by Karen Booth
“Ready to jump back in already?”
“I have to move forward.” She shrugged. “I called the builder that I couldn’t get the first time around. Turns out their new office manager is a fan of the show. They’ve made room for me in their schedule. I made a bank transfer of ten grand for the deposit this afternoon. I guess that much is good.”
“If they treat you well and do a good job, then yes.” It hit him then—the reason she’d been so stubborn about her renovation. “No wonder you’re so attached to your apartment. You lost your home when you were a girl.”
She pushed the food around on her plate with her fork. “That’s a big part of it. When you grow up with nothing, especially not growing up in one place, you attach a lot of meaning to the idea of home.” She stopped speaking, seeming deep in reflection, then looked at him. “The apartment also means a lot because it’s the only tangible part of my success. Everything else about what I do is like air. It’s not like what you do. You make gin. You can hold on to a bottle of gin. Most of the time what I do doesn’t even seem real to me.”
That’s what she’d been doing all that time he was waging war against her. She hadn’t been wrapped up in material goods. She’d been defending her big-city, eleventh-floor homestead because it was the only thing she had. “I had no idea. You really should have said something. I knew you were from South Carolina, but the way you carry yourself, I had visions of money and a grand Southern home.”
A quiet snicker left her lips. “You watch too many movies. Scarlett O’Hara is a fictional character. And besides, she lived in Georgia.”
“What about your parents now? Has life gotten any better?”
“It has. With my job, I can finally help them financially. My dad had a stroke about five years ago, and my mother takes care of him full-time, so they need it.”
“No siblings to help?”
“I have two older brothers, and they help when they can, but they both work construction and have families. I just happened to be lucky enough to get a job that pays me more money than is probably reasonable.”
He was glad he wasn’t keeping track of the many ways in which he’d misjudged Ashley. He’d be losing, big time. “You’re an industry, Ashley George. I’ve witnessed it. Don’t diminish the appeal of you.” All he could think about was how great her appeal was to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly it was as if the devil was on his shoulder berating him to just do it.
Warmth colored her cheeks in a breathtaking rush of peach. “It’s very sweet of you to say that. I don’t understand the idea of me as an industry or appealing, but I’ll take it.”
“The thing that amazes me is how you manage to do everything you do. How do you fit it all into one day? You spend an awful lot of time taking care of everyone else.” A lump caught in his throat, one he found hard to get past. “I have to wonder who takes care of you.”
“I could ask you the very same thing.”
“I suppose you could.”
She took another sip of wine. “Now that I told you my whole life story, I feel like you have to tell me a little more about yours. Let me guess. You grew up in a castle.”
He laughed quietly. “Talk about watching too many movies. It was more of a Victorian townhouse in London. But it was a comfortable upbringing. I can’t think of a major trial in my life until, well, you know. Lila’s mother leaving us.” To his surprise, uttering the words didn’t bring the normal stabbing sensation in his chest. It was liberating to say it out loud and not feel crippled by it.
“No wonder it hit you so hard. The first time you encounter a big trauma in your life and it ends up being a doozy.”
He couldn’t help but notice how healing it felt to talk to Ashley, to have someone who knew his sad story really listen to him. She didn’t have an agenda outside trying to understand him better. “Indeed it did.”
She gathered her napkin in her hand and placed it next to her plate. “I should probably get to the dishes or it’ll be an hour until we can have cake.”
He got up from the table and took her dish. “I’ll help. We do not want to delay the arrival of cake.”
Ashley began collecting pots and pans while he loaded plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. He hadn’t done dishes in quite a long time, but he would’ve dug a ditch if it meant the chance to watch Ashley bend over and put a pot back into the cabinet. Eventually he ended up with his hands in hot, soapy water, scrubbing the cooking vessel for the grits while Ashley ran to the bathroom. He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment when he’d taken her hand at the table and she hadn’t flinched at all. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ways in which he’d read her wrong. He definitely couldn’t stop thinking about the urge to kiss her.
“Almost done?” Ashley asked, returning to the kitchen.
He pulled the drain plug from the sink and rinsed that final pot, leaving it to air-dry. “Last one. And it’s a good thing. I was beginning to prune.”
“Let me see,” she said with a comedic air of concern. She took his hand and turned it over in hers. “Oh, you don’t look too bad to me. I think you’ll live.” She peered down at his hand, not letting go. She dragged her finger along the head line. “Is this the heart line?
He smiled, especially when she stepped closer and he could inhale that beguiling summer rain scent of hers. “That’s actually the head line. Mine says that I’m a quick thinker. It also means I draw conclusions quickly. It’s not a good thing.”
“Hmm. I think I’m familiar with that aspect of your personality.” She inched her finger across his palm. “What about this one?”
“Life. Mine says that I need to learn to relax.”
“Either you’re making it up, or this is ridiculously accurate.” She moved her finger to the final line to be read.
“That one’s the heart line.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter, not about to relinquish his hand, unsubtly pulling her closer. Her touch was driving him crazy in the best possible way, bringing every inch of him alive.
“And what does your heart line say?” she asked.
He didn’t want to tell her the truth about his heart line. It said he’d experienced a deep, personal betrayal. It wasn’t that he was over it—he didn’t want to dwell on it with Ashley anymore. They both had their scars. “Why don’t you tell me what you think it says?”
She looked up at him and bit her lower lip, leaving his poor heart to jackhammer in his chest. Her impossibly warm and welcoming eyes scanned his face, back and forth, taking in everything. “I’d guess that it says you have a big heart. A generous one.”
He placed his other hand on her waist, tugging her closer, stepping to the edge of a precipice he’d visited many times. He couldn’t walk away from her if he started something. It wouldn’t just hurt her. It would mark him for life. “It actually says that I’m a bloody idiot if I don’t kiss the incredible woman standing in my kitchen.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, Chambers.”
He threaded his hand into her hair, anticipating the kiss he was about to plant on her sweet, pink lips. “It’s not a bad one, either.”
Thirteen
Marcus’s kiss was an arrow straight to the heart. Dinner was apparently the best idea ever, judging by the way he was kissing her. She tilted her head to the opposite side, taking another approach. She pressed into him so hard, his head thunked against the upper kitchen cabinet.
“Oh my God, Marcus. Are you okay?”
His eyelids were heavy and sexy as if he’d just woken up. He whipped her around, pushing her butt up against the kitchen island. “Yes. I’m sure I had that coming at some point in our friendship.” His lips were on hers again, his tongue toying with hers while one hand went up the back of her top, unhooking her bra. His other hand was flattened against her ba
ck, pressing her into him, erasing any space between them.
She was exploring the landscape of his back beneath his impossibly soft and worn T-shirt. Every muscle was so defined, so articulated, just begging to be read by her fingers. She couldn’t wait to do the same to the front of him.
She leaned back and tugged his T-shirt up and away. “You’re so damn sexy in a pair of jeans. I’m struggling to comprehend it.”
“Remind me to wear them more often.”
She unhooked his button, needing him out of these clothes. Part of her was so eager finally to have him. The rest of her was just hoping to hell that he wasn’t going to make her stop. There’d be no coming back from that. She lowered his zipper.
“Or not,” he said, swallowing hard. “I don’t have to wear the jeans if you don’t want me to.”
He pulled off her top, adding it to the pile of clothes on the kitchen floor. Next went her bra. “Please tell me you have a condom readily available this time,” she said.
“Or what?”
“Or I might have to withhold cake. And I’m definitely withholding sex.”
He took her hand and pulled her down the hall. “Good thing I have a whole box. I’m hoping I get to have both cake and sex.”
She giggled as they walked into his bedroom. It was so different this time, knowing she was an invited guest—she wasn’t sneaking around. He wanted her there. He wanted her, period. She could see it in his eyes.
He gripped her rib cage, caressing the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs, all while practically peering into her soul, peeling away every layer she covered herself in. Making her naked, making her his. He took off her jeans, wiggled her panties past her hips, looking at her. Connecting with his eyes. Making it clear just how serious he was. For once, she was glad he was being serious. Really serious.
He threw back the covers and pulled her down onto the bed, but she had one more bit of business before they could go any further.
Kneeling between his legs, she shimmied his boxers down his hips. He was so ready and magnificent, it was hard to comprehend. Did the man have any shortcomings? She looked at him again. Definitely not. “I haven’t touched you yet, Marcus.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I didn’t have the chance that night.”
“I don’t want to think about it. It’s too painful.”
She drew a finger up the center of his thigh, from his knee to the deep contour along his hip, causing him to buck off the bed. “Do you want me to touch you now?”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes. Please.”
She lowered her head, huffing warm air against his length. “What about now?”
“You’re torturing me, Ash. Please just do it. I’m begging you.”
She didn’t want to make him beg at all. That wasn’t her aim. She just wanted it to be incredible, and she knew it would be so much better if he felt like he’d had to wait for it. The anticipation would make the reward that much sweeter. She gently reached out, taking him in hand and wrapping her fingers around him.
He growled like a bear—a big, happy bear. “That’s it.”
She caressed his length, up, rolling her palm over the tip, down to the base, tightening her grip as she went. She observed every reaction, making note of the things that made him want to watch, the things that made him close his eyes and roll his head to the side, the things that made his lips part in ecstasy. She loved having this small measure of control over him, pleasing him, knowing that at that moment, she could give him everything he wanted.
He sat up and rolled her to her back, resting his full body weight on her, his thigh rubbing between her legs. The pressure was immense. It made her light-headed. “I can’t wait any longer. I have to be inside you.” He pushed her hair from her face tenderly and kissed her—a soft, wet kiss.
“Make love to me,” she replied. Funny how things between them in the bedroom were so effortless. At least this time.
He sat up and opened the drawer of the chest next to his side of the bed, pulling out the foil pouch, ripping it open and putting it on. He crawled over to her as if he was hunting her. The anticipation made her knees knock to the side, opening herself to him. No more hiding. No more barriers.
He came inside, and she waited for the moment when everything would become blurry and the world would fall away. But being with Marcus was different—no hazy, dreamy state. No—this was strong, pulling her into the moment, demanding her presence.
“Look at me, Ash.” He thrust forcefully, deeply, but he was in no rush. Quite the opposite. “Tell me what you need.”
She shifted herself a tiny bit, and that left his pelvic bone to rub against her in the perfect spot. She pulled her knees higher, enjoying every sublime inch of him as he rode inside and out. She moaned softly. “That’s perfect. Stay right there.”
He sank down against her, adding to the pressure, kissing her deeply and passionately. Her hands traveled across his strong back, found his incredible ass, gave him a good grab to let him know he was everything she needed. Each thrust brought her closer to the edge. She felt her insides tightening, coiling, about to spring at any second. Her breaths became short and staccato. Marcus’s did, too.
“I’m so close,” she said, meeting him with her own force.
“Me, too. You feel amazing, Ash.”
She smiled and nestled her face in his neck, closed her eyes, her muscles contracting faster, stronger. He matched her intensity and she clutched his body, grabbing him with everything inside her, calling out. He followed soon after with a gruff rumble from the depths of his throat.
Still inside her, keeping her close, he rolled to his side and took her with him. He kissed her forehead dozens of times. She felt so adored. It wasn’t the after-the-fact cuddling she’d expected from Marcus. “That was fabulous,” he said. “I’m so sorry I made you wait, but I hope it was worth it.”
She sighed, drinking in his smell, his presence. She’d fantasized about this moment with Marcus, but to her great surprise, her own, very active imagination hadn’t come close. “It was worth it more than you know.”
* * *
Ashley woke before Marcus did. He was so gorgeous while he was sleeping, she could have stared at him for hours. But she really needed a glass of water, so she rolled out of bed quietly and crept into the kitchen. Her phone was sitting on the counter and she picked it up out of habit, but as soon as she saw the text from Grace, she really wished she hadn’t.
Maryann is out to get you, I swear. Can you get Marcus to go somewhere with you? So we can shut her up? Let me know so I can leak it. I hope you’re well. Missed you at work yesterday.
Following the text was a link to Maryann’s wretched website. The headline read, Manhattan Matchmaker and Brit Boyfriend a Sham.
Marcus’s steps came down the hall, and he approached her from behind at the center island, gripping her shoulders and kissing her neck. “Good morning.”
His kiss caused such a pleasant vibration, it almost made her forget the thing with Maryann. She loved hearing those two particular words delivered with his incredible accent. “Morning, definitely. Good is up for debate, but you kissing my neck makes it a lot better.”
He put a kettle of water on the stovetop. “I thought last night was magnificent, but if you want me to try harder, I just need some tea and breakfast. Maybe do some push-ups.” He winked and leaned against the kitchen counter.
Who knew he had a goofy side? She never would’ve seen it if things hadn’t happened the way they had. “Our friend Maryann has decided to strike. She wrote a story saying we’re fake. She says that you kicking down my door during the fire is proof. If you were my real boyfriend, you would’ve had a key. Or at least that’s what she claims should be obvious to anyone with half a brain.”
“That cow.�
� Deep crinkles marked his forehead as he rounded the island. He stood at her side, quickly slipping his warm hand beneath the hem of her tank top.
“Marcus, you can’t go around calling people that. It’s awful.”
“Sorry. It’s a Brit thing. It’s really not that bad back at home.” He scanned the article, shaking his head. “She’s trying to steal my heroic thunder. It’s not every man who can kick down a door, you know.”
“I still can’t believe you did that. Remind me on Monday to talk to my contractor about a stronger door.”
“Funny. Very, very funny.” The kettle whistled, rattling on the gas cooktop. Marcus turned off the heat and filled two mugs, dropping a tea bag into each. “And just because we’re a couple doesn’t mean we’ve exchanged keys. It doesn’t even mean that we’re shagging.”
“Nobody’s going to believe that. Any woman would have to be crazy not to try to get you into bed.”
“Is that so? Are you going to show me how sane you are by seducing me this morning?” he asked, hitting an earth-shatteringly low register with his voice.
“Right after we figure out what to do about this.”
“It’s very simple. I have the media night at the distillery tonight. Come with me. We already know how to put on a show for the cameras. I’m sure we’ll be even more convincing now. We’ve had practice.” His eyebrows bounced, prompting her to laugh.
“It’s not a bad idea, but considering recent events, I hadn’t exactly planned on going out tonight. I have nothing to wear. My fancy dresses all smell like smoke.”
“Nothing a little shopping can’t fix.” He placed a mug of tea on the counter in front of her. “It’ll be great. We’ll show everyone just how much of a couple we are.”
Ashley didn’t like slapping labels on things like relationships, but the question begged to be asked. “Is that how you see us? As a couple?”
His eyes locked on hers, ramping up her nervousness. His hand went to her hair, looping it behind her ear. “Do you subscribe to the idea that things happen for a reason?”
