8. Ashton

eight

Ashton

"I don't know what you're talking about." Selma's response only multiplied the fury burning inside of me.

We held each other's gaze, mine blazing with impatience and hers with stubbornness. A certain sense of impending cataclysm loomed large over the horizon, and I feared it would ruin me.

"You're pregnant?" My voice was full of awe.

With a huff, she reached forward to yank the paper back, fisting it into a ball. "Boo hoo. I'm a woman who had unprotected sex. Get over it. Besides, it's none of your business."

I edged closer to her. "So why did you feel the need to hide it from me?"

Her jaw set and lips pursed, but she didn't respond. I took another step forward until our breaths mixed. Selma's breathing faltered at the proximity, but she made no move to step away from me.

"Who's the father, Selma?"

Her chin rose up. "No one you know."

"Don't lie to me. That test result says you're four weeks pregnant."

"I saw it, and I'm still telling you it's none of your business."

A muscle ticked in my jaw. "Tell me the fucking truth. Don't make me force it out of you."

Her tone was full of challenge. "And how do you plan to do that?"

I'd never met anyone so stubborn in my entire twenty-nine years on earth. She was fucking infuriating, and I wondered, not for the first time, what it was that had attracted me to her.

I knew she was baiting me, trying to provoke a reaction. Why? I had no idea, but I would not play into her hands.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing myself to be calm. "Am I the father?"

The thought scared me shitless. I had no idea why I was even here asking such a difficult question. If I was the father, then fucking hell.

She shook her head with admirable force. "Absolutely not."

How long had it been since the hotel? A month? I still remember that night. Every single second of it. Which was why I also remembered that we'd been in such a fucking hurry to tear each other's clothes off that neither of us had bothered with protection. A reckless oversight, but at the end of the day, spilled milk was still spilled.

So, was it farfetched to assume that I might be the father of the child she was carrying? Not really, no. But if I wasn't, then who was?

The thought of anyone else touching her made me see red. Fucking crimson. I grounded my jaw, getting even closer to her. Her expression was weary, but as expected of a woman who was used to looking down on others from her high horse, she didn't move. Didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

Her nostrils flared. "Ever heard of personal space, asshole?"

I ignored her. "Did you sleep with someone else?"

She better say no.

"You have no right to ask me that."

I growled. That wasn't a no. "I have every right. You might be carrying my child. I don't want it tainted with another man's ugly genes."

Her eyes sparkled with intent. "My child, Ashton. Make no mistake; this baby is mine and mine alone."

"Fuck it is." There it was, that fire that threatened to burn anyone in her path. The answer I needed was right there; I only needed her to say it out loud. "I deserve to know."

She moved away, then turned her back to me. "You deserve nothing. We don't even know each other. What makes you think you have a right to my child?"

"Is it mine?"

"Let it go, Ashton."

"Selma!" I thundered.

She suddenly swung to face me; her face contorted into a twist of rage. "Fine! It's yours, yes. But that doesn't make you its father."

I didn't fail to notice that she had put some distance between us. "Like hell it doesn't."

My heart was racing so fast I felt it in my fucking neck. It was getting hard to breathe. I tried to practice my ujjayi pranayama, but all that did was constrict my throat further. All the yoga lessons I'd taken over the years suddenly deserted me when I needed them the most. My instructor reiterated that breathing could bring power and focus into the body if one knows how to channel all that energy. While it seemed to work for the panic attacks I'd had as a teenager, they proved useless when put up against a surprise pregnancy announcement.

"Ashton, I don't expect you to play the role of a father, especially when it's so abrupt," she said.

I didn't realize that Selma had closed the distance between us and was now in front of me, looking at me with faux concern.

It was worth mentioning that I knew it was a facade because she blinked in only one eye as she said the words.

"So, what do you expect? For me to walk away from my child?" I fixed her a scorching glare. "You would love that, wouldn't you?"

Her face straightened. "So fucking what? I have a right to dictate who stays in my child's life."

I chuckled deviously. "I suggest you look up the word 'right.' You don't seem to understand what it means."

Selma stared at me for what felt like an hour, looking flustered. A few stray strands of hair were sticking out of the messy bun piled up on her head, and a hue of pink spread from her neck to her cheeks. There was no makeup on her face today, and I realized it was the first time I'd seen her without it. Her chest was heaving with furious breaths, exposing the generous swell of her breasts through the button that had come undone.

As if she had planned it, my body instantly reacted to her. I gritted my teeth, willing my fucking cock to behave itself, and read the room.

Her office suddenly became hot. I hated this…reaction I had to her—this stupid attraction to her that I couldn't deny. Selma was a striking woman, probably the most enticing woman I'd ever met. And that was saying something because, for the past four years, I'd worked with models and celebrities of all shapes and sizes.

But none was as enchanting as Selma. None made my blood boil in anger and awakened the beast inside me at the same time.

I met her gaze and was almost brought to my knees by the depths of the emotions swirling in her emerald eyes—fear, trepidation, and arousal mixed into one. Whatever was between us, she felt it, too. I could tell.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers without thinking about it. She stiffened against me, her body hard as a rock. A beat passed, then another, as I waited for the push or slap that I knew was brewing. But five beats passed—again, I was counting because with Selma, you never knew—and no force connected with my body.

So, I deepened the kiss, prying her stiff lips open with my tongue. She opened up after a few strokes, and when I shoved it roughly into her mouth, she melted against me.

Encouraged by her reaction, I slid my hands down her skirt to cup her ass, pressing her flush against my body. My erection ground against her lower abdomen, and she moaned into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

The heated tension from our argument a few minutes ago evaporated, and all that was left was liquid fire.

Selma was the one who broke the kiss. "Ashton, we can't," she moaned softly in protest, her hands fisting the lapels of my shirt.

"Why not?" I panted, my lips blazing a trail up her cheek to kiss her forehead. "You want it." Then I pressed her tightly against my hardened cock. "And I'm pretty sure you can feel how much I want it, too."

She groaned against my lips, circling her waist against my arousal, causing me to grunt in pleasure.

When I captured her mouth in another deep kiss, she didn't protest, only grabbed my shirt harder. God, I wanted this woman. Once was not enough; it would never be enough. Ever since that night, she'd been like a drug. My unique addiction. Everything about her drove me crazy, both with need and pure insanity. The way she spoke, that polite, sophisticated way of making people feel small, her green eyes, her lush lips, the enticing slope of her neck that made me want to kiss it, even her brain. Her smart, organized brain.

Everything was a fucking turn-on, as well as a turn-off.

It was a conundrum, my attraction to her. I hated her guts, but at the same time, I liked that she had a backbone. She sometimes looked at me like I was shit beneath her shoes, but other times, very few times, her gaze was gentle, sultry, knowing.

God help me, I tried to fight it. I'd told myself all sorts of bullshit about how she was the resident witch with a beautiful face and a blackened heart and, if not for Maria, wouldn't even breathe the same air as me. But my body—and my cock— seemed to think otherwise.

Keeping one hand firm on her ass, kneading, and pressing, I trailed my other hand to her breasts. "These peaches have been driving me fucking crazy for the past month. I can't stop thinking about them."

I squeezed one round globe, and she gasped loudly as if the action had surprised her. I paused because it didn't sound pleasurable to me.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" I asked, letting my hand drop.

She stepped away, leaving me feeling oddly empty, as she clutched one hand to her heaving chest. "Shit. Um…"

Her movements were hazy and unsure, and I noticed she avoided my eyes. "No. It's fine."

I caught her arm. "No, really. Tell me if I hurt you. I didn't mean to."

She swallowed, finally lifting her gaze to me. "It's nothing really. Just that my…uh…breasts are a little sore."

I waited for more information because other than sucking or ogling them, I didn't really know much about jugs, and she was talking like I was supposed to understand her meaning.

She smacked her lips. "The pregnancy."

"Right." I heaved out a deep breath, letting her arm go. An awkward silence ensued, washing away the remains of any sexual excitement. For a second, I'd allowed myself to forget the relationship between us—if I could call it that.

Fucking hell. I was in way over my head. Having a baby with a woman I detested and who detested me in return? What was I thinking?

Ever since we'd had sex, Selma had been consistently finding new ways to fuck up my life. First, it was getting me into a few months-long commitment I couldn't get out of. Now, not only was she carrying my baby, but she had been planning to keep it from me. For how long? That baby would have grown up with my blood coursing through its veins, and I would have been none the wiser.

She didn't deserve my sympathy; she didn't deserve anything from me.

Turning around, I reached for my equipment—what I should have done from the start instead of being here making things even more complicated for myself.

"You can't keep me away from my child," I said. "I won't allow it. I fully intend to be a part of that child's life."

"You don't have a say." That defiant spirit of hers that I hated was back in full force as if she hadn't melted like butter against me just a few seconds ago. "I'll fight you to my last penny."

I glanced at her mockingly. "Which is just fine, seeing as you don't have many."

Anger flashed across her gaze, and her nostrils flared. "Don't you dare, Ashton."

Quickly, I threw the bag across one shoulder and started for the door. "Watch me."