Sicilian Escape with the Forbidden Tycoon - Chapter 1

RYAN

One benefit of getting dumped after you've booked a romantic week in Sicily: the upgrade to first-class when you no longer need a second ticket. Ryan had a luxurious lie-down seat for both legs of his flight, and it was the best sleep he had had since starting medical school.

The resort before him now was better than the website promised, full of romantic options like couples' massages and candlelit seaside dinners. Not that Ryan would use any of them. He was supposed to be here with Sasha, his medical school sweetheart (Ryan was pretty sure that was a common term people used). But as soon as Sasha matched with a residency in New York, she’d broken up with him. She claimed she was ready to grow up and take life seriously—and Ryan was decidedly the most unserious person she knew.

Sure, Ryan loved big, and laughed big. And yes, he could be a lot, but he thought he could be her a lot. Ryan knew how to be serious; he just chose carefree as often as possible. It was something his patients appreciated most about him. He had thought Sasha understood that.

And he’d been very, very wrong.

Ryan shoved away those thoughts and instead focused on the gleaming white resort before him. La Piccola Barca boasted private beaches, planned excursions and five-star cuisine. Ryan was going to spend the week covered in sun and sand, and sipping sangria until he forgot his own name. He wanted to find someone pretty and kiss them until his mouth was sore.

Ryan was going to make enough memories to last his entire residency in Los Angeles. But after twenty hours of travel, first he needed a shower.

He found his room and swiped the key card through the slot. The bright azure sea sparkled at him, a comforting blanket of blue just off the veranda outside. The breeze ruffled the curtains, and he took a deep breath of fresh, salty air.

An enormous bed sat against the far wall, its fluffy white linens beckoning, piled high with pillows. Ryan wanted to melt into the soft cloud of it. Beyond, a cozy couch and chair sat near a small table.

The veranda was spacious and dappled with sunlight. Two lounge chairs were perfect for relaxing under the warmth of the Mediterranean sun. Below, the aquamarine waters stretched out to the horizon, their gentle lapping blending with the distant hum of life—the soft buzz of cicadas and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. The air carried the sweet scent of salt and citrus, the unmistakable essence of the island. Ryan stood utterly mesmerized. This was heaven. “Wow, this place really goes all out,” he mused. He didn't think staff typically prepared rooms this way. But the doors were open, and there were bottles of his favorite beer resting in a bucket of ice. Soft music played from somewhere inside the suite.

Ryan dropped his bag and kicked off his shoes as he ran his hands through his hair. God, he needed this. He needed to get out of his own head. He needed to escape.

He needed a shower. Ryan made his way around the corner toward the bathroom, feeling half dazed as the jet lag hit hard.

But upon opening the door, a very gorgeous—and very much in the wrong room—man stood in the bathroom with his back to Ryan, startling him fully awake. Beads of water rolled down his broad shoulders before trickling to his narrowed waist. The white towel slung low on his hips left very little to the imagination.

“Oh God, I'm so sorry,” Ryan said. He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “I thought this was my room. I mean, I’m pretty sure this is my room.”

There was a flash of something black, and then the man was tugging on a incredibly small pair of underwear. Ryan covered his eyes with his hands and turned toward what he hoped was a wall.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," the man said. "I’d think it’s safe to extrapolate from my current state of undress that this is, in fact, my room."

That voice. Ryan knew that voice. He’d had a huge, embarrassing crush on that voice at the peak of his eighteen-year-old queer sexual awakening. Even so, he didn’t know what his brother’s college roommate was doing in his suite in Sicily.

WEST

When Lucas Weston sold his tech company last year, his life went from predictably busy with colleagues and projects and speaking engagements to practically nothing at all. The company had been West’s entire world since he was a teenager. He’d written every single string of code on his own. And now that he’d sold it, he had no idea who he was or what he really wanted.

Sure, he was now a billionaire on paper. But he could go days on end without talking to anyone except the pigeons on his apartment balcony, and they were terrible conversationalists. West was in a bit of a rut. He was desperate to find his next thing. To prove to the world, and himself, that he was worth more than one idea. That he was worth knowing. Some people had suggested that West takes his billions and live the rest of his life in luxury. The idea made his stomach churn.

The last eight months had comprised several existential crises, hours of therapy and the overwhelming pressure that he needed to decide what was next. When his best friend Matthew suggested a week at a private resort in Sicily since his brother couldn’t go, he’d said yes. West could clear his mind. Even though he was certain one week would not kick-start his brain. The truth was, Matthew had probably felt sorry for him and sent him to paradise to make sure he was okay.

Matthew hadn’t told him Ryan was part of the plan. Now he stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, with rich copper curls and just the right amount of scruff. Time had filled out his once-lean body into solid muscle—broad shoulders, thick arms and a chest that seemed carved from stone. His piercing golden eyes had locked onto West’s, holding his gaze for a moment before West had looked away, unable to handle the heat in them.

“Hi, West.” Ryan still had his eyes closed. “Long time no see.”

It had been a long time. Three years, eight months, six days. When West’s tech company celebrated its start-up success, Matt had brought Ryan to the party. Ryan had just started medical school in San Francisco, and West had told Matt to bring him.

They hadn’t seen each other since West was in college and Ryan visited. Matt had teased West ruthlessly about the crush he was sure his little brother had on West. West had shaken his head and blushed. “Do not mess around with my little brother, okay?” Matt huffed. “That’s friendship-ruining stuff right there.”

But that night Ryan had walked in wearing a suit, with a full day of beard scruff and a crooked smile. West still remembered the jolt he’d felt. Like there was a hook in his stomach pulling him toward his best friend’s little brother, who was all grown up. And the subsequent look from Matthew that West read as, He’s still my kid brother. Don’t even think about it.

West had dropped it. And he hadn’t seen Ryan since. Even though they only lived a couple hours from each other in California. He’d forgotten all about that stupid fleeting attraction that night.

Until now.

West’s throat went dry. He held his hands precariously in front of himself. His black briefs did little to conceal the rest of his naked body. “Um, hi,” was all he could manage.

“Look, man, I don't know what my brother told you, but this is my room. Matty and I booked this vacation together for our girl—”

His voice trailed off. West ignored his racing heart and grabbed his clean white shirt from the edge of the counter. Ryan wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be halfway to Los Angeles for his residency. West hoped he wasn’t also hiding a girlfriend he’d reconciled with behind the door.

“But you don't have a girlfriend anymore,” West sputtered out.

“Wow, thanks for that.” Ryan's words had a bite to them that West wasn't used to.

“Can we maybe do this when I have clothes on?”

A smirk played at the edge of Ryan’s lips as he said, “Whatever makes you feel better, West. But I'm stealing one of your beers.”

By the time West made it back into the bedroom, Ryan had indeed helped himself to a beer and was relaxing on a lounge chair on the veranda. He brought the bottle to his lips and drank from the bright amber bottle. West dragged his eyes away and pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

“Matthew said you weren’t coming.” West stumbled through the words.

“Yeah, I may have said that at some point.” Ryan kicked his feet up and tucked both arms behind his head. His wide biceps flexed beneath his fitted shirt. “But then I stopped moping, booked a first-class ticket and got my ass to Sicily.”

West cleared his throat and attempted to look at Ryan. Nope. Still too soon. “Are you not still…moping?”

“Nope.” Ryan shrugged and took another long pull of his beer. “I was. But now I think I need to hook up with someone new.”

“Right. I'm going to call the front desk. I’ll get another room.” West was going to be logical about this. He was going to extricate himself from this incredibly awkward situation and find a flight home. He never should have come on this trip.

The front desk did not have good news for West. He swallowed back the anxiety trying to work him into a frenzy and ran through some solutions. “They’re sold out for some wedding.” He quickly searched resorts in Sicily on his phone. “I’ll try some other hotels.”

“Or—” Ryan flashed him a smile that made West cough. “You could grab a beer and sit down. Come on, we’ve known each other ten years. I’ve slept on your dorm room floor. We can make this work. Let's have a drink and enjoy the afternoon. We can give my brother hell later. Besides, this room is already paid for. I can't really afford another one.”

West didn't mention that he could afford another one and, technically, he would be the one switching rooms. But he kept that to himself for now and grabbed a bottle from the bucket.

“One beer,” he agreed.