Eight

EIGHT

I had Ash take a shower while I called down to housekeeping and had new bed linens sent up again. Second time in less than twenty-four hours. I'm sure they were wondering what we were doing that the sheets needed to be changed so often. If they only knew that the first time, I was worried about us getting cooties from the guy Damien sent up to our room. Not that it could happen again. I had Owen mess with our keycards and reprogram the keypad on the door so ours would work and no others'. Even a card from the maid, or an override, or the manager's passkey would no longer open our door. I was taking no chances with Ash's safety. Of course, when we left, they would need to reprogram the card reader on the door, but Owen assured me it would be a bit of a nuisance and nothing more.

"You know if it's easy for him, it's gonna be hell for them," Nash told me. "Maybe leave them a note that if they can't figure it out, to give Owen a call."

It was the polite thing to do.

I was going to order room service, but Ash wanted to get out. Even though it was dark and dreary outside, walking around downtown, historic Castine sounded like fun to him. He was a fan of ghost stories, believed in the occult, and hoped to find some antiques to ship to his mother, who, as a high school English teacher, was always wanting to take things into her class to give her students something new to look at and think about.

I was waiting on him, and when he came out into the living room where I was flipping channels, I gave him my best wolf whistle.

"Are you serious?" He chuckled.

"Let's see the ass, because the package looks good."

He rolled his eyes but made the turn for me anyway, and yes, his ass looked amazing in his tight tan jeans hugging his powerful thighs and long legs. His white dress shirt under a gray button-up sweater vest, and over that, a heavy wool chocolate-brown peacoat really made him look like he was about to model that outfit on a runway. The distressed leather brogue boots were a nice touch, and his sunglasses were ridiculously sexy.

"Aw, man, I've got it bad," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Never mind," I grumbled, getting up. "Come on. I'm gonna pass out soon if I don't get something to eat."

"I don't get to look at you first?"

"What?"

He walked over to me and gestured for me to turn around.

"No, sir, only one of us is a lusted-after movie star," I said, heading for the door.

He ran to catch up with me and darted in front, barring my way, grinning wickedly.

"Can we go?"

"I like these jeans on you," he apprised me, circling, "and I might want to borrow these work boots of yours. Very chic yet rugged."

I stared at him.

"What? They are. And your T-shirt under this heavy shawl-collar cardigan…I love this sweater. I might accidentally put that in my bag."

"You don't want it. It's really old. It's heavy, and yeah, it's warm, but also ancient. Plus, c'mere." He stepped in close, and I held up the collar so he could see the small hole. "I tried smoking clove cigarettes in college and ruined it forever."

"It's not ruined," he said, pressing his nose to the thick weave, inhaling deeply. "And it smells like that soap you brought—sandalwood and pine with a trace of bergamot and mandarin. Is the other thing cologne?"

"No, it's just this oil I put on my face and neck."

Crowding me, he pressed his nose under my jaw. "It almost smells like bourbon and something spicy, earthy, and cherries, I think. Yeah, but maybe fermented ones," he murmured and opened his mouth on my skin.

My knees nearly buckled, and I had to grab hold of his shoulder. "We need to go," I managed to get out on the second try.

"Kiss me first."

And so I did, and it was wild in seconds, and I was bumped back against the door as his hands got under my sweater to my T-shirt and then my skin.

The knocking on the door was a surprise and startled us both.

Since I was the one panting harder, he opened the door, and there was Orson, whom I'd only seen onstage the night before, and Bitsy.

"Hi," Ash greeted them as I straightened up a bit, not bothering to retuck my T-shirt; you couldn't see it under the sweater anyway. "What can we do for you?"

"A bunch of us are having lunch and walking through the town, and we'd love it if we could have a meal with you before the craziness of the parties tonight."

"Certainly," he agreed. "We'll follow you."

"Oh yay, I'm so excited." She clapped her hands happily.

Ash stepped out first as I took deep breaths to get my libido to calm down. Him shoving me into the hallway, closing the door behind him, and then walking up to me, wrapping me in his arms and breathing down the side of my neck, helped nothing.

"I'm going to be a walking hard-on if you don't knock it off," I grumbled, though it was very hard to put any growl in my voice when my breath kept catching.

"Yeah, that's terrible," he said, sucking my ear into his mouth.

"You're gonna be so sorry when we get back here later."

"You think? You think I'll be sorry? Or will I just be moaning and begging and sweating under my beautiful, sexy man?"

My face was hot.

"You're all flushed. God, I just—stop a second."

I did because walking was hard with him so close to me.

Slowly, because there seemed to be a whole process to it, he unclasped his heavy, either platinum or silver, intricately carved link bracelet that he'd been wearing since I met him. His gorgeous Patek Philippe watch was on his left wrist, but on the right was the bracelet I'd admired mostly because it was on him.

"What're you?—"

"Wait," he ordered, and once the piece of jewelry was off, it almost fell to the floor, but he caught it and then he wrapped it around my right wrist.

"You want me to wear this?" I asked him, smiling as he went through the same steps to close the clasp.

"Yeah," he husked, checking it when he was done, seeing that it moved freely but there was no way it was sliding over my wrist. "And that's not coming off."

"Okay."

"You'll never figure out that lock," he assured me.

I would, though. I was good with puzzles, but that wasn't the point. "Why would I want to take it off?" I asked instead of saying anything snarky.

"Just don't fiddle with it."

"Absolutely not."

"Good. That's good."

I smiled at him. "What's with you?"

He shook his head.

"Tell me."

Pointing at the bracelet, he said, "That's one of a kind. Made in Ankara just for me."

"Then you should?—"

"I need you to wear that for a bit, all right? Just for now so I can breathe."

"Why can't you breathe?"

"I dunno," he rushed out. "I'm having trouble."

"Are you guys coming?" Bitsy called back to us.

"We'll catch up to you," I promised. "We just need a minute."

I didn't know if they walked away. I was solely focused on Ash.

"You're right," he said, slipping his hands around the sides of my neck. "I came to this wedding for a reason. To meet people like Ainsley and her family and connect with them. Not everyone related to my father is horrible, and look at your Gemma. I was right. And of course, Bitsy"—he gestured after her—"getting married, starting her life, she's worth knowing as well."

"I agree."

"But I'm suddenly having trouble sticking to my plan because I don't really care anymore."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I care about Ainsley and her family," he amended quickly. "I really liked them. I really did. Don't get me wrong."

"I was certain you did," I said, loving him all flustered, explaining himself as he puzzled out whatever was in his head, though I knew he'd been worried for a second over what he said. Even if he hadn't liked Gemma, he would have said he did for me. "They're all great."

"Yes. Yes they are. And you're crazy about them, and they're important to you, so they're important to me too."

Which basically validated what I'd thought. "But meeting more people," I filled in for him, "spending that time, you're not invested in that anymore like you thought you'd be."

"That's exactly right," he said, pointing at me, starting to pace then. Because I'd seen him do it before, and it meant he was formulating ideas, working out a problem, I smiled at him.

"And that's because of what?" I prodded.

"Because of you," he declared in a very accusatory manner.

"Me?"

He growled in frustration, and I laughed at him.

"You're driving me crazy," he muttered.

"And why is that?"

"No, don't ask me like that."

That was surprising. "How am I asking you?"

"Your voice gets all silky and low and all come hither when you're bantering with me."

I could not have kept a straight face for anything. "Does it?"

" Does it ," he parroted, giving me another slight growl.

"You're adorable right now," I informed him.

"See, normally I meet someone," he began, ignoring my comment, "have sex with them, and then we part ways."

"Why?" I asked as he paced.

"Because it's what you do."

"Why?"

"It's suffocating otherwise."

"Is it?"

"Yes! Normally, yes," he nearly shouted.

"Okay."

"And a lot of times, I'm going one way and they're going another."

"Sure," I said, moving to the wall, leaning on it, still watching him. "People are busy, especially in your line of work."

"Without question," he agreed. "And then our paths will cross again, or not, or I'll call when I get a moment, or they will, and sometimes we reconnect and sometimes we don't."

"Got it."

"Now the thing is, even if we really liked each other, had a good time, a great time even, there's still that learning curve when you're finally back in someone's physical presence. When we reconnect, there's an amount of time it takes to get comfortable again, and then once we are, things are fun and light and easy until it's time to part."

"Again."

"Yes. Again," he barked at me.

"Okay. Got it."

"But see," he said with a deep sigh, "with you, here we are on the second day, and there's been horrible news about my friend, and we had that amazing night and when I woke up you weren't there… I just, it's been real life happening here. It's not some fairy tale, and we've talked, and I've told you more things than…than I normally share, and I feel connected."

"Good. I feel the same."

"But what about when I have to go back to Malibu?"

"I thought you were flying back to?—"

"No, not right now. I mean later. Down the road. When we're doing our bicoastal dating. What about when I have to go back home then?"

"I don't understand the question."

"I mean, what happens to that connection?"

"When you go home."

"Yes!"

"Because you love it so much, and when you think of home, that's it, right?"

"What?" He stopped pacing.

"Your house in Malibu, that's home."

"Of course."

"Of course because yes, it is, or of course because that's what you think the answer should be, so you're saying it?"

"You're confusing me."

"Fine. Tell me this. Do you love Malibu?"

"It's beautiful there."

I snickered. "Not an answer."

"No?"

I shook my head.

"I have no idea what's happening right now."

"That's okay," I soothed him, taking hold of his hand and easing him slowly forward, to me, until he was close enough to lean in and kiss. It was quick, my lips pressed to his only for a moment. "Something about me you need to know."

He took a breath, calming.

"I will do the long distance with you, Ash Lennox, and it won't be weird when we get back together because it'll be like we were never apart."

Long exhale like all the panicky energy was leaving his body, and he took my other hand when I offered it to him.

"At some point you might look around and say, I think I want to change my home base to Chicago ."

"It's quite possible."

"You'll be ready then to make that change."

His eyes never left mine.

"Maybe you won't. But whatever I have to do to be in your life, I will do. I will fly, I will take vacations, and I will be in bed at night with you when it's time for you to go to sleep as often as I possibly can so you will wake up and have me beside you in the morning."

His eyes scrunched up tight, and I knew why. I did that myself to stave off tears.

"That's my promise to you."

"Okay," he choked out, his voice ragged.

"But I don't need a bracelet or even a ring," I assured him. "I will be yours for as long as you'll have me. Period."

After a moment, he ground out, "Good, then. We can begin."

I kissed him gently, then tugged him after me to get us moving. We walked in silence toward the elevators.

"It feels weird to think that you'll fly to Turks and Caicos to finish your movie and I'll go back to Chicago, but that's all right. Because it would be like that anyway when you go off to make a movie, so that'll be just like normal."

He nodded.

"I know an actor has to go out and promote their movies, do the talk-show circuit and all that. I get it. And yours is not a life that lends itself to having a home and?—"

"But it could," he said, and I heard the urgency in his voice, his desire for me to hear him. "If you were there. If you were the one. It could."

The way he was looking at me, like I could decide his whole life right then and there, it was a lot to agree with, but I was more than willing to jump into the deep end with this man.

"Cooper?"

"We'll try. I want to try."

One moment he was searching my face, the next he lunged at me, catching me in his strong arms, clutching me tight.

"Don't give up at the first sign of trouble," he whispered fiercely. "Promise me."

"I won't. That's not me. You'll see," I said, easing away from him, spitting in my hand and holding it out to him. "I promise you."

His mouth fell open.

I pressed my lips together really tight so I would not laugh.

"What the hell is that?" He sounded absolutely appalled.

"You gotta shake on it."

"Oh, I don't think so," he assured me.

"You've had your tongue in my mouth, but spit on my palm is gross?"

"Yes. Utterly disgusting."

"I don't care. Shake."

"I really don't think this is necessary for?—"

"Now!" I yelled at him.

He spit into his hand, barely, and then we shook and I made sure to squeeze his hand so he could feel how slimy my palm was.

"This is worse than I thought."

"Would you rather we sealed it in blood?"

"Who are you?"

I leaned in then, and he cupped my cheek with his non-saliva-smeared hand before he kissed me.

"You are so weird," he murmured between kisses.

I chuckled, and he sighed deeply.

"Do you wanna wash your hands?"

"Yes, please," he snapped.

We found a bathroom in the lobby, washed up, borrowed a golf umbrella from the concierge, who had a lot of them lined up ready to go in front of her counter, and headed out to find wherever it was the bride and groom had gone to have lunch.

As we walked along the sidewalk, skirting puddles, dodging other pedestrians, and bracing in the wind, Ash grumbled, "It's so much colder here than I expected. What is it, like, twenty?"

I scoffed. "Oh, baby, you are not gonna make it in Chicago."

"Already? You decided that so quickly?"

"I suspect seasons are not your idea of fun."

"That's not true. It gets very brisk in LA."

"Does it? Really?" I baited him.

"Listen—"

"When the wind comes off Lake Michigan in January, you'll die," I said flatly. "You'll just fall over and die."

"I will not. I've been to Reykjavík."

"And how much time did you spend outside in Reykjavík?"

He was quiet. "Let me think."

I smiled at him. "We'll get you a really good coat."

"Or you could just, you know, get closer to me."

When I put my arm around him, I got a rumble of pleasure. "You see? This is better already. I can do Chicago easily."

He would pass out in the snow.