Heart of Ash (7 page)

“I will fucking kill him.”

“Holt!” Heavens. He was furious.

Drew Boone padded barefoot into the kitchen in a pair of baggy sweats. Apparently he’d arrived during the night. “Kill who?”

“Ash Fucking Bristol.”

Drew blinked. His gaze danced from Holt to Emily and back again. “Oookay.”

“He took Emily for a ride. To the
island
.” Holt said it like it was secret code or something, but Drew caught his meaning immediately.

Great. Now they were both glaring at her.

Drew raked his hair until it stood on end. “Why the hell would you let Ash Bristol take you for a ride…anywhere?”

Emily folded her hands. “He seemed nice.”

“Nice?” Drew’s roar rocked the room. “He’s a fucking barracuda. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

Now her cheeks were scalding. He had. Eaten her for breakfast. And she’d loved it.

“There’s only one reason a guy takes a woman to that island. One reason.” Holt shoved his finger in her face.

The teacher inside her rose to the fore. Gently, politely, she shoved it out of the way. It was either that or bite it off.

“Seduction,” Drew growled.

Emily frowned. “We just went for a ride. It’s hardly his fault the engine conked out.”

“He told her the engine conked out?” Drew asked Holt, although clearly he did not expect a response. “That’s the oldest trick in the fucking book.”

“Please watch your language.”

“He’s not cursing,” Holt snapped. “It’s the Fucking Book. The Fucking Playbook.”

“Seduction 101.”

“I’m not listening to this.” Emily pushed past them both and into the living room. It took some effort because they were both so big and so annoyed and not inclined to make room for her.

“Did he fuck you?” Drew asked, although it was absolutely none of his business. Emily didn’t respond, so he asked again, in a louder voice. Which, according to the Neanderthal Playbook, usually worked.

But Emily was not a Neanderthal woman. She was a modern woman in charge of her own body. She made her own decisions and she dealt with the consequences appropriately. She sailed through the room, not making eye contact with any of the women, and then she pounded up the stairs to her room, ignoring Drew’s heated stare.

“Because if he fucked you,” he shouted, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

She didn’t respond, other than to slam her door. And then she opened it. And slammed it again for good measure.

Okay, he shouldn’t have just walked away.

He knew better.

He should have told her then. Just steeled his spine and opened his mouth and said, “Thanks for the memories, babe. It was fun.” But somehow he couldn’t. Ash had the weird suspicion those words would hurt her, destroy her maybe.

But she was a grown up. She knew the score. A clean break was the best way. He was sure of it. One night only. That was the rule.

So he ignored the niggle of guilt and walked away.

Once he got onto his deck though, shadowed by the trees, he turned. And he watched as she plodded back to the house next door.

He quit watching when the guilt got too sharp. With a self-directed snort, he wrenched the sliding glass door open and winced.
Shit.
What was that smell?

It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Because he stepped in it. A thick, slimy pile of vomit on the hardwood floor. And on the Turkish carpet. And on the leather sofa.

Clearly one of his friends, who’d had way too much to drink, had been sick in the night. Probably Richie.

Probably Richie, because he’d been so shitfaced. And because, there he was, lying in an odd tangle on the un-christened sofa, covered in flop sweat and snoring up a storm.

For the umpteenth time, Ash asked himself why he even invited Richie to come over. He almost always fucked something up. He thought about leaving the mess, but then he realized, Richie didn’t clean up after himself, and by the time the ass regained consciousness, the stains would only be worse. The maid didn’t come until Monday.

So he grabbed a bucket of soapy water, some rubber gloves and a couple rolls of paper towels and dove into the unpleasant task. He tried not to think about
her
while he worked, but he couldn’t help reliving every second they’d spent together. He’d enjoyed their conversations the most, the way her eyes lit up, the way she laughed when she talked about her dogs or her students. Some of her stories had been hysterical.

But he’d loved kissing her, making love to her, more. Especially this morning. She’d been so responsive, fit him like a glove.

It was a damn shame he couldn’t just go over there and ask her to go for another ride on his Jet Ski. She’d probably say yes. But that would be leading her on.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who could have a lasting relationship with a woman. He didn’t come from those kinds of people. He didn’t have that kind of luck. He’d never found the right kind of girl.

Which sucked.

What he really wanted was to relax into a relationship. Trust in her. But every time he let a flirtation, an affair, drift into a relationship, he got stung. Always.

There were no happily ever afters for a guy like him. He’d have to settle for happy endings.

Hence the One Night Stand Rule.

One time. That was it.

Fuck ‘em and walk away.

No matter what.

And it worked. His heart hadn’t been broken once since he’d put the practice into play. He ignored the hollow satisfaction at the thought. Ignored the image of Emily’s expression as she’d come around him. The sweet lines of her face as he watched her while she slept.

He’d loved sleeping with her. Loved waking up with her.

Loved pretending, for one night, it could be something other than what it was.

But it was morning now. And he knew better.

Sure, Emily seemed like a sweet girl. They all did at first. Before they got their hooks in a guy. And she was a teacher.
A teacher.
Ash knew, deep down, she was just like all the others. Sooner or later, she’d try something, like Teresa, who’d come to him, after a short fling, announcing she was pregnant with his child.

Oh, she’d been pregnant. Just not with the Bristol heir. Some other peckerwood had planted his seed in her and she’d seen a big payday coming.

Thank God for DNA testing.

And a rabid legal team.

Ash had been super careful after that. Always carrying a condom with him. Never forgetting to use protection—

His scrubbing slowed as a memory flashed in his brain. Slipping into Emily. How slick she’d been. How wet. How intense.

Fuck it all to hell. No wonder it had been so fucking incredible.

Goddamn it.

He had.

This morning he’d been so crazed by her scent, her moans and the rake of her nails over his scalp as he ate her out, he’d completely forgotten to use a condom.

He threw the sponge into the bucket. It sloshed over the carpet. How could he have been so stupid? It was her fault. She had to be so damn pretty, with that soft, low voice, those wide tempting eyes. She had to drive a man crazy with lust until he covered her and shoved it in without a thought to the consequences.

Dumb.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

If nothing else convinced him she was, in fact, one dangerous woman, that should.

He’d made the right decision.

Yeah. He had to steer clear of Emily—

His breath caught as he searched for her last name.

Well fuck. He didn’t know it.

Fine.

That was just fine.

He didn’t want to know it.

He didn’t.

“God, it stinks in here,” Parker muttered through a sleep-roughened voice as he padded down the stairs. “What the hell happened?”

Ash sighed and gestured toward Richie, who snuffled and grunted and blubbered in his sleep.

“Jesus.” Parker grimaced and headed for the kitchen, finding another pair of gloves under the sink. He pitched in, which was awesome, because Ash was getting nauseous. Together, they finished the job pretty quickly, tossed the paper towels and the sponges into a trash bag and put it out on the back deck. “He was pretty loaded last night.”

“He’s pretty loaded every night.” Ash led the way back to the kitchen and they washed their hands in the sink. Several times. Then he pushed the button to start the coffee pot. The grinder kicked into gear with a loud wail. On the sofa, Richie lurched up and gazed around the room with bleary eyes.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” Parker asked, getting two matching mugs from the cupboard.

Ash shot him a look. “Nowhere.”

“He went out on the Jet Ski,” Richie said, shuffling into the kitchen, scratching his pits and yawning. He wore a t-shirt and shorts speckled with not-so mysterious stains. The clothes clung to his body, damp with sweat. “I heard it start up when I was taking a piss.” He waggled a finger at Ash. “Did you find a chickie?”

“Go take a shower, Richie. You reek.”

Richie’s nose curled. “This whole place reeks.” Ash and Parker exchanged a glance. “Was it that hot redhead? Or the honey with the ponytail? The one with the bangs was cute too.”

“Shut up Richie.” Ash’s pulse throbbed painfully in his temple.

“Which one did you bang?”

Acid curled in his gut. “Shut up, Richie.” Richie was a bonafide asshole sometimes.

Parker stepped between them, which was hardly necessary. It wasn’t as though Ash was going to pound Richie’s nose in. Much. “Come on, Richie. You know Ash doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Richie glowered at him, and then the tension dissolved as he barked a laugh. “No. He never does. Doesn’t fuck and tell, either. Which sucks. Because it would help to know.”

“Know what?” A growl.

“Which one is easy.”

Easy?
Easy?

Easy was reaching around Parker and slamming his fist into Richie’s smug face.

It was also gratifying.

Chapter Seven

Emily had stripped off her clothes, dropping them onto a pile on the floor, and changed into her bathing suit and cover up when the soft knock came at the door. She kicked her overalls aside and padded across the room. She’d never wear that outfit again. The blouse was missing all of its buttons for one thing, and for another, everything smelled like him.

She opened the door and peered through the crack at Kaitlin. Her heart wobbled. Somehow Kaitlin always knew when Emily needed a friend.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Is she?” Bella popped her head around Kaitlin’s shoulder.
Great.
Bella was there as well. “Is she all right?”

“Is she?”

Really? Jamie too?

“Is everyone up here?” Emily asked on a sigh.

“No.”

“Thank God.”

“Cam and Kristi are asleep, and Tara is distracting Drew and Holt.” Bella grinned.

Emily frowned. “Drew and Holt are not coming up here.” That was the last thing she needed right now.

“They’re making bacon,” Kaitlin said in a soothing voice. As though she sensed Emily’s flaring panic. “Can we come in?”

“They’re making bacon?”

“For you.” Jamie pushed around Kaitlin and into the room.

Emily stepped back and let them all in. As though she had a choice. “Why are they making bacon for me?”

“Drew feels bad about yelling,” Kaitlin said.

At the same time, Bella quipped, “Because they want to lure you back downstairs and get the details of…” she trailed off and glanced around at all the glares. “What? It’s true.”

“Shut up Bella,” Jamie snapped. “We’re supposed to be calming her down.”

Kaitlin shot Emily an apologetic look. “I should have come alone.”

“I’m fine. Honestly. You can all go back downstairs and—”

Bella sidled up to Emily and sniffed her.
Sniffed her
. “Why do you smell like maple syrup?”

“I-I d-don’t.”

“You do.” Bella waved at the others. “Come over here. Smell her.”

Kaitlin crossed her arms. “I’m not smelling anyone. Leave her alone Bella.”

“I’m telling you. She smells like syrup.”

“Stop it. You’re making her cry.” Jamie wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulder and, to her horror, she realized she was, indeed, leaking tears.

“I-I’m not crying.”

“What’s that on your cheeks? Aunt Jemima?”

“Bella.” A warning growl from Kaitlin. This caught Bella’s attention, because Kaitlin hardly ever growled. “I think you should both go,” she said. “Emily and I need to have a talk.”

Bella put out a lip.

 “
I
didn’t make her cry,” Jamie protested.

But Kaitlin was adamant. She thrust a slender finger at the door. “Go.”

“All right,” Bella huffed. “We’ll be just outside in the hall if you need us.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Kaitlin said, closing the door. She crossed to the bed and sat, patting the spot beside her. “I told them I needed to come alone but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Because they wanted to grill me.”

Kaitlin’s bow-shaped mouth tweaked up. “A little. But they also care about you. A lot.” She cocked her head to the side in that funny way she had and studied Emily, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Something happened. Do you want to talk about it?”

Emily sat on the bed with a huff. “It must be nice to be psychic.”

Kaitlin snorted a laugh. “I didn’t need psychic powers to tell you were upset downstairs.”

“Really?”

She smiled and smoothed a red curl behind her ear. “You yelled at Drew and smacked Holt.”

“I did not smack Holt.”

“You smacked his hand. When he pointed his finger at you.”

“He shouldn’t have pointed at me. That was rude.”

“Yes. It was.” Kaitlin bit back a grin. “And you had every right to smack him. But it was out of character. Also, your aura was all…swirly.”

“Swirly?” Emily blinked. “What does that mean? When your aura is swirly?”

Kaitlin fixed her with a steady gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I-I don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“The part with the dinosaurs?” A pathetic attempt at humor.