by Nicola Marsh
Miranda had already wandered off, leaving Ashlin to dodge dancing partygoers on the parquetry floor as she headed after Wyatt. As she reached the ballroom exit, she spied him leaving the building, and picked up the pace.
When her cell, tucked into the pocket of her slim-line leather jacket, vibrated against her hip, she ignored it. Until she remembered the email she'd received earlier, from a premier dance company in the UK, ascertaining her interest in the lead choreographer position for their upcoming season.
Her steps faltered as she dug the cell out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and recognized an international number.
Damn, she had to take this.
Hitting the call answer button with her thumb, she took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
"Ashlin O'Meara speaking."
"Just the woman I wanted to speak to." The clipped English accent made her pulse race. This could be it. The job offer of a lifetime. "Graham Thorpesman here. Did you receive our email, Miss O'Meara? Because we heard about your competition win and we're very keen to have you onboard."
She'd done it. Landed the best job of her career. So why the dithering?
"Thanks for the offer, I'm thrilled." Then why the shaky hands and slight quiver in her voice? Damn it.
"So that's an acceptance?"
Ashlin hesitated. She wanted to yell 'hell yeah'. But a small part of her felt disloyal somehow, like she should be discussing this with Wyatt.
Crazy, considering they weren't in a long-term relationship and she'd known a new job in a new place would be a real possibility when they'd started up. She’d even told him how stagnant her life in Vegas was and that she craved a change. But now that her dreams had become a reality, she couldn't help but feel confused.
Wyatt was a good guy. One of the best. And she'd grown used to having him around, even for a few weeks. She'd miss him. Miss them. But that didn't mean she'd give up the opportunity of a lifetime.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied her resolve. "Thanks for the offer. I'd love to be your lead choreographer."
"Excellent. You start in two weeks," Graham said. "We'll email you a formal job offer with conditions and remuneration within the hour. Glad to have you onboard."
"Thank you." Ashlin hung up, her hands shaking as she slipped the cell back into her pocket.
She'd reached the pinnacle of her career. Landed the kind of job that would garner worldwide recognition and guarantee her a walk-in role at any premier dance company on the planet.
Yet as she jogged toward the front doors, hoping she could still catch Wyatt, all she could think was 'how am I going to tell him?'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Wyatt paced his hotel suite, at a loss. Steele hadn't wanted to talk after their run-in with Christopher and Wyatt didn't know his half-brother well enough to push the issue.
Steele had looked shell-shocked when they'd got back to the hotel, a guy operating on autopilot. He'd ignored Wyatt's overtures for conversation, answering in monosyllabic grunts. So Wyatt had taken the hint and left him the hell alone.
Wyatt didn't blame him for needing time to assimilate what had happened. Their father had confronted Steele for the first time in decades. God, he could barely handle Christopher's impromptu appearance and he'd lived with the guy for eighteen years before moving out.
He couldn't imagine how Steele must be feeling and was suitably outraged on his behalf. Enough to want to kick something. So he did. A table leg. It didn't help. Anger and frustration and helplessness rolled through him and damn, he needed an outlet.
A light knock sounded at the door and he strode toward it, hoping Steele had changed his mind. Maybe they could play a round of racquetball to burn off this unsettling feeling. No talk. Just action.
However, when he opened the door, Ashlin stood there, gnawing her bottom lip, uncertainty clouding her eyes.
Whereas for the first time in a long time, he'd never been more certain of anything.
"You okay?" she said, slipping past him.
He shut the door and spun around, snagging her arm. "I am now."
She must've heard something in his voice. A hint of desperation. Frustration.
Whatever it was, her eyebrow raised slowly and the corners of her mouth followed suit. "Anything I can do?"
"This." He hauled her into his arms, backed her against the wall and slammed his mouth on hers.
He needed this. Needed her. Craved her with an intensity that scared the shit out of him, the type of yearning where he'd never wanted anything so badly in his entire life.
Ashlin could fill the void.
Beautiful. Sweet. Heart-rending. Ashlin.
She moaned deep in her throat, her body plastered to his. He was rock hard. Needed to be inside her. Wanted to make her come for him. Only him.
He wrenched his mouth from hers. "You make me crazy with wanting you."
"Feeling's mutual," she said, tracing his mouth with a fingertip, her gaze filled with so much emotion it made him choke up. "I need to tell you—"
"I know," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "I feel it too. In here." He pressed her palm against his chest, over his heart. "I know I said this was a short term thing but I like you and now I think I'm falling harder and I'm fucking terrified and—"
This time she kissed him. Silencing his babbling. Preventing him from making more of a fool of himself than he already had.
And she kept on kissing him while undoing his belt buckle. Snapping the top button on his jeans. Unzipping him. When she slid her hand inside his jocks, wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed, he was pretty damn sure he'd died and gone to heaven.
But this time, he wasn't doing this without ensuring her pleasure first.
He stilled her hand and gently withdrew it from his fly.
"It's your turn," he murmured against the side of her mouth, raining tiny kisses across her jaw to her ear. "Let me love you."
Fuck. He meant make love, but somehow the L word had slipped out and now it hung there in the silence, punctuated by their heavy breathing.
Would she freak out? Because he sure as hell was. For a guy who didn't do emotions, no way did he do love.
But rather than push him away as he half expected, she smiled, radiating a joy he'd never seen before. She took his hand and led him to the bed in the far corner of the suite. With a soft shove, she pushed him onto the bed.
"Don't move. Just watch," she murmured.
So he did. Watched as she untied the knot of her halter dress and let it fall to her waist, baring her breasts. Watched as she shimmied out of the dress, letting it pool at her feet. Watched as she pushed white lace panties down her long legs, leaving her gloriously, eye-poppingly naked.
He stared at the golden-red landing strip between her legs. Aching to be there.
"I want you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm scared I'll disappoint you—"
"Don't." He surged upward, placed his hands around her waist and drew her closer. "You could never do that."
With her crotch at face level, he leaned forward and tongued her, relieved when she jolted. He teased her clit with his tongue. Lapping at it. Circling it. Nipping it. Buoyed when her legs wobbled. Encouraged as she dug her fingers into his scalp.
He toyed with her slick folds. Slipped one finger inside her. Another. Withdrew and pushed inside repeatedly, alternating with laving her clit until her rapid breathing and muted moans filled the air.
She was close. So close. But he had no idea if she'd reached this point before and been unable to go all the way. She must be feeling pretty damn vulnerable right now and he had to show her he felt the same way. So he paused for a moment and glanced up.
"I love you," he said, searching for some sign he hadn't ruined this before it had begun.
He didn't need to hear it in return. He didn't need some hollow declaration she didn't mean. But he hoped she knew how much it cost him, a guy who hadn't loved a woman before, to say it.
/> "Right back at you," she said, arching her hips toward him. "Now keep going and let me show you how much."
Happier than he’d ever been, he said, "You're close?"
"You have no idea how close…"
He tongued her again, quickly escalating the pace until her hips ground against his mouth. Anchoring her ass with his hands, he licked and licked until she tensed, a second before she shattered on a scream that made him feel ten feet tall.
She sagged against him and he eased her down onto the bed until they lay side by side, facing each other. Nowhere to hide.
He'd expected to feel a fool, verbalizing how he felt. Instead, as she stared at him like he'd performed a minor miracle, he knew he'd done the right thing.
He just knew it.
Ashlin's body throbbed with the intensity of her orgasm. Her first in a long, loooong time. Not since Dougal had she experienced the bone-melting aftershocks, and even then it hadn't been as good as this.
Wyatt was a master. A sex-god.
But she knew it was more than that.
The moment he'd revealed his feelings and told her he loved her, she'd let go and opened herself up to the possibility of pleasure again.
She'd been carrying guilt around for a long time, had known it hampered her emotionally, but it wasn't until she'd seen the love in Wyatt's eyes had she realized it had been affecting her physically too.
The reason she hadn't been able to orgasm all these years was because she believed she didn't deserve pleasure.
She’d always known it deep down, in that secret place filled with self-loathing and self-recrimination after the choice she’d made.
She hadn’t deserved to feel good, not after what she'd done.
She'd known it had been a life-altering decision at the time. Heck, it had ruined her relationship with Dougal and made him run. But the fallout from her choice had infiltrated every aspect of her life and she hadn't realized how much until Wyatt had accepted her.
But would he feel the same way if he knew what she'd done?
He hadn’t noticed the small scars that bore testament to the life-changing decision all those years ago in London. She almost wished he had noticed before he’d given her that earth-shattering orgasm; wished he’d asked about it, so she could’ve finally told him the truth. Because after what he’d just done and what he’d said? It would make telling him all the harder.
Wyatt was perfect. The most genuine, caring, sweet guy she'd ever known. Which pretty much solidified her decision.
She had to leave ASAP.
She was flawed and would fall short against Wyatt's perfection. Would always fall short of his high expectations. No, better to leave now, before that love in his eyes turned to hate.
She'd seen it happen before.
But first, she had to have one momentous memory to sustain her through a cold London winter.
"Condom?" She rested her hand against his chest, caressing his pecs, his abs.
"Top drawer," he said, staring at her like he couldn't quite believe they were actually doing this. "Are we going to mention the fact you came?"
"No need." She grabbed a condom, ripped the foil packet and reached for him. "I think this entire floor of the hotel had that fact confirmed."
He laughed, but it faded fast. "Seriously, sweetheart, was it good?"
"The best." She brushed her lips across his as she rolled the condom on. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." His proud grin made her chuckle. "In case you were wondering, there's plenty more where that came from."
A sharp pain stabbed at her chest. Sadly, there wouldn't be, so she had to make every second count now.
"You talk too much." She straddled him, pinning his shoulders to the bed, delighting in his tortured yet rapturous expression as she eased down onto him, inch by exquisite inch.
He felt amazing inside her. Filling her. The right thickness. The right length. Like he was made for her.
But as he gripped her hips and thrust upward, withdrawing and doing it again and again and again until they were both mindless with passion, she knew that wasn't possible.
Good guys like Wyatt weren't made for bad girls like her.
So she took what she could. Riding him until the pleasure consumed her. Consumed him. And as she lay collapsed on his chest, cradled in the security of his arms, she knew what she had to do. The problem was, how could she do it, when it would break both their hearts?
Trying to ignore the ache spreading through her chest, she rolled off him and scuttled to the edge of the bed.
"Hey. Where do you think you're going?"
"Home," she said, clearing her throat when her response sounded like a mouse on helium. "I need to start packing."
The bed shifted and she stood, not wanting him to reach for her, touch her, not now. She couldn't bear it.
"What's wrong?" The warmth had leeched from his voice, replaced by the circumspection he'd sported when they'd first met.
She didn't blame him. He had every right to be mistrustful of her, considering she was about to drive a stake through his heart.
Quickly re-dressing, she inhaled a deep breath and turned to face him. Bad move. The ache in her chest turned into a sharp, stabbing pain as she saw his big brown eyes filled with solemnity, his dark rumpled curls, his tanned torso, highlighted by the crisp whiteness of his sheets. He looked oddly vulnerable, half tucked in bed, and she belatedly wished she'd waited until they were both dressed to do this.
"I've been offered an amazing job in London."
"Congratulations." He sat up straighter and the damn sheet covering his lower half slipped. "What are you going to do?"
"I've accepted it and leave in three days." A small white lie but she needed to end this here and now. Now that they'd declared their feelings, no point in dragging this out. Better to end this relationship now before she hurt him any more.
"But…I mean, I knew this was coming…what about us…" He shook his head, confusion contorting his brow. "So that's it? We don't talk about what this new job means for us? We end this before it's really begun?"
Tears burned the back of her eyes as she nodded. "We both knew going into this it had a limited time frame. I’m over Vegas. Time to move on."
His lips compressed in a thin, stubborn line, his glare mutinous. "But that was before…fuck, we just said we loved each other."
Ashlin couldn't take this anymore. She couldn't hash this out. She'd tried once before to convince a guy what was best for both of them. It hadn't worked back then and she couldn't bear to go through it again. It would kill her.
So she reached for the most hurtful, hateful lie she could think of to end things with Wyatt once and for all.
"A woman will say anything for her first orgasm in years." She forced a smirk, while something inside her broke. "This has been fun while it lasted, so thanks."
She made a run for the door, his angry, incredulous ‘what the fuck' doing little to eradicate her final memory of Wyatt: the desolation twisting his face into an expression akin to grief.
She'd done that to him.
And she'd never forgive herself for it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wyatt slouched on the couch in his hotel room, wearing two-day-old running shorts and surrounded by empty mini-bar bottles. He'd already called room service twice tonight to replenish supplies but they'd ignored his third call so maybe he'd been cut off. Fuck them. He'd get dressed and go out to continue drinking himself into oblivion.
But as he sat forward and his head moved, the memories crashed over him anew and he sank back with a groan.
He'd survived the last ten days by focusing on work all day and drinking all night. He'd had minimal interaction with anyone, citing off-site testing, to avoid going to Burlesque Bombshells the first few days when there'd been a chance of running into Ashlin.
Ashlin.
Fuck, she'd ripped out his heart, trampled it and tossed it away.
How the hell had he got it so wrong?<
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He'd put himself out there for the first time ever. Had let himself fall for her. Had fucking told her.
And she'd left without a backward glance.
He was such a chump. All she'd wanted was to get off and once he'd done that for her, she'd bolted. To the other side of the world.
He pressed his fingertips into his temples, knowing it would do little to stave off the blinder of a headache threatening to squeeze his skull. It wasn't the alcohol as much as thoughts of Ashlin and how meaningless she'd considered their relationship that caused it.
A knock sounded at the door. He ignored it for a moment, until he realized it could be Room Service taking pity on him and ready to replenish the minibar.
He padded across the room, not caring that he staggered a little. The faster he reached oblivion tonight the better. However, when he opened the door, it wasn't a hotel employee that greeted him.
Glaring at his brothers, he growled. "Who the fuck are you, the three musketeers?"
Zane grinned, Steele frowned and Kurt pushed his way into the room. "Get dressed, bozo."
"What the hell for?"
"Because I don't want to have to kick your sorry ass in those stinking shorts." Kurt shoved him toward the bathroom. "Go shower. Dress. And get back here in five minutes."
"Bully," Wyatt muttered, eyeballing Zane and Steele. "What are you all doing here?"
"Consider this an intervention," Steele said, his resolute tone brooking no argument. "We're done watching you wallow and we're not leaving here without you."
Zane nodded. "It's what brothers do. Stick together in the tough times."
Wyatt made a run for the bathroom, before the tears stinging his eyes spilled over and he made an ass of himself.
Kurt had never stood by him for anything, but he'd taken time out of his busy schedule to fly here, probably on the urging of his Aussie half-siblings, and it spoke volumes.
As for Zane and Steele, the fact they cared enough about him to be here now meant more than they'd ever know.
He may be a sorry-ass in love but he'd sure lucked in with his siblings.