Heart of Ash

by Sabrina York

  “Famished.”

  She was thankful that he tugged on his briefs before he padded to the table. Oh, certainly they’d been wound together in the bed last night, and he’d been nearly naked then, but breakfast was another thing entirely. She didn’t think she could sit here and eat next to a man who didn’t have any underwear on. Propriety would be offended.

  He took a sip of his coffee and groaned. “Excellent,” he said. “But these pancakes need syrup.”

  She shrugged and cut into hers, popping a bite into her mouth. “I didn’t see any.”

  He grunted and stood, heading across the room to the pantry. He bent and opened one of the lower cupboards, one she hadn’t noticed, over to the side, and pulled out a bottle of syrup. Her fork froze, halfway to her mouth. How had he known that was there?

  “Have you…have you been here before?”

  He stilled. “Ah… Once or twice. Do you want more coffee?”

  “Please.” He brought the pot and topped off both their cups, though his was nearly full. He set the pot on the table, plopped back in his chair and wolfed down his pancakes.

  “These are really good,” he said.

  “There’s more.” When he glanced up at her, she smiled. “I made extra. I figured you’d be hungry.”

  “Oh, I’m hungry.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t talking about pancakes. “You look cute in that big shirt.”

  She blushed. “Someone popped off a button,” she said, thumbing the gaping spot. She’d buttoned it all the way up. Though they’d made love last night, she wasn’t comfortable enough around him to wander about flashing her private bits.

  “Someone should have ripped off more.” His foot nudged hers under the table. She thought it was an accident, but then it made its way up her calf. Over her knee. Up her thigh.

  “Ash,” she laughed, scooting back. “It’s breakfast.”

  “Perfect time for it.” He waggled his brows.

  “I think not,” she said primly, though she loved his playful mood. She cut a precise slice out of her pancake, doused it with syrup and popped it into her mouth. Then she licked the fork clean.

  He snorted. “Do you know what that makes me want to do?”

  The light in his eyes stunned her. “W-what?”

  “Come here.” Even as he said the words, he reached around the table and grabbed the base of her chair, scooting her over next to him. The wood legs screeched across the floor. He pulled her onto his lap and she shifted to get comfortable. A firm bulge surged against her hip.

  He yanked open her blouse, sending buttons skittering across the table. “Ash!”

  “Hush.” He picked up the bottle of syrup and drizzled it over her chest.

  She gasped. “Ash, you’re getting it all over me.”

  He grinned. “That would be the point.” His tongue was like slick velvet as he licked the sticky substance from her breasts. And then he decorated her with more. And feasted on her again. His touch made shivers ripple over her skin. Made her shudder. Made her quake.

  “Humph.” He grunted around the nipple in his mouth.

  “What?”

  He didn’t respond. He merely lifted her in his arms, despite her squeal, and carried her to the bed. She bounced as he tossed her on the mattress. “Hold still.”

  She did not. She leaned up on her elbows and watched as he padded back to the table and grabbed the bottle. “Oh no! Oh no!”

  “Oh yes.”

  She tried to wriggle away, but was laughing too hard. He leaped onto the bed, held her down and kissed her. He tasted sweet and sinful. “Hold still.”

  He arranged her on the bed, and she held as still as she could…but for the quivering. When he set her arms over her head and spread the lapels of her shirt, she allowed it, but when he nudged her knees apart, she resisted. He shot her a wicked, seductive glance. “Come on, Emily. I want some more breakfast.”

  “I am not breakfast—“ Her protest ended in a squeal as he dripped a healthy serving of syrup…all over her panties. “Ash!”

  “Mmm. I love syrup.” He swooped in and lapped.

  Every muscle clenched. “Ash.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her. His jocularity melted away. Something dark and hungry flickered over his features. He lowered his head again. This time, his foray was far more deliberate. Far more intense.

  He found and dabbed her sensitive center. As he teased her through the lace, heat rose in her womb. He worked her, cleaned her with diligent attention, and before long she was nearly mindless with need. She wiggled her hips. “Please,” she panted. “Please.”

  The look in his eye made her quiver. He drew her panties down, opened her with his thumbs and went back to work.

  She nearly came out of her skin as he traced her slit, then delved deeper, nudging the folds of her labia. When he suckled her, delicious sensation shot through to her core, sending ripples of exquisite pleasure shimmering out in waves.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “Yes.” This was it. This was the bliss she’d felt last night…and more.

  He slid a finger in and she winced. She hadn’t liked that much last night. Not at all.

  But this… Oh. But this! Nuzzling her swollen clit, he eased in another and explored her depths. She wailed, groaned, flailed as he found a spot, over to the side that sent a dull thrum rippling through her. More, she thought. More. More. More.

  He gave her more, moving around in a hypnotizing rhythm, filling her, withdrawing, and then filling her again. Tapping that spot, scraping it, making her wild with need.

  “Ash,” she panted. “Ash. Please.”

  He came over her, kissing his way up, a quick, impatient journey.

  She cupped his cock, annoyed at the cotton she found. He yanked his underwear down and she fisted him. Ah. He was hard and warm and smooth. She pumped his length. He gave a growl, so she did it again.

  “Emily.” He adjusted his hips and nudged her center. Taking her nipple between his lips, he sucked as he pressed in.

  She nearly swooned.

  This was different. This was…better. So much better.

  “Yes,” she cried as he lunged in, sinking deep.

  He sucked in a breath as she closed around him. She tightened her muscles, testing his girth. His nostrils flared. “Shit,” he muttered. She clenched harder and he groaned. Buried his face in her hair. “Jesus.”

  He yanked out—she nearly howled—but then he thrust deep again and God, it was glorious. He nudged her knees further apart and began a series of long slow slides. Each one sent her higher and higher, into some ethereal realm. She curled around him, her arms, her legs, her everything. Curled around him and clung as he worked away inside her.

  Just when she thought she might scream, when she could no longer bear this agonizingly deliberate pace, his tempo increased, grew in intensity. He found that spot again and aimed for it, pounding into it with each manic thrust. And with each stroke, she lost a little of herself, spinning faster and faster, higher and higher, like a whirling dervish.

  And then she spun free, sailed into space and floated, suspended in a welter of mindless rapture as absolute bliss consumed her.

  She’d never known. Never imagined. Never dreamed…

  He swelled inside her. Filled her even more, massaged her even more completely and, unbelievably, she shot even higher. The dam broke. Her core liquefied. A warm wet heat flooded her.

  He continued moving, after the ecstasy had peaked, drawing it out, sending tingles upon tingles through her quivering body. And then he slowed. Stopped.

  When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her with the most gentle, loving look. She smiled. He smiled back. And he kissed her. And she knew.

  Yes. This was the fairy tale. This was the dream come true.

  He was her Prince Charming after all.

  Chapter Six

  This time, when they tried to start the Jet Ski, it worked.

  They’d cleaned up after their passionate try
st, putting away the sheets and folding up the bed, tidying up the pots and pans and putting things back where they’d found it. And then they’d dressed and headed back to the beach.

  It was early morning; the marine layer curled over the water in a delicate mist. But it was time to go back, he said, and Emily couldn’t protest. Her friends would be worried about her, if they’d realized she was missing. She had dropped her stuff in the small bedroom in the garret, so the others might have assumed she’d gone to bed early. They might not even have noticed she hadn’t come home.

  She hoped they hadn’t noticed. If she could sneak back into the house and slip into bed, it would avoid so much explaining.

  Ash powered the craft back to his beach and moored it. When he cut the engine, the silence was deafening. He handed her up on to the dock and then followed. They stood there, staring at each other. She hated the awkwardness of the moment, but it was probably a moment many women had experienced.

  After.

  “Well,” she said.

  “Well.” His gaze flickered.

  “I suppose I should get back?” She hadn’t intended it as a question, but really, it was.

  “Probably a good idea.” Why her mood plummeted when he agreed was a mystery. Or not. They walked to the end of the dock and stepped onto the beach.

  “I…ah… Thank you for the ride.” She tried not to wince at the idiocy of her statement but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  His lips quirked. “Thank you…for the ride.” She didn’t understand his words at first, but then his meaning percolated through her brain and she colored.

  “Ahem. Well. I’ll see you around this weekend?” Another question that shouldn’t have been one at all.

  “Yeah,” he said. “See you around.”

  And then, to her dismay, he shoved his hands in his pockets, spun on his heel and headed up the path to his place.

  Okay. She hadn’t expected a declaration of undying love. But a kiss would have been nice. Or a hug. Or a smile. Something.

  She hated that she watched until he disappeared from view. She should have turned away, just as he had, and gone straight home instead of mooning after him like some lovelorn calf.

  She grimaced when she realized she’d left her hat at the cabin.

  Damn it all. It was her favorite hat.

  Surely that was why tears pricked at her lashes.

  That and nothing else.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Bella bellowed as Emily opened the back door.

  So much for slipping in unnoticed. They were all there in the kitchen, Holt and Bella and Kaitlin and Jamie and Tara. It was like the cast of Ben Hur in that kitchen. “I went to your room this morning and your bed hadn’t been slept in.”

  “I told you she was safe,” Kaitlin murmured.

  “Damn it Emily,” Bella’s voice rose into a wail. “We’ve been worried sick.”

  Emily winced. She disliked yelling. Did not allow it in her classroom. And Bella could really yell. “I’m sorry. Ash took me out for a ride on his Jet Ski last night—”

  “Last night?” Tara parroted.

  Bella’s nose curled. “Ash?”

  “And the motor conked out.”

  Holt bristled. “The motor conked out?”

  “We-we had to spend the night on the island.” A blush crept up her cheeks.

  “You had to spend the night on the island?” This, Holt ground through his teeth.

  “It was getting dark. And it’s too far to swim back. And the tide was going out…” Ooh. She didn’t like the feral glint in his eyes. His muscles bunched, even when Bella set a hand on his arm. “There’s a cabin there,” she finished lamely.

  “I will fucking kill him.”

  “Holt!” Heavens. He was furious.

  Drew Boone padded barefoot into the kitchen in a pair of baggy sweats. Apparently he’d arrived during the night. “Kill who?”

  “Ash Fucking Bristol.”

  Drew blinked. His gaze danced from Holt to Emily and back again. “Oookay.”

  “He took Emily for a ride. To the island.” Holt said it like it was secret code or something, but Drew caught his meaning immediately.

  Great. Now they were both glaring at her.

  Drew raked his hair until it stood on end. “Why the hell would you let Ash Bristol take you for a ride…anywhere?”

  Emily folded her hands. “He seemed nice.”

  “Nice?” Drew’s roar rocked the room. “He’s a fucking barracuda. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

  Now her cheeks were scalding. He had. Eaten her for breakfast. And she’d loved it.

  “There’s only one reason a guy takes a woman to that island. One reason.” Holt shoved his finger in her face.

  The teacher inside her rose to the fore. Gently, politely, she shoved it out of the way. It was either that or bite it off.

  “Seduction,” Drew growled.

  Emily frowned. “We just went for a ride. It’s hardly his fault the engine conked out.”

  “He told her the engine conked out?” Drew asked Holt, although clearly he did not expect a response. “That’s the oldest trick in the fucking book.”

  “Please watch your language.”

  “He’s not cursing,” Holt snapped. “It’s the Fucking Book. The Fucking Playbook.”

  “Seduction 101.”

  “I’m not listening to this.” Emily pushed past them both and into the living room. It took some effort because they were both so big and so annoyed and not inclined to make room for her.

  “Did he fuck you?” Drew asked, although it was absolutely none of his business. Emily didn’t respond, so he asked again, in a louder voice. Which, according to the Neanderthal Playbook, usually worked.

  But Emily was not a Neanderthal woman. She was a modern woman in charge of her own body. She made her own decisions and she dealt with the consequences appropriately. She sailed through the room, not making eye contact with any of the women, and then she pounded up the stairs to her room, ignoring Drew’s heated stare.

  “Because if he fucked you,” he shouted, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  She didn’t respond, other than to slam her door. And then she opened it. And slammed it again for good measure.

  Okay, he shouldn’t have just walked away.

  He knew better.

  He should have told her then. Just steeled his spine and opened his mouth and said, “Thanks for the memories, babe. It was fun.” But somehow he couldn’t. Ash had the weird suspicion those words would hurt her, destroy her maybe.

  But she was a grown up. She knew the score. A clean break was the best way. He was sure of it. One night only. That was the rule.

  So he ignored the niggle of guilt and walked away.

  Once he got onto his deck though, shadowed by the trees, he turned. And he watched as she plodded back to the house next door.

  He quit watching when the guilt got too sharp. With a self-directed snort, he wrenched the sliding glass door open and winced. Shit. What was that smell?

  It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Because he stepped in it. A thick, slimy pile of vomit on the hardwood floor. And on the Turkish carpet. And on the leather sofa.

  Clearly one of his friends, who’d had way too much to drink, had been sick in the night. Probably Richie.

  Probably Richie, because he’d been so shitfaced. And because, there he was, lying in an odd tangle on the un-christened sofa, covered in flop sweat and snoring up a storm.

  For the umpteenth time, Ash asked himself why he even invited Richie to come over. He almost always fucked something up. He thought about leaving the mess, but then he realized, Richie didn’t clean up after himself, and by the time the ass regained consciousness, the stains would only be worse. The maid didn’t come until Monday.

  So he grabbed a bucket of soapy water, some rubber gloves and a couple rolls of paper towels and dove into the unpleasant task. He tried not to think about her
while he worked, but he couldn’t help reliving every second they’d spent together. He’d enjoyed their conversations the most, the way her eyes lit up, the way she laughed when she talked about her dogs or her students. Some of her stories had been hysterical.

  But he’d loved kissing her, making love to her, more. Especially this morning. She’d been so responsive, fit him like a glove.

  It was a damn shame he couldn’t just go over there and ask her to go for another ride on his Jet Ski. She’d probably say yes. But that would be leading her on.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who could have a lasting relationship with a woman. He didn’t come from those kinds of people. He didn’t have that kind of luck. He’d never found the right kind of girl.

  Which sucked.

  What he really wanted was to relax into a relationship. Trust in her. But every time he let a flirtation, an affair, drift into a relationship, he got stung. Always.

  There were no happily ever afters for a guy like him. He’d have to settle for happy endings.

  Hence the One Night Stand Rule.

  One time. That was it.

  Fuck ‘em and walk away.

  No matter what.

  And it worked. His heart hadn’t been broken once since he’d put the practice into play. He ignored the hollow satisfaction at the thought. Ignored the image of Emily’s expression as she’d come around him. The sweet lines of her face as he watched her while she slept.

  He’d loved sleeping with her. Loved waking up with her.

  Loved pretending, for one night, it could be something other than what it was.

  But it was morning now. And he knew better.

  Sure, Emily seemed like a sweet girl. They all did at first. Before they got their hooks in a guy. And she was a teacher. A teacher. Ash knew, deep down, she was just like all the others. Sooner or later, she’d try something, like Teresa, who’d come to him, after a short fling, announcing she was pregnant with his child.

  Oh, she’d been pregnant. Just not with the Bristol heir. Some other peckerwood had planted his seed in her and she’d seen a big payday coming.

  Thank God for DNA testing.

  And a rabid legal team.