Not that he resisted.
He was up for just about anything she wanted to do to him, or with him.
Instead, Ashley put his back against the glass, and while still French-kissing him and while sliding her hand over his chest, she climbed onto his lap. Straddling him. Aligning their bodies in the best possible way. This time his erection found a place even hotter and wetter than the shower.
Her gaze met his. Somehow. She had a wild look in her eyes. Wild and determined. And she was beautiful. So beautiful. Her dark hair clinging to her face. The water streaming down her ivory skin. Her mouth, slightly swollen from the torrid war she'd waged on his body.
"This won't be clinical sex," she promised.
"And not pity foreplay, either."
"Nope. No pity at all. Just sex."
Wrong. It wouldn't be just sex either. It couldn't be. Not with the feelings and emotions between them.
They'd make love.
And whether Ashley realized it or not, it would change everything.
He couldn't resist. He had to touch her. Brayden slid his palm down the column of her throat to her breasts. He took a second to sample them again. To taste her. And he circled his tongue around her nipples.
Ashley threw her head back and moaned. Not an ordinary moan. One that seemed to call to every cell in his body to claim her. To take her. To make her his and his alone.
He answered that call. He moved his hand down her stomach and between her legs. He touched. Lightly. Testing her response and learning what she liked in the process. He slid his fingers across the sensitive little bud, slipped his index finger in even deeper and had the privilege of hearing her say a very naughty word.
"Ashley," he teased.
Her eyelashes fluttered up, and her wild gaze met his again. "You said my name."
It wasn't an accusation or a reminder. It had a pre-orgasmic hint to it. So, he touched her again, his finger going deeper until he found an even more sensitive spot.
While he repeated her name.
She gulped in her breath. Gasping. And he knew he'd learned a lot about how to please her. He had her close, so close, but then she latched onto his hand and stopped him.
"I want to watch you," she said.
Brayden might have assured her that he wanted to do the same thing, if she hadn't eased down onto him. Except she didn't really ease down. With the sweet sensations and the primal fire flaming through him, she took an inch of him inside her.
Then, another.
And another.
Slowly.
While she watched. The delicate muscles of her body gripped and teased him. Took him. Until she had all of him inside her.
She didn't stop there.
Oh, no.
Ashley caught his hands. Locked their fingers together. She shoved his arms against the glass. Holding him in place. Not that he was going anywhere in the literal sense. But he had no doubt she was about to take him places. Well, one place anyway.
And she moved.
Oh, man.
Did she ever move.
Sliding forward. Against him. Creating the friction. Her hips thrusting. Slow, at first. Finding the rhythm. The right rhythm.
And then she went faster. Harder. The slick moisture of her body working in perfect harmony with her tight, gripping muscles. With each stroke, each thrust, each push, she took him higher. Closer. She gave him more. More. More.
"Ashley," he said.
She didn't stop, but her gaze came to his. "Brayden," she gave him in return.
Just Brayden. But it was more powerful than the magic she was creating with their bodies.
He watched her repeat his name. Watched her mouth form the syllables. Felt the hard, frantic, rhythmic slide of his body into hers.
And he saw her go over.
Saw her surrender.
With his name still on her lips.
Her own name pounded through his head. And it was the only coherent thought he had when he let himself go.
Ashley. Ashley. Ashley.
Chapter Sixteen
She was in love with Brayden.
The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, and Ashley decided that it might be a good idea if the particular reflection would go back from where it came. In their case, love didn't fix everything.
It couldn't.
Because love couldn't undo the past that would always be between them.
She stared in the bathroom mirror, towel drying her hair, but her attention definitely wasn't on her appearance. Nor was it on Brayden, who was drying off behind her. Even though the sight of him wet and naked certainly provided a nice distraction from her suddenly troubling thoughts.
They'd just shared some incredible minutes in that shower. Unforgettable, life-altering minutes. And now she was in love with him.
Not necessarily a good thing.
Because Brayden hadn't said a word about being in love with her. Nor would he. She could never mean as much to him as Dana had.
"Why the frown?" Brayden asked, slipping on his jeans. He went closer, caught her arms and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder.
It was a simple intimate gesture that warmed her. It also went a long way to giving her the courage to tell him what she'd just realized—that she was in love with him—but then Ashley caught a glimpse of his bare shoulder in the mirror. His wound wasn't bleeding, but it needed attention.
Ashley opened the medicine cabinet, located some antibiotic cream and a bandage, and she went to work. Unfortunately, that put her face-to-face, and practically mouth-to-mouth, with Brayden.
"Well?" he prompted. He skimmed his hands down her torso to her waist. Even though she had a towel draped around her, she could still feel his touch.
"You'll live," she assured him, pressing the bandage into place.
He brushed his mouth against hers. "And that's why you were frowning?"
"No. The frown is a product of all these jumbled feelings I have."
Brayden eased back slightly. "You're not having doubts about the baby?"
"No. Heavens, no. I really want this baby. Not just for Colton, but for me. He or she is already part of my life." She paused, debating, but decided not to hold back. "You're part of my life."
He stiffened slightly. "I know what you're saying, Ashley. What you're concerned about."
Good grief.
It sounded like the beginning of one of those let's-take-this-one-step-at-a-time speeches. And if so, he was right. Absolutely, emphatically right. They did need to take this slowly, to give themselves time to heal. Time to adjust to all the changes in their lives.
But Ashley suddenly didn't want that time.
She wanted him to pull her into his arms and tell her that he loved her.
He didn't. He just stood there staring at her for several long moments.
"Let's get dressed so we can talk," Brayden suggested. "With you wearing just a towel, my mind keeps wandering to other things."
Because he smiled, so did Ashley. Eventually.
Oh, well. Brayden might never fall in love with her, but at least the sexual attraction was there. Mercy, was it ever there. And that was a start. For now, it had to be enough.
Since she wasn't sure if Katelyn was still in the house, Ashley dressed in the bathroom after Brayden went into his bedroom to find a clean shirt.
"Hey, how'd the Christmas trees get here?" Brayden called out several minutes later.
Curious about that herself, Ashley followed the sound of his voice to the living room. And there they were. Not one but two trees. The nine-foot-tall blue spruce she'd ordered earlier was everything the vendor promised her it would be. Full, fragrant and perfect for the large corner space adjacent to the front window. The other tree was almost identical except for the fact that it was artificial.
"I wanted this for Colton," Ashley explained. "It's only five days until Christmas."
"But why two?"
"I thought he might like to keep the artificial one up for a whil
e. You know, to extend the season since he spent most of the month in the hospital. But I didn't order decorations. Hopefully, you have some?"
"In the hall closet, top shelf. There's more on the second floor, but I'll get those. There's a lot of junk and renovation stuff up there, and I don't want you to trip over anything." He glanced around. "Where's Katelyn?"
"She must have let the delivery person in and then left. I think she was anxious to get home to Joe."
It was an anxiousness that Ashley could now appreciate. Katelyn was going home to her husband, to a man she loved. There was a lot to be said for that.
And speaking of love, Brayden turned to her, presumably to resume that conversation they'd started upstairs. But he didn't get out even one word before his cell phone rang.
"Hold that thought," Brayden insisted after a huff, and he went to answer it.
Ashley listened for a couple of seconds, to make sure it wasn't some emergency or something to do with Colton, but she soon realized it was Brayden's father. A checkup call to make sure he was okay.
To give Brayden some privacy, Ashley went to the hall closet and located the plastic storage box marked Christmas decorations. It was on the top shelf just as Brayden had said it would be. She hauled it down and used her elbow to shut the door.
And when she turned, she came face-to-face with a man wearing a stocking cap.
Startled, Ashley started to scream. But he quickly slapped his hand over her mouth. Before she could struggle, before she could attempt to fight him off, he shoved a gun to the side of her head.
* * *
IT TOOK BRAYDEN A WHILE to update his father and assure him that he was truly okay. Evidently, Garrett had blabbed about the shoulder wound, and his father wouldn't stop talking until Brayden had promised to see a doctor. And he had promised. Not because he was anxious about his shoulder, but because he was anxious to finish his conversation with Ashley.
There was so much to tell her.
Too bad he didn't have specifics in mind, but he was hoping to sort out his feelings while they had a heart-to-heart.
After yet another promise to this father that he would see a doctor, Brayden hung up the phone and went in search of Ashley. She was probably trying to round up the Christmas decorations from the closet.
"Ashley?" he called out when he got to the hall. The box of lights and ornaments was on the floor, and the closet door was open. But Ashley wasn't anywhere around.
He called for her again. Waiting. But she didn't answer. And it was the silence that set his heart pounding and put him on full alert.
Brayden automatically reached for his gun. It wasn't there. He'd left it in the bedroom before he'd taken a shower. Not good. Because he was afraid he might need it. He sprinted toward his room.
It was empty.
He looked on the bed for his gun. Gone. The shoulder holster was empty. Other than that, nothing else in the room seemed disturbed. Brayden grabbed a backup weapon from his closet and raced out of the room to find her.
"Ashley?" he called out, praying she would answer.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he knew that the full alert was necessary after all.
His mind began to race with all sorts of possibilities. Bad possibilities. Scenarios that included everything from an accident that had left her unconscious to Hyatt Chapman returning from the grave.
"Ashley?" he repeated. Louder this time. The next time was even louder.
She still didn't answer.
Brayden paused a second to listen. For any tiny sound that would indicate where she was and what had gone wrong. And then his gaze landed on the side door. The one that led to the garage.
It was wide open.
Had Katelyn left it open? Had Ashley gone out there looking for Christmas decorations? Those were possibilities, but Brayden didn't think so. His instincts were screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Flattening his back against the wall, he peered around the corner. It was dark, only meager light filtering through from the house into the garage. The only thing he could see clearly was his car.
Not an ideal scenario.
Because if someone was holding Ashley, they could easily be using the vehicle for cover.
Again, Brayden listened for a sound, for any indication that she was in there. And he got it. A shuffle of movement. But not from the garage.
From the second floor of the house.
Probably from the room directly above him.
Repositioning his gun, Brayden rushed to the staircase. The three-foot-tall wooden security gate—the one he'd used to deter Colton from going to the rooms still under renovation—was lying on the floor.
Trying not to make a sound, Brayden eased up the steps, all the while listening for any indication that Ashley was okay. She had to be okay.
The landing on the second floor was coated with dust, and Brayden could see the footprints even in the filmy light seeping up from the bottom floor. Not one set of prints but two. Two. Ashley's and a man's.
The sight of those prints sent his stomach to his knees.
Did those prints belong to Trevor Chapman or Miles Granville? Either was a possibility since both men were a threat. And he knew that now. Unfortunately, now was too late. Whoever it was, the person had Ashley.
Keeping his footsteps light and staying close to the wall, Brayden went to the first room. No door. Just a wide arched entryway. The hardwood floor was littered with painting supplies and scaffolding. But neither Ashley nor the man who had her was there.
It was empty.
There were three other rooms, including a bathroom, and each of those four doors were closed. Any one of them could be hiding Ashley and her kidnapper.
Brayden pulled in a hard breath, turned the knob of the door nearest to him and shouldered it open. He immediately ducked back against the wall and waited.
Nothing.
He glanced quickly around the corner. Like the other room, there were renovation supplies, but no sign of Ashley. Brayden was about to move on to the next room when he spotted the footsteps in the dust. Smeared steps as if someone had tried to cover them up.
His gaze fired to the closet door.
Closed.
It was a huge walk-in space for what was supposed to be the master bedroom. A perfect hiding place. Or maybe the steps leading to it were simply a decoy. Something meant to throw him off so he could be ambushed from behind.
If so, it could be a trap.
Since his instincts told him that's exactly what it was, Brayden slipped back out of the room. Moving fast, he went to the last room at the end of the hall. A storage room, loaded with boxes and old furniture. In other words, a perfect hiding place.
No quiet push of the door this time. Bracing himself for whatever or whoever might come at him, Brayden kicked open the door.
It took him a moment to spot Ashley. She was there, in the shadows, standing between a hutch and a sofa. She was obviously terrified. But alive.
Thank God she was alive.
Miles Granville was behind her. His arm circled tightly around her waist. He was wearing gloves, a dark raincoat and a knit stocking cap that he'd shoved up to expose his face but not his hair.
He also had a gun pressed to Ashley's head.
A gun fitted with a silencer.
For Brayden, seeing that weapon nearly knocked the breath out of him. He forced himself not to react. Not to fire. Not to lunge for the man and kill him. But instead, Brayden assessed the situation as objectively as possible. As he'd been trained to do. But, of course, he couldn't be objective. Not about this.
Because this was about Ashley.
"I let myself in the back door after your sister left," Granville announced in the same tone he probably used for a normal greeting. "Heard the water running in the shower so I used that time to set things up. Good thing, too. It'll look more realistic this way. As if Trevor chased you throughout the house."
"Trevor?" Brayden repeated, trying to concent
rate on disarming Granville. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Everything." Granville lifted a shoulder. "He's in your pantry right now. I borrowed an idea from his brother and incapacitated him with a stun gun. After I gave him an almost certain concussion. He never even saw my face. In fact, with the hard hit on the head, he might even suspect you're responsible."
"He's wearing Trevor's shoes and has his gun," Ashley supplied through clenched teeth. "He plans to set him up…for this."
Well, that explained the hat, gloves and coat. Granville was trying to minimize any fibers or DNA evidence that he might leave in what he no doubt considered to be a crime scene in the making.
One way or another Brayden had to stop him.
"Trevor will be blamed for Ashley's murder," Granville confirmed. "And yours. Wouldn't want to leave you out of this. A man who would bed his own sister-in-law deserves whatever he gets—don't you think?"
"I'm thinking a lot of things," Brayden countered. "But that's not one of them."
Granville chuckled. "Then perhaps I should just show you what I have in mind? It won't be long-range, like the way I killed your wife. By the way, just so you know—that wasn't an accident. I wanted both Ashley and Dana dead. The only accident was that I got interrupted by a security guard before I could finish the job."
The hurt registered. In his heart. In his head. But Brayden couldn't undo what had already happened to Dana. What he could do, maybe, was prevent Ashley from getting hurt.
"Speaking of finishing the job, it's time. No more candles, clinic fires, rental vans or mysterious messages on her phone." Granville pushed the gun harder against Ashley's head. "Point-blank. Much more efficient."
"Wait!" Brayden practically yelled it, and his voice was laced with desperation.
He had to convince Granville to back away, to let Ashley go. And if not, he had to figure out a way to kill the man so he couldn't hurt her. "There's no reason for you to do this. The man who assaulted you is dead."
"True. I suppose I should thank you for ridding the world of Hyatt Chapman. But there are reasons for removing Ashley, as well. Revenge. Justice. I would have done it sooner if she hadn't disappeared. And I tried to kill her just days ago, but you prevented that, didn't you? Good thing, though. Because it'll work out better this way."
Santa Assignment Page 15