My lungs started to ache with each breath. Frosty plumes blew out in front of my face, leaving a trail behind me. An umbrella of trees kept wet flakes from soaking us. Colin stayed a foot behind, his alert gaze like a searchlight.
“Ash,” he said. “We’ve got to go back.”
The innards of the park grew more dense, twisted, and black. No one smart ventured this deep into the park at night. The lights came fewer and far between. Colin’s aura was tense, aware, and feral.
I slowed, catching my breath then reached skyward, my eyes closed, savoring freedom. Dad didn’t know where we were. No one knew, except Colin and me. We were alone. Alone. I whirled, laughed, and stuck my tongue out, tasting the slushy falling flakes.
We may not have been on a beach in the tropics, and we may not have ended up in a rolling kiss, but we were alone.
I looked at him. Chest rising. Eyes latched on mine, so endlessly dark, impossible to read. I stepped toward him, heart pounding in my throat, and brought myself close enough that my chest brushed the rise and fall of his. I slid my arms up around his neck and his tight lips parted—shock? Wonder?
I would taste him and find out for myself.
Hands locked behind his neck, I held his gaze until my lips pressed against his. I closed my eyes. A dreamy rush streamed from my mouth to the tips of my fingers and toes. My lips moved of their own desire exploring the mouth I’d been fascinated by, tormented by, seduced by since I remembered the first heartbeat that told me, this heartbeat—this feeling he evoked, was different.
I waited for his lips to respond, the open bud of my mouth yearning. He remained still. Was he breathing? His chest had stopped moving. The dreamy rush flooding me evaporated. I opened my eyes.
His were closed, dark lashes fluttering tight against his cheeks as if he was using every last ounce of strength he had to resist.
My arms slipped back to my sides.
I flushed with embarrassment. His eyes flashed open with a predatory look that forced me back a step. Ashamed that he’d rejected me, I couldn’t bear the silence. The aloneness. I darted around him and ran back the way we’d come.
Colin snatched my arm. I wrenched free, stumbled. He reached out to steady me and we fell to the slick, snow-crisped grass and mud, and slid to a stop.
“Leave me alone,” I said.
“Ashlyn.”
I tried to writhe free, horrified that I’d kissed him. He didn’t want me, and that realization stung as much as Dad’s slap. Trying to keep my face from his view, I scrambled away, but he was longer, stronger, and his body covered mine, pinning me to the wet, frosty ground.
He snatched my flailing hands in his, holding me in place beneath him.
“I’m sorry. Please let me go.” I turned my head as far right as I could, the humiliation unbearable.
Colin levered himself up, his hands still linked to mine, and he gently pulled me to my feet. My legs, back, and sides were chilled from being rammed in slushy grass. Hands on my shoulders, he held me firmly in front of him but I kept my gaze downward, refusing to meet his.
“Look at me.”
I shook my head. My downcast gaze caught the mud smeared all over the front of him as if he’d just emerged from a mud fight. “We should get back,” I muttered.
“Not till you look at me.” His finger touched my chin, urged my face up.
My heart trembled. Too many shadows crossed his face for me to read what he was thinking.
“I’ve never done anything like that,” I said. “I don’t know what—
I’m so embarrassed.”
His hands slid up along my shoulder blades, to my neck, finally cupping my cheeks. The air around us seemed unseasonably hot, but that was impossible. Our breaths plumed in unison. His brows drew tight over determined, fierce eyes.
He shook his head. Eyes closed, he turned his face. His hands pressed my cheeks like he might crush my bones. Fear fought with curiosity, weaving my blood into a spin of desire.
What struggle took place inside of him? “Colin?”
A slow, controlled breath eased from his chest. He swallowed.
“Say my name again.”
“Colin.”
He lowered his head. The crown of his dark hair reflected a remnant of moonlight, reminding me of that first day I’d seen him on the street. I’d known, with just a glance, that it was him.
He lifted his confused gaze to mine. He stepped back. “You know I can’t…”
I reached out. He shook his head. The snap of a branch crackled somewhere behind him and he whirled around, blocking me with his body. His back faced me and beneath his peacoat his muscles locked in place. His head jerked right, then left.
I listened to his pounding breath. My heart rate notched up.
Who or what had made that sound? Bushes and trees rustled, and a dark shape emerged. Colin stepped back, his arms out at his sides to shield me. Panic froze my blood.
“You got a dollar?” a craggy voice asked.
I peered around Colin’s shoulder. A homeless man dressed in layers of shredded black and gray clothing emerged. He started toward us, a stuffed backpack flung over his shoulder. “I’ll take anything,” he begged.
“Sorry.” Colin took me by the arm and we started at a brisk jog toward the entrance.
The stranger followed us. “I need money!” He stumbled to a stop.
Colin ignored the man, and his alert gaze swept the dark areas we passed. Guilt punched my conscience. If I hadn’t brought us into the park, this wouldn’t have happened.
Once the light from the street seeped into the park, and we were near the entrance, nervousness began to leave me. We didn’t speak, and the rush of cars passing, the occasional pack of tourists chatting as they strolled helped fill the uncomfortable awkwardness my behavior had thrust between us.
His cell phone vibrated over and over, the repetitive buzz audible over the city noise. No doubt Dad.
I couldn’t keep up with his furious, long stride and he took a two-foot lead, dropping hold of my arm. Part of me was relieved to have him not dragging me along like a parent drags a slow child.
Another part of me enjoyed any physical contact we had—invited or forced.
He crossed the sidewalk and stood on the edge, his gaze on traffic. He waved at each cab that passed. What are you doing, Ashlyn?
You’ve really turned him off with tonight’s drama.
Finally, a cab pulled over. Colin opened the back door and we both got in. His cell phone continued to vibrate, the sound a soft buzz in the stuffy back of the cab.
Dad. Impatient, furious, demanding Dad.
How would we explain our filthy clothing? Shivers ravaged my skin, the wet cold sinking to my bones. Worse, I imagined Dad taking one look at me and firing Colin without listening to an explanation.
Colin retrieved his cell phone. From where I sat, I could see the screen: Charles.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The townhouse was silent when Colin and I walked in a few minutes later. I took the stairs up hoping to change my clothes before Dad saw me and avoid any questions. Colin followed. Was he thinking what I was thinking?
My foot hit the second floor landing and I felt Colin’s presence draw closer, like I’d just moved into the protective shade of a tree.
“Ashlyn.”
I faced him.
Dad cleared his throat. Colin turned. Dad stood a dozen feet away, just outside of Mother’s bedroom door. I stepped around Colin so Dad was in my line of vision. Dad’s wide-eyed gaze scraped us both from head to toe.
He crossed to us. “What happened?”
Colin and I looked like cats that’d been playing in the sewer.
Dad’s carefully controlled face contorted in concern, sharp eyes examining my clothing. “Are you all right?”
“Dad, yes. Nothing happened. We got caught in the storm, that’s all.”
“You didn’t have the smarts to keep her dry?” Dad’s question pierced the air when he jerked
his head at Colin.
“It was my fault.” I stepped in front of Colin, forcing Dad to look at me. “I wanted to take a walk.”
“And see where that got you.” Dad’s brow arched.
“We’re wet, so what?” I said.
Dad’s jaw twitched. “Ashlyn, excuse us.”
Panic grabbed my heart. I’d heard that tone before, when Dad had fired Stuart. “This isn’t his fault. This was my idea.”
“And your clothes? Explain that,” Dad demanded.
“I fell. Colin tried to help me when a lame cab sped by, splashing snow and mud all over us.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed, then shifted to Colin whose face was stretched taut as a body on a torture rack. On a deep breath, the muscles in Dad’s jaw slackened. “Get cleaned up, Princess. You must be cold.”
“You’re not firing him because of me, this isn’t his fault.”
More silence ticked by. Dad’s gaze slid to Colin.
“Go get dry, Ashlyn,” Dad directed.
I was afraid to leave Colin, not because he couldn’t handle Dad on his own—he could—but because my legs turned to noodles beneath me even thinking about Colin not being here. But I’d said what I could to patch up the mess I’d made—and I had made a mess.
I bit my lower lip, not sure what else I could do to convince Dad that nothing illicit had happened between Colin and me.
“Colin,” Dad slid a hand into one of the pockets of his slacks.
“Take the rest of the night off.”
What is Dad planning?
Shock was plain on Colin’s face. “Yes sir.”
With a quick glance at me, Colin excused himself. Where would he go? What would he do? My gaze followed him up the stairs until he disappeared. I found Dad watching me, his eyes narrowed.
Turning, I went into my bedroom and shut the door.
Usually, I took a long, hot soak in a bath full of cherry blossom scented bubbles. Not tonight. I took a quick, tepid shower, dressed in pjs, stuck my hair in a pony tail and headed for the music room. On my way, my gaze shifted to the third floor.
The soft hiss of liquid through pipes answered my question. I shook off the image of his flesh under an onslaught of water. You’ve done nothing but cause trouble for him. You’re only a job. He’s probably going to go to some club and… But he’d told me he didn’t like clubbing. Where would he go?
A door shut upstairs. The soft pad of feet passed overhead. I inched to the stairwell, covertly leaned over the banister and snuck a peek at the third floor just in time to catch the firm muscles of his back. A white towel was slung low around his hips. His hair was a muss of dark, wet tips and spikes. He vanished into his bedroom and shut the door.
I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. Music. Music.
Music. Between the image of Colin’s beautiful, carved back, and the movement of his body beneath the towel and his long legs, his song sprung into my head with a pulsing need for release.
I didn’t close the doors to the music room, too anxious for my fingers to liberate the tune inside of me. I sat, and the instant my fingertips made contact with the piano keys every sensation burst and raced through my arms.
The music room filled with Colin’s aura, as if his soul was in the room with me. Pounding his melody into the piano only served to create more building frustration, filling me with a want I’d never known. The one thing I did know was that I wanted him all to myself.
Dad entered, but I didn’t stop—couldn’t—so irresistible was my craving, and unsatisfied. He stopped next to the piano and waited for me to finish.
“I’ve heard that song a lot lately, who does it belong to?”
My nerves frayed. I met his gaze, and saw challenge there. “It belongs to me,” I said. His brow arched ever so slightly, but the rest of his face remained curious.
Dad leaned and kissed the top of my head. “Feeling better?”
“I feel fine,” I snapped. Was he going to apologize to me? “Why would you ask that?”
“You were cold and wet.”
My fingers remained poised to play. I needed to play.
“Charles.” Colin’s voice wove into me from where he stood in the open doors. Dressed in designer black from head to toe, it was obvious he was going somewhere. My heart plummeted to my stomach.
Dad turned. “Yes?”
“I’m taking off now.” Colin’s brown eyes flicked to mine for a second and held, then he was all business back to Dad.
Dad nodded. “Very good. Thank you for letting me know.”
I tore hurt, angry eyes from Colin and stared at the piano keys, now blurring through my tears.
Silent seconds skipped by. “He needed a night off,” Dad said.
I closed my eyes. Need it? I could relate to that need. Feeling like you were going to explode, you wanted freedom so badly. But you had freedom, and you lost it.
“He is a red-blooded man,” Dad’s tone was amused. “I’m sure he has a number of women he sees.”
I opened my eyes but kept my gaze downcast to hide welling tears. “Play my song for me, Princess. I haven’t heard it in a long time.”
His was the last song I wanted to play. But when he leaned his frame against the piano, I understood he was going to plant himself next to me until I’d played the song. The melody wrung out every last ounce of self control I had. My twisted feelings about Dad at the moment made it difficult for me to play with grace. I fought pounding the keys. As anger built, my breath heaved in and out, and my hands demanded truth. I thrashed the keyboard. The tune raked against the empty walls, shattering in upper octaves until I forced my hands down to lower registers where the song finally emptied.
I gasped. Sweat beaded on my face. I looked at Dad, face tight with pale shock. He studied me as if I was a witness who’d just dropped a bomb in court. Without a word, he turned and left the room.
My hands crumpled on the keys, sending a distorted mix of chords echoing into the air. I stood, went to the window and gazed out. Colin was out there somewhere. I didn’t want to think about what he was doing.
I locked myself in my bedroom. Even my favorite books couldn’t keep my mind engaged. The only thoughts raging through my head were fleshy pictures of Colin and some Barbie, making out. An image Dad’s suggestion had planted in my head.
Hours crawled by. I remained alone. Mother and Dad’s arguing jabbed out from behind Mother’s bedroom, or Dad’s—I wasn’t sure which. Consumed by where Colin was and what he was doing, I ignored their bickering.
A door slammed, startling me. Dad’s angry footfalls tore through the house. I stared at my closed door. Was I next?
My cell phone buzzed, and I felt my first wave of relief in hours seeing Felicity’s home phone number.
“Hey,” I said. “What happened to your cell phone?”
“I can’t find it. I’ve looked everywhere. Ugh. Where’ve you been?
I’ve tried to call you for hours.”
I realized that with Mother’s accident, I hadn’t even checked my phone for messages, much less thought about calling her. “I’m sorry.
You won’t believe what happened.” I told her about Mother. About Dad slapping me. About Colin coming to my defense, and our detour in the park.
“OMG! Wow, Ash. Talk about drama. Is your mom okay?”
“I think so. I just wish they’d stop fighting. I don’t understand why they can’t discuss things and move on.”
“They’ve been like this forever,” Felicity said, then quickly added,
“I mean—I didn’t mean to say that, Ash, I—”
“No… you’re right.” Still, knowing that Felicity had seen beyond my parents’ Town & Country performance surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. But if she’d seen it, there was no hope their friends hadn’t. If they knew the farce was transparent, why did they keep it up?
“I can’t believe it,” Felicity muttered. “Was she trying to reach the guns?”
“She says she wasn�
�t.” Tears filled my eyes. Mother, so desperate for Dad that she’d hurt herself. The idea disintegrated my fantasies and dreams of our family ever being happy. I wept.
“Oh, sweetie.” Felicity’s tone softened. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could come over.”
Like Dad would allow that now. “Yeah, me too.”
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