“Because I don’t really care what’s going on. I’ve wanted you back since that night, at Mike and Milly’s party. Look, I’m going to do right now by you and . . . for everything.”
“I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes as the apology floated in the air between us, and he took my hand.
“For what?”
“For not waiting,” I murmured, waving the white flag, admitting defeat way before I was supposed to. “I went and made a big mess.”
The hard part was, Aston didn’t know the half of it.
My eyes were still squeezed shut at the prospect of coming clean. As little electric waves coated my nerves, I could sense him rise to his feet and stand next to me.
“Come with me.” His hand tugged on mine. “Open your eyes and come with me. I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, you know that.”
I wanted to believe him, even though I knew I shouldn’t listen to him. My head at war with my heart, the latter won, and I went with him. After all, hadn’t I just sat in the window waiting for him only a couple of weeks ago?
“Leave the cup. They’ll get it,” Aston said as he handed me my cardigan, then led me out of the back door of the Beanery as I slid it back on. In the alley, he stopped and turned to me. “Bexley, I know I’ve done a bang-up job of ruining everything, but I’m going to make it right,” he said with confidence oozing from his words. “I swear to you.”
Before I could respond, his lips came down hard on mine. He’d backed me into a brick wall—literally and figuratively—and took over my soul with one touch of his lips.
With the brick biting into my spine and his mouth assaulting mine, I hadn’t been this hot for years. Never with Seth. Maybe halfway with my own hand and memories from long ago.
“I made so many mistakes,” he said into my mouth. “But you were never a mistake.”
His tongue swept through the O my mouth had formed, and his hand slid up my side, his thumb caressing my breast over my bra. A shiver ran the length of my body, despite my cardigan.
His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, under my hair, his thumb continuing to caress my nape. Back and forth and back and forth, the pad of his finger moved. My back arched and my pelvis rocked forward, both desperate for contact.
“I should’ve said fuck it all,” he said as he broke free from my mouth. “Told my dad to go fuck himself. You were all I ever fucking wanted. Fuck.”
I should have been turned off by his crude language, but his f-bombs only took me higher, made me hotter. I was fire and his body ice. Together, we smoldered, smoke pouring off of us.
“Oh God,” I said, meaning his closeness, his words, everything.
“I fucking mean it. I need you.” His lips came close again, his hardness grinding into my semi-softness.
The back door swung open, nearly hitting us, and a hipster with a beanie on his head stepped out and lit up a cigarette without making eye contact. “Sorry, dude.”
Aston ran his hand over the side of my face and held me close, protective and dominant. “It’s cool, but watch where you’re going, buddy.”
I leaned closer and sniffed, inhaling Aston’s scent. Cologne permeated his suit, and I remembered the smell from years ago. It was a special blend imported from Europe.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured against the top of my head.
He led me to a black sports car, a manual, of course, as if I weren’t turned on enough already. “We can grab your car later,” was all he said before the engine purred like my libido, and we took off.
As he drove us toward my house, I watched him, trying not to overthink what was about to happen. At least, what I thought was going to happen.
The itch between my legs—the one that dared me to scratch it—won.
My brain turned to mush and my pulse quickened as Aston parked in my carport. He was at my door before I could open it, and he took my hand and tugged me out.
“Wait!” I said, looking down as I blew out a breath. “We have to stop.”
Aston backed up slightly but still held my hand.
Finally meeting his gaze, I said, “I told you, we can’t just hop back into bed like we don’t have history between us. We just can’t. It doesn’t solve your current problems or erase all the bad memories.”
He nodded, looking more like a scolded schoolboy than a cocky businessman. “Let me walk you in.”
Knowing better, I shook my head. “It’s fine. Go. I’ll see you soon,” I said before turning and heading to my house.
Alone and realizing I needed an Uber to get back to my car.
Aston
“What’s up, Doug?” I said as I picked up my phone.
I was back in my office, my assistant finally calmed down, happy I wasn’t in jail. Wasn’t a man allowed to get busy without justifying it?
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” Doug Pyle yelled into the phone.
“You mean you weren’t watching what I was doing?”
I shouldn’t have pushed his buttons, but I was furious with him. I sat back in my chair, a smug look on my face. I didn’t trust this guy, and my mood was already foul. He was going to be on the receiving end of my nasty side.
“No, you ass. I was talking with your other guy, Bill, after he got a text from you.”
I leaned forward. Doug had my attention now.
“Yeah, we chatted, and now I have some interesting theories.”
“Good. Are you going to enlighten me?”
“In person.”
“Okay, when? Tonight? The Bull Lounge at seven? Should I bring my lawyer?”
“No, and you tell Bill,” Doug said before he disconnected.
Sitting forward, I rested my head in my hands, wishing I could still smell Bexley.
Cognac swirled in my tumbler as I set it down and waited for Bill. I’d arranged to meet with him first, needing us on the same page before Doug showed up.
Fucking Doug. He was so full of hot air and inflated self-worth. He should remember that without me, he’d be nowhere.
“What’s happening?”
A hand tapped my shoulder and I turned to see Bill, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, his shiny bald head looming above me. A retired Marine, he was always looking to scare off the demons of other people’s problems, but I was pretty sure one look in the mirror would do it. That freaking glass eye got me every time. It didn’t move like the other, remaining in place like an old lady kneeling before Jesus at church.
“A holy mess,” I said. “That’s what’s happening. Doug got himself involved in all this on my dad’s side, but he’s playing double agent. I don’t know what he wants. Probably money.”
Bill sat across from me and lifted his chin at the waitress. She promptly appeared; he had that effect. “Scotch on the rocks . . . and a beer to wash it down.”
When the waitress left, Bill turned back to me. “Dude called me about a month ago. Said he knew I worked for you. Told me the old man was keeping tabs on the girl you’ve had me watching for years, and told me I should back off.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?”
“Because I didn’t.” Bill leaned forward in his seat, trying to intimidate me, but I’d been dealing with him for a long time.
“Because doesn’t cut it. Why the fuck not?” My voice was almost a growl, yet low enough that no one else could hear. My manners had never quite left me.
Bill shrugged. “Wanted to see what his angle was. My prerogative, been watching her long enough. I care about the lady. Anyway, I’d known for some time the dick was watching me watch her. It’d been a little game we’d been playing, and I was winning, letting him think I didn’t know. ’Course, he thought if I knew, I’d come at him, gun blazing, demanding he stop.”
I took a swig of my drink, the alcohol chasing away my anger for a moment. “Still. I hired you to watch the only woman I ever loved, and you let this twisted fuck watch her too?”
“Aston, you’re one sick fuck. You got a
wife—I’m sorry, ex-wife—who can’t put down the bottle. You got two kids with the damn woman, who spend most of their time with your stepmother’s old nanny . . . mind you, the same woman you looked down your nose at for hiring a nanny to raise her kids. You can’t keep your dick in your pants since you got shot of Cass, and you got the sickest relationship I ever saw with your father, some weird hero-worship bullshit, and the guy’s nothing but the king of all assholes. All the while, you obsess over some teenage flame who has her own freaking issues, two kids, and a loser ex-husband to deal with. I’m no fucking shrink, but let it go, I say. Let it go. You won’t, but you should.”
“That’s Disney to let it go, and good thing I don’t pay you to shrink my head. I pay you to watch the woman I love, the last woman I ever want to stick my dick in, the same woman who I’ve wanted to stick my dick in instead of every other lonely hole I was filling.” I spoke with a smile on my face. To any Tom, Dick, or Harry, we were just two businessmen having a friendly chat.
Bill shook his head. “So, you finally bedded the blonde? Thank fuck. What do you want from me now? You pulled me off, said we couldn’t go near her. Never mind, you fuck her.”
“You’re speculating, but whatever, you’re gonna know eventually. Listen, I want you to watch Doug. He’s coming to meet with us, supposedly full of goodwill. Take his intel and whatever he’s dealing, and watch every move he makes. And don’t play this cat-and-mouse game. Don’t let him know you’re watching.”
“Incoming.” Bill smiled and took a swig of his beer as if we’d been shooting the breeze.
“Doug.” I stood and greeted our guest.
“The Bull Fucking Lounge? Should’ve known you never really slum it, AP.”
“Aston,” I said, correcting him. AP was for friends and Bexley. “You want something to drink?”
“Hell yeah.”
The Bull Lounge was an old establishment, a small mahogany-paneled bar attached to a steak joint. Like a private club, it was exclusive, all male, and reeked of old money. Bill came and went as he pleased, since we always met here, and quite frankly, I was pretty sure the maître d’ was scared to death of him. But this was a special treat for Doug.
“I’m sure my dad’s brought you here before. No need to cream yourself,” I said, my voice still low.
Doug shrugged. “He brought me here once, when I signed on to work with him. Never again.”
“Well, do yourself right. Order an old-fashioned, it’ll put hair on your chest, and grab a cigar while you’re at it. And then tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Bill lifted his chin again for the waitress, and she appeared like magic.
“You got a thing with her?” I whispered while Doug ordered, but Bill didn’t answer.
“Refill, Mr. Bill?”
What the fuck is that? Mr. Bill?
His voice soft, Bill said to the waitress, “Not now, Red. But bring me a cigar, doll.”
Red?
Doug ordered a drink and a cigar, then turned to me when the waitress left. “As you know, your dad’s been having me watch Bexley.” Cocking his head toward Bill, he said, “And he knows you’ve been watching her.”
I stared Doug down, hoping he promptly washed his mouth out with soap. I didn’t even like her name rolling off his tongue.
“Your dad has an interesting theory,” Doug said.
I scoffed. “All the way from his vacation in Hawaii? The ass picked up and left the day after I was arrested.”
“Well, he and I have been talking. Yes.”
“Please enlighten us.”
Red appeared with the drinks and smokes, making a big show of cutting Bill’s cigar (not Doug’s), and lighting it for Bill (again, not for Doug).
After taking a puff, Doug continued. “Your dad thinks Bexley is somehow involved with the drugs. Her and that cheap whore, Milly.”
Furious, I glared at him. “Hey, no need to call anyone a whore, Doug. She’s happily married to Mike. Remember him? You two used to be friends a long time ago.”
Mike let out a dark chuckle. “Since when are you Mr. Reasonable? She’s been fucking a guy up in Reno for a year, Aston.”
“What?”
“Yep. She’s unhappy, underserviced or unsatisfied by your man, and she’s porking some medical sales rep every day and freaking night she can. Every chance she can get it, she’s hopping on it.”
“How do you know this?” I asked, not wanting to believe it.
“She meets Bexley for coffee and then hightails it out of there to fuck this dude.”
“Okay, enough,” I said sharply. “There’s no way either of them did this.”
I denied their involvement, even though Milly had crossed my mind. But he was talking about Bexley, and she wouldn’t do this to me.
Memories swept over me of Bexley crying . . .
At Milly and Mike’s wedding. When I let her go for good.
When Piper needed surgery, tears streamed down Bexley’s face as she waited at the hospital all alone.
For just a moment, the idea had legs. I’d hurt her, more than once. Was this a revenge scheme? After all, I didn’t know Milly was screwing around, so how could I be so sure about Bexley?
“It’s likely, Aston,” Doug said smugly over his cigar.
Looking at my guy, I said, “Bill?” but Doug interjected.
“What the fuck does this guy know? He’s been eye-fucking the redhead for ten minutes.”
Bill glared at him. “I’m hearing every single bullshit word coming outta your trap. How the hell would two bitches turn Federal into a drug trafficking operation?”
“I never said they were dumb,” Doug said with a smirk.
I didn’t correct Bill’s use of the word bitches before he abruptly stood.
“I smell a rat. Text me when you have a job for me, AP,” Bill said, then stalked out.
I knew him well enough to know he was doing this for Doug’s benefit, but I played along.
“So, you going to get me proof or what?” I asked Doug, leaning forward in my chair.
“Yep, but you’ve got to stay away from her.”
“Bexley?” I asked.
I imagined what he saw when he looked at me, with my cocked eyebrow and a smirk, but it was way different from what was happening on the inside. Anger roiled deep inside me—dark red anger, hot and violent. Toward my dad, and Doug, and even Bexley.
Doug nodded.
“No way,” I said. “Keep your enemies even closer and all that. You know the saying?”
He just didn’t know I was referring more to him than to Bexley.
Bexley
“Bexley, let me in,” Aston yelled as he pounded on the back door.
I sat with my butt firmly planted on the kitchen floor, my spine against the door, feeling each of his blows vibrating in my back. Thankfully, the kids were at school.
“I know you don’t work today,” he shouted.
How?
“Please,” he said. “I had to look into some shit last night about the case, and now I’m making a scene. I can’t afford to have a scene.”
I couldn’t let him in. Shouldn’t let him in. And I wouldn’t, because if I did, we’d sleep together.
Allowing him to come inside wouldn’t help anything. It would only make things worse. Somewhere deep in my heart, I’d known Aston and I were on a collision course, and the only place we collided and worked was in bed.
“Come on, Bex,” he called through the door. “I’m embarrassing myself, and I don’t do that.”
“Pretty sure when you got arrested, you did that,” I mumbled.
“I heard that. Come on, you never used to make me wait.”
My head clunked back against the door. I never made him wait. Maybe that had been the problem. No one ever made the great Aston Prescott jump through any hoops, except for his dad.
It quieted, and I could sense him on the other side. Somehow, he knew I was crouched down on the floor. The pounding ceased, and I closed m
y eyes.
“I’m sitting right behind you. I can hear you shifting around the floor through this cheap piece-of-crap door.”
That does it. I stood up and swung around to open the door, and the ass fell backward onto my feet.
“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, AP.” I spat out his nickname as he scrambled to his feet. Looking him in the eye, I said, “You never used to call me cheap or make fun of my stuff. That was always your dad.”
Aston stood with his arm braced against the door frame. “Bex,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you could have had better with me, and this pisses me off.” He flicked his finger against the siding.
“This . . .” I mimicked him, plinking my finger against the siding, “is far better than anything I ever had before.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to marginalize that. It’s just . . . my head is so messed up. I’m being accused of something I didn’t do, and the more I look for answers, the more I’m not liking what I find.”
“What does that mean?” I stared up at him.
“Can I come in?”
“Why? So you can get me back in bed?”
“So we can talk.” He brushed past me, not waiting for an answer, and sat at my kitchen counter.
Slamming the back door shut, I said snidely, “How’s that cheap stool treating you?”
“Stop. I didn’t mean what you think.”
“Well, what did you mean when you said I could have had better with you?” I twisted my hair back into a messy knot and raised an eyebrow. “To me, it seemed a lot like you let me go.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“No, you did. You chose the company.”
He looked tired, his eyes dull and deep wrinkles at the corners. “It was all I ever worked for. You know that,” he said, sounding defeated.
Guilt dripped from my heart into my veins. It shouldn’t have, but it did.
I walked to the cabinet and pulled down my old coffeepot. It wasn’t a good time for the one-cup thing. I poured in the grinds and water and set it to percolate while Aston sat quietly at the counter, his head in his hands.
Love Disregarded Page 8
