Chapter 17

Seventeen

Ash wanted to kick himself for being an ass and scaring her away. He knew better. Especially considering this was Bree. He knew what she'd been through. Knew all about how she'd been kidnapped with Anne, his little sister who—at the time—he knew existed, but had never met. Now that he did know her—and adored her—Ash would have happily killed the fucker—plural, as it turned out—who'd taken them. But someone else hadn't gotten there first.

He'd overheard Nikki and Damien talking one evening, so he also knew that Anne remembered nothing of the kidnapping and hadn't been physically abused at all. He knew less about what had happened to Bree, but he did know that although she'd been drugged for much of the time, she hadn't been raped.

That good news had been twisted up with the bad, though. Because the bottom line was that someone had stolen her control. Had ripped her away from her world and tossed her into his own. Had violated her. Abused her.

But hadn't broken her.

There was too much strength in her. He'd seen it. Felt it. That bastard Rory and the others had smashed her up hard. Maybe she was cracked, but she never shattered.

Right then, all Ash wanted in the world was to be the glue that held her together. Ironic, considering he was pretty damn cracked himself. But he didn't matter. Only Bree mattered. She'd gotten under his skin in a way he'd never experienced before.

She'd become his North Star.

And so you try to coerce her into being your sex slave? Good one, dude.

Ash feared that his conscience—that annoying little prick—wasn't entirely wrong. Considering how she'd stormed out, he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The woman had been robbed of her control. Taken against her will. And he—asshole that he was—had stepped in to say that if she wanted his help, then he owned her. That she would be his to do with what he pleased.

And given her a panic button, too. You're not forcing her to do anything. You're giving her all the control.

He ignored the voice in his head. He had a reputation for using and throwing away women, after all. For destroying them.

Hell, maybe he had. After all, try as he might, he'd never truly wanted them. Not even Delia.

But it had been different with Bree. From the first moment he'd seen her, she had filled his thoughts. His fantasies. And not just those moments when he was alone in the shower, the air heavy with steam and his hands slick with lather. He damn sure hadn't pushed those fantasies away, but those were just sex. Need. Hunger.

Delicious and wonderful, but the other fantasies were what he treasured. The ones where she'd pop up in calmer, sweeter times, unbidden and unexpected. Like when he was having coffee on his back porch on the Hudson Bend peninsula outside of Austin. Or sitting on his downtown penthouse balcony overlooking Lady Bird Lake. Or when he was driving through the Texas Hill Country or along PCH.

He'd tried to exorcise her. To tell himself that he'd never have her and might as well forget her. To convince himself that he preferred the amalgamations. The cardboard cut-out women who'd so eagerly fall into his bed.

But it wasn't true. How could it be when every single time he fucked another woman, he could feel Bree nearby? Her soft lips brushing his ear, asking him why he would do that. Why a man like him—a man with enough intelligence and self-awareness to know his own worth even if he didn't believe it—would get busy with a woman like that? A woman he didn't even want.

He never answered her. Hell, he pushed her away, practically begging her to tell him no in each one of those fantasies.

He should push her even further away tonight.

With a long, slow breath, he studied his face in the mirror. Yeah, He knew an asshole when he saw one.

She can still say no. You aren't the asshole yet.

Except she wouldn't. She obviously needed the money. And he would give her that. More if she needed it, no matter what hoops he had to jump through to pull together that much cash. He wanted her close. Wanted her to feel safe.

Mostly, he wanted her. And the frustrating thing was that he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman. Not even for sex, though that was definitely high on his Want List.

No, what he craved was her heart. Her trust. He wanted to hold her and protect her. To support her. To be the man she turned to when the world became too much.

He wanted to be her refuge.

Refuge.

With a frown, he stood up then started pacing, trying to shake loose a recalcitrant thought. Refuge. Help. Safety .

She already had all of that. She knew as well as Ash did that Nikki and Damien would always be there for her. And Damien probably had three mil sitting in his dresser drawer.

Slight exaggeration, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. So why hadn't Bree asked Damien for the money?

Unless she had?

But no. Ash was positive Damien wouldn't turn Bree away if she was in trouble, and he had the very distinct feeling that the three million she needed was to ward off something bad.

And yet she hadn't asked his father…

Sure, she'd called his bluff and headed into the house to do that, but he knew she wasn't calling. If she was really willing to ask Damien, that would have been the first call she made.

He let the thought hang there as he paced, trying to make sense of it. And he kept circling around to the same conclusion—the only reason to keep Damien out was if Damien was already at the center of it. If the money she needed protected Damien in some way.

But how?

The thought made him feel vaguely nauseous and he felt his pulse increase in tempo. Ash hadn't been a Damien fan when he'd first met his father, that was for damn sure. But things changed, mostly because Ash realized that the picture he'd had in his head of his father had been painted by Abigail, a woman who hated Damien Stark.

Ash didn't count himself in that group. Not anymore. Now, he loved the man as if he'd been there Ash's whole life. He didn't completely feel like Damien was a dad—though to be honest, Ash wasn't sure he knew what having a dad actually felt like—but he respected the hell out of the man. And that went double for Nikki. That woman had been through hell and back. Good lord, the whole family had.

With a wry grin, Ash thought of all the crap he'd been through in his life. If that was the defining characteristic, then he was definitely a Stark. And as far as he could tell, Bree was practically an adopted child in the family, too.

So why would she need that much money so quickly, but not immediately go to Damien for help?

Was someone threatening to expose something about Damien? And if so, why wouldn't she tell Ash? Or maybe she had already asked Damien, and he said no. But that seemed very out of character.

He got up and started to pace, then decided that the only way to know the truth was to go to the source.

"Well, fuck it," he muttered as he crossed the room to grab his phone and send a text:

I know you're incommunicado with the world, but just wanted to check in. All OK?

A moment later, three dots appeared, followed by a reply: Wonderful. Relaxing at the beach.

Where exactly is this island?

Top Secret. Only Gregory knows.

My own father and he doesn't trust me ...

It felt good typing that. Hard to believe that not that long ago he would have happily seen Damien Stark dead.

What's up?

Not much. Has Bree been in touch?

Ash didn't think Bree had the satellite phone number, but Gregory could always patch her through. For a moment, there was no response. Then the text box popped back up.

No. Is something wrong?

Shit. Now he couldn't tell if she really hadn't reached out or if the delay in response meant that she had, but Damien wasn't telling.

Nothing wrong. We were talking about some plans for when you get back. House party or something. We'll fill you in when you're back in California.

Tell her we all say hi.

Ash turned as he heard a tap at the door. As it opened, he typed out one last text: Got to run. Give N and the kids my love.

He closed the app then turned to see Bree standing in the doorway. Her long, dark hair was tucked behind her ears, and the afternoon's bright light silhouetted her in a way that made her glow like the ethereal creature she was.

"You're back." The pleasure at seeing her was palpable, a physical thing, and so unlike anything he'd felt for any other woman he'd known. "What's the verdict on my proposal? Am I the biggest asshole on the planet or just a fucked-up guy?" He said it with a smile, but he meant every word. If he could do the last hour all over again, he damn sure would.

She looked at him, her face entirely expressionless, and he felt his heart sink and his stomach twist.

"Why can't you be both those things? Fucked up and an ass?"

"You make a good point. I think that describes me pretty well."

"I'd say so." She stared at him for another beat, then another. Still that flat expression. Still, his heart continued to sink.

"Caleb offered to give me the three million."

"Caleb?" The name was bitter in his mouth. "He's your friend. Aria's cousin. The choreographer."

Ash had met Caleb once when the dancer had come with Bree and Aria to a Hollywood premiere party for a mutual friend. Ash hadn't much liked the guy, though he hadn't been able to put his finger on why.

He got it now.

He'd hated the poor son-of-a-bitch because Caleb was attracted to Bree. Ash didn't think Bree had even noticed, but Ash certainly had. And maybe that really did make Ash the asshole, but he still hated Caleb for that same damn reason.

Not that he'd let Bree see as much now. Instead, he pasted on his usual boardroom expression, the kind that showed no particular emotion. "Good. That's a good plan. No strings. And no asshole—that would be me—to deal with."

"You really are the asshole," she said, punctuating her words with a slow grin. "But I'm taking your three mil, anyway."

It took him a second to make sense of her words. "You want to repeat that?"

"I'm. Taking. Your. Money." She smiled, then bit her lower lip, which, frankly, was sexy as hell. "If you're still offering."

"Oh." Every drop of blood in his body shot straight toward his cock, and right then it felt as if all the sunshine came back into the world. "I've never been happier to be out three million dollars."

She laughed, and he grinned back. He had no idea what was going through her head, but at least he knew she didn't hate him.

"And you're accepting my terms?"

She blushed but nodded. "With one condition of my own."

He cocked his head. "Are you in a position to impose conditions?"

She lifted her chin, her eyes never leaving his. "You don't get to ask me what the money's for."

His chest tightened. Whatever was going on—whatever had not only forced her to seek out three million, but had also led her to agree to selling herself—had to be some pretty bad mojo. He wanted to argue. Wanted to hold her close while she told him everything. And then he wanted to fix it for her. Whatever it happened to be.

But he did none of that. Instead, he nodded. "Agreed. Now tell me why you agreed." She shrugged. "Gregory says you're not an ass. Generally, I think Gregory's a pretty smart guy. I'm not sure how he missed the boat on that one."

He took a step toward her. "It's because I buy him really great Christmas presents."

"I figured it had something to do with that." She stepped fully over the threshold, then shut the door behind her.

He moved a bit closer, feeling strangely tentative, as if he was approaching a scared kitten. "I'm paying a pretty stiff price," he said, purposefully letting his gaze roam over her. "I hope the merchandise is worth it." He was taking a risk, and he was on the verge of wishing he could call back the words when he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

"Hey, caveat emptor," she said. "And as for that stiff price…thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, but in his head, he was leaping up and down, celebrating the fact that they had a deal. The news pleased him more than it should have. This was a sex-for-money deal. Purely transactional.

Just something to help him let off steam and justify giving the woman three million.

Except that was bullshit, of course. He didn't want transactional with Bree. He wanted real. And he knew better than most that real could be some very scary shit.