Chapter 15

Fifteen

"God, I hate that woman," Ash says as we cross the parking lot to the red Mercedes.

"Right there with you," I tell him. "But I think it went okay. Thanks for reining her in." As unpleasant as the whole experience was, Ash's strong hand was what made it bearable.

"I'm not sure anyone can truly rein in that woman."

"Amen to that," I say, then clear my throat. "Listen, can we talk?"

He realizes that I've stopped walking and turns to face me. "Sure. Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you, too. I was worried, you know."

"About Maggie?" I shudder. "You had reason to be. But we survived. Even if I do feel like I rolled around in poison ivy."

"Not her," he clarifies. "You. I was worried when you disappeared at the airport. I thought something had happened to you." He shrugs. "And then when I got your message, I worried that I'd done something to—I don't know—scare you off."

"Oh." I swallow. Since he hadn't brought it up earlier, I thought we were going to simply skip over that little blip. "I'm really sorry about that. It wasn't you. Truly. And, well, I should have realized that you—anyway, I'm sorry."

He nods slowly, then slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he studies the ground. I tense, waiting for his response. Polite, because that's who he is. But laced with hurt over what I did, and temper because I did it to him.

But when he lifts his head, all I see is the faint glint of humor in his eyes. "I get it. Probably best to avoid drunken weather-inspired sexcapades. They never turn out the way you expect."

"I—" I stop because I have no idea what to say. I can barely process his words, much less the fact that they convey understanding.

He looks at me with the tiniest hint of a smile. "Did you expect me to say you owed me a night?"

"I—well, no. But—wait. Sexcapades? I thought you invited me up for a movie."

He presses a hand to his heart. "A guy can dream."

My laugh is cut off when he grabs my hand and tugs me to him. Since my mind is currently running through a Technicolor reel of sexual acrobatics, I'm fully expecting him to kiss me. And I'm more disappointed than I should be when he mutters, "Damn drivers think a parking lot is a racecourse."

That's when I realize I'd been so caught up in thoughts of Ash, that I hadn't been paying attention to where I'd been standing. As in, right in the middle of the driveway. I take a step back, intending to move out of the circle of his arms, but he holds me in place.

"I'll admit to being disappointed that night," he says, his voice like a low rumble moving through me. "But you don't owe me a thing. I know what trauma can do to a woman."

My head snaps up, and I realize the fear on my face must be palpable when he loosens his arms and steps back from me.

"My mother," he says quickly. "I meant that I know how my grandfather destroyed her. Oh, Bree, no. What did you think I meant?"

I shake my head, feeling like an idiot, because of course I'd leapt to my kidnapping.

"I'm sorry," I say. "Maggie. She put me on edge. It wasn't about you. Really."

That's not entirely a lie. And I do feel ashamed. We'd been having a perfectly civil conversation, and one wrong word and my fight or flight instinct sprang into play. Because apparently, I'm the only person in the world that bad shit has happened to.

Except I know that's not true. Not by a long shot. I know more about Ashton Stone than I probably should, simply because I was there when he first showed up at the Stark home.

I know about Sofia, Ash's mother and Damien's lifelong friend. She and Damien had both been mentally and physically abused by Sofia's father, Merle Richter. So much so that Damien and Sofia had been forced together sexually when they were only children, barely into puberty. And when Sofia became pregnant, she'd been taken away to live with Abigail, Richter's half-sister and Ash's great-aunt, while Damien—oblivious to Sofia's plight—traveled the world and rose as a tennis star with Sofia's father as his coach.

Already mentally fragile, young Sofia hadn't understood what was happening to her body, and when she'd had the baby, her mind had snapped. Growing up, Ash barely knew her. Technically, she lived in Abigail's house, but she was rarely in residence. Instead, she spent most of her life in an institution. Instead of a mother, Ash was raised by Abigail, a cold woman who'd fed him lies and half-truths and insinuated that the way he'd been conceived made him the devil's spawn. As for a father figure, Ash hadn't had one. His grandfather spent most of his time on the road coaching Damien until he died from a fall when Ash was still tiny. As for Damien, until recently, he hadn't even known Ash existed.

I can't even imagine all the trauma that Ash experienced in a household like that, essentially alone with a woman like Abigail whispering in his ear.

Ash isn't perfect—I know that. But I also know that he's strong. Probably stronger than he believes. And a bit messed up, though probably less than he should be. However you slice it, he's broken.

So am I. But Ash grew up that way. He knows how to hide the cracks. I'm still learning where my fissures are, and what will make me shatter.

"I really am sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to suggest that you had anything to do with what happened to me."

I feel like a complete shit. And where before I was grateful that he'd come with me to meet Maggie, now I wish I was alone so I wouldn't feel so small and stupid that I could easily crawl under the nearest rock.

"It was just a knee-jerk?—"

"—reaction. Yeah. I get that, too." He steps closer, then brushes his fingertips over my cheeks, an intimate gesture I'm not expecting, but which washes over me like sunshine.

I'm afraid I might like it a little too much.

"I would never hurt you or Anne," he says. "I hope you know that."

I want to tell him that I do. Instead, I say, "You wanted to destroy Damien."

His shoulders drop, and he nods. "I did. I really fucking did." He glances around the parking lot, then uses his fob to unlock the Mercedes. "Listen, I don't want to leave this hanging, but I need to hit the road soon, and I still haven't packed. Come with me and we can keep talking? I can drop you back here for your car later."

I swallow, strangely hesitant to be alone with him. And not because I think that he'll hurt me. Quite the opposite. Because despite still being wary, there's something about Ashton Stone that pushes all my buttons… and in all the right order.

But it's not my buttons that have me saying yes. It's the fact that I still haven't asked him for the money. And the clock is ticking down.

"Well, that wasn't what I expected," I say when Ash pulls the Mercedes under the portico at the front of the Starks' Malibu house.

He turns to me, his brow lifted in question.

"You have a reputation, my friend. And I think you drove here slower than my cousin who lives in Manhattan and doesn't actually know how to drive."

He looks me slowly up and down. "A woman with a need for speed. I'll keep that in mind."

I roll my eyes, fighting an amused smile. Not to mention a tiny little bud of lust, so small and fragile it could wither and die… or bloom and thrive. I want the latter. But I also know better than to go there. I'm fine with fantasy. I don't do so well with reality.

We follow the paved walkway around the house to the manicured backyard that includes a pool, a huge patio, and the guest house where I used to live. There's also a stunning view of the beach, a tennis court, and a small bungalow just off the water.

Just your average home for your average billionaire.

Despite being huge, the house is actually pretty cozy. The truth is that I've always loved this place. And even though I adore my fixer-upper, I can't deny that living in Malibu with a beach outside my door is something I definitely miss. Which is probably why I gasp with delight when we head straight across the patio to my former digs.

"You're staying here now?" I ask as we step inside the guest house.

"Just for this trip." He turns to look at me before opening a satchel and filling it with a laptop and the papers that cover the kitchen table. "I go to sleep every night thinking of you."

I smirk. "That's either the worst pick-up line ever or genuinely creepy."

"I was going for seductive."

"Missed it by a mile," I tease though my laugh dies in my throat when I see the heat in his eyes.

For a moment, he doesn't move. He just holds my gaze. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile and he nods toward the bedroom. "I need to pack."

"Oh," I say, then follow him like a puppy as he moves into that room. I hesitate at the threshold, my attention drawn to the huge, familiar bed. I shift, forcing myself to seem as blasé as Ash, who's pulled a duffel from the closet and is now filling it with clothes from the closet and dresser.

I clear my throat, and he tosses a handful of briefs into the bag and holds my gaze. My cheeks are on fire as I clear my throat again. "Um, listen," I finally say, turning my attention to my feet. "This thing I wanted to talk about. I need to ask you something."

When I look up, he's moved closer to me. "Ash."

"Hmm?" He takes another step closer, bringing him fully into my personal space, so close I can smell the lingering hint of soap mixed with a scent that is pure male and completely compelling. "So tell me.What did you want to ask?"

I shake my head, suddenly unable to latch on to a single thought. "I can't remember."

The corner of his mouth twitches as his fingers brush my arm, bare in my sleeveless blouse. "Maybe it's the same thing I want to ask you."

"What's that?" My words—little more than breath—are swallowed up by the sweetness of a soft kiss that ends far too soon.

"That," he whispers. "And this." He kisses me again, only there's nothing sweet about this second round. This kiss is wild and hot and full of decadent promise. The kind of kiss that heats blood and melts off clothes. The kind of kiss that teases hearts and kills reason, and I lose myself in it. I kiss him back, relishing the taste of him. Craving even more.

This is the kind of kiss I miss. The kind I let play out in nighttime fantasies. The kind I dream of, then wake up in a cold sweat, crying silently into my pillow.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, pulling away all too soon.

I want to tell him that I do. That I want it desperately.

I want to beg him to touch me, but I can't escape the fear. The worry that I won't ever be strong enough to be intimate with a man again.

And the worry that Ash could be him. My blackmailer. Maybe even my kidnapper.

I don't really believe that, but it's a sticky sort of terror, like sludge that clings and won't ever wash off. So thick and tenacious that it won't allow that one key thought to take root in my mind: the possibility that Ash isn't a man to fear at all.

In fact, maybe Ash is the knight who can keep those horrors at bay.

"Bree?" I see the concern in his eyes, but I scramble backward, until my back is pressed against the doorjamb. "I'm sorry," I say. "That was nice. More than nice. But I can't. I'm sorry. But I can't."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about." His voice is as soothing as a warm bath. "Can I help? Just tell me what you need."

A shiver cuts through me as time seems to stop, and his words hang in the air.

What you need.

It's as if Fate has tossed me into this surreal moment and given me Ash as a gift. I don't even think before I blurt out the words.

"I need three million dollars. And I need it in less than seventy-two hours."

Immediately, he goes ramrod straight. He's still standing between me and the bed, but he seems miles away, and a cold wave of fear crashes over me.

I try to read his face, but I can't. I'm not surprised. I've spent more time than I care to admit reading articles about Ashton Stone. They all talk about what a brilliant businessman he is. About how he inherited his father's skill in a boardroom. That he never gives anything away, and that his capacity to never show his cards clears a path for him to get everything he wants.

It's all true. I know it because I can't read a single thing on his face. All I can do is hope.

"Ash?"

"Why?"

I shake my head. "No."

"And if I insist?"

I swallow, refusing to cry. Technically, I can tell him. But I don't want any of this to get back to Damien. If Ash were to contact the police or do anything to break the rules…

"Can't you just help me?" My voice is thick with tears. "I'll pay you back somehow. Right now, I just need the money." I hear the panic in my voice and hate myself for it.

"Are you in danger?"

"No. Not like you mean, anyway." Technically it's true. I'm not in physical danger. Just in danger of hell breaking loose all around me.

Slowly, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and I can practically feel the burn as he looks me up and down. The woman he wanted. The woman who pushed him away. "All right," he says softly. "I'll get you the money."

My entire body goes limp with relief, only to freeze when I hear his next words: "But I want something in exchange."

I swallow, trying to ignore the ominous chill that makes my skin prickle. "Sure," I finally say. "Anything."

Not the best negotiating tactic, but it's not like I have a choice. The clock is ticking.

"Then we have a deal," he says, rising from the bed to step in front of me. "In exchange for three million dollars, I get you."