by Sabrina York
“Holt Lamm?” Richie squeaked. “Shit.”
“Who are they?” Devlin asked.
“They’re friends of Lane’s.”
Richie studied the table across the room. “Which one is the cunt who cleaned him out?”
Ash winced at the use of that word. Especially in reference to Lucy, Lane’s ex-wife. Who was a friend of his sister’s. His fingers tightened. He didn’t want to pound Richie into a pulp, but he would. He opened his mouth to respond, but Devlin beat him to it.
“Watch it McCleary.” Last names were a bad sign, and Devlin’s tone—lethal. Richie jerked to attention.
Parker frowned as well. “Lucy’s a nice girl. And their divorce was animac… aminaca… friendly. Besides. Lucy didn’t clean him out. She comes from money.”
Dev snorted. “Not as much money as Lane.”
“No one has as much money as Lane Daniels,” Richie sneered, and then they all looked at Ash. Because they knew it wasn’t true.
Ash didn’t respond. Sure, his family had a lot of money, but it wasn’t his money. He lived off an inheritance his grandfather had bequeathed to him. He’d never made a dime in his life. Besides, he could care less about the fucking money. The money was an albatross around his neck. It made him a target. Attracted the worst kind of women.
He upended his beer.
“Still…” Richie leaned back so Charmaine could set his plate before him. He almost leaned too far and wobbled for balance. Once he recovered himself, he continued. “The bitch got a bundle in the divorce.” His gaze narrowed on Ash, who forced his features into a mask. He knew what was coming. “Like your bitch. Don’t tell me you like that she got a fat settlement?”
Bile rose in his throat. Ash unrolled his silverware and set his napkin in his lap. He arranged the knife and fork and spoon in an orderly array before him.
“Serves you right. Guys like you and Lane Daniels should never get married,” Richie continued, rocking back in his chair. “You should just pay for poontang. No messy divorce. No lawyers. No fuckin’ golden payday for a cunt.”
Ash couldn’t help it. His foot shot out and knocked the leg of Richie’s chair. The ass went sprawling back and landed on the floor with a thud. The other guys howled, but Ash did not.
The pain of his divorce was far too raw to have it bandied about in a bar. Jillian had used him. Seduced him, told him she fucking loved him, and then, once the “I dos” were said, the truth came out.
It was all about the money.
She’d said as much.
To his face.
Spat it, in fact.
It had been a shock. A complete shock. Because the viperous harpy he’d encountered in that honeymoon suite—after the marriage had been consummated, of course—had been diametrically opposed to the sweet, amiable woman he’d fallen for.
She’d played him all along.
And then laughed about it.
Laughed.
He’d resolved, then and there, never to give anyone such power over him again. His heart had burned out that night, burned to a crisp. He doubted he would ever recover. His heart would not magically heal and rise like the Phoenix from the ashes. He was done.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked, and Ash realized he’d bent his fork nearly in half.
He dropped it on the table and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t.
Because Ash Bristol, son of billionaire coffee magnate Adam Bristol and publishing heiress Mia Bristol-Finnerman-Cox, could never have the one thing he craved more than anything in the world.
A woman who loved him for himself.
It was stupid even to think about it.
So he didn’t. And he ignored the deep dark chasm inside of him.
Or tried to.
Chapter Two
Emily noticed him the minute she walked into the bar. In fact, she’d nearly tripped over the threshold because his beauty blinded her. It was silly to be so fanciful, but with his golden hair and muscles stretching his linen shirt, the lights behind forming a halo around him, he seemed like a God, stepped down from Olympus.
She’d never met a man who captured her interest like this. A man she could stare at until the end of time. But this guy did just that. There was something about him, something beyond his physical perfection, something that spoke to her.
She’d always had this fantasy that one day her Prince Charming would waltz into her life and she would just know he was the one. But none of the men she’d ever met had even come close to her ideal. She’d never had that feeling. She’d never set eyes on a man and thought, Yep. That’s him.
Jamie joked she’d read too many fairy tales as a child, and Tara insisted it was too many romances, but Bella held there wasn’t much difference between the two fantasies. Kaitlin simply advised that she not hold out for a Prince.
Regardless of her friend’s advice, Emily was starting to doubt she could truly be interested in any man. At least, enough to risk being with him. In that way. Maybe she’d waited too long. Maybe, after what had happened, the fear, the walls were too great to breach.
That’s why, when she saw him, and her pulse thrummed and her soul sang, her reaction surprised her so much. His presence hit her on a visceral level. It took an effort to turn away.
But not before she noticed he was sitting with the douche from the boat.
Pity, that.
“Oh, there’s Cam.” Kaitlin waved and hooked her arm in Emily’s and they headed to the table in the center of the room where Kristi and Cam sat with Bella and Holt.
Emily’s gaze stalled. Was that Holt’s arm around Bella’s shoulders?
She shot her friend a googley look and Bella responded with a smug grin. Heavens.
She’d always suspected Bella had a thing for Holt, but Emily never expected this. Not the way they fought like cats and dogs. She shot a glance at Kaitlin and whispered, “Did you see this coming?”
Kaitlin’s only response was a small smile, but Emily could tell from her expression, she had, indeed, seen this coming.
Then again, Kaitlin saw just about everything coming.
They all took their seats and opened their menus and studied them diligently. And then, when Charmaine came by, ordered the same things they always ordered.
As they waited for their food, they chatted and got caught up. The biggest news was the two new couples that had formed within their long-standing group of friends. But no one mentioned that.
With the exception of Lane and Lucy, who had married in college and just recently divorced, none of the Dawgs, as they called themselves, had ever dated. Theirs had been a fierce camaraderie, formed in the dorms during an epic football season and enhanced when they all shared a house during their junior and senior years in college. There had been crushes and flirtations—even now, Drew was more than a little in love with Kaitlin—but no romantic hook ups had formed.
The guys in the group were like brothers. The girls like sisters.
So it was a bit awkward to see Cam and Kristi, and now Bella and Holt canoodling.
Then again, it was kind of sweet.
Kristi and Bella deserved to be happy.
And goodness, they looked happy.
Emily swallowed a lump of envy and focused her attention on her water glass, but found her gaze drifted with annoying regularity over to the table across the room. She let herself peek, every once in a while, just to memorize his features for her future fantasies. Because she’d never meet him. And if she did, she’d probably be far too intimidated to talk to him.
She didn’t have any trouble talking to men about her fundraising causes, and certainly had no trouble counseling the fathers of her students or talking to her male friends. But a man this attractive? The walls shot up, her armor bristled and her tongue became impossibly tied.
Exasperation bubbled in her belly. She longed to be a free spirit, like Bella or Tara, unfettered by fear, uninhibited, willing to take a risk. But she wasn’t.
> Damn it. It had been years. She should be over it by now.
If only she could wave a magic wand. Become someone else, someone bold, intrepid, brave, for a while.
A man like that would be worth the risk.
Wouldn’t he?
“Jesus,” Kaitlin muttered as Ascot Man leaned back in his chair and went toppling into the sawdust. A cheer went up around the bar and Emily swallowed a guffaw. He’d scared her on the boat, looming over her, boxing her in, reminding her of another man. He wasn’t so terribly daunting sprawled on the floor with peanut shells in his hair. The flare of satisfaction, seeing him humiliated like that, was probably beneath her.
“Who are those guys?” Tara asked.
Holt glanced over his shoulder. “The blond is Ash Bristol. He has the place next to ours.”
Emily’s ears perked up at that. She peeped over at her Greek God. Ash. His name was Ash.
And then she stilled. “Bristol?” she asked through numb lips. “As in the Bristol Foundation?”
Cam nodded. “Ash is the heir apparent.”
Emily studied Ash’s features from beneath veiled lashes and saw it. The family likeness. She’d worked many fundraising events with Adam Bristol, the CEO of Bristol Coffee Company, one of Seattle’s most successful roasters. Adam, who was her father’s age, was a wonderful man who cared deeply about many of the causes Emily championed.
If Ash were anything like his father…
Her heart gave a little flip.
Cam took a sip of his beer. “Ash is a friend of Lane’s,” he added, as though that explained everything. But then, it kind of did. Trust fund babies stuck together.
“And the others?” Tara asked.
Cam smirked. “I don’t know the guy in the ascot.” Snorts around the table at that. “But that’s Parker Rieth in the blue and Devlin Fox in the Polo shirt.”
Tara gasped. “That’s Devlin Fox?”
All heads swung in her direction, probably because of the vitriol dripping from her tone. Emily had never heard Tara snarl, not quite like this.
“You know him?” Bella asked.
“He writes a Foodie Blog.” This Tara spat as though it tasted bad. “He gave Stud Muffin a bad review.”
“What?” A howl of dissension rose. No one dissed a Dawg and got away with it.
“Why the hell did he do that?” Holt grumbled. Tara’s bakery was the hottest pastry shop in Seattle.
“Because I don’t have gluten free.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the table across the room. And then muttered, “Big baby.”
“They’re all drunk as skunks.” Bella wrinkled her nose, which was funny, because Bella knew her way around a bar pretty well.
Jamie blew out a breath. Her bangs fluffed up. “Looks like it’s frat-central next door this weekend, ladies.”
Tara set her chin. “We should make a pact.”
“A pact?”
Holt and Cam, knowing what was coming, groaned.
“A pact to avoid them.” Tara thrust her fist out to the center of the table and all the women piled their hands on top.
“To avoid the douche bags,” they chorused.
Tara whipped her fist up in the air, sending all their hands flying. “Like the fucking plague.”
It was a Girl Dawg pact.
Immutable and carved in stone.
A hint of regret wafted through Emily like a wraith, though she knew, even if there were no pact, she’d never have the courage to talk to a man like Ash.
Not ever.
And it annoyed the hell out of her.
“Hey.”
Emily jumped. So focused on the starfish in the tide pool, she hadn’t heard anyone approach. She turned, shaded her eyes from the sun and froze.
It was him.
The Greek God.
Again, wreathed by a brilliant halo.
What was it with this guy and halos?
Her friends constantly told her she was whimsical and fey, and maybe she was. But was it naïve to think it could be an omen?
Probably.
But for some reason, she couldn’t squash the hope swelling in her breast.
“H-hey.” Her pulse surged. Panic…and something else whipped through her. She tried to calm her roiling emotions. He was here. Talking to her. The very thing she’d been fantasizing about all evening. It took an effort to ignore her primal response. To stay put. But somehow she dredged up a modicum of courage and didn’t leap to her feet and run away. She even managed a smile.
He hunkered down beside her and the flutter became a full boil. “What are you doing?”
She fixated on the little puddle of life, abandoned when the tide rushed off to occupy itself with more interesting pursuits, and shrugged. “J-just looking.”
“Do you stare at water often?”
Emily blinked. She fought down an incongruous snort of laughter, but it escaped anyway. Before she could stop herself, she glanced at him. He was close. So close she could see the golden tinge of his lashes, the slight stubble on his cheeks, the tiny creases at the corner of his eyes.
His lips quirked, a crooked grin. She liked the way he grinned, though from the lines on his face, she suspected he was more often frowning.
“I…Whenever I can.” She stood and brushed the damp sand from her knees and picked up her wide-brimmed hat. He stood too. Her breath stalled. Because he was tall. Way tall.
Big men made her especially nervous. How odd she didn’t feel that right now. No. This wasn’t fear. It was…something else entirely.
“I’m Ash.” He thrust out a hand.
Her stomach clenched. He expected her to take it. To touch him.
Touch him.
She reminded herself it was only a handshake. Nothing more. She reminded herself she was safe. And, indeed, a sudden comfort flooded her. She felt, deep in her soul, as if she knew him.
As though her soul recognized his.
Yep. He’s the one.
Exhilaration swept through her, eroding long-held fears. A delicious lightness enrobed her.
Emily believed in trusting her instincts. And her instincts screamed he was someone special. Someone safe.
Of its own volition, her hand met his.
Electricity sizzled up her arm as their palms touched. Caressed. An unexpected and unfamiliar audaciousness settled over her. She met his gaze.
He stiffened. His pupils dilated. They stared at each other. It was probably her imagination that he felt the same simmering recognition.
“I’m Emily,” she said, her voice sounding oddly coquettish to her ears.
“How do you do, Emily?” That reluctant grin again. Like he was apologizing for smiling.
“I do very well, Ash. Thank you.” She nibbled her lip to hold back a grin of her own. She’d spent hours in elocution classes as a child, parroting these very words back to her tutor. Her mother had been diligent in training her daughters on every element of propriety. At that thought, she put on her floppy hat. Though it was early evening, the sun still beat down. It wouldn’t do to freckle.
“Would you care to promenade?” he asked with a wink, playing along. With his upbringing, he’d probably suffered through the same lessons.
She curtseyed. “I’d be delighted.”
He thrust out an elbow.
Oh dear. He meant for her to take his arm.
She did, of course. It was the polite thing to do. It didn’t hurt that his muscles were firm. They flexed beneath her fingers. And he was warm. She imagined she could feel his warmth seeping into her, melting the ice that had encased her heart since…
No. She wouldn’t think about that.
But she was being fanciful again. This was only a stroll. Nothing more.
She cleared her throat, searching for a topic as they started down the beach toward the point. It was a beautiful summer evening. A cool, soothing breeze drifted off the water, riffling the needles of the fragrant pine trees standing sentinel along the shore. She set her ha
nd on the top of her hat and tipped her face up to the sun.
“So, Ash, do you come here often?”
“That’s supposed to be my line,” he chuckled.
“A thousand pardons, sir.”
“I do, though. As often as I can,” he said. “How about you?”
She shrugged. “Now and then. When I can get away.” Even though school was out, her calendar overflowed with commitments to the shelter and the food bank and the tutoring she did at Teen Waystation.
Those kinds of activities gave her mother conniptions. But Emily found it satisfying, helping people who really needed it. If her mother had her way, Emily would spend her days dressed like a poodle, tottering around a garden party eating finger sandwiches and bemoaning the lack of Perrier in Bangladesh.
“Busy life?”
She didn’t quite understand his odd tone, but pressed the ping of uneasiness away. “Mmm. Very busy.”
“Ah. Demanding boyfriend?”
“N-no. No boyfriend.”
“Husband?”
“No husband.”
“Dog?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “I do have a dog.” Six actually, but three were rescues she was fostering. She’d probably keep them. ”And cats.”
“Ah. A menagerie.”
“I love animals.”
She smiled at him and his step faltered. His gaze flicked over her features and settled on her mouth. She licked her lips; it was a purely instinctual response to having one’s lips stared at. She did not expect his nostrils to flare quite like that.
She knew he was thinking about kissing her. Just knew. Excitement rippled through her.
Oddly, there was no panic at the thought.
Just excitement.
Perhaps he was the one.
“So… What do you do, Emily of the Tide Pool?” The words were soft and slow, almost a seduction.
“I’m a teacher.”
The muscles around his eyes tightened, infinitesimally. “A teacher.”
“Mmm hmm.” They rounded the point and the smaller companion island to the west came into view. They headed toward it.
An eagle soared overhead and she stopped in her tracks to watch. “Oh heavens,” she breathed. “How magnificent.” She turned to find his gaze riveted on her face. His intensity sent a ripple of nervousness through her. “An eagle,” she said, in case he’d missed it. “It flew over to the other island.” She pointed. In case he didn’t know where the island was. Also, so he’d look. Over there. His avid attention on her mouth was making her restless.
