by Rena Manse
“Oh, Aar-r-o-n.” Let me mourn in peace.
He moved to the foot of the bed. Ashley raised her head, watching in delighted horror as masculine fingers molded her ankle in the process of slipping off her shoe. Aaron’s thumbs carved her heel and arch. Oh, yes, don’t stop. His hands cupped the width to squeeze and flex in brutal ecstasy. Her other foot received the same care before he came back to her side. You stopped.
“Saw your door open.”
“Open doesn’t mean come in,” she said with a point and bend of her foot.
“Thought you might need some help.” He made her to sit up.
“To undress?” Ashley struggled to read his features in the darkened room. “Uh, thanks, but no thanks. Been doing it for years. Help not required.”
“So you always say. Warned you about that this afternoon.”
She met dark holes for eyes as his arm circled her back. He couldn’t possibly meant it. “I said I owt!” She flicked her hand in his face to shoo him away, and from the backlight of the open door over his shoulder, recognized his amused smile.
“And here I thought you’d want some company. It wasn’t you I found clinging to Jonathan’s arm tonight.”
“Jonathan and I are none of your business.”
“You are.” Swift as light, he captured her flitting fingers and entangled them with his. “You’re stuck with me. I don’t take orders from drunks.”
Ashley frowned. He labeled her helpless and a drunk? “You don’t intimidate me, you know.”
“Most days I wonder what it is I do do to you.”
She tugged, but her hand remained trapped. “Oh, for crying out loud.” She flapped and yanked to no avail. “Mother always said left-handed men are aggressive. Thinks that matches my temperament.” She pulled. “What does that mean, ‘match my temperament’?” Giving up, she stared at their dark and light skin. “Jonathan’s not left-handed.”
Aaron’s head inclined, “What else did your mother say?”
Ashley met the outline of narrowed eyes. “To think before I speak. Particularly when I’m upset.”
“Wise woman.” Silence grew around them; in it Aaron inhaled deeply, head angled as if he watched her face with patience. “You’re not drunk.”
Her stomach somersaulted. Would he really have changed her clothes and tucked her into bed in a caring act? She opened her mouth, drawing in oxygen that failed to come otherwise. Electricity buzzed through her center, then Aaron calmly released her, maybe to see if she’d bolt. But her clock ran out when his left hand lifted. The back of his fingers trailing over her hand and arm, up her shoulder, to tug a spiraled lock of hair.
“I’d like to touch you. Can I kiss you?”
“Aaron, I don’t need this.”
His eyes closed and he leaned forward until his forehead touched her chin. “Why do you keep resisting us?”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d leave well enough alone.”
“Have you looked in a mirror? The sight of you alone makes that impossible.” He raised his head and shifted closer. Nothing became more alive in that moment than her crashing heart and Aaron’s request.
“It’s not right.”
“We fit. You know that.”
She nodded. Self-traitor. How many women did he click with? But her heart compelled her to believe more. They really did fit. She nodded again in angst, in suspended belief as air squeeze from between them before his welcomed mouth touched hers.
He brushed her lips with his own but didn’t press. Light. Sweet. After half a minute, her curiosity felt deprived. She didn’t want light and sweet from Aaron. Nothing hindered him. Unless it was her. She opened to him, deepening contact to a level she could handle.
This is so wrong. She pulled back. “No. Sorry. I don’t do this.” She raised her fingers against his chin to hold him back. “Nothing further than this. We kiss and that’s it. We—”
“Thanks for the update.” He closed the four-inch gap.
She moaned, something disgustingly delighted, and told herself it was the natural process of gravity that made her hand slide down his jaw, down his neck, to the opening of his half-unbuttoned shirt. He combed her loose spirals before he crept his fingers along her secured hair to drag her closer in a deep, slow, comfortable kiss.
Her muscles relaxed, her shoulders dropped. The skin on her back tingled under his warm palm, a contradiction to the cool drink of a kiss that— She. Kissing Aaron. On her bed.
Ashley again broke contact with the full intent of shutting things down. How did he mess up her mind like this? Her gaze shifted to follow the unusual lines, teasing like Braille, under her fingertips. She checked his gaze and her curious hand pushed aside one flap of his shirt. Aaron’s skin looked grey-white in the inadequate light. Darker scourges decorated his chest.
She ran nimble fingers over the scars. The raised abrasions fit her nails when she traced the grooves. What a wonderful feel. She smiled. The ugly scars were a result of when she’d kicked him. Should she be happy she’d damaged his otherwise perfect form? Didn’t matter. The strong heartbeat spoke to the pads of her fingertips, a primal call that made her long to kiss the marks to feel them through her lips.
She lifted her gaze to the patient man watching her in her inspection. He’d been right. They fit, him and her. But worlds apart. He’d attended Bible College, and the only thing he took away was his business finesse. Who knew where he’d picked up his other prowess, but it clouded everything else.
Like how it once more clouded her mind. The edge of a finger ran over her lips. He streaked his knuckles down her throat, then rotated his hand to encircle the column of her neck. She shivered. He smiled, and dropped his hand to hug her waist.
His hold was just as possessive as his eyes, black as coal in the dark. But she read the piercing leer all the same, a broadcast that she was being seduced by none other than the entire arsenal of Aaron Elias Brick Gilyard.
As if she didn’t know. “Oh, mercy,” she breathed.
An eyebrow quirked. “Mercy?” Then dropped. “No.”
His hand squeezed her waist and he leaned in for a slow, light peck. The soft contact didn’t break their blind stare. Not even when he came back for an in-depth encore. And when the third peck shattered her defenses and her lids fluttered closed, Ashley sprang them open after an anxious second to keep watch.
Fear and arousal crept over in a cold wave. Aaron cupped her cheek and smiled against her lips, like he knew she needed to stay awake to keep from sinking beneath his dangerous waves. He, determined to drown her. His mouth continued its sensuous ministration. He held her with his stare, deepening his seduction.
When his fingers played with a dress strap, Ashley sighed misgivings into him, and he went to work loosening the bobby pins holding her hair. The up-do tousled to her shoulders and the sensation of his fingers massaging her scalp made her realize there was nothing more she could allow him to unravel.
But it felt so good, and under his inexorable watch her eyes closed again.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his hand returning to her strap.
Screaming inside, Ashley willed accountability. There was one thing she could give her husband one day. Herself. And no one would have it before then. She’d promised herself. Promised God. Stop, Aaron. She’d promised. Only one man could get this far.
“Stop. Aaron.” She struggled up from her incredible descent.
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ll make you feel better.”
This wasn’t about Jonathan. She’d totally forgotten about the subtle betrayal. “I mean it. Stop.”
He backed up and squinted. “You’re serious?”
“Dead. Get off me.”
An aggravated grunt met her ears as he shifted back. “Whatever bipolar game you’re playing, I don’t follow.”
“This is a big step. It’s important. I—”
“Important?” His incredulous tone annoyed her. �
��Allow me to explain other aspects of life that are important when—”
“Aaron.” Her dress straps slinked dangerously down her arms. She crossed her hands over her shoulders. Now the child she’d become cowered under his steady stare as he watched her scramble for modesty. She breathed deep. “I’m not arguing my decisions with you.”
“How about telling me some things before you kiss me back?”
“I got carried away.”
“What are you, sixteen?”
She turned away, ashamed she’d led him so far. Since when did power and sexihood make her want to give herself to a man anyway? She hated admitting he was the only one she’d considered emotional and physical surrender. Stripping her morals.
She needed God. Aaron needed God. And she loathed that she let someone like him see her at her basest in such a situation. Tiny shoots of heat aided threatening tears. It would be hopeless to try to hammer in a godly concept at this point, and one he no longer believed.
“Don’t pressure me,” she begged.
“Hey.” Aaron soothed her arm, and she shivered at his kindness. He shifted back again. “Ashley, did something happen?”
Her eyes closed at her compromised state. This is what happened. Where was the arrogant Aaron she’d have no trouble throwing out of her room? A long minute ticked by before her throat cleared enough to attempt any more words. When she opened her eyes, her focus wouldn’t move higher than the scars.
“Nothing bad. But you know what I stand for. I keep trying to tell you I don’t do this. I’ve never done this. Even if I had, I couldn’t anymore.” She rested her chin on her crossed arm. “I’ve never been with…anyone…never with a man…before.”
Her last words barely reached her own ears. Heaviness hung in the air. She sensed him stiffen. The arm around her back, his comforting heat, detached and dropped in cold abandon. The other lifted off her arm to suspend in midair. Aaron’s face looked etched in stone when his eyes raked down her body as if she were a freak science experiment.
Say something! The silence hurt more than anything. Speak. He didn’t move. She wanted to hit him, wake him from his trance. “Aar—?”
“Go to sleep, Ashley.”
He rose and went out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Aaron tore out of his shirt and whipped it in the vicinity of a chair. A virgin? With a body like that? Some man must have had the chance… Her and Jonathan. Never did. When she’d said activities partner, she’d meant activities partner.
Buddy, you’re either with a woman or you’re not.
Aaron sat on the bed and stripped off his shoes and socks. He’d believed her to be out of practice because of the God thing, not untested. She was a woman. Twenty-six, twenty-seven?
“Plenty of time.” He drew in a staggered breath on his way out to pace a rut in the balcony.
Good thing he’d held himself in reserve. Any other woman, and he’d have long done away with a dress like that. He dropped the bravado on his internal posturing. He hadn’t been reserved. He’d been next to terrified. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and walked to the corner of the house as he listened to the roaring ocean. Hadn’t been with a woman in months, and now he was stuck with her.
Aaron sandpapered a hand over his forehead and short hair. No, he had a Baskin Robin lineup to choose from. Women who didn’t have a problem showing him…that he was accommodating? He examined his options even as he rubbed the scars over his heart. The war wounds of Ashley. He’d come to be proud of them. For a moment there, back in her room, he thought she would kiss them.
His bare feet padded back to the center of the balcony.
Upon hearing the news he’d almost laughed—at her, at himself—at the irony. He held on to the railing, staring down at his feet.
A minute went by before he leaned over to take in the pool and pathways. “Esther Lihnk and Jonathan Riley, now there’s a couple waiting to happen.”
Peering at Ashley’s sliding balcony door, he noticed her light hadn’t turned on. Left in the dark. About a lot of things. Tonight he’d watched her down placebo cocktails in order to fortify herself to confront Jonathan.
Did he want to put up with her unconventional behavior? Rocking back and forth, he listened to the waves. He should keep his distance, but shamefully didn’t want to. He didn’t know if it was a turn on or a new respect to learn she was pure.
He headed inside, accepting his fate. Whether for personal reasons or for what he’d planned out with Kavin, he couldn’t back away from Ashley if his life depended on it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Three days of watching Ashley mope around while he gave her space became impossible. A hot thread wove through Aaron’s gut at how he intended to break the silence. He’d run out of time, but he feared she may want to pack her bags and be on the next plane before dinner.
He didn’t know why she’d become the itch he couldn’t scratch, but liked that he wanted to scratch it. He’d better, he was about to bargain to keep her nettled under his skin.
With no preparations remaining except to sign on the dotted line, Aaron mumbled a prayer for guidance, tucked Val away with her renovation project, and called Ashley into his office for a meeting.
She lowered into a leather chair in front of his desk, right beside yesterday’s paper with the society section flipped open for her to see. Just an insignificant item no one paid any mind. Unless she had expected to see her boyfriend caught in candid photos with a television celebrity, it was pretty impossible to miss the candid photos of Jonathan and Essie lounging on the beach. Just what he needed to help push her.
After one dazed pause, she clearly avoided the photo to stare at him blankly.
“This may sound impractical to you, but I’ve given the situation a lot of thought.” A fleeting hope to change his mind taunted him before he plowed on. “There’s an item tied up overseas that I can’t get to at this time. Legally it belongs to me, but had been embezzled several months ago. I’m in a position where I can substitute a good portion, given the right conditions. That’s where you come in. I need… I think we can help each other out here. My offer will eliminate my decision to terminate your mother.”
The blank stare twitched.
I’m really going to say this, aren’t I? Why did his trusty chair have lumps in it? He looked at it and shifted, but comfort eluded him. Aaron glanced over the desktop before lifting his gaze to study Ashley. Do it.
“That said.” He rapidly tapped the armrests while sweat threatened to coat his skin. “I think.” He was; he was going to say it. “It would be in both our best interests if…you know, if we…if…we…got married.”
She blinked. “To each other?”
He waited.
And…contact.
Horror sat on the brink. She told herself she hadn’t heard him correctly. Ashley must have misinterpreted another of his cunningly crafted sentences. “You just proposed?”
Aaron’s mouth opened and out came dollar figures, tales of acts of honor and family responsibility. She edged forward in her seat, carefully watching lips spill words that lined up with the sounds reaching her ears. Three days of clearing up her faults with God, and this joker wanted to put her in the nut house.
“Hold it. I tell you something personal and you want to play house?” She stood. Catching sight of that stupid newspaper at the corner of his desk, she moved across the room. Unfortunately, she couldn’t put any distance between herself and the memory of why she’d avoided Aaron these past few days.
“You’d be helping your mother.”
Her ears pricked at the reminder. What did he mean? When she glared at him, he pointed to her vacated seat. She returned and plopped into it.
“A business marriage.”
She half rose.
“Hear me out.”
“No.”
“Ash.” His cautionary stare stilled her. “Trent DuBois—”
“Who’s he?”
Dropped shoulders and
a tired look asked if she would shut her trap long enough for him to get out a sentence. She huffed, pouted, and tightened her arms across her chest as she fell back into the chair before giving him due attention.
“He was my uncle. One of the finest accounting minds this century. His brilliance must have driven him to boredom. We began hearing rumors of his exploits several months ago, but thought it mere propaganda. You know what happened. My family’s endured its share of misrepresentation in the media. We’re used to it. But Uncle Trent turned out to be the real thing.
“He opened a bogus overseas account in Revealing’s name and skimmed pennies. At first. Towards the end, he emptied half of our authorized accounts. I don’t know if it went on drugs, gambling, or women, but he’d manipulated someone to keep his secret. And who directs the books in Toronto, Ashley?”
She leveled her stare. He couldn’t be serious.
“Your mother is head of finances for that branch, and ultimately responsible for the disappearance. Sandra brought us her suspicions when she first discovered the discrepancies. I’ve kept her on, not only to help find the trail, but to track her moves and investigate her motives.”
Ashley watched him talk as though his words didn’t slice her like a band saw. “You’re punishing her for coming to you with the problem?”
“Someone helped Uncle Trent. If not her, then who? Who says she wasn’t a spurned lo—partner wanting him to pay for a betrayal?”
“A person’s reputation doesn’t count for anything nowadays? It may not even be anyone at that branch.”
“You know, I have been doing this awhile. I know how to run my own inquiry.”
She slithered him a doubtful glare.
“Before we could get anywhere with a proper investigation, he passed. Maybe he saw it coming and decided to clean us out before the end. But he left a complex web behind. If his accomplice isn’t found, this inevitably falls on your mother.”
“You’ll ruin her.”
He leaned forward. “I’m presenting an opportunity for that not to happen. My grandfather left a substantial gift, but only on the grounds of marriage. With his money I can sink every dime into the company. But this is it, the bottom of the barrel, and I need you on board.”