by J. L. Perry
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, which only seems to heighten his amusement.
“As much as it pains me to say this, sweet-thing, go put some clothes on. A man only has so much self-control, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you if you don’t.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice, although a small part of me would like to see what he’d do if I disobeyed him.
The sick and twisted part.
Turning, I make a hasty retreat to my bedroom. I glance over my shoulder before entering and see his eyes are glued to my backside. Closing the door, I click the lock just in case. My heart is beating out of my chest as I lean against the wood. It feels cold against my flushed skin.
What is he doing here? And how does he know where I live?
Ugh! Grayson.
That guy is going to be a pain in my ass, just like his friend.
I’m still reeling about them turning up at the shelter today, and I felt laden down with guilt all the way home for not saying goodbye to them. My father didn’t raise me to be rude, but I was angry.
Grayson brought Ashton there on purpose. How am I supposed to forget him—forget that kiss—if he keeps popping up at every turn?
It takes a few minutes for me to regain my composure before I rummage through my drawers looking for something to wear. I opt for my old college T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. I leave my feet bare. It’s not the most flattering outfit, but I don’t want him to think I made an effort to look nice for him.
Moving to the mirror, I take a quick stock of my appearance. Yep, I look like shit. My hair was still damp from my shower when I laid down, so it’s dried in a crumpled mess on one side of my head. There’s also a deep red crease running across my cheek from where my face lay on the pillow.
I bet Ashton Barclay is the picture of perfection when he wakes.
Grabbing a hair-tie off my dresser, I frantically run my fingers through my matted locks before pulling it into a messy bun on top of my head.
I take a deep breath before my shaky hand reaches for the door handle.
You can do this, Emma.
He’s still standing where I left him. I’m pleased he, at least, had the manners not to invite himself into my apartment.
His eyes rake over me once more as I walk toward him, and even though I’m covered up now, I still feel completely exposed.
I hold my hands out at my sides. “Better?”
“I prefer the half-naked you,” he replies. “But at least I’ll be able to think straight now.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. B.?”
“I need your keys?”
“What keys?” I ask, perplexed. If he thinks I’m giving him the keys to my apartment, he’s insane.
“The keys to your pussy.”
“What?” I gasp, placing my hand on my chest.
“Grayson said your pussy wouldn’t start this morning.” I see him struggling to keep a straight face as he speaks.
My eyes narrow to slits. “You mean Kitty… my car?”
“Right, Kitty,” he says with a chuckle.
Ashton shoves his hands in his pockets as his head dips in an attempt to hide his growing amusement.
I stand here unsure of what to say. As annoyed as I am right now, my face softens.
He came here to look at my car.
His beautiful blue eyes meet mine once more. “Keys, Em.”
“I appreciate you coming here, but Carla’s going to organize one of the guys from the bar to come over and take a look at it for me in the morning.”
“What bar?”
“The bar where she works.”
His brows furrow. “Tell him there’s no need. I’m here, and I have a new battery in the back of my car.”
“You brought a battery with you?”
“Yes, Gray seems to think that’s all it is.”
I don’t know what to say. Maybe I misjudged this man. Although I still don’t trust him. I’m sure there’s a condition attached.
Trying not to overthink it, I grab my keys off the table and hand them to him. He turns, heading back down the corridor, and I follow. We walk in silence.
Ashton’s still dressed in the same clothes he had on earlier. A tight fitted black T-shirt and dark jeans. I stay a few steps behind him, needing the distance, but I do use the time to ogle him like he did me.
My eyes roam over his broad shoulders, strong arms, trim waist, and tight round buns. I want to reach out and give his ass a tiny squeeze. He’s perfection. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air as he walks, filling my nose with all of his deliciousness. I inhale deeply.
My eyes are still transfixed on his rear when we reach the top of the landing. I live on the top floor. The apartment complex is an older building with only two levels and no elevator. The place is a little run down, but it’s mostly cosmetic. The rent is affordable, and it is close to my work.
Ashton clears his throat, and my eyes snap up.
Busted.
“Like what you see, sweet-thing?”
I feel my face heat up as I straighten my shoulders, opting not to answer his question.
We walk down the path, and I notice a black Range Rover packed adjacent to my car, its front is facing mine. I’m surprised he doesn’t drive a flashy sports car like his friend. My tiny Fiat looks so small next to his large SUV.
When we reach my car, he unlocks the driver’s door, popping the hood. “I see why you named her Kitty,” he says, chuckling.
Carla got me the seat covers as a joke because I referred to my car as Kitty. But I don’t mind them. They’re black with an outline of Hello Kitty’s face embroidered in hot pink. I bought a hot pink steering wheel cover to match.
“The seat covers came later. My dad bought me this car when I was going away to college.” Since I was going to be in another state, and not close by, he wanted me to have something reliable. “The day we took it for a test drive, my dad said, “She purrs like a kitten.” I bow my head, I don’t know why I feel the need to explain this to him. “Her name came from that.”
He takes a step toward me, placing his finger under my chin and raising my face to meet his. “For the record, I think her name and your seat covers are cute, just like you.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
He thinks I’m cute.
“The car I had before Kitty was a hunk of junk.”
“Did she have a name, too?”
“He, and yes… Gregory.” We both laugh. “It was old and rough around the edges like Mr. Gregory, who lived down the road.”
I stand beside the car and watch him while he looks over the engine, checking the oil and water levels. He has beautiful hands, big and strong, yet well-manicured. They’re not worker’s hands like my dad’s, and I find myself wondering what he does for a living.
When he’s done, he pulls my car keys out of his pocket. “Try and start her. If she doesn’t kick over, I’ll jump start it.”
“I thought you said you brought a battery with you.”
“I did. But, I need to make sure that’s the problem first. I don’t want you breaking down again, especially if you’re on your own.”
I’m grinning to myself as I climb into the driver’s side. She doesn’t kick over, but the jumpstart gets her started.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweats as he collects the battery out the back of his car as well as a metal toolbox.
Ashton places it on the curb by my feet and fishes around inside before grabbing a combination wrench. He removes the black lead and unscrews the nut holding the red one in place before turning toward his toolbox.
“What tool do you need? I’ll grab it for you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “A socket wrench and an extender.”
Bending, I quickly find what I need. “What size socket are you after?” I ask as I stand to full height, passing them to him.
He looks at me dumbfounded.
“What?”
“I’m
impressed.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It was just my dad and me growing up, so I spent a lot of time outside with him while he worked on his truck or my Gregory. He enjoyed the company… I used to pass him whatever he needed.”
“I like how you know your way around a toolbox. It’s sexy.”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, unsure how to reply to that comment.
When he’s done, Kitty starts straight away. My grin matches his as I watch him through the windshield.
Ashton locks up my car and hands back the keys. “Thank you for taking the time to do this for me.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“You coming here was unexpected but greatly appreciated.” I feel even worse for ghosting him at the shelter now. “How much do I owe you for the battery?”
“Nothing,” he says, waving his hand. “Let’s call it even, compensation for the jelly donut.”
“A new battery costs way more than a donut.” I was looking online for one when I was at the shelter earlier, and they’re a few hundred dollars.
“It’s okay, Em, honestly. I’m glad I could fix it for you.”
“Please, let me pay for it.”
“No.”
“I insist. I don’t want to feel indebted to you.”
“Ouch,” he says, as his brow furrows. “I’m not going to hold this over you if that’s what you think. We’re friends, and friends help each other out.” Ashton reaches down and grabs his toolbox.
Great, now I feel like a bitch.
He’s done something nice, and I’ve just thrown it back in his face.
“I’m sorry.” My gaze moves to my feet, and I pinch a blade of grass between my toes. “And thank you.”
He chuckles. “You’re welcome, and I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging our friendship.”
“I never acknowledge anything.”
“Yes, you did.” He smirks, revealing the sexy dimple on his left cheek.
Ashton pulls a white business card out of his pocket and hands it to me. I glance down at it. It looks identical to the one Grayson gave me this morning. It has the same logo printed on it. Barclay and Edwards Developments—Ashton Barclay, and his cell number is embossed along the bottom.
“If you have any trouble with your car tomorrow, call me.”
Why does he have to be so sweet? I’m trying not to like him.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Simple, we’re friends.”
“Friends with benefits more like it.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “Cute, very cute. That wasn’t what I was thinking, but since you brought it up, I’d be totally down with it.”
Of course, he would.
There’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes. It’s intense. Smoldering. It does funny things to my lady parts.
“If you’re trying to get into my pants, Barclay, it’s not going to happen.”
“You wound me, Em. Can’t a guy do a nice thing without an ulterior motive?”
I shrug my shoulders because I still don’t trust him.
“What time do you finish work tomorrow night?” he asks, and I release a small laugh.
Here comes the ulterior motive.
“Why?”
“I’m coming over to upgrade the locks on your front door.”
I gasp. “What? No, you’re not.”
“This area isn’t safe. Anyone could walk up to your apartment and bust through that flimsy lock.”
He’s right, but I’m unable to suppress my eye roll.
He’s so bossy.
“What time is good for you?” Ashton stands there waiting for my reply.
There’s no point fighting him on this, he’s too stubborn to back down. With Carla working most nights as a barmaid, I’m pretty much on my own once darkness falls, and if I am honest, it worries me sometimes.
“I’m not taking no for an answer, Emma. You either tell me, or I’ll camp outside your door until you get home.”
“Fine. Around five-thirty,” I say, trying to play it cool. There is a tiny part of me that’s happy I’ll get to see him again. Okay, maybe a big part.
He leans in and places a soft kiss to my temple before rounding the car. “See you around six, sweet-thing.”
Chapter Seven
ASHTON
Releasing a long, drawn-out breath, I rest my head on the steering wheel. It’s just after six, and I’m parked outside Emma’s apartment complex. What in the hell am I doing? I should be running in the other direction, yet here I am, looking for excuses to be near her.
Turning my head, I gaze out the window at her black Fiat parked across the street with her Hello Kitty seat covers—which oddly enough make me smile.
The sensible part of me wants to restart the engine and get the hell out of here, but the reckless side can’t wait to get up there to see her. Emma’s been on my mind all day. Her and that skimpy blue number she was wearing when I turned up here yesterday.
She’s a walking fucking wet dream wrapped in a hand-job.
I grilled Grayson after we left the shelter, and he told me everything which had transpired that morning. About her car not starting, giving her a ride to the shelter, what they talked about, her occupation—I wanted to know it all. It bugged me that he knew more about Emma than I did.
There was already a sour taste in my mouth from being ignored by her. It hurt. She acted like she didn’t even know me. I wanted the kind of greeting Grayson received from her friend, Carla, or at the very least a kiss on the cheek like the one Chance got.
Was that too much to ask?
She barely even makes eye contact with me.
Trying not to overthink things, I reach for the handle and open the door, exiting the car. I came here with a purpose—to make her apartment safer. There’s no security door in this dump, it’s a goddamn free for all. One flimsy lock shielding her from the ugliness in this world.
I’m still dressed in my business suit as I didn’t have time to go home and change. I packed the tools I needed this morning before I left, but after back-to-back meetings, I ended up having to rush to the hardware store after work to purchase supplies.
I’m installing a deadbolt and safety latch. It’s a lot stronger than the chain variety and will allow her to see who’s there without having to entirely open the door. I almost popped an artery when she flung it wide open yesterday without bothering to check who was standing on the other side. I’m gathering she thought it was a friend, but I could’ve been a fucking ax murderer for all she knew.
Grabbing the tools and the bag of supplies from the car, I cross the street. I’m feeling anxious as I climb the stairs to her floor. Going to a women’s home isn’t foreign to me, I pick up random chicks all the time. But there’s something different about this one. What? I’m unsure. My sexy as hell, yet somewhat trying at times, conundrum.
Emma’s the first to ever flat out reject me, so it must be the thrill of the chase that’s got me hooked. Maybe that’s my answer right there—me wanting something I can’t have.
A challenge.
Game on, sweet-thing.
I knock twice before the door opens. This time she’s fully dressed, and I’m both pleased and disappointed. Instead of the usual scowl I’m used to getting, though, she smiles when she sees me, and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. A simple gesture that has all the air rushing from my lungs. Again.
“Hi, Em.”
“Mr. B.”
Her long hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and there’s not a stitch of makeup on her face. She’s beautiful without it. My eyes travel down the length of her body as I drink her in. She’s all woman, dressed in an ivory silk blouse that’s tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. It hugs her body perfectly, stopping just above her knees. A grin creeps onto my face when my gaze reaches her feet. She’s wearing fluffy pink slippers.
Adorable.
We both stand there for a moment, our eyes locked. I want to pull Emma
into my arms and kiss her senseless. Does she want to kiss me too? Does she feel the same spark I do when we’re in close proximity? My eyes flick to her incredible tits, and when I see her hardened nipples poking through the thin layer of fabric, I know she does. She can play this down all she likes, but deep down, she digs me.
“My eyes are up here, buddy,” she says, and I chuckle to myself.
There’s my snarky girl.
She steps back, giving me a sheepish look as she opens the door wider for me to enter.
“You’re a little overdressed for a handyman,” she says with playfulness in her voice.
I loosen my tie. “I came straight from work. Didn’t have time to change.”
“What do you do… for work, I mean?”
“I’m a property developer.”
I gave her my card yesterday and half expected her to google me after I left. For some reason, it annoys me that she didn’t, but on the other hand, I’m relieved. Once my net worth comes into play, everything changes. Not only the countless millions Grayson and I have acquired through our company, but the fact that I’m the only child of Forbes and Valentina Barclay—and sole heir to my family’s multibillion-dollar fortune.
Why can’t women love me for me?
Not my looks, or my body, and most certainly, not my bank account.
“Nice.” I wait for her to interrogate me further, but she doesn’t. The fact that she’s not even interested in knowing more about me ticks me off.
“What about you?”
“I’m a psychologist.”
I already knew that—Grayson told me. He said she works with children who have eating disorders, and that intrigues me. Does she have an eating disorder? Is that the purpose of Sinful-Saturdays?
Unlike her unwillingness to find out more about me, I’m curious to know everything about her, which is unusual for me.
“Can I get you anything? Something to drink perhaps?”
I could go for one of those kisses you gave me the other night.
“Sure, a drink would be great.”
“I have beer, water, or diet soda.”