They’d searched everywhere—Preston and Ashley, Frank and the Xings. Followed the trail of blood until it disappeared, and kept looking, armed with flashlights and a determination spurred on by panic. Found nothing, not anywhere, and now Preston watched Ashley pace back and forth in their room, a frenzy of restless energy. She’d made him drag a bookcase in front of the door, but it appeared to barely make a difference to her frazzled nerves.

“Ashley, you need to calm down,” he said from his position on the edge of the bed, watching her helplessly. He’d tried to hold her, but she’d shaken him off with an irritable sigh.

“I am calm,” she said. “I’m just thinking.” Back and forth she paced, her steps quick and sharp. “This is how I think.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a wonder you haven’t worn away the floors in your house.”

She ignored him, and he cast about for a distraction, eyes alighting on the mini bar beneath the TV. There wouldn’t be much in it, but it might help all the same. “How about a drink?”

“No thank you,” she said bluntly, and he couldn’t take any more of this. Another minute of it would drive him nuts.

He got up, approached her, planted his hands on her shoulders and forced her to stop. To look at him.

“You’re safe here, you know?” he said softly. “We’ve barricaded the door, and if anyone does get in, I won’t let them near—”

“You have to move the bookcase.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I want to go downstairs,” she said, and it was in that moment he realized she wasn’t afraid or panicked. She’d been doing exactly what she said she was—thinking. Working it out. Piecing it together. “The steam—you said it comes from a system in the basement, right?” At his nod, she added dryly, “Good place to hide a body. And dragging a body down is a lot easier than trying to get it onto an upper floor. Larry’s gotta be in the basement.”

She pulled away from him, headed over to the bookcase in front of the door, and threw her weight into the side of it as if she was going to move it with or without his help.

“You don’t know that,” he said, watching her, mind spiraling at the sight of it all, at her determination to go running into the path of a killer.

She grit her teeth, pushed harder on the bookcase. “We tried everywhere on these floors.”

He couldn’t stand by and let her do this on her own, and he knew nothing he said would appease her. She was going to investigate that basement even if she had to force her way past him as well as the bookcase. He huffed a sigh of immense exasperation and said, “You’ll be the death of me,” and joined her at the door.

“You don’t have to come,” she muttered, scowling. He rolled his eyes at her.

“Are you crazy? Of course I’m coming,” he said as he gripped the other side of the case. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.” Between them, they lifted the bookcase away. Then he all but had to run to keep up with her as she charged out of the room, towards the staircase.

He wanted to throttle her for her recklessness. “Stay close,” he said once they made it down to the basement, and between them, they began a lengthy search of the room’s nooks and crannies.

Half an hour later she stood in the middle of the basement, hands on hips, sighing. “Anything?”

He retreated from the alcove he’d been investigating behind one of the massive steam pipes and approached her. “No,” he said apologetically, watching her face fall.

“I was so sure…”

“We really should just leave it to the cops. They’ll have a whole team to comb this place. You need to just focus on making it through the night.” He reached up, brushed loose hair from her forehead. “This isn’t your job.”

“I guess,” she said forlornly, gazing around with a morose gleam in her eyes. “D’you think this might tarnish the resort’s reputation?” she asked him, but it was something he was actively trying to not think about, so he didn’t answer. “What’re you gonna do?” The words came out shaken, and he realized she was trembling, shivering with cold.

“I’ll manage,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her in. “I always do. Come here.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, but she didn’t resist—instead tucked herself close, burrowing into whatever warmth he could provide.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “We’re in the middle of a blizzard, you know.”

“And you have a steam system.”

“Pumping heat up, not down.” He rubbed her arms, her back, but it didn’t seem to help much so he stepped back and took her hand. “You’re freezing. Let’s go up and get warm.”

She went with him, oddly agreeable, and it wasn’t until they were back in the room with the door closed securely behind them that he saw it—that same look in her eyes she’d had when she’d been desperately trying to get to his belt.

Something about his touch down in the basement had reignited whatever it was she’d felt in the moments after he’d brought her to orgasm, and the realization of it made him hard in a second.

“Hey.” He caught her by the hand and brought her in, seized her mouth and kissed her deep, hard, instantly relentless with it because he was on a thin wire here, and it was fraying.

She broke away, gasping, eyes shining. Shocked by his boldness, by the abruptness of it, but no less wanton in her expression. Yet she let her insecurities rule her desires once more, and she said, “I’m not sure I should,” squirming away from him. “I’m sorry.”

He could’ve screamed. He could’ve hunted down that bastard ex of hers and hammered his head into a wall. Instead he said, with his frustration spilling into every word, “Ashley, god, you’re so beautiful. How can I—” And then it hit him, and he stopped. Took a breath. “Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

She stared at him uneasily. “What?”

“Come on.” He reached for her hand, pulled her across the room. Positioned her before the floor-length mirror that was pinned to the front of the closet door. “Stand here,” he said. “And look at yourself.”

She instantly averted her eyes, twin spots of color appearing on each cheek. “I don’t—”

“Look at yourself,” he urged, turning her face forward. He traced fingers along her jawline, put his other hand on her shoulder. Waited a moment to allow her a breath, and to ensure she had the vision of herself in her sights. “Do you see this beautiful face?” he asked her. “These deep eyes, these angles…” He ghosted a thumb across her full, succulent bottom lip. “Your face is like art.”

He could tell she wanted to look away, maybe even leave altogether, but she gamely kept looking forward. Perhaps there was a part of her that was curious about where he was going with this—and it was that part of her he spoke to.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said anyway.

He smiled. “No.” He curved his hands over the slope of her shoulders, drifted down her upper arms. “I want you to see yourself how I see you. Just trust me.”

“Preston…” she said on a whisper, swallowing—nervousness, perhaps, or maybe he was reaching something within her that liked this attention.

“These arms—”

“Soft.”

“Strong,” he said, curling his fingers around the shape of her biceps. “These are the arms of a woman who works. Who’s busy.” He traced lower, ran his fingertips over the inner softness of her elbows—watched her melt for him, just slightly, at the touch. “A woman who takes care of important things—like saving lives.”

The flush on her cheeks was spreading down her throat, creeping onto the bare skin left in the opening of the blouse. Her lips were parted, eyes focused on the movements of his hands. When he tugged her arm slightly away from her body and pulled her blouse tight to her, her breath stuttered. “Look at this,” he said.

“Preston, don’t.” She made an aborted shift as if to squirm away, but he pulled the blouse tighter, distracting her.

With the shirt pulled so taut, it displayed in crystal clarity the exact shape of her torso from ribcage to hip. “Don’t what?” he asked her. “Don’t show you the beautiful curve of your waist? Look at it.” He placed a hand on the flat area just below her breast and trailed down, following the shape to her side. “It’s so perfect. Your curve here, out…in…out over your hips…it’s hypnotic. Like a rhythm.” He clenched fingers around her hip bone and pulled her back against him as a wave of arousal pulsed through his groin. “And it’s sexy as hell,” he groaned, pushing against her. “You feel that?”

Her ass pressed back almost imperceptibly against the swelling of his cock, and they both sucked in a breath. “Yes,” she breathed, eyelashes fluttering.

“I’ve barely started touching you,” he said, rolling his hips just a fraction as he reached around and popped open the bottom button of her shirt. “See what you do to me? You’ve got to believe how much this—all of you—turns me on. I look at you and I’m desperate…” The second button came free, and Ashley reached behind to grab his hip, pull him closer. He had to clench his teeth as his cock pressed snugly against her ass.

“What else do you see?” she asked.

He answered her instantly, no need to think about it—popped all the buttons on her blouse as he spoke and she let him, watched him, whole body burning red but so obviously feeling something in this moment that she didn’t want to end it.

“Beauty. Sensuality. Everything about you is womanly,” he said, tugging on the last button and watching the shirt fall open. She swallowed and stopped breathing a moment, her hand tightening on his hip—but still she didn’t push him away, didn’t end this. He felt like he was hovering on the precipice of something incredible, and it was all he could do not to charge in and overwhelm her with his lust for her.

“To me, you radiate strength and desire and so much heart,” he told her—daring, with his own heart lodged in his throat, to reach up and cup one of her generous, beautifully rounded breasts, “and I can’t get enough of you, Ashley Woodsen. Can’t get enough of all of this.” He squeezed her breast, thumbed over a hardening nipple, his cock pulsing at the wanton gasp she gave, her body writhing against him. “Look how responsive you are,” he said, mesmerized by it. “How well you fit with me. This gorgeous blush you get when I touch you…”

He saw it—the moment she caved to her desires, her primal need as he tweaked her nipple and ran his other hand over the softness of her belly. Her eyes flooding with heat, teeth catching her bottom lip…her hand, desperate, pulling on his hip, trying to drag him in closer.

“Please…” she whispered, barely a sound on it, throaty and thick.

“Shh, relax,” he said, then tilted his head to nuzzle into her neck, taste her heat. “I’m not finished.”

She whimpered, and he nearly came undone.

Instead, he pulled the blouse off and let it fall to the floor, then flicked open the clasp of her bra. Revealed every glorious inch of her top half and swallowed the groan trying to push through as he felt his cock strain against his zipper. “Fuck. I knew you were beautiful, but I…”

His loss of words caught her attention, and her eyes focused enough to find his in the mirror.

“What?” she asked.

He stared at her, barely touched. Stared at her eyes and her body and wondered how the fuck he got to be so damn lucky. “Ashley,” he said. “You’re breathtaking.”

For a moment, it was like they were frozen in time. She didn’t speak, didn’t blink, barely even breathed. Then she turned to face him, looked up at him from an angle that left him feeling vulnerable and at her mercy, and placed a hand on his chest.

“You’re shaking.”

He nodded, speaking through clenched teeth. “It’s taking every ounce of my control not to throw you on that bed and just—” He stopped, gathered himself, and tried to find the frayed edge of his control. “Please,” he said, because he didn’t want to push her, god no—but he couldn’t walk away from this without trying, hoping, desperate for her to take him, all of him, everything he wanted to give her. “Ashley. Please.”

And she traced her lip with the tip of her tongue, took two steady breaths, and said, “I’m ready.”

She stood before him topless and flushed while he trembled with desire for her, and if she was saying what he thought… “You’re ready for me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yes…I think so.” There was hesitation in her words, but not in her eyes, not in the way she leaned into him as if pulled there by a magnet. By lust. The way their bodies craved each other—craved the touch and the taste and the exquisiteness of the pleasure he could give her.

That he was going to give her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her back around to look at herself again, and said, “Stay there.” She was already panting breaths, each one coming harder as he thumbed open the clasp of her pants and got on his knees behind her, yanked down the pants and her underwear in one swift move, and nearly vibrated out of his fucking skin when she instantly, obediently, kicked off the offending garments and toed them out of the way. When he stood and gathered in close behind her again, he was met by the sight of a shaking, powerfully aroused woman who was entirely naked save for a pair of fluffy gray socks, and he could’ve died in that moment, died and gone to heaven and been happy with it.

Instead he said, “Watch yourself,” and slipped his fingers over the neat patch of hair between her legs. He’d been here before, not that long ago this evening, but it seemed different now, felt different. He could see all of her, and he had access to every bit of her, and there was nothing as exposing as standing naked in front of a mirror and watching yourself go through the stages of arousal, but she was doing it—putting all of that trust and faith in him. It made his head spin; made him almost want to thrust against her ass until he found completion. But he wasn’t going to chase one ounce of his own pleasure without first giving her all of what she deserved, so he slipped a finger between the folds of her pussy and watched her part her legs just slightly, found her wet and warm and swollen already, so perfectly designed for his touch.

She released a rough, shaky breath as he pushed a finger inside her, circled her clit with his thumb and brought his other hand up to her breast, pinching a nipple. A throaty moan spilled from her, and she let her head fall to the side, rest against his, staring him in the eyes as he started a rhythm, thrusting in and out, around and over her clit. Her eyes fluttered, and he pushed in deep just to watch her flick them back open in surprise.

“Stay with me,” he said, speeding up, palming her breasts, fucking her with his fingers, watching her come apart as she gasped, slumped her weight back against him, as she moaned, and moaned again, her whole body burning red with the onset of orgasmic flush—

And suddenly he stopped, because this wasn’t what he wanted. He’d already brought her off with his fingers, and now—this time, he wanted a taste.

He removed his hands from her, said, “Hold yourself up.” Ignoring her whine of frustration and waiting for her to stand upright, he moved in front of her. Grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, kissed her throat, her jaw, dragged his teeth and tongue across her skin until he met her mouth and licked in, plundering her deep.

“Lean forward onto the mirror,” he instructed. Confusion passed through her clouded, darkened eyes before she did what she was told, pushing against his body as she leaned forward and braced her weight with her hands against the mirror.

Then he sunk onto his knees and grabbed a thigh, lifted it to balance on his shoulder—spreading her wide for his view, for his tongue. She made a sound like a sob, and he parted her folds and buried his face in her pussy.

The sound she released was almost animalistic, but he barely heard it over the mess of all of his senses drowning in her at once. Her scent send him wild—the taste of her spreading over his tongue like the sweetest nectar. He groaned against her sex, the vibrations making her hips jerk, before he centered in on her clit and flicked his tongue over it in a relentless focus, sucking on it, pressing a finger inside her and fucking her quick and hard and rough. All of it was obscene, the wetness of her, the slick noises, the way she groaned and trembled and then started grinding against him, fucking his face, seeking her own release as she grabbed his head with one hand and choked on a deep moan and thrust over his mouth.

She came on a stifled cry he felt all the way down to his bones, her whole body shuddering, pussy jerking against his face as her hips stuttered in orgasm, fingers tightening painfully in his hair.

He didn’t give her time to catch her breath—instead, he stood and freed his throbbing cock, wrapped her hand around it, seized her mouth in a bruising kiss, jerked himself off in her fist, and released his seed all over the soft skin above her pussy, rubbing it into her, marking her, branding her with his scent.

Then he went back down onto his knees, smirking into her skin as she whimpered.