Bad (10 page)

Unaware his voice had risen, Wyatt lowered it when a waiter glanced their way. "The punk who has some advice for you. If you want Steele and Zane to have anything to do with you, you better be a damned better father to them than you were to me."

With that, Wyatt headed in the same direction as Steele.

He'd wanted to say that shit to his father for years and it should feel good to get it off his chest. It didn't. Instead, tears stung his eyes and he dashed his hand across them, determined not to cry over Christopher.

He’d learned the hard way his father wasn't worth it.

Ashlin saw the confrontation between Christopher Harrison and his sons, Wyatt and Steele, from twenty feet away. It didn't look pretty. And the devastation on Wyatt's face as he left made her chest ache in a way she knew wouldn't be soothed by partying with Miranda.

She needed to go after him.

"Sweetie, I have to go." She pecked Miranda's cheek. "You going to be okay?"

Thankfully, Miranda's bluster over Steele had petered out once she'd slurped half a Mojito. There were some major sparks between those two and Ashlin couldn't wait to see what developed while the commanding Aussie stayed in town for the next few weeks.

Miranda raised her cocktail glass. "Sure. I see a footballer over there with my name tattooed on his forehead."

"Have fun." Ashlin gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the footballer. "Fill me in on the details tomorrow."

Miranda had already wandered off, leaving Ashlin to dodge dancing partygoers on the parquetry floor as she headed after Wyatt. As she reached the ballroom exit, she spied him leaving the building, and picked up the pace.

When her cell, tucked into the pocket of her slim-line leather jacket, vibrated against her hip, she ignored it. Until she remembered the email she'd received earlier, from a premier dance company in the UK, ascertaining her interest in the lead choreographer position for their upcoming season.

Her steps faltered as she dug the cell out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and recognized an international number.

Damn, she had to take this.

Hitting the call answer button with her thumb, she took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.

"Ashlin O'Meara speaking."

"Just the woman I wanted to speak to." The clipped English accent made her pulse race. This could be it. The job offer of a lifetime. "Graham Thorpesman here. Did you receive our email, Miss O'Meara? Because we heard about your competition win and we're very keen to have you onboard."

She'd done it. Landed the best job of her career. So why the dithering?

"Thanks for the offer, I'm thrilled." Then why the shaky hands and slight quiver in her voice? Damn it.

"So that's an acceptance?"

Ashlin hesitated. She wanted to yell 'hell yeah'. But a small part of her felt disloyal somehow, like she should be discussing this with Wyatt.

Crazy, considering they weren't in a long-term relationship and she'd known a new job in a new place would be a real possibility when they'd started up. She’d even told him how stagnant her life in Vegas was and that she craved a change. But now that her dreams had become a reality, she couldn't help but feel confused.

Wyatt was a good guy. One of the best. And she'd grown used to having him around, even for a few weeks. She'd miss him. Miss
them
. But that didn't mean she'd give up the opportunity of a lifetime.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her resolve. "Thanks for the offer. I'd love to be your lead choreographer."

"Excellent. You start in two weeks," Graham said. "We'll email you a formal job offer with conditions and remuneration within the hour. Glad to have you onboard."

"Thank you." Ashlin hung up, her hands shaking as she slipped the cell back into her pocket.

She'd reached the pinnacle of her career. Landed the kind of job that would garner worldwide recognition and guarantee her a walk-in role at any premier dance company on the planet.

Yet as she jogged toward the front doors, hoping she could still catch Wyatt, all she could think was 'how am I going to tell him?'

Wyatt paced his hotel suite, at a loss. Steele hadn't wanted to talk after their run-in with Christopher and Wyatt didn't know his half-brother well enough to push the issue.

Steele had looked shell-shocked when they'd got back to the hotel, a guy operating on autopilot. He'd ignored Wyatt's overtures for conversation, answering in monosyllabic grunts. So Wyatt had taken the hint and left him the hell alone.

Wyatt didn't blame him for needing time to assimilate what had happened. Their father had confronted Steele for the first time in decades. God, he could barely handle Christopher's impromptu appearance and he'd lived with the guy for eighteen years before moving out.

He couldn't imagine how Steele must be feeling and was suitably outraged on his behalf. Enough to want to kick something. So he did. A table leg. It didn't help. Anger and frustration and helplessness rolled through him and damn, he needed an outlet.

A light knock sounded at the door and he strode toward it, hoping Steele had changed his mind. Maybe they could play a round of racquetball to burn off this unsettling feeling. No talk. Just action.

However, when he opened the door, Ashlin stood there, gnawing her bottom lip, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

Whereas for the first time in a long time, he'd never been more certain of anything.

"You okay?" she said, slipping past him.

He shut the door and spun around, snagging her arm. "I am now."

She must've heard something in his voice. A hint of desperation. Frustration.

Whatever it was, her eyebrow raised slowly and the corners of her mouth followed suit. "Anything I can do?"

"This." He hauled her into his arms, backed her against the wall and slammed his mouth on hers.

He needed this. Needed
her
. Craved her with an intensity that scared the shit out of him, the type of yearning where he'd never wanted anything so badly in his entire life.

Ashlin could fill the void.

Beautiful. Sweet. Heart-rending. Ashlin.

She moaned deep in her throat, her body plastered to his. He was rock hard. Needed to be inside her. Wanted to make her come for him. Only him.

He wrenched his mouth from hers. "You make me crazy with wanting you."

"Feeling's mutual," she said, tracing his mouth with a fingertip, her gaze filled with so much emotion it made him choke up. "I need to tell you—"

"I know," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "I feel it too. In here." He pressed her palm against his chest, over his heart. "I know I said this was a short term thing but I like you and now I think I'm falling harder and I'm fucking terrified and—"

This time she kissed him. Silencing his babbling. Preventing him from making more of a fool of himself than he already had.

And she kept on kissing him while undoing his belt buckle. Snapping the top button on his jeans. Unzipping him. When she slid her hand inside his jocks, wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed, he was pretty damn sure he'd died and gone to heaven.

But this time, he wasn't doing this without ensuring her pleasure first.

He stilled her hand and gently withdrew it from his fly.

"It's your turn," he murmured against the side of her mouth, raining tiny kisses across her jaw to her ear. "Let me love you."

Fuck. He meant make love, but somehow the L word had slipped out and now it hung there in the silence, punctuated by their heavy breathing.

Would she freak out? Because he sure as hell was. For a guy who didn't do emotions, no way did he do love.

But rather than push him away as he half expected, she smiled, radiating a joy he'd never seen before. She took his hand and led him to the bed in the far corner of the suite. With a soft shove, she pushed him onto the bed.

"Don't move. Just watch," she murmured.

So he did. Watched as she untied the knot of her halter dress and let it fall to her waist, baring her breasts. Watched as she shimmied out of the dress, letting it pool at her feet. Watched as she pushed white lace panties down her long legs, leaving her gloriously, eye-poppingly naked.

He stared at the golden-red landing strip between her legs. Aching to be there.

"I want you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm scared I'll disappoint you—"

"Don't." He surged upward, placed his hands around her waist and drew her closer. "You could never do that."

With her crotch at face level, he leaned forward and tongued her, relieved when she jolted. He teased her clit with his tongue. Lapping at it. Circling it. Nipping it. Buoyed when her legs wobbled. Encouraged as she dug her fingers into his scalp.

He toyed with her slick folds. Slipped one finger inside her. Another. Withdrew and pushed inside repeatedly, alternating with laving her clit until her rapid breathing and muted moans filled the air.

She was close. So close. But he had no idea if she'd reached this point before and been unable to go all the way. She must be feeling pretty damn vulnerable right now and he had to show her he felt the same way. So he paused for a moment and glanced up.

"I love you," he said, searching for some sign he hadn't ruined this before it had begun.

He didn't need to hear it in return. He didn't need some hollow declaration she didn't mean. But he hoped she knew how much it cost him, a guy who hadn't loved a woman before, to say it.

"Right back at you," she said, arching her hips toward him. "Now keep going and let me show you how much."

Happier than he’d ever been, he said, "You're close?"

"You have no idea how close…"

He tongued her again, quickly escalating the pace until her hips ground against his mouth. Anchoring her ass with his hands, he licked and licked until she tensed, a second before she shattered on a scream that made him feel ten feet tall.

She sagged against him and he eased her down onto the bed until they lay side by side, facing each other. Nowhere to hide.

He'd expected to feel a fool, verbalizing how he felt. Instead, as she stared at him like he'd performed a minor miracle, he knew he'd done the right thing.

He just knew it.

Ashlin's body throbbed with the intensity of her orgasm. Her first in a long,
loooong
time. Not since Dougal had she experienced the bone-melting aftershocks, and even then it hadn't been as good as this.

Wyatt was a master. A sex-god.

But she knew it was more than that.

The moment he'd revealed his feelings and told her he loved her, she'd let go and opened herself up to the possibility of pleasure again.

She'd been carrying guilt around for a long time, had known it hampered her emotionally, but it wasn't until she'd seen the love in Wyatt's eyes had she realized it had been affecting her physically too.

The reason she hadn't been able to orgasm all these years was because she believed she didn't deserve pleasure.

She’d always known it deep down, in that secret place filled with self-loathing and self-recrimination after the choice she’d made.

She hadn’t deserved to feel good, not after what she'd done.

She'd known it had been a life-altering decision at the time. Heck, it had ruined her relationship with Dougal and made him run. But the fallout from her choice had infiltrated every aspect of her life and she hadn't realized how much until Wyatt had accepted her.

But would he feel the same way if he knew what she'd done?

He hadn’t noticed the small scars that bore testament to the life-changing decision all those years ago in London. She almost wished he had noticed before he’d given her that earth-shattering orgasm; wished he’d asked about it, so she could’ve finally told him the truth. Because after what he’d just done and what he’d said? It would make telling him all the harder.

Wyatt was perfect. The most genuine, caring, sweet guy she'd ever known. Which pretty much solidified her decision.

She had to leave ASAP.

She was flawed and would fall short against Wyatt's perfection. Would always fall short of his high expectations. No, better to leave now, before that love in his eyes turned to hate.

She'd seen it happen before.

But first, she had to have one momentous memory to sustain her through a cold London winter.

"Condom?" She rested her hand against his chest, caressing his pecs, his abs.

"Top drawer," he said, staring at her like he couldn't quite believe they were actually doing this. "Are we going to mention the fact you came?"

"No need." She grabbed a condom, ripped the foil packet and reached for him. "I think this entire floor of the hotel had that fact confirmed."

He laughed, but it faded fast. "Seriously, sweetheart, was it good?"

"The best." She brushed her lips across his as she rolled the condom on. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." His proud grin made her chuckle. "In case you were wondering, there's plenty more where that came from."

A sharp pain stabbed at her chest. Sadly, there wouldn't be, so she had to make every second count now.

"You talk too much." She straddled him, pinning his shoulders to the bed, delighting in his tortured yet rapturous expression as she eased down onto him, inch by exquisite inch.

He felt amazing inside her. Filling her. The right thickness. The right length. Like he was made for her.

But as he gripped her hips and thrust upward, withdrawing and doing it again and again and again until they were both mindless with passion, she knew that wasn't possible.

Good guys like Wyatt weren't made for bad girls like her.

So she took what she could. Riding him until the pleasure consumed her. Consumed him. And as she lay collapsed on his chest, cradled in the security of his arms, she knew what she had to do. The problem was, how could she do it, when it would break both their hearts?