“Well…” His eyes wandered back to her.
She had her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her angel face.
“I’ll be going now,” he said.
With a nod, her feet took her on a speedy path to the door. Clearly she was ready to see the last of him.
Good. Rachel was waiting.
But he didn’t move. His boots took root on the floor and when she realized he’d turned to rock, her head came up. His gaze drank in her upturned, beautiful face.
Then his stone shell shattered, his will too. His hands found her shoulders and yanked her against him. Their clothes were damp, and when they met he could swear he heard the hiss of steam. He was hot, burning, and only her mouth could cool him, quench this roaring fire in his belly.
One of his palms slid down her back to her ass, and he cupped it, lifting her against his iron cock. She made a noise—a plea, not a complaint—and then he took her lips in a greedy kiss, eating at her mouth, shoving his tongue against hers, angling his head to make it deeper, harder, something to slake the inferno of desire.
Her hand slid into his hair, clutched it tight, while her other kneaded his bicep like a cat. The kiss went on and on, and he was just reaching for the hem of her little skirt when a loud clap startled them.
They broke apart, breathing hard.
The back of Ash’s fingers pressed to her mouth.
“Thunder,” he said, to allay her fears.
But her stricken eyes continued to stare at him, their eerie silver sliding into him like a knife.
Fuck. Brody shoved his hand through his hair.
“I need to lock the door behind you,” she said, repeating his earlier admonition. Ash looked uncertain and nearly as broken as she had after their last round of sex weeks before.
Fuck. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go.” He forced himself to turn and reach for the knob. “Rachel’s waiting.”
For him to take her home. To her place, where Brody would walk her to the door then leave with a peck to her cheek. Despite his upbringing and all his adolescent adventures, he was no longer so depraved that he’d take one woman to bed with another’s taste in his mouth.
A taste he was, at the moment, loathe to replace. There was no fooling himself about that.
Chapter 3
Ashlynn was armed with a screwdriver and a temper when she let herself into the trailer’s tiny bathroom, allowing the door to close but not latch behind her. Then she scowled at the knob and gave it a steely-eyed glare.
“I won’t be fenced in,” she declared.
From the back pocket of her jeans she heard her phone ring. Pulling it out, she saw the screen read “Marcy,” making her smile. She answered it in speaker mode, setting the device carefully beside the stainless steel sink.
“How did you know I needed to hear a friendly voice?”
“I’m special that way…and I usually call you about now.”
Ashlynn’s friend was special. They’d met in the dorms freshman year and the other young woman had known from the very first what she wanted and whom she wanted. Right now she was living and working in the Silicon Valley, beside the brilliant geek she’d met in her Philosophy class. The brilliant geek she’d married.
“How are you and Glasses Gavin?”
There’d been three Gavins on their floor. Billy Goat Gruff Gavin, due to his overlong soul patch; Glamour Gavin, because it was said he shaved all his body hair; and Marcy’s Gavin, who was tall and lanky and had beautiful brown eyes behind his lenses. One look, and Marcy had known he was for her.
With her friend’s determination he hadn’t stood a chance—and he was brilliant enough to know he didn’t want to ever separate from the lovely, cool drink of water that was Ashlynn’s best friend.
“We’re wondering if the rain is ever going to end. Gavin’s talking ark designs.”
Drops were plinking on the roof of the single-wide, too.
“We’ve got showers here as well. No gully-washers, but everything is greening up nicely in the canyon.”
“I bet it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Ashlynn said. “I’d forgotten the delicious scent of the damp earth and the wet leaves. After my parents’ divorce, I only visited in the summers.”
“It’s good you’re getting to connect with the place again, Ash,” Marcy said.
“Yeah, but I worried I might be permanently stuck inside this morning. I got locked inside the bathroom after brushing my teeth. It’s where I am now…hoping to make sure it can’t happen again.”
I need to lock the door behind you.
The words floated into her mind, as well as an image of Brody, his clothes damp, his breathing jerky, his eyes a searing blue as he stared at her following their kiss. She shooed it all away with her hands.
“Get out of my head,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Marcy asked.
“Nothing.” Ashlynn turned to examine the door. Her brows shot together. “How the heck do you get a knob off? It’s stuck to the wood like it’s been glued or something.” With her screwdriver, she banged on the metal in frustration. “I hope there’s a pertinent episode of ‘This Old Crappy Trailer’ on Youtube.”
“Surely you can call someone…”
“Like I know home renovators,” Ashlynn scoffed.
Except, of course, she did. But Brody Maddox had left the night before without mentioning again sending someone over from his company. She wasn’t going to reach out, that was for sure.
Mandy’s voice sounded muffled.
“I didn’t get that.” Ashlynn gave another bad-tempered bang to the knob.
“I was talking to Gavin. He suggests looking on the other side of the door.”
Frowning, Ash swung it inward. “Hah! He’s a genius!”
There were two screws on the flange around that knob.
“Exactly what he says.” Marcy hesitated. “Ash… You know I worry—”
“And I love you for it. But all’s good.” As regular as her friend’s phone calls was Marcy’s broaching the delicate subject of Ashlynn’s sojourn in Southern California. “I have a tool. I know where to put it now.”
“But is that going to fix everything that’s wrong?”
“You’re right, it’s not a cure for world hunger,” she said in a flippant tone. “But it means I’ll be able to leave this four-by-five bathroom after I shower. I’m going to remove the knob altogether.”
“Ashlynn. It’s been months since you left. Should I come down there and help you settle things?”
“No.” Panicked at the thought, she gripped the screwdriver with a sweaty palm. Marcy’s idea of “settling” would involve more than dealing with paperwork and packing boxes. “I’ve got to do this myself.”
She needed to feel capable of something. All her life she’d been carefully managed by her mother and her own need to please. But now…now this situation was hers alone to deal with. And she’d do it. She’d figure out her next step. Eventually.
Sure, some aspects of the situation she wasn’t ready to face—it was why she slept with the radio on, drank during her shifts at the roadhouse, and once thought it would be a fine idea to take a sizzling stranger to her bed. That had been a huge mistake, but it would be another to rush into a decision about Satan’s Roadhouse.
“You’re delaying,” Marcy suggested.
“I’m deciding what exactly to do.” But yeah, she was delaying, too. The fact was, there were things bottled up inside her that she didn’t believe she’d ever be able to release. Or wanted to release. Squeezing shut her eyes, she sighed. “Marce—”
A knock on the trailer’s entry door offered a welcome interruption.
“Let me call you back!” Ashlynn practically sang the phrase and swiped up her phone to end the call.
Then she hurried to the door to pull it open. She’d been expecting one of the roadhouse staff, and her throat spasmed when she saw who stood on the other side instead.
“Conroy,” she man
aged to choke out.
Should she have sounded more welcoming to the county inspector?
He held up a brown bag in one meaty hand. “I brought you donuts.”
“Oh. How nice.” She shoved her phone in her back pocket. Was this a social visit? “Can I, um, offer you some coffee?”
Surely it would behoove her to be courteous.
He looked pleased. “I won’t say no.”
But she would, if he thought she might curry favor with something other than caffeine this morning. As she walked into the tiny pocket kitchen, she felt his gaze on her and tried not to stiffen.
“Only half a cup left,” she said, turning with a mug.
He was one of those men who stood too close, or maybe it was merely the small confines of the trailer to blame. The transfer of coffee didn’t involve any unnecessary touching, praise be.
“Thanks,” Conroy said. He gestured to the bag he’d set on the small counter. “Cinnamon sugar.”
“Let me put one on a plate for you.”
“Had three already.” He grinned, patting his belly.
He was a big guy. Not Brody-big—tall and muscled—but heavy in the neck and gut.
“How are things going?” Conroy continued.
“Great. Yeah. Fab.” She suppressed a wince at her babbling. “I had the cleaning service take care of the chandelier covers and bulbs.”
They were officially “non-food contact surfaces,” but during the most recent inspection she’d been dinged because of the light film of dust on them.
“I know,” Conroy said. “I just checked. They look fine now.”
Relieved, she blew out a slow breath of air. There were dozens of issues that a restaurant inspection involved. For example, when she’d replaced the plastic containers that held the cocktail garnishes, she’d neglected to label each one for its specific purpose. But she’d taken care of that, too.
Conroy took a sip of his coffee, gazing at her over the rim of his mug. “So, Ashlynn…would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”
Damn. She hesitated, again wondering how friendly her sister had been with the man. “I’m not sure—”
“I know all the best places to eat in town,” he added, his grin disarming.
“Yes, I suppose you do,” said Ash, following that up with her own faint smile. “But I’m so busy, working hard to…”
What? Satan’s Roadhouse was on her shoulders, but so far she’d just been staggering under its weight instead of doing that settling Marcy had prodded her about.
“Think on it.” Conroy slid his mug onto the tiny countertop. “In the meantime, I noticed something else.”
Shit. Shit! If she’d agreed to a dinner date would he have overlooked whatever was this latest problem? She swallowed, trying to appear capable. Calm.
“Oh?”
“The rain is leaking in at some of the window corners,” he said. “Probably our years of drought masked the issue, but I suspect they’re not properly flashed.”
Flashed? She had no clue what that even meant. “Um…”
“I can come over this weekend,” he offered. “Take a deeper look. Bring out my tools.”
Was it just in her head that the words sounded like sexual innuendo? Damn Brae for leaving behind no clue as to her relationship with the man and what he might expect. She bit her lip.
“I couldn’t trouble you…”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Conroy leaned back against the counter as if he belonged there.
Uneasiness skittered up Ashlynn’s spine.
“But also unnecessary,” she blurted out. “I have an upcoming appointment with a contractor.”
His eyebrows came together. “Oh?” He looked dubious. “Who?”
“Brody Maddox,” she offered recklessly, then instantly regretted naming names. Naming his. Being with the man hadn’t produced the numbing effect she needed. Instead, thanks to him, she’d been stripped to tears and pain. “I’ll get him on the windows first thing.”
The inspector seemed as if he bought her story. His doubtful expression cleared, and he took a glance at his watch.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Ashlyn said, trying not to look as if she wanted him out ASAP.
“I do have an appointment…”
Her phone trilled again.
“And I have a call,” she said, sliding her phone from her pocket.
They both moved toward the trailer’s front door.
Without looking at the display, she accepted the call and held the phone to her ear.
“Hello,” she said, her voice bright. Conroy looked back as he crossed the threshold and she gave him a cheerful wave. “This is Ashlynn.”
“And this is your mother,” replied a cool voice.
Ashlynn’s shoulders slumped. She closed the trailer door and turned to lean her back against it.
“Oh. Hi. How are you, Mom?”
“Have you been dodging my calls?”
Only every chance I get. “I’ve been so busy. I’m sorry. Is something up?”
“The gala is in a week.”
“That soon?” For the last three years, Ashlynn had almost single-handedly put on the event for the non-profit where she worked as the chief fundraiser. “I’m sure Lanette is doing a fine job.”
She’d selected her replacement personally when she’d taken a leave-of-absence.
“Lanette is not you,” Carol Lexington said.
“Why, thanks, Mom.”
Though it wasn’t clear it was a compliment as much as an expression of inconvenience. It had to be much easier to order a daughter like Ashlynn around rather than a near-stranger. The art-for-schools charity was the cherished darling of her mother and her mother’s second husband, tech CEO Philip Lexington.
“Come back home and handle the final details yourself.”
Where was the “please” that Carol had always insisted Ashlynn tack on to every request?
“I’m sure Lanette has it under control.”
“I don’t like you down there,” her mother said.
“I gathered that,” Ashlynn responded dryly, “since you only allowed me a two-week visit every year since I was ten.”
“It’s toxic.”
No, that had been her parents’ eleven-year-long relationship. Not once in the seventeen years since it ended had Carol explained to Ashlynn how she’d managed to marry Chuck Childe and beget two children by the man. Though they’d been together for a bit longer than a decade, they’d been polar opposites.
Their daughters as well. At least Ashlynn had always thought so, even though in her secret heart of hearts she’d wanted to embrace life with the same all-out energy and enthusiasm as Brae.
She’d just never had the courage to unleash her passion.
A memory of her night with Brody tried to shoehorn into her consciousness, but she sucked in a breath and resisted it.
“Is there anything else, Mom?”
“If you can’t make the gala, then I expect you home for your birthday.”
The steely tone in her mother’s voice caused Ashlynn’s shoulders to hunch.
“Excuse me?”
“You need a deadline, obviously. You’re frittering away your time down there—”
“I’m overseeing the roadhouse!”
“You’re supposed to be seeing to selling the place.”
Ashlynn stared at the toes of the worn cowboy boots on her feet. “It’s been in the family for years.”
“That’s not your family. Your family is up here.”
The proper, cool Lexington clan. Philip had three grown children who had always politely and obediently followed the path laid out for them. But then, so had Ashlynn.
“It’s still my legacy, Mom.”
“Get rid of it. I’m sure Phillip can find a realtor or an attorney in the area to handle the sale—”
“I can do that.”
“But you’re not!” Then Carol softened her voice. “Ashlynn. It’s time to stop this non
sense.”
It didn’t feel like nonsense. A notion that had been lurking at the back of her mind for weeks now made itself fully known. It blossomed in her mind in living, breathing color, grabbing hold of her, heart and soul.
Suddenly Ashlynn knew what she was meant to do—and she knew it was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to pass up.
After months of waffling and uncertainty following that fateful late-night phone call, the world all at once steadied under Ashlynn’s feet. For the first time she felt clear-eyed. Purposeful.
Crossing to the window, she pushed aside the dingy curtain and stared at the unprepossessing lines of Satan’s Roadhouse. By day it was walls and a roof. At night, it came alive, pumping with energy. Laughter. Spontaneity.
Fun.
When was the last time she’d had fun?
Pulling in a breath, Ashlynn made her decision...and then voiced it.
“I’m staying, Mom.”
“What?”
“I’m going to stay here in the canyon and run the roadhouse.” She swallowed. “Permanently.”
“Have you been drinking?” Carol sounded stupefied.
More than once since her arrival, but at the moment Ashlynn was stone cold sober.
“I’m staying here. That’s my decision.”
“There was never a question!”
“It was left to me, and making a go of it is what I plan to do.”
“But…but…” Carol sputtered, clearly appalled that her daughter was showing some backbone for once. “How will this work?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Ashlynn admitted, “but I’m going to give it my best shot.”
A long silence passed, then she heard her mother suck in a long, deliberate breath.
“I’m planning a party,” she said, her tone firm. “Because you’ll be back by your birthday.”
Her assurance struck Ashlynn’s heart like a mallet.
Still, she squared her shoulders.
“Not a chance,” she replied, mustering her resolve to take charge of her life.
She’d made a stand and she meant to follow through. Now that she’d declared she was going to run the family business, the last thing she wanted was to fail and be forced back to the Bay Area with her tail between her legs.
Wild Child (Rock Royalty #6) Page 4