Page 72 of Better When Shared
Resort Rules: An MMF Slow Burn Romance
Kristin Lance
Chapter 1
Juniper
Something about a room filled with luxurious marble and sparkling crystal and people in posh clothing made nervous laughter bubble up from my chest.
No matter how much I reminded myself that my husband and I were wealthy by most standards, it never quite stuck. I still felt like a regular girl with a regular life. Like I was a little girl, sneaking into the Ritz in Portland, thinking I could run away from home and live like Eloise in that series of books.
I bit my lip, trying to contain the giggles before they spilled out. The Bancroft Resort & Spa in Bath was even more luxurious than the Ritz had been. Was it because we were in England? I wasn't sure, but this place was so aggressively posh that my brain short-circuited into hysteria.
Also, I was completely underdressed.
Crystal chandeliers the size of my first car dripped from above, casting rainbow prisms across every surface. The air smelled of expensive flowers, leather-bound books, and shoe polish. Every surface screamed "you don't belong here" in the most polite, British way possible. My husband hadn't noticed.
"Juniper, look at those cornices. Georgian, probably 1760s. And the marble—that's Carrara, has to be. The way the veining catches the light..." Marco's words were coming fast, the way they always did when he was geeking out about a historical building. Usually I found it cute, but right now, it just gave me one more reason to giggle.
The watching us. Her hair looked like it had been carved from the same marble as the lobby, and her smile was both pleasant and terrifying. I couldn't make eye contact, so I looked around, pretending to admire the veining in the marble.
That was when I saw him.
Across the lobby stood a man who made my breath catch in my throat. Tall—intimidatingly so—with dark blonde hair tamed with military precision.
Marco followed my gaze. "Is that Caleb? Oh no, that's—" He swallowed hard, his words dying as his eyes trailed over the man's beautifully tailored suit.
We were here to meet our marketing consultant, Caleb Bancroft, of the same Bancrofts who owned this hotel.
"Why didn't Caleb tell us the hotel was this fancy?"
"Pretty sure he did," Marco said absently. "Do you think he's related to Caleb? He looks so much like him, and this is Caleb's family's hotel. I think Caleb still owns a share of the Bancroft Hotel Group."
"I bet he's the hotter older brother," I said. The man had Caleb's great cheekbones and square jaw, and he had the same piercing green eyes. I could see them, even from here. But where Caleb carried himself with effortless grace, this man looked like he'd swallowed a ruler and was no longer capable of anything but perfect posture.
"I don't remember Caleb saying his brother was hotter," Marco muttered, and I burst out laughing, this time for real.
I elbowed my husband. "He wouldn't admit it, even if it was true. I don't think Caleb likes his brother."
We stood side-by-side, staring openly at Caleb's hot brother. Sometimes, it was fun having a bisexual husband. We didn't have to argue over men; we simply ogled them together. And late at night, we'd sometimes whisper dirty fantasies about threesomes and get ourselves all hot and bothered. Not that we'd ever acted on those fantasies, of course. But it was fun to daydream.
The man was studying a tablet with the kind of focus most people reserved for defusing bombs, his jaw set in a hard line that somehow made me want to trace it with my fingertips.When he glanced up and our eyes met across that ridiculous lobby. Heat slammed through me like I'd touched a live wire. His gaze was sharp, assessing, and for a moment, almost hungry.
Another giggle slipped out.
His eyebrows drew together in what might have been confusion or annoyance—hard to tell with that severe expression—but before I embarrassed myself further, a crisp voice cut through the moment.
"Mr. and Mrs. Torres, I presume?" A woman's voice, with a crisp, posh British accent, startled us out of our ridiculous ogling.
I turned to find a woman approaching us with a confident stride that suggested she owned everything in sight. She had ash-blonde hair in a perfect bob, green eyes that matched the gorgeous stranger's, and a smile that was professional without being warm. She couldn't have been much older than me, but she looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread titled "Executive Women Who Will Destroy You."
"I'm Gemma Bancroft, COO of Bancroft Group Hotels. Caleb called to let us know he's flying in later this evening with his—er—" Her eyes darted to the side, like she wasn't sure how to explain Caleb's unconventional relationship.
"Ah yes, his lovers, Julian and Nisha. So glad they could come," Marco said cheerfully, if a little too loudly.
I angled my head towards the tall man. "Is that Caleb's brother? They look so much alike, and yet… not." I couldn't very well say this one was hotter and way more uptight.
She looked his way and nodded. "Yes, that's Tristan Bancroft, my cousin and the CEO of the Bancroft Hotel Group. He has a meeting, or I'm sure he would have loved to talk to you as well." Had that been sarcastic, or was I being paranoid? "Since Caleb is running late, I've sent housekeeping to prepare your room a little early. Would you like a tour of the property while you wait?"
