The Alpha's Filthy Secret.

- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -

Sloane.

Friday morning arrives with bright, clear skies over Malibu.

The location is a private cliffside villa overlooking the ocean. The midday sun beats down on the stone patio and infinity pool. Stylists applied bronze oil to my shoulders while I stand near the edge of the water wearing an olive green string bikini.

Roan walks out of the changing cabana wearing dark navy swim trunks. He is ta, his bare chest broad and sculpted, the dark ink of his tattoos running down his left arm.

'Well, he's smoking hot, isn't he?' Ivara purrs making me scoff.

'Shut up.' I snapped.

'Yeah yeah.' She sniggered.

"Alright!" The photographer yells, crounching near the water, adjusting his lens. "Let's get close! Lean into him, Eva!"

Roan steps up behind me on the warm stone tiles. His large, warm palm settles around my bare waist.

My skins flares instantly. My heart spikes, a rapid beat hitting my ribs.

He leaned down, his breath brushing the side of my neck. "You okay?"

"Fine," I lied, keeping my eyes fixed on the camera.

"Your heart seems to disagree," he murmurs, his thumb tracing a tiny circle against my hip bone.

I glance sideways at him. "Focus on the camera."

"I'm trying." He says in a low tone that sounds like he's struggling within him.

For hours, the camera clicks continuously. We pose on the edge of the pool, against the stone pillars and on the lounge chairs. Every touch of his hand on my skin sends a sharp, electric warmth through my blood.

By five o'clock, the crew packs up the heavy lighting rings and equipments

I sat on a lounge chair near the quiet pool, pulling an oversized white linen shirt over my shoulders and packing my makeup items into a canvas bag.

Roan walks out from the villa, a dry towel slung over his neck, his brown hair still damp from the water. He stops directly in front of my chair.

"You know everyone thinks we are together now," he says, looking down at me.

"Let them," I say, pulling the zipper on my bag shut. "Afterall denial won't even help at this point, it will die down eventually,"

He studies my face under the patio lights. "You don't sound bothered."

"I'm not. To be honest, this was slightly expected."

Roan takes a step foward, he reaches down, takes my wrist and pulls me up off the lounge chair.

"Good." He whispers against my skin.

He leans down, his mouth pressing over mine. A quiet gasp leaves my lips, my lips parting under the steady warm pressure of his lips against mine. His free hand slides up the back of my neck, his long fingers tangling into my hair, tilting my head back to pull me flush against his chest.

My hands move up to his shoulders, gripping the towel slung around his neck to pull him closer. The kiss stays deep, slow, unhurried, tasting faintly of black coffee.

Roan shifts, his mouth trailing away from my lips. His soft warm kisses tracing a slow line across my jaw, moving down to the sensitive skin of my throat. His breath brushed against my pulse point, sending a sudden shiver down my spine that makes my toes curl.

My fingers tighten against his shoulders. For few seconds, I let myself sunk into the clean, safe heat of his touch.

Then the weight of my life catches up. I flatten my palms against his chest and push back gently.

Roan stops instantly. He doesn't right me or push for more. He draws back two inches, his thumb resting lightly against my jawline, his hazel eyes dark and focused on my face as our uneven breaths fill the quiet face between us.

My face hot as I look up at him. "This can't become complicated, Roan."

A quiet smile touches his mouth. "I think we're already past that."

_

Hector drops me off at my building at eight in the evening.

I walk inside quietly. The apartment is dim, the living room lights turned off. Sarah is already asleep in the guest room.

I walk down the narrow hallway toward Zane's bedroom to check his fever. I push his door open three inches, he laid fast asleep under his favorite blue blanket, his breathing slow and rhythmic.

I stand at his doorway for a minutes, watching his small shoulders rise and fall in the pale moonlight. Everything feels peaceful for the first time in weeks.

I turn back into the dark hallway, stepping toward the kitchen for a quick dinner before I retired to my bed. My foot bumps something hard on the carpet floorboards.

I stop and look down.

A small red toy sports car sits right in the middle of the floorboards.

I furrowed my brows.

That's weird..I thought to myself.

Zane has an obsessive habit with his toys. Ever since he learned how to walk, he has followed a strict, unknown ritual every single night before bed. Every car, every wooden block and every plastic figure must be neatly lined up inside his wooden you chest before he closes his eyes. He never leaves a single toy out on the floor. He inherits that rigid, territorial order straight from his father's bloodline.

He would never leave a car lying in the hallway, not even by mistake.

I bent down, my fingers closing around the cold metal of the toy car.

I didn't want to think about it, but there's every chance someone else was standing in this hallway tonight.

Something inhumane.

But what?