by J. L. Perry
Chance frowns. “Tell me this, would you rather Emma come to your place to visit him or douchebag’s?” His words make my stomach churn.
He’s right, but I don’t want a fucking dog, especially a sick one. I wouldn’t know the first thing about caring for it. I guess I could hire someone, it’s not like I can’t afford it.
Jesus, what am I thinking?
No. The answer’s no.
Chance senses my indecision because he quickly adds, “I don’t know about you, but if she were my girl, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see her happy.”
“She’s not my girl.”
He shrugs. “Well, let Dr. Douchebag have her then.”
I know he’s baiting me, but I bite. Just the thought of another man having her makes me crazy. “He better not even think about touching her.”
Chance shakes his head, smirking like a motherfucker. “She’s so your girl, Barclay.”
“Can I go back there? I need to see her.”
“Sure. I’ll take you to them.”
“Ashton,” Emma says the moment I enter the room. Without hesitation, I open my arms, and she quickly rounds the examination table, coming to me. Her eyes are red and puffy—she’s been crying.
“You okay, sweet-thing?” I ask, holding her tight.
Emma buries her face in my chest, and the vanilla scent of her shampoo has an immediate calming effect on me. “Yes, but I wish I could say the same for poor Duke,” she sniffles. “I don’t want his last days to be here, Ashton.”
Fuck.
“They won’t be, Em,” the dick says from behind her. There’s a look of disdain on his face as he eyes her in my arms. It’s Emma to you, buddy. I glare at him over her shoulder, throwing in a smirk that tells him she’s mine, so fuck off. Mine? “Once this course of fluids runs through him, he can come home with me. You’re welcome to come to my place and stay with him.”
His comment has me seeing red. She’s not going to your place, fucker. Ever!
My eyes flick to Chance, and he gives me a knowing look. I’m backed into a corner here, and I have no choice. I refuse to let Emma go anywhere near that cocksucker.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, locking eyes with Dr. Douchebag. “The dog will be coming home with me.”
Emma draws back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve already worked it out with Chance. We’re adopting him, Em.”
“We are?” Her eyes widen, and the smallest grin creeps onto her lips. I’d take even the tiniest of smiles over her sad face any day. “But—”
I place my finger over her lips, hushing her. “Duke’s coming home with us today. To my place. We’ll be his family now.” Family? “And it doesn’t matter how little or how long he has left, together, we’ll make the end of his life the best it can be.”
Jesus Christ.
How did I go from being a bachelor one minute to a family man the next?
“Oh, Ashton.”
I hear Chance snicker from beside me.
That man played me like a damn fiddle.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time we arrive home. Duke stayed under the watchful eye of Chance and the douche while Em and I ran around and bought all the supplies we needed. I’m still not sure about my decision, I’ve never owned a pet before. But, the permanent smile that’s been plastered on Emma’s face since we left the shelter, tells me I’m doing the right thing.
What Chance said was right, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see her happy. I’d walk through fire just to see that damn smile of hers.
I glance across to the passenger seat as I wait for the door to my underground garage to open. Duke’s tucked safely in her arms, asleep. There’s a look of contentment on her face as she stares down at him. She’s so engrossed in the little guy, she hasn’t even realized we’ve arrived. I’m kind of glad. After seeing her reaction to both Grayson’s and my parents’ houses, a feeling of uneasiness settled over me on the drive here. I’m worried seeing where I live may change things between us. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help feeling that way.
Duke seemed to pick up considerably once he was rehydrated. But, it will be a few more days before the blood and other test results come back, and we know exactly what we’re dealing with. He’s seventeen, and the estimated life span of small dogs is between twelve and fifteen years, but his breed has been known to live as long as twenty, I’m told.
They found a small lump in his abdomen upon examination, which they suspect may be the cause of his rapid decline, but Duke’s too old to survive an anesthetic, so surgery is out of the question. He’s been prescribed medication to keep him comfortable, and we’ll just take it one day at a time.
Shit, I’m a dog owner.
Grayson’s going to have a field day with this one.
I drive down the angled driveway and into the basement. When the shadow from the house above falls over us, she looks up.
“We’re here,” I say.
“Oh.”
She’s the first woman I’ve brought to my home, so this is monumental for me. Well, this home, anyway. I got rid of the one I lived in with Anastasia. There was no way I could stay there, not after what happened.
I swallow hard as her eyes scan the space. My garage is vast, running the entire width and depth of the house. The properties along the seashore aren’t as wide as they are deep.
Shutting off the engine, I exit the car and make my way around to the passenger side. “Thank you,” she says when I open her door and extend my hand.
“I’ll grab the dog’s stuff first and then come back down for the rest.”
“You have an elevator… in your house?” she asks in amazement as I lead her toward it.
“Yeah. Including the garage, my place is four stories. I mostly use the stairs, but sometimes this comes in handy.”
“Four stories?” Her eyes are as wide as saucers. “My entire apartment block is only two.”
“I know.”
Please don’t judge me, sweet-thing.
“It’s an awful lot of space for one person.”
I shrug. “I have a big head, remember? I need the space.”
She dips her head and giggles.
I’m not trying to be showy, it’s just what I’m used to. Unlike the opulence of my parents’ home, mine is modern and sleek, and it pales in comparison.
I press number two when we step inside the elevator. My nerves grow once it starts moving. I’m doing this, there’s no going back now. Why do my rules fly out the window where she’s concerned?
It dings when we reach the first floor. “Level two,” the female voice recording says. Emma’s wide eyes dart to me, and I fight to suppress my smile. The voice-over was part of the package, it’s not like I requested it.
“Ashton,” she breathes, the moment the doors open and we step into the foyer. Her eyes are everywhere as she takes it all in. I, on the other hand, only seem to have eyes for her. Emma looks good in my space.
The main floor is open-plan living at its finest, so you can take it all in from this very spot. It’s light and airy with floor-to-ceiling glass windows running the entire length at the far end, giving you a spectacular view of the ocean. I grew up around water, so it only made sense to build my home close to it.
“You live on the beach, too?” she asks.
“Yeah, Grayson’s home is down the far end.” I point in that direction. “I love the guy, but I work with him every day, so I certainly don’t want to live next door to him.” I chuckle to myself.
“This place is… beautiful. Absolutely stunning.”
“Not as beautiful or stunning as you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re a charmer, Mr. B.”
“Just one of my many talents.”
She releases a small laugh. “Where do you want to set up Duke?”
“Maybe by the window. What do you think? He’ll probably appreciate the sunshine after being in the shelter.”
“Good idea.”
Emma continues to take in her surroundings as we cross the room. Pulling the soft, fluffy dog bed she chose from the large bag, I place it down.
When Emma lays Duke on top, he stands, sniffs around giving the fabric a little scratch with his paw and walks around in a circle a few times before lying down. He’s kind of cute for a rat.
“Do you have the pillow?”
“I think it’s in this bag,” I say, shuffling them around in my hands. She insisted on getting a small doggy pillow as well as a tiny blanket. I thought it was ridiculous, but I let her get whatever she wanted.
I place the rest of the things on the floor by her feet. “I’m going to go back down to the car and get the groceries.” Since Duke isn’t well, we decided to have lunch here instead of going out.
“Do you need my help?”
“No,” I say, grinning as she sits cross-legged on the tiles and starts rifling through the bags. “Just get Duke comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”
When I step out of the elevator, I find her standing at the sink rinsing out the dog bowl and filling it with water. My eyes dart to Duke. He’s now lying on his side fast asleep. His head is on the pillow with the blanket covering his small body. I shake my head in amusement. She’s going to spoil this dog rotten.
“Ashton, this kitchen…” She lets out a breathy sigh as she sets the dog bowl on the granite countertop and leans over wrapping her arms along the cupboards below, giving it a makeshift hug. “It’s like a dream, I’m so envious.”
I chuckle at her dramatics. “It’s yours to use whenever you please. Actually, in a few minutes, you’ll be cooking me up a storm, woman. I’m starved.”
And not just for food.
“Is that so?”
“You better believe it. And don’t forget my pie.” We bought the ingredients for that too.
“I won’t forget your pie,” she says, smiling.
My chin is resting on my hand as I sit on one of the stools and watch her move effortlessly around my kitchen. Emma’s making grilled chicken with baby roasted carrots, fennel, and blood-orange salad for lunch. She boiled a small piece of chicken with rice for the dog, which is cooling on a plate.
“How did you learn to cook so well?” I ask her. She said she didn’t learn from her mother, so I’m curious.
“Culinary school. I attended night classes.”
“How old were you?”
“Senior high. I continued until I went off to college.” She fascinates me. “My dad was an awful cook,” she says with a small laugh. “We lived on a lot of takeout when I was growing up, hence, my chubbiness.”
“You’re far from chubby,” I tell her.
“I know, but when I was growing up…” She pauses briefly before her eyes meet mine. “When the bullying started in junior high, I developed an eating disorder. I was eventually diagnosed with a form of Bulimia. I didn’t binge eat like some do, but I purged everything that went into my mouth.” She gives a slight shrug. “I knew what I was doing was wrong, even back then, but I thought if I lost the extra pounds, they’d stop giving me such a hard time. I was desperate.”
“Did it… stop, I mean?”
“No.” She diverts her gaze away from me as sadness washes over her. I hate what she endured.
“Is that why you work with children with eating disorders?”
“Yes. I was young, and I didn’t know any better, but I know it’s not the answer… it never will be the answer. That’s why I do what I do. After what I went through, I wanted to help other kids going through the same thing as my therapist helped me.”
“The same therapist who encouraged you to do Sinful-Saturdays?”
“The very one,” she replies with humor in her voice.
“That’s very noble of you.”
“Not really, but I’m a true believer that things happen for a reason, and if you can learn from it, even the bad stuff, it can only make you stronger.” Her words swim around in my head.
I know for a fact that what I went through with Anastasia didn’t make me stronger. It changed me, but not for the better. Did I learn from it? Most definitely. I learned not to trust people.
“When I first started on my career path,” she continues, “I knew if I could help others in similar situations, even just one child, it would make everything I went through worth it.”
I stand and round the kitchen island. She’s doesn’t resist when I pull her into my arms. My chin rests on top of her head as I hold her tight. “You’re inspirational, Em.”
“Hardly,” she scoffs.
She is. Strong, thoughtful. She’s a true survivor. I’m proud of her. Although guarded at times, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and I like that about her. It’s commendable. “You are. You turned the negative times into a positive by using your experiences to help others.”
I could learn a thing or two from her.
My hands travel up her arms, moving across her shoulders before coming to rest on either side of her slim neck. The pads of my thumbs gently skim her jawline as I lean in and place my lips on hers.
When I draw back, I can see the desire and want in her eyes. I know with all certainty that look is mirrored in my own.
So many emotions run through me as I scan over her face. The words are out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying. “Je pourrais si facilement tomber amoureux de toi, Emma Phoenix.” I could so easily fall in love with you, Emma Phoenix.
To say I’m shocked by those words would be an understatement. Thank Christ she’s doesn’t understand French.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t let that happen.
No good can come from it. Only heartache, and I think we’ve both had our fair share of that already.
Releasing her, I begrudgingly retake my seat. What I really want to do is kiss her until she’s breathless and withering underneath me while losing ourselves in each other. But, first and foremost, she’s my friend, and I want her to feel safe here.
I don’t want to take advantage of her.
And, I sure as hell don’t want to fall in love with her either.
Chapter Twenty
EMMA
We’re lounging on sun chairs on his back deck. After lunch, Ashton brought me out here. We’re still in our clothes from earlier, but he pulled the chairs out of the hot sun into the shaded area. Duke is out here with us. We placed his bed near the glass sliding doors, so he’s close by.
I feel completely relaxed and a little posh sitting by his pool and sipping wine.
“I’ve never done this before,” Ashton says, glancing over at me.
“Is this your first time sitting out here?”
“No, I sit out here all the time. You could say it’s my happy place. I mean I’ve never hung out with a woman… like this.”
“I can see why it’s your happy place. And for the record, I’ve never hung out with a guy like this either. It’s kind of nice.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m great company and extremely likable. You like me, don’t you?”
“You’re growing on me, Barclay… like fungus.”
He places his hand on his chest, mocking fake hurt. “You wound me, Em,” he says, and we both laugh. The truth is I’ve loved being here with him today. The more I get to know him, the more I like him and like being around him.
“So, the other women you bring here, don’t get to experience this kind of thing with you?”
Ashton diverts his gaze away from me. “It’s getting hot out here, we should go for a swim.”
“Are you avoiding my question, Mr. Barclay?”
He blows out a frustrated breath as he continues to stare off into the distance. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever brought here, Emma.”
His words shock me.
“Why? I’m sure you have a bevy of beauties throwing themselves at your feet.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted here. Can we just drop i
t and go for a swim?”
I don’t want to drop it, I have so many questions. I barely know anything about him. I open my mouth to say something but think better of it when I see the pleading look in his eyes.
“Sure, let’s go for a swim.” The crystal clear water of his infinity pool does look inviting, and I am feeling rather warm and not just from the sun.
He places his glass of wine on the small table that sits between us and stands. After taking mine from me, he extends his hand helping me to my feet.
I eye Duke as we pass. He watches us but doesn’t attempt to move. He seems happy here. I even managed to get some food into him earlier, which is a good sign.
Ashton doesn’t release my hand as we walk back into the house. “There’s a guest bathroom over there where you can change, or you’re welcome to come up to my room with me.”
“Nice try,” I say, scooping up my bag. “The guest bathroom is fine.”
He chuckles. “I thought you’d say that, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
I hug my beach bag to my chest as I watch him cross the room heading for the staircase. He takes them two at a time, and I don’t move until he’s out of sight.
If I were a different girl with a different past, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take him up on his offer. But I can’t risk falling for him, I can’t go through that again.
I’m wrapped tightly in my towel, now regretting the skimpy bikini I packed. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I’m sitting on the edge of the chair rubbing sunscreen across my chest and down my arms when he comes bounding back out. I swear I almost swallow my tongue as I take him in. He’s shirtless and in a pair of black swimming shorts that hang low on his hips.
It’s the first time I’m seeing him without a shirt, and holy hell, he looks so good. I want to lick him. I’ve never seen a man ripped like him before. Well, not in real life, anyway. He has strong, broad shoulders, a muscular chest, olive skin, a six-pack of abs, or possibly an eight-pack, I’m not sure because I am trying not to stare. My eyes dart a tad lower to a distinctive ‘V’ that disappears into his shorts. My tongue juts out, running along the seam of my bottom lip.
