—I know exactly what you are.”
Reed guffaws at that and pulls me to him. “Don’t believe everything you see on the Internet, baby. I’m a pussycat, I swear.”
Chapter 49
Ryan
I glance over to the spot where Tessa’s been standing watching the 22 Goats show, the same way I’ve done at least ten times in the last thirty minutes, and, much to my dismay, this time, she’s not there anymore.
I scan the small club, looking for her, only to find her in the middle of the crowd, doing the unthinkable: dancing with motherfucking Reed Rivers.
Oh, hell to the fucking no.
I disengage from my mother’s arm and take two heated steps toward the happy couple, intending to physically shove that fucker away from my girl, and then stop short, suddenly remembering he’s the man who holds my brother’s rock-star dreams in the palm of his hand. Fuck!
I march back to my family, grab my sister’s arm, and motion across the room to Reed and Tessa.
Kat looks over to where I’m indicating and, immediately, her facial expression matches mine. “Motherfucker!” she yells over the loud music. “Fuck no.”
I lean into my diabolical sister’s ear so there’s no mistaking my words despite the loud music. “Get that fucker away from my girl, Kum Cake.
“I got this, Rum Cake,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Go out by the front entrance and wait. Your girl’s gonna walk through that door in a minute.”
I don’t hesitate. Off I go.
I wait outside the front entrance of the club in the warm, fragrant night for what seems like for-fucking-ever, clenching and unclenching my fists while forcing myself not to storm back inside the place and claim what’s rightfully mine.
Thank God, just when I’ve decided to go back in there and handle things myself, Tessa comes out the front door of the club.
Immediately, I ambush her. I grab her by the arm and pull her around a corner, in search of a private spot where no one will see what I’m about to do to her.
“Wait,” Tessa says, trying in vain to pull away from me. “I can’t go anywhere with you. Kat asked me to get her—”
“Kat lied. Whatever my sister told you to get you to walk out that door, she was lying. She was sending you out here for me.”
“You told Kat about us?”
“No. Kat’s playing matchmaker, remember?” It’s a true statement, technically. I didn’t tell my sister about us—she figured it out on her own.
Tessa relaxes under my grip. “Where are you taking me?” she asks.
I spot a dark alcove surrounded by bougainvillea behind the club. “There.” I drag her into the nook and, without hesitation, pin her against the back wall of the club. I grip her face, my heart racing. “No more ‘thinking about it.’ No more ‘processing.’ You’re mine. All week long it’s me and you and no one else and that’s all there is to it. You got that?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
“Me and you.”
“You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” She lets out a long exhale. “Oh, God, I want you, Ryan.”
I’m hard as a rock. My heart is pounding. I pull up her dress and pull down her undies and slide my fingers inside her and she groans. “You want me or him?”
“I don’t want him. I’ve never wanted him.”
“Your body’s mine,” I say as I roll a condom onto my dick. “I own it. It’s mine and no one else’s—especially not his.”
She nods.
I grab her ass and pick her up and she wraps her legs around my waist as I slide myself into her, her back against the flower-covered wall. “Say my name.”
“Ryan.”
“Promise me it’s just
me and you.”
“I promise.”
“Say my name again.”
She grips my face and looks into my eyes. “Ryan. It’s just me and you. I’m yours. I promise...” She lets out a sigh of deep arousal. “Ryan.”
Oh my God. I feel like my heart’s exploding and melting, all at once, right along with my body. I kiss her passionately, relieved and thrilled and beyond turned on, my body moving in and out of hers, my palms gripping her ass as I hold her up, my chest on fire.
“Tessa,” I whisper into her ear. “You own me, baby. You’ve owned me since before I laid eyes on you.”
Just when I think I can’t hang on any longer, she comes, hard, throwing her head back and stiffening in my arms—and, seconds later, I let go and come, too. Hard.
When we’re both done growling and quaking with pleasure, we kiss for a very long moment in the moonlight, our chests pressed together, electricity coursing between us. There’s no doubt about it—this thing between us is bigger than sex. And much, much bigger than one week in paradise. I want her and she wants me and that’s all there is to it. Finally—fucking finally, we’re both on the same page. From here on out, it’s gonna be just me and her.
Tessa slides down my body, finds her undies in a bush and pulls them on, and then straightens her dress and her hair. “Okay,” she says. “What happens in Maui stays in Maui—just like you said. We’ll have some delicious fun on the down-low this week and, when we get back to Seattle, we’ll both pretend it never happened.” She holds up her palm for a high-five and I leave her hanging, feeling like she just slapped me across the face.
