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Then I feel something cool and wet against the back of my neck. As the heaving stops, warm, soft hands wipe my hair from my face, gathering it in a ponytail at the back of my head.
Wonderful—I just tried to con the nicest billionaire in California.
Good job, Eden.I can’t take a dime from him now, not without feeling like the worst person in the world.
“Drink this,” he says. A cool glass touches my lips, and I take the water from him, sipping it slowly so I don’t anger my stomach again.
After a few sips, he takes the glass and moves the wet washcloth from my neck to my forehead. It’s embarrassing but also…nice. I close my eyes as he softly pats my clammy face with the cool towel.
“Better?” he whispers.
I nod, but with each movement of my head, it’s like shaking loose the tears I’ve held back since finding out about the baby. They slowly start to slip through my closed eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, my voice cracking with the words. The sooner I can get out of this restaurant, the better.
“Don’t be sorry. I’ve had the plate removed.”
“I should probably go,” I say.
But I don’t move. I let his tall frame shield me from the wind, and I allow him to wipe my face, soothing me so much I don’t care about my makeup.
“Come here,” he mumbles, and I instantly fall into his arms, not entirely knowing why or how I can feel so comfortable with a man I just met. But his arms are big, and they feel safe, and even if I know there isn’t a dime in my future from this stupid, elaborate scheme, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying one embrace before I go.
Maybe it’s because he’s not berating me or calling me stupid. He’s not telling me that I only think about myself and that everything bad that happens is somehow my fault. Instead of slapping me across my face and spitting insults, he’s caressing my back and telling me everything is going to be okay.
It’s enough to have me crying in earnest now.
“I can’t let you leave like this, Eden. Will you let me at least feed you first?”
I pull away with a sniffle. “Really?”
“Come on, have a seat, and I’ll order.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the table is covered with an array of random plates. There’s a bowl of risotto in front of me. Then in the middle is a basket of French bread, a plate full of fresh fruit, and a tray with sliced chicken breast and sautéed vegetables.
My mouth waters at the sight of the fruit. With one of my fancy forks, I pluck a piece of fresh pineapple from the plate and put it in my mouth with a satisfied hum.
“Okay, what’s with the fruit salad?” I ask with a smile when the taste doesn’t immediately send me puking over the edge of the roof again.
“My first wife craved pineapple during her pregnancy,” he replies nonchalantly. For a moment, I nod, caught on the fact that he is married and has children, but then I realize I must not be so good at keeping secrets.
“How do you know…” I ask, frozen with my fork in midair on its way back to the bowl of pineapple and strawberries. “I mean, I’m not—”
“It’s okay,” Ronan says with an easy smile. “I figured it out after you turned down the wine and lost your lunch over the smell of fish. I remember this phase well.”
For a moment, I say nothing. I stare across the table at him, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. What do I say? That I agreed to come on a kinky Dom/sub date knowing that I’m six weeks pregnant? That I was never planning to tell him that? Or do I just come clean altogether?
“It’s complicated,” I say.
He nods. “I’m sure it is, but don’t worry about it. I don’t need to know the details.”
Ronan and I fall into a comfortable conversation. He tells me about how he lost his first wife and son in a car accident twenty years ago. And how he’s given up on long-term relationships after having his heart broken time and time again. Which led to him investing in the company that runs the app with plans to expand in the future.
“So you’re…really into this stuff then,” I say, nibbling on a piece of bread. Eating slow, small bites is the only thing that seems to keep my queasiness at bay.
“By this stuff, do you mean BDSM?”
