by Jodi Watters
The outer offices were dark, everyone gone. “Why aren’t you headed home with Ali? I didn’t realize she was so far along, Sammy. You need to stick close to home from now on. No more field trips for you, and that’s non-negotiable.”
“Talk,” he ordered, breaking the seal on the whiskey, ignoring Ash’s instructions. Ice chinked as he filled two crystal cut tumblers. “And not the bullshit shorthand version of talking you’re so keen on either.” Dropping down in the chair facing the desk, he tipped his glass in Ash’s direction. “Here’s to feeling this in the morning.”
Sipping the whiskey, he waited.
“There’s not much to say.” Ash palmed his own glass, holding it up. “Here’s to feeling nothing at all.”
Sam barked out a laugh. “Oh, there’s plenty to say. Starting with”—he circled the air around him—“do you have a prenup or can she get her hands on a piece of this place if and when you divorce her?”
Taking a swig, Ash savored the burn in his windpipe.
“There’s a prenup because she wanted one, not because I did. In fact, it pissed me off that she was thinking about an end game before we even pushed the start button.” Leaning back in the supple leather of his executive chair, he stacked his booted feet on the desk, resting the tumbler on his flat belly. “She didn’t want people associated with the winery thinking she was a gold digger. The name opening more industry doors for her than the money ever could wasn’t something we talked about. That was before Scorpio, so it’s not included as a protected asset.”
“Fuck, Ash.” Sam’s concern was justified, but unnecessary. “Did you add it as an addendum?”
“No need. I consulted my attorney when we set up the partnership, and it’s guarded. There’s no personal guarantee on either of our parts, so creditors can’t hold us financially responsible on an individual basis, even if we go tits up bankrupt tomorrow. The firm is separate from any personal marital assets. Did you have Ali sign a prenup?”
He turned the tables, but Sam didn’t answer. Ash didn’t care anyway.
Legal mumbo jumbo aside, the lawyer had advised him Scorpio was safe because Ash could prove abandonment prior to the company’s inception. Under the eyes of the law, Liv had been the spouse to abandon the marriage when she’d moved out of their home. Awesome for Scorpio. Not so awesome for him. He’d laughed his ass off at the time, then spent the night with Jose Cuervo and the next morning puking him back up again.
Relieved knowing his fifty percent was safe from divorce court, Sam whistled. “Just because she can’t assume any ownership in the business doesn’t protect you personally. She can collect a windfall of alimony every month based on our profits.”
He lifted a negligent shoulder. “So could Ali.”
“Naw. This is forever.”
It was said with such confidence, Ash felt a tinge of anger. And a ton of jealousy. “Forever can come a helluva lot sooner than you plan. Trust me.”
“Gotta tell ya, I figured you’d say this was a quickie marriage resulting from a bout of epic sex and an annulment was already in the works. Instead, it turns out you’re an old married guy. Six years is a long time to hide a wife.” Adding more alcohol to his tumbler, Sam’s casual tone turned serious. “Can’t believe you kept this quiet on me.”
Trust was of utmost importance in their business. It was implicit in what they did, and how they did it. If you couldn’t trust the guy next to you without question, then running life-and-death operations with him was a surefire way to find yourself six feet under. Ash’s omission bordered on questionable.
“It’s”—he smirked—“complicated.”
“Un-complicate it,” Sam said dryly. “Break it down into one and two syllable words that I can understand, and I’ll try my best to follow along.”
“I wasn’t hiding her. It’s more the other way around. She’s not too fond of me right now. Hasn’t been for about…” He looked at his watch. “Almost a good four years now.”
“Yeah?” Sam’s brow shot up. “Keep talking. I can’t wait to find out what you did.”
“You’re assuming it was my fault?” Tapping his chest, Ash’s mouth twisted. “If I had a heart, that would hurt me real bad, Sammy.”
Sam wasn’t amused. “Tell me I’m wrong then. Tell me what she did to make you so heartless.”
After another sip, Ash sighed in resignation, wanting to get this over with. The ending was too ugly, so he started with the beginning.
“Whenever I could string together a few days leave from The Unit, I’d hightail it out of North Carolina and head back here, happy to sleep in my own bed for a night or two.”
On paper Ash was stationed out of Ft. Bragg, though he’d spent the majority of his time deployed. The seedy underbelly of the world was where he really lived, but he’d kept a condo in Mission Bay as his home base, knowing he’d return to San Diego after retirement.
“During one of those weekends, I stopped by the winery to check on Hope, planning to be in and out in under twenty minutes. Instead, I met a Georgia peach on a California vineyard.” He ran his finger around the rim of the glass, remembering that moment as if it were yesterday. “And the minute I saw her, I was toast.”
“Just like that?” Sam emptied his tumbler. “I’d call bullshit if something similar hadn’t happened to me.”
“Just like that,” he confirmed, refilling their glasses. “The blink of an eye.”
They hadn’t fallen in love slowly. They dove in head first, falling hard and fast, and well before reason and logic—and geography—could be accounted for. Before the vastly different worlds of two career-driven people who lived on separate coasts could stop them.
The beautiful, ill-fated love story of Asher and Olivia Coleson had begun the instant their eyes connected on the patio of his childhood home.
And it had ended there, too.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that not only are you an old married guy, but you’re also a love-at-first-sight guy?” Sam sat forward in the chair. “Who the hell are you?”
“Definitely a different man when I was with her.” Not a son who wasn’t good enough. Not a soldier who was too good. Just a man. A better man than he’d ever hoped to be. At least, for a time. “But honestly, we were apart more than together. For me, The Unit came first. For her, the vineyard.”
“I imagine it was damn inconvenient considering your address was on the opposite side of the country, not to mention the nonstop deployments. Where’s the winery fit in with all of this?”
Sam knew the generic details of his family history. All it took was a Google search to see the headlines from almost two decades ago.
Marshall Coleson, owner of Coleson Creek Winery and patriarch of the family, lost both his wife and mistress on the same day, each under suspicious circumstances. Inez Arenada, the morally bankrupt, selfish young woman who slept with her boss and bore him a daughter named Hope, met her maker before noon. Claudia Coleson, a pill popping, wealthy socialite who was both a walking billboard for the Just Say No campaign and his indifferent mother, had been dead by sundown.
Based on little evidence and no eyewitnesses, the police deemed it a murder-suicide.
The only people who knew the true events of that day were the father and the son, and neither were talking. That included to each other.
Joining the Army instead of the family business had been Ash’s first strike with Marshall. The circumstances surrounding Inez’s death had been his second. Marshall all but disowned him at that point, vowing revenge on his only son. Marrying Olivia had been his third strike, severing any vestige.
“Yeah, well, there’s some real poetic justice in this story because as it turned out, she worked for my old man. Still does to this day.”
That was classic Olivia. Loyal to Marshall, no matter what.
“Holy shit.”
“We made it work, though. And we were happy. So goddamn happy.” Looking toward the window, he saw only his office reflecte
d back. “I’d come home whenever The Unit allowed, and she’d drop everything. We’d lock ourselves in the condo, getting to know each other again. It felt like a normal, healthy marriage. If you didn’t count the long absences.”
“So, what happened?”
Sam didn’t need the devastating details. Not when he and Ali were so in love, expecting a new addition to their family. That was a story for another bottle of liquor. When Liv’s sudden appearance wasn’t so fresh. When Ash could tell the tale without breaking down and bawling. After Sam’s baby was born.
“What happened?” Ash repeated, stalling, searching for the right words. Giving up, he laid it out like it was, only summarized. “I fucked it all up.”
“Was there somebody else?” His delicately phrased question was shot to hell when he added, “Away from the wife for months at a time. Women at the ready no matter what state or country you’re in. That’s a lot of free and clear temptation. Makes it easy to slip in a little extra on the side. If you could find the time, that is. The demands of The Unit must’ve taken a toll.”
Ash hesitated, debating an outright lie, but the look in Sam’s eyes held only curiosity, not judgment. And he told him the truth. “Yeah. There was someone else.”
Shock replaced curiosity and the air crackled. Sam was a stickler for rules.
Holding up a hand, Ash stopped the lecture before it started. “But not in the way you think.”
“Well, that’s cryptic,” Sam muttered. “And about as clear as mud.”
“You’re gonna have to trust me on this.” He shrugged, releasing the tension from his shoulders. “It’s all I can give you right now.”
Different divisions of the military, but on the same team with the same goal, he’d run multiple black ops missions with Sam, a former Army Ranger and sniper in the 75th Regiment. Their mutual respect was hard-earned and unbreakable. Because of that bond, Sam accepted his vague explanation without further question.
Running a hand across his unshaven face, Ash’s lips quirked. “And you know The Unit prefers married operators over single. Something about a stable private life and less chance of being compromised by a female unfriendly in the field.”
“Oh, that’s right. The military would rather its soldiers keep their female unfriendly at home.” A minute of silent drinking passed before Sam broke it with a grin. “What are you gonna do with your female unfriendly, Coleson?”
“Same thing I’ve been doing. Nothing. Like I said, she isn’t too keen on me. If you asked her, she’d tell you I reside somewhere just below pond scum.”
“Doing nothing isn’t exactly your style.”
Ash stared into his glass. “I’ve tried drinking. Did that for a while without success. I switched to sober, but that only works some of the time. I’ve glued my happy ass to this chair and buried myself in work, and that seems to be the best solution, long term. I’ve done everything I can to move on. Everything I’m supposed to do.”
“Except one,” Sam said bluntly. “People get divorced every day. Why haven’t you? Why are you still married to her?”
Good question. “Can’t seem to shake her.”
“Why?”
“What the fuck, Sam? Are you a marriage counselor on the side now? Brushing up on your interrogation techniques?” The growl in Ash’s voice was a warning. “I have my reasons.”
“They must be pretty damn good for you to let a woman string you along for four years, during which I’ll assume there were no marital benefits.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve been on the bench that long. It surpasses any reason I can come up with.”
Draining the whiskey, Ash set his glass on the desk, spinning it like a top. “Because I still miss her.”
Sam nearly choked on his tongue. “That’s all you’ve got? You miss her? Of course, you do, you grumpy, backed-up bastard.” He jerked his head toward the door. “The guys and I put that together the moment she walked in here. Way to get in touch with your feelings, though.”
“I miss her some days.” He grinned, splashing more whiskey into his glass. “Maybe every day. Maybe every minute of every day.”
Sam reached for his chirping phone, tapping out a quick return text before leaning back in his chair, assessing him. “It’s strange how we complicate things, just to avoid how we feel. And when I say we, I actually mean you.”
They sat in silence, Ash working up the guts to admit what he knew was true. “Because I still love her.”
“Now that seems a more logical reason, don’t you think?” The words were pure sarcasm.
“Logic, hell. I need my fucking head examined.”
“You have heart trouble, my friend, not head trouble.” Sam chuckled, draining the last of his watered-down whiskey. “And you’re one of the smartest people I know. A hell of an operator, too. Which is why I’m shocked as shit it hasn’t occurred to you yet.”
“Okay.” Ash dipped his chin. “Fill me in on what I’m missing.”
“You haven’t divorced her yet because you still love her. And after all this time, she hasn’t divorced you, either.” He gestured toward the whiskey with a raised brow, capping the stubby-necked bottle when Ash shook his head.
Meandering toward the door with his liquor in hand, Sam’s parting question reverberated in Ash’s mind well into the night. “You ever wonder if her reason is the same as yours?”
A hot blonde wearing a black dress ranked high on Ash’s list of favorite things.
Just above a dry-aged New York strip cooked medium rare, but below a good morning blowjob that only ended when he finished in her mouth, blondes in black dresses always put a smile on his face. Olivia Quinn was no different, and the grin he wore proved it, as did the surge of arousal coursing through his veins.
It was his unprecedented need to learn everything about her that worried him. From her middle name, to her favorite song, to her greatest fear in life.
Because that was different.
And if that, along with fighting a hard-on for the ages, wasn’t troubling enough, hounding her like a school boy with his first crush was just as mortifying. Chasing tail wasn’t his style. It usually came to him.
Ash had been around the block when it came to the ladies, though he was no player. A few of those lovely, but temporary women might disagree with his favorable assessment, but Ash had been forthcoming from the get-go. The Unit demanded too much of him for anything permanent. Dinner and drinks before doing the dirty was all the commitment he could make.
Which made his remarkable reaction to Olivia that much more troubling.
The boner was predictable given he was on a months-long dry spell, thanks to an Islamic terrorist group’s horrific campaign of violence in a West African rainforest. Hunting bad guys in ankle-deep wetlands, hoping he didn’t run out of fresh water and have to resort to an infested pond riddled with God only knew whose fecal matter, left little time to contemplate getting laid. Most operators considered getting lucky to mean if you made it through a mission without eating something so vile it could make one of the Jackass guys puke, or if you only caught one communicable disease per deployment.
So, physical aside, it was his mental reaction that had him pacing the ground near a dented white Honda, questioning his deductive reasoning.
She was drop-dead gorgeous. She was smart and stacked. She was personality plus.
She was his father’s right-hand woman. Right-hand woman, for fuck’s sake.
Marshall’s comment had sent a clear and concise message. Back off.
She was tight with her boss, and he was tight right back, that was obvious to anyone looking. And considering he didn’t trust Marshall as far as he could throw him, he’d been looking plenty when he should’ve been walking.
His life was going according to plan, far removed from Coleson Creek, the sublime setting of an affluent, lonely childhood. Working his way up the Army’s chain of command had paid off, his tenacity gifting him with his dream job in The Unit. Any connection he’
d felt to this vineyard had been severed the day his mother died. The day Marshall gave him his marching papers.
Didn’t matter. He’d been going anyway. Boot camp was calling.
Checking on Rosa and Hope was the only reason he’d returned, sparing just a few minutes to do so, and since Hope was weeks away from high school graduation, this would be his last visit.
But now, this woman. The hot blonde in the black dress who made her living here, showing up in the middle of his perfectly planned life.
And suddenly the family vineyard built on lush countryside in a scenic California valley wasn’t looking so bad when Olivia Quinn was a part of the view.
Goddamn, that jungle had fucked with more than his libido.
It had screwed with his mind.
“Hey, soldier.” Her sweet southern drawl, completely out of place a stone’s throw from the Pacific, interrupted his disconcerting thoughts.
He turned, watching the sexy sway of her hips in that tight, strapless dress as she approached.
“Look what I found.” Her saucy grin sent a double shot of lust straight through him when she held up a six-pack of Coors Light. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”
Damn right it was. “How’d you make that happen? Or does the local liquor store deliver now?”
“Called in a favor. Somebody owed me.”
Nodding toward the black Jeep he’d parked behind the Honda, he admired her toned arms holding his favorite beer. “Hop in. I know a great drinking spot not far up the Coast Highway. Decent water view with this full moon, too.”
She looked from the Wrangler to her car, then back at the bustling house, guests milling about as the party wound down. “I’m not leaving with you in full view of everyone.”
That was a blow to the ego.
“Got a reputation to maintain? I get it.” He tried not to hold it against her. Marshall was onto them and none too pleased about it. “Wouldn’t wanna be seen with the black sheep.”
“No, you silly man.” Her short laugh was musical. “It’s not you. It’s everyone seeing up my dress while I climb into that thing.” Her brows rose as she assessed his Jeep, the beefy tires lifting the cab higher than normal. “Either I do a trust fall into the passenger seat while you pull me in from the other side, or I rip the seams right out of this dress and flash a bunch of people my beaver.”