Stud by Siskind, Kelly (15)

Fifteen

 

Owen

Like a pirate nearing a treasure chest, I approached the lumberyard I’d visited a handful of times, greedily eyeing the stacks of reclaimed wood—mountains of maple and walnut and black ash. Trees salvaged from people’s yards to be repurposed into functional furniture or decorative art.

My Mecca.

The owner, Ellen, waved to me, her Rottweiler trotting at her side. “You’re becoming a regular.”

“It’s the woodchip fumes. Gets me high.”

“If that were the case, I’d be rich by now.” She nodded toward the large barn flanking the property. “Another piece of tiger maple came out of the kiln today. She’s a beauty.”

“Is that so?”

“Thought of you the second I saw her. Actually wanted to pick your brain about something.” Ellen wore heavy work boots and a tattered plaid button-down over loose jeans, her dark hair shoved into a messy ponytail. Her dog, Birch, loped away and nosed at a stick on the ground. The incessant grind of a wood planer whirred, kicking dust into the chilly air.

I loved the lack of pretension here. “Shoot.”

“The way people are salivating for all things recycled, reclaimed wood is hot. I figured it was a good time to add a retail component to my business.”

“Sounds smart.”

“Yeah, but I’m not what you’d call artistic. I’ve been chatting with some clients, sussing out who’d be interested in selling pieces here. I have ins with a few designers looking for one-off stuff. Nothing factory made. You have a good eye for the nice pieces that come through. I’d have to see your work, make sure it fits with my vision, but I thought I’d check if you’re interested.”

If I was interested? I was practically frothing to convince her I was the man for the job. It would mean doing what I loved for a living, using my hands and mind to fashion beauty from nature. “Very interested. What would you need from me, besides seeing samples?”

She whistled on her fingers as Birch wandered toward the wood planer. Her dog trotted to his master, tongue lolling. “I want to start with three craftspeople. Which means, if it takes off, you’ll have to produce the volume needed. I’m clearing the equipment from the front barn. I’ll want enough work from each person to fill it. Make it impressive. Everything will be done on commission, so no cash up front. And you’d be free to do other jobs. I’m not expecting exclusivity.”

Mentally, I calculated how much time I’d need to make another few dining tables, maybe coffee tables and funky barstools, too. I pictured the modern shapes I’d imagined over the past months—sleek lines left rough and natural in spots.

I’d kill to jump on this opportunity, begin my business in earnest, but her talk of cash and commission had me hesitating.

I had a decent nest egg squirreled away, and I was okay not making the money I had in D.C., but I had no idea how much more cash my lawyer would siphon from my account, or when Tessa and I would finally sell our house and divide our assets. Getting pieces done for Ellen meant giving up volunteer hours and likely some of my paid handyman work. If I said yes to this venture and my divorce dragged on, buying materials could dwindle my accounts past my comfort zone. If I promised Ellen I could fill orders and wasn’t able to come through, it would tarnish my name.

But I couldn’t turn down something this perfect. “Count me in.”

We shook on it. “I’ll swing by your space soon. Check out your work in the flesh. For now, come see that sexy piece of maple.”

I left with three stunning wood planks in my truck bed, a future prospect that should have had me on cloud nine, but keeping my precarious finances from Ellen felt like a lie by omission.

A pattern of mine these days.

Ainsley had been at my place five times the past two weeks. Always my apartment, never hers. We’d eat dinner together, spend time on my back deck—her with a Vogue magazine, me with Shakespeare—not to mention the hours spent charting each other’s bodies. We’d even gone hiking, my little fashionista smiling as we meandered along a leisurely trail. Each date I’d ask her to stay the night, and she’d make a joke or brush me off, leaving me in bed alone.

I’d fucked things up not telling her about Tessa from the start. Her guard was up now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A shoe I could see hovering in midair, no clue how to force it to the ground without stomping on us. I kept hoping Tessa’s new lawyer would, by some miracle, force closure to our never-ending battle. A childish wish, really.

Like believing Santa would bring me my mother for Christmas.

I pulled into my driveway and unloaded my haul. I stood, arms crossed over my chest, staring at the rough wood planks. My gaze blurred and cleared, blurred and cleared. This was my ritual, communing with the pieces, waiting for inspiration to strike.

“If you’re hypnotized, does that mean you won’t notice if I yank down your pants?”

My butt cheeks clenched at the sound of Ainsley’s raspy voice. The woman oozed sex. “Give it a shot. We’ll see what happens.”

Her heels clicked closer. She dropped a takeout bag at my feet and snaked her arms around my waist. “I like this better.” She pressed her face into my back.

My heart pressed into my sternum. Gripping her left hand, I channeled my inner Fred Astaire and twirled her out from behind me, then spun her back in. Her ass landed flush with my groin. “I like this better.”

She twisted her head so she could see me, awe in her wide blue eyes. “Owen Phillips, you really can dance.”

Exotic scents of Indian food curled thickly from the bag at our feet, but it had nothing on her natural musk, always smelling sweet. Like chocolate. I shrugged a shoulder. “Nana was a great teacher. And…” I caught myself before spilling that nugget. I had a habit of divulging my most personal stories to Ainsley. One whiff of this tidbit, and she’d flay me with her quick-witted humor.

She swiveled around to face me, still in my arms. She palmed my cock over my jeans. “And what? I sense another Embarrassing Owen Story. Don’t hold out on me, cowboy.”

“Nothing to tell.”

She gave me another rough stroke. Heat flooded my veins, everything taut and pulsing.

“Liar.” Smirking, she released me and wriggled from my grasp.

The bombshell fought dirty. “Get back here.”

“I need convincing.”

Prowling closer, I grabbed her wrist and placed her hand back on my aching cock. We moved together, my hand over hers as we both jacked me off over my jeans. My vision clouded. She cupped me tighter. Then she paused. “Let’s hear it.”

What I needed was to hear her moan and call my name in ecstasy, but she wouldn’t give up easily. Ainsley was stubborn like that. “I took a year of ballroom dancing. Free classes at a community center.”

Let the jokes fly.

She didn’t laugh, though. Breathing harder she started fumbling with my belt buckle. “Just when I didn’t think you could get any hotter, you go and tell me you took dance classes.”

“If I knew it would turn you on, I’d have told you the first day we met.”

“Then I’d have pictured you dancing with Emmett.”

“Better that than picturing him and me in bed.” An image I needed to bleach from my brain. Lust throbbing in my bones, I gripped her shoulders and forced her to a healthy distance. “What about our dinner?”

She eyed the bag, then my crotch. “I’m hungry, but not for food.”

That’s my girl. “Get upstairs and get naked. I’ll close up here.”

I slapped her ass to send her on her way. She squealed, tossing me a sexy smile as she took our dinner and her luscious curves upstairs.

She may not have been ready to open up fully, sleep over and risk getting hurt, but she was all in for the hours we spent together. Our dirty explorations between the sheets. Our lunches at the site. The endless texting in between. I was falling harder, deeper, but she seemed to be coasting, enjoying our moments, not asking for more. For now, I’d take what I could get.

I stalked through my shop, my loose belt buckles clanking with my hurried strides. My hands itched to get back on my girl, but as I reached up to drag the garage door down, I halted.

A black SUV was parked at the end of the street, one I’d seen a few times recently. Not the usual pickup or beat-up car cruising this area. This truck was too posh to blend in. As though aware of my stare, its headlights shot to life, engine turning over as it pulled out and disappeared around the corner.

Paranoia gripped me, like I was in some TV cop show, invisible bad guys staking out my home. I hadn’t felt this unsettled since Tessa first accused me of the affair. It had taken a while to figure out I was being tailed back then, by a sleazy private eye hired to dig up non-existent dirt.

The same disquiet was back. It shot my mind to our last meeting—Tessa’s comment about me only ever hearing what I wanted. Something about it didn’t sit well. I’d also been stewing over the evil glimmer in her eye when she’d bragged about firing her lawyer. It left me worrying she had more planned. Or maybe this was her grand scheme: to play the part of emotional terrorist, leave me searching for strange cars, nervous to bring a new lover into my life.

Well, fuck that and fuck her. I had a woman upstairs who was hilarious and sweet, a pinup girl brought to life just for me. Ellen’s offer today meant there was a chance I could turn my passion into a business. Good fortune was coming my way, long overdue, and I deserved the chance to enjoy it.

I yanked down the garage door, a loud clang ringing as the metal struck the concrete, then I hastened up to my apartment.

Ainsley was in my room, in nothing but a skimpy pink bra and thong, my cowboy hat on her head. A stunning vision. She was doing some sort of ballet move, heels together, knees bending wide. She kicked out a leg and pulled her pointed toe up her inner thigh, twirling in place. The ends of her blond hair flew in a circle. “Doll, you shouldn’t do things like that. Makes me crazy.”

She curtsied. The demure ballerina. “Crazy good?”

“Crazy amazing.” I grabbed my T-shirt by the back of my neck and yanked it over my head. My jeans hit the floor, my socks next. My straining cock stretched my briefs at an awkward angle. “I have proof.” I pointed at my dick.

She licked her perfect lips. “That you do.” She removed the cowboy hat and placed it on my head. “How was the build today? I was bummed I couldn’t make it.”

Digging my fingers into her hips, I hauled her against me, stomachs flush, skin against skin. Heat licked my spine. “The first section of homes is looking great. More volunteers have been showing up. We’ll be landscaping soon.”

“I hate missing it.”

I spanned my hands across her tailbone. “I hate missing you. You should come tomorrow, if you can.”

But she frowned. Tomorrow was Friday. Anton would be there. I’d met the man who’d ridiculed Ainsley in high school, clocked some hours with him and his students. I hadn’t been happy about it at first. Spent the first hour fisting my hands, but Anton was good with the kids, firm but well liked, it seemed. It bothered me, what he’d done to Ainsley, but people change. He also limped from his broken leg and had gnarly scars on his burned hand. He’d been through enough.

Ainsley kneaded my shoulders like they were stress balls. “I’m planning on ambushing him soon. The thought makes me feel like I’m stuck in the Evil Bathroom again, or the Chucky’s Chicken walk-in fridge, but, like you said, I’ll regret not doing it.”

I rubbed her back, realizing just how hard this was for her. How much guilt she harbored from a prank gone awry. Under her dirty humor and perfect nails was a sensitive soul.

We were in our underwear, talking and touching, but neither of us moved to take things further. She nuzzled her cheek against my thudding heart, and her gaze landed on my bedside table. On my jar of broken glass.

She hadn’t asked about it since that first time, but whenever she came over, I’d find her staring at the shards, occasionally picking up a piece and studying it. I’d shared a lot with Ainsley, a woman who blew into my life with her painted nails and name-brand clothes—a stylish hurricane. Still, there was something about that glass. They were pieces of me. Fragments of my most intimate memories and misguided hopes for my future, another childish wish: to find the owner of my missing pieces. Someone who could make them whole.

Make me whole.

Possessiveness rushed through me, a hot blast of longing to brand Ainsley, mark her as mine. My hands moved as I walked us to the bed. I kissed her shoulder and neck, sucking and biting as I pressed my weight onto her in the middle of my sheets.

She purred. “Oh, I like that.”

“You taste like chocolate.” Decadent.

Her moan turned into a light laugh. “My favorite chocolatier sells a perfume. I dab it on my neck.”

“That explains why I want to devour you.” But not why I’m halfway in love with you. The unbidden thought had my next nip turning into a rough bite, and our hips lined up.

She took control then, flinging my cowboy hat to the floor and flipping us so she straddled me, a playful look of reproach spreading. “Is that the only reason?”

“Yeah.”

She pinched the skin at my ribs. “Try again.”

“Okay.” I rocked my hips up, pressing against her from below, nothing but two bits of fabric between us. “The real reason I can’t get enough of you is I worry about time.” I wasn’t expecting to reveal that much of my heart, risk her pulling away at my admission. I couldn’t shove the words back in now.

She shifted her weight slightly, tiny ripples that teased us both. “Why time?” Hesitancy bit into her tone.

There was so much I wanted to say to Ainsley. Confess how often she occupied my mind, that our time apart was painful, and I wanted to watch every old movie with her nestled into my side, wash dishes with her at my side, cook with her, fight with her, make up with her, take her to Morocco like she’d dreamed, and find a thousand ways to tell her how her beauty hurt my heart.

I settled on a sliver of truth. “Because, after you leave, when I close my eyes I can almost feel you in bed, beside me. When I open them, and you’re not here, disappointment sets in. The rough kind, like a hollow spreading in my gut.”

She sucked in a breath, her chin trembling. She didn’t speak, her unsaid words revealing as much as the moisture glazing her eyes. She felt it, too. I was sure of it—this unnameable connection. This sense of rightness. And she was scared. So Ainsley did what Ainsley did best: she changed the subject.

Blinking rapidly, she ghosted her nose along my chest, inhaling my scent. “You smell like apple pie.”

“That would be my soap. Nana started making it a couple years back. She sells it at a few markets and sends me home with it every visit.”

“I may need to buy a few bars.”

Or you could stay over, I didn’t say. You could live here and shower here and use my soap and be mine. But she wasn’t, not with the one ugly truth I’d kept from her.

It was selfish of me, not telling her about Tessa’s claims. The notion of speaking them aloud felt like breathing truth into the lies, giving them life. Still, it wasn’t fair. If Ainsley found out some other way, it would undermine everything we’d built. Ruin it. Ruin us. Pretending the whole ordeal would blow over was a fool’s errand.

She moved her hips faster, palms flat on my chest. I was pumped with lust and an aching need to be inside my woman. To forget this one small, yet massive snag.

But this couldn’t go on. “We need to talk.”

“We need to fuck.” With a sexy grunt, she slinked down my body, moving deliberately, teasing bites and licks tracing a tortuous path.

My thighs bunched, my abs contracting with each languid exploration. Christ, this woman. But I gripped her shoulders. “Seriously, there’s something we need to discuss.”

She nipped my hipbone. “I’m sure it can wait.”

I should have tried harder to stop her, fought the pull to melt into this moment, but she felt too good, and we could be on a timeline. When I revealed I’d been accused of cheating on my ex, I could lose her. She was already halfway out the door as it was…

Her fingers lingered on my pecs as she descended, and I let her descend. I gave myself over to the perfection of her hot mouth on my skin. She toyed with my nipples, my chest hair, tracing a trail to my throbbing dick, pulling my briefs off on her way. She hummed against my shaft, ran her lips up and down the sides, fondling my balls with her skilled fingers in a blinding rhythm.

I didn’t know if it was our blowjob conversation on that disastrous date, or her inherent expertise, but Ainsley Hall sucking me off was a one-way ticket to Nirvana.

Which was exactly where she took me.

Her full lips swallowed me, the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat. It was like she didn’t have a gag reflex, taking me deeper, working me harder. Her small hands gripped and pumped while she sucked and used her tongue. I couldn’t help but move my hips and fist her hair, knees wide as my balls pinched, so much heat flooding my groin. Too much heat. I needed to see her eyes when I came, feel her pulse around me.

Pulling my hips back, I eased her up. She looked wickedly pleased, her lips red and used, her cheeks flushed. I flicked her bra clasp and tossed the lace, taking her breasts in my hands, so big and lush. Absolute perfection. Touching wasn’t enough.

Lifting up, I kissed and sucked her supple flesh, taking her nipple between my teeth as she tossed her head back, arching toward me. Her hips moved, searching for friction, but I wasn’t done. I went to work on her other breast, feasting on her, like the desperate man I was, eventually rubbing my face between her tits, happy to drown in all things Ainsley.

Her husky laugh broke my spell. “So you’re a breast man.”

“I’m an Ainsley man. Want it all.” I thrust upward, only her underwear between us.

She whimpered and rocked, her pussy so wet and hot, drenching the thin fabric. Flipping us so I straddled her, I continued worshipping her breasts, the soft skin over her ribs, the dip of her belly button, the swells of her hips, perfectly full and womanly. I couldn’t touch her enough, open-mouthed kisses trailing her from end to end.

When I reached the valley between her thighs, she trembled. “God, yes.”

“You a praying woman?”

“Only if it makes you work faster.”

“Still so demanding.”

“Stop talking and start licking.”

I chuckled, then blew a stream of air over all that wet heat. Her hips kicked and knees trembled. I ground my own hips into the mattress, trying to tame my desire, but being with Ainsley, smelling her arousal, pungent and sweet, had my blood pounding.

I kissed her, exactly where she wanted me. I thrust my tongue into her, grinning as she pushed into my face. I wanted her to ride me, steal her pleasure. Submerge in my own. I held her open and flicked my tongue, working her in a steady rhythm, then pulled back, teasing her, taunting her. She nearly yanked out a fistful of my hair. When her frustrated groan dripped with hunger, I finally gave her what she demanded. Taking my fill, I licked and sucked until she bucked, little shocks shaking her pelvis.

Eventually, she pushed me away. “If that’s a form of religion, consider me a convert.”

I lifted onto my knees. “I love tasting you. Could do it all night.”

Her hooded gaze hovered over my dick, which jutted out toward her, hard and flush. “Sex now.” She gripped my length, giving it a solid pump. Fuck.

I sheathed myself in record time, then pushed into her. I lost track of time, of space. There was no shattered glass by my bed, no divorce looming over me. No financial issues or impossible conversation on the horizon. There was just us, fitting together. Her hands were on me, messy kisses traded, my thighs slapping against hers as I lifted her up, pushing deeper.

Breasts bouncing, she clutched the sheets as I drove into her. I watched where we were joined—me sinking in and out, tight wet heat circling me. Desire blasted up my thighs, driving me from hard to titanium.

She bit her lip and pulled me closer, wrapping her legs around my waist. “You feel amazing.”

“Heaven,” I agreed.

Eyes locked, we rode the high until we crashed. She tipped over first, clenching so fucking tight around me I shot off like a firework, calling her name as the high pummeled through me. We were both shaking slightly, breathing hard. A thin sheen dotted her brow, and I could feel condensation on my lower back, where her fingers danced. My head was hazy.

“Owen?”

The quiver in her voice had my awareness creeping back. “Yeah?”

She pulled my hips farther into her, keeping us joined. “I never thought I’d meet someone like you.”

Her face softened, trust and something more blooming…and my heart reared. I wasn’t sure if it wanted to gallop closer to her or canter away, but this moment wasn’t right. What I was keeping from her tainted it, corroded the beauty of her admission. My answering silence also had her frowning.

I kissed her lips, then pulled out and dealt with the condom. She was on the move, too, probably unsure why I was freezing her out. We got dressed in a distracted hurry. I mumbled something about our dinner. She didn’t glance my way.

This was her pattern: have sex and close down. Get dressed and get gone.

I’d stopped asking her to stay over, the rejection stinging more with each rebuke. Except her confession just now could have been her reaching for a lifeline. If I’d asked her to sleep with me for the night, she might have said yes.

I paused in my doorway, one foot toward getting plates and the Indian food she’d brought and letting us go on like this. Staying in this space where we had unreal sex and laughs, not the intimacy I craved, but no risk, either. My other foot was stuck in my room. Stuck in my past.

Just plain stuck.

It was time to offer Ainsley the honesty she deserved.

As I opened my mouth to do just that, finally sit down and spill the truth, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from my dresser and tapped the screen.

I’d seen a symphony of expressions cross Ainsley’s face, from erotic rapture to stressed claustrophobia to simple joy. Her flaring nostrils and widening eyes were none of those things.

I stepped toward her. “Something wrong?”

The phone shook as she angled the screen my way. “Why don’t you tell me?” Her usual raspy voice thinned and cracked.

Cupping her outstretched hand in mine, I read the text that had my girl upset.

From one woman to another, you should know that Owen cheated on his wife while they were married.

Fucking hell. Jaw clenched, I pulled the phone from her and checked the number. The D.C. area code had me nearly dialing Tessa and yelling at my ex, but the familiar number wasn’t hers. It took a second for it to click, to realize who’d decided to upend my life.

Goddamn Caroline. But why?

She’d been disgusted with me when I ran into her at the law firm, but ambushing my girlfriend was a whole other level of scorn. Unless she’d had some urging. I’d stupidly mentioned to Tessa that I’d met someone during our argument. Did she and Caroline have a girls’ night out? Relive their rage over glasses of wine? Decide together to ruin my life?

“Owen?” Ainsley’s voice was just a whisper, laced with pain. “Why do you look more mad than surprised?”

I tossed her phone on the bed. “It’s not true. I swear to God, it’s not true.”

Her shoulders hunched forward, her breath coming faster. She was in slim black pants, a loose cream top hanging off one shoulder, always stylish and sexy. What wasn’t sexy was how she was curling in on herself, looking at me like I was a stranger.

I gestured to my living area. “Can we sit and talk?”

She swallowed, but didn’t answer.

“Ainsley, please. I know how this looks, but I can explain.”

“God, Owen…did you read that text? I mean, I’m freaking out here. I don’t even know what to think.” She crossed her arms over her middle as though she might fall apart.

I was furious at Caroline for sending that text, but seeing Ainsley barely holding it together gutted me. My anger leached out. “Tessa thinks I cheated on her, like that text said, but I didn’t. I’ve wanted to tell you, but with your past and everything I was scared to bring it up.”

“So you kept it from me?”

“It was the wrong choice, but I’d decided to tell you tonight. That’s why I asked if we could talk before we made love. Please, just hear me out.”

I couldn’t be sure if it was her remembering me asking her to talk or the reference to us making love, but she finally nodded. I all but collapsed. If I didn’t fix this, I’d lose her. It would serve me right for keeping the details of my divorce secret, but the possibility was acid to my lungs.

Once her feet were tucked under her, both of us facing each other on my couch, I exhaled. “We’d been in a bad place awhile, Tessa and me. Years, really. She’d thrown herself into work, and I’d started volunteering at a Habitat build to escape my job. We rarely saw each other. Hadn’t been intimate in ages.”

I wanted to reach for Ainsley, hold her hand and feel our connection, but her unblinking gaze held me back. Throat thick, I forged on, “You’re the first woman I’ve been with since her. She and I were basically strangers for our last year together, even before that hardly connecting. We fought regularly. It took an eye-opening conversation with a friend to make me realize I wouldn’t be able to love Tessa again, no matter how long I held on, and when I ended things, she kind of…”

I gritted my teeth, remembering the animosity emanating from her that day. “She kind of snapped. She accused me of cheating on her. Refused to accept we were done, that I was leaving her to be on my own, not for someone else. To this day, I have no idea why she thinks I abused her trust. I’m not sure if it’s because we weren’t sleeping together. She’s vague about it, but vehement. She’s never even uttered a woman’s name, whoever she suspects.”

Except Tessa was cagey like that, treating us like we were in court, holding onto her best cards until they would do the most damage.

I couldn’t imagine what fable she’d concocted, or what drove her sordid conclusion. In the end, I’d assumed it was her saving face with her friends and at her firm, shifting the blame to me. It still left me uneasy, had my mind back on that SUV outside and her battle-ready glint during our recent fight. Even this stunt reeked of Tessa—using an investigator to find out who I was dating would be child’s play for her, securing Ainsley’s number a cinch.

None of that mattered, though. And she had nothing left to hold over me. What mattered was Ainsley, the heartbreaking turmoil on her beautiful face.

“That’s a lot to absorb,” she said quietly.

At least she wasn’t yelling or running away. I inched closer, dropped my voice lower. “I know. I should have told you, but I was worried. Your ex and the guys you work for—that stuff’s a big deal. I figured you’d get one whiff of this and bolt. And my old friends all believe Tessa. They think I’m a lying sack of shit, which really hurts. That’s who the text was from—I recognized her number. Caroline and I were close before, but I saw her on my trip to D.C., and she ripped into me. I don’t know if she sent that text with Tessa or on her own. Either way, she probably thinks she’s doing you a favor. So it’s all just…” I focused on the stuccoed ceiling, wishing things weren’t so damn complicated.

“Owen.”

I couldn’t face her yet. Not until I’d said it all. I kept my attention on the off-white divots and craters above our heads. “Thing is, Ainsley, you’ve kind of knocked me off my feet. I’m falling hard for you, but this is me—my shitty life right now. If you can’t trust me after that text and what I’ve said, I understand. You’ve been through a lot. But the real truth, the harder truth, is losing you will hurt like hell.”

I prepared for her to get up, grab her purse, and leave. Instead her fingers threaded through mine. “Look at me.”

Steeling my nerves, I snuck a glance. Indecision flickered in her blue eyes. An unsettled sea. “Did you cheat on your wife?”

“No.” One sure syllable. The only life preserver I had.

She stared at me, unwavering. I couldn’t read a thing. But she held my hand and held my gaze and held my heart in her hands. Then she blinked. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t like that you lied, and if you’re lying now, I will cut off your nuts in your sleep, but I’m not ready for this to end.”

I didn’t dare ask if that meant she’d be sleeping over. “I’m not lying.”

Her answering grin didn’t reach her eyes. “Then we’re good. Let’s have dinner.”

Her tone was abrupt, her movements purposeful, as though the momentum would keep her together. Her stiffness tore at me.

I needed to prove how much I cared for her. Show her I was a man of my word, faithful and true. I also needed to thaw this fresh ice between us. Her delight at my dancing admission earlier had been a thing of beauty, the way it had lit her up. A flame I could fan. Maybe it was time to pull out my rusty moves and make Ainsley Hall the star of her own Hollywood Musical.