Loving Ashe (27 page)

Ashe answered his phone on the third ring. Riley heard the sounds of people talking around him, the clink of plates and cups and Ashe saying, “Excuse me, I have to take this call.”

“I hope this isn’t about climbing that tree just yet,” he said in a low voice.

“Gareth’s here,” she said quietly.

There was a pause. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine now,” she replied.

“And you?”

“I’m doing much better than he is,” she replied. “He drove all the way from Nashville.”

“I’m just down the street,” Ashe said before muffling the phone with his hand as he spoke to his companion, “I’m sorry, but I have to cut this interview short. If you call Lance Purefoy tomorrow, we can continue the interview by phone. Here’s his number.”

“What about Miss Williams?” asked the interviewer.

“All interview requests will be referred to Lance from now on. I apologize but I have to leave.  There’s an emergency.” Then he turned his attention back to Riley, his voice back to its normal volume on her phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. And, Riley – ”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for letting me know,” he said as Riley felt relief flooding over her. She wondered if she should have called Ashe the moment Gareth had arrived. But wouldn’t that have meant that she thought he didn’t trust her?

But he did trust her. Riley heard it in his voice.

As she hung up the phone, she felt a calm descend on her. It would feel strange to have two men she loved in the same square footage she called home, but it might be cathartic — her past and her present in one room, and maybe her future too.

When she returned to the living room, Gareth had curled up on the couch and was asleep. He had removed his boots and tucked two throw pillows under his head, the way he used to do when he’d fall asleep on the futon, back when they lived in that small apartment. He’d also taken the blanket that had been draped against the back of the couch and pulled it over him, reminding Riley of the vulnerable little boy who used to sleep on the top bunk of her bed when they were children.

Gareth’s eyes were closed, his breathing soft and relaxed. The lines on his face had faded and in its place was the boy Riley had known all her life, the one who had rescued her more times than she could count. Yet she had saved him, too, and she had never realized it.

She knew then that she was going to be fine, that, even though the last forty-eight hours seemed to have been one crushing disappointment after another, there had also been amazing discoveries. She would see the triplets soon, maybe even sit down privately with Paige and Clint armed with a list of things she needed to discuss so that she would remember everything she wanted to say to them.

Riley would tell them that she didn’t want to lose them, though she’d need time to deal with her feelings about what had happened. She’d insist that nothing be done behind her back ever again, even if it was supposedly for her own good. She wanted their relationship to be treated like a business company, with transparency and full accountability. Indeed, to some extent it was one, as Clint was still her financial adviser until she found someone else.

It would be difficult to face them again, but she would do it for the triplets. Riley had loved them since the day they were born prematurely, taking turns with Paige and Clint to hold them long before the nurses had told them that touch was crucial to improving the babies’ immune systems and growth. She would have done it even if studies hadn’t proven that touch was so beneficial to the development of premature babies.

Riley accepted that, most of all, she needed to grow up. Even if events seemed to be happening so fast that she had no choice in the matter, she could handle it. She’d figure it out.

Then her thoughts turned to something completely different — what she’d make for Thanksgiving. She decided against her usual dish of creamed green beans, which had been Gareth’s favorite. Instead, she’d make something new, something she’d never made before, though she’d need to do a dry run just as Ashe had. And then she’d get away for a while and do some things she’d always wanted to do. She’d travel with Ashe. He would show her the London that he knew and his home in Yorkshire. She might even have to shovel manure, as Ashe had warned her, if his father got his way, though he had doubted that his mother would let the old man get away with it. Maybe she’d even learn how to make his favorite shepherd’s pie.

Watching Gareth sleep from her seat on the couch, she leaned over and tucked a loose corner of the blanket around him. He looked so peaceful as he slept, reminding her of the boy she had known so long ago, the boy who grew up too fast because he had to, the boy she had once loved with everything she had.

“I knew it was your pepper spray in the elevator, by the way,” Gareth mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around him though his eyes remained shut. “I gave it to you, remember, because I couldn’t pick you up some nights when you closed the restaurant at midnight.”

“Then why did you think it was hair spray?” Riley asked, leaning back on the couch, facing the door.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I was just testing it. But that damn elevator was so fucking small. I don’t know how you and Ashe survived in that thing. You two must deserve each other to be trapped that long without killing each other, and even falling in love.”

“Is that what happened?” Riley asked, just as the door opened and Ashe strode in. The furrow between his eyebrows and the firm set of his jaw told Riley more than she wanted to know. Ashe wasn’t happy with what he was seeing, even when Gareth casually rolled off the couch and stood up.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Gareth said, slipping his feet into his boots. He addressed Ashe with some embarrassment, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets and looking down at the floor. “I hope you don’t mind me being here. I had to talk to Riley.”

“She doesn’t need my permission to talk to you. She’s an adult and can think for herself,” Ashe said walking towards Riley and standing next to her, his arm possessively over her shoulders. “You look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“Just one day, really,” replied Gareth. “I took the scenic route, though I’m afraid it didn’t leave me looking as scenic as I would like.”

“I called Isobel on my way here and told her where you were,” Ashe said before Gareth could say any more. “Since you fired your manager, she’s sending Betty to come over and pick you up. She’d probably prefer you to look presentable, as there’ll be photographers waiting for you when you come out of the front door of the building.”

“I figured as much. PR department’s hard at work already on damage control. I guess that means I’ve got to get camera-ready,” Gareth said, turning towards Riley. “Can I use the bathroom before the cavalry arrives, Ri?”

“Sure,” Riley said as Gareth made his way into the bathroom.

“Thanks.  I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t.  The concealer’s to your right, by the way, if you need to use it,” she added just before Gareth shut the door behind him.

“He’s going to need more than just concealer,” Ashe said, shaking his head, his gaze on the bathroom door. “He looks like shit.”

“Did you really fire Collette?” Riley asked as he pulled her towards him, kissing her forehead.

Ashe smiled grimly, his gaze traveling down the robe that covered her thin shirt and pajama bottoms. “Of course. Now that she knows who you are, I don’t want to have to worry about how she’s going to deal with you being my girlfriend. It was one thing when she didn’t recognize you in the limo, the night we met. It’s another when she has no problem doing things behind her client’s back for a fee.”

“But who’s going to manage your career from now on?”

“My usual team.  Lance managed my career in London before we set our sights on Hollywood. He’s had five years to build the same contacts as Collette, therefore he can officially manage my US accounts from now on.” Ashe pinched Riley’s chin and smiled, though there was no happiness in it. “Trust is important to me, Riley. If I can’t trust someone, then even if they’re one of the best managers in the business, like Collette Williams, they can’t be on my team.”

As far as Riley knew, Ashe’s team consisted of Ben and Lance, his agent in Los Angeles, and an entertainment attorney who handled all his contracts and profit participation. There was also Betty Forster of Chandler and Forster Public Relations, the same Betty that Paige knew, with the single breast implant that stood out like a torpedo. He also had a stylist, Isabella Parks, who chose what Ashe needed to wear for publicity events like the following year’s awards shows in Los Angeles, where Riley was to be his date in all of them. Isabella already had three dresses ready for her to consider, with two fittings arranged for the coming week. These were the people Ashe trusted, to whom he could delegate tasks, so that he could have a semblance of a normal life the moment he shut the door on the world and became a private person with her.

“Are you angry with me?” Riley asked.

“Now why would I be angry with you? You’re not the one who has the studio in an uproar wondering where the hell he is,” Ashe said, his gaze directed at the bathroom door.

“He apologized, you know, about what happened between him and Paige, about the triplets. That’s why he came,” Riley said. “We didn’t exactly kiss and make up, but I think we got a few things straight.”

“Well, I’m glad he finally did apologize to you.”

“Then why do you still seem annoyed?”

Ashe sighed, finally looking at her, irritation still visible on his face. “Because I don’t understand why Gareth-fucking-Roman had to travel thirteen fucking hours, through six states, just to say he was sorry. Hasn’t he heard of a fucking phone?”

Betty Forster arrived fifteen minutes later and inspected Gareth briefly. After adding a bit more concealer under his eyes, then powder, before tousling his hair, she told him he looked perfect. Then she accompanied him downstairs where a limo was waiting, double-parked. Five photographers who’d received an anonymous tip about Gareth’s whereabouts had already camped out right in front of the door under Frank’s disapproving gaze.

If it was handled right, the publicity from Gareth’s disappearance would heighten anticipation for the Conley Brennan film which had been plagued by problems since Isobel had convinced her father to replace Ashe with Gareth. It would certainly cement Gareth’s reputation as a difficult but worthwhile actor to work with.

Not that it was any of Riley’s concern for the moment Gareth left, Ashe shut the door and bolted it. Then he spun around, pinned Riley against the wall and kissed her hard. It was a possessive kiss that took her breath away. Her belly clenched as if a thousand butterflies had suddenly been released within, and she felt his anger mingled with desire as his hands and mouth claimed what was his. His erection rubbed against her belly, inflaming her further as he grasped her hair and pulled her head back, kissing and sucking the skin of her neck. His kisses left Riley gasping for breath as she struggled to stay upright on legs that had grown weak. When Ashe finally drew away, the truth hit Riley hard when she saw his eyes, dark blue and intense, his nostrils flaring in anger.

“Holy shit, Ashe, you’re jealous!” she exclaimed, surprised. “But you told me you weren’t jealous of Gareth at all.”

“I lied,” Ashe whispered hoarsely, leaning his forehead against hers. His expression was pained, as if it hurt him to realize that Gareth had shared the same space with her for almost an hour. “There’s only so much self-control I can practice, seeing you alone with him — with you dressed the way you tumbled out of bed this morning – even with your robe.”

“So you don’t foresee the three of us getting together sometime for a ménage à trois?” she teased as his eyes narrowed, telling her he didn’t find her remark very funny.

“Let’s say I’m quite old-fashioned,” he said, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone before moving down to trace her lips. “Very old-fashioned, when it comes to you, which means there will be no sharing of you with anyone.”

“You really
are
jealous,” she said again, aware of his gaze drifting lower to her breasts where her robe had slid open and he could see her skin through the thin shirt that she wore. He’d replaced her titanium nipple barbells with platinum ones, diamonds studs gracing each end, and as she saw his gaze linger there, Riley caught her breath.

“I said I wasn’t jealous of Gareth having been part of your life,” Ashe said, tilting her chin up towards him. “But I never said I wouldn’t be jealous if he happened to knock on your door unannounced and spend time alone with you — even if he only came to apologize. I am a man in love with you, Riley-I-am, and no matter how rational I might try to be, I am no saint.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get jealous at all,” Riley said as his phone rang from inside his jacket pocket. But instead of answering it, Ashe slipped his jacket off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, peeling off his shirt and unbuckling his belt as his cellphone continued to ring.

“What are you doing?” She asked as more of Ashe’s clothes landed on the floor.

“What do you think?” He asked, grinning, as he stepped out of his jeans and boxer briefs and pulled her back towards him, the phone still ringing from somewhere on the floor.

“But you’ve got work to do,” she protested, “contracts to sign, deals to make.”

“Sod work,” he said, hoisting her unceremoniously over his shoulder and ignoring her fits of giggles as he headed towards the bed. “You said you wanted to climb this tree, so best get to work and start climbing, my luv.”

He tossed Riley playfully onto the bed, cradling the back of her head in his hand as he followed after her. She’d hit the headrest once, and Ashe had never forgiven himself, no matter how many times she assured him she was fine.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered as he landed over Riley, supporting himself on one elbow as he gazed down at her.

She stared up at him, her giggles replaced by a serious expression. Ashe frowned. “Did you hit your head?”