Chapter Ten
Ashlyn
“You’ve met him? Wonderful. He’s here this evening. Perhaps you can—”
“Dad, I . . .” Ashlyn cast around for an excuse. Any excuse. An alien invasion, zombie apocalypse . . . hell, a Backstreet Boys reunion tour would have been welcome at the moment. Her gaze settled on Mason and she felt her erratic pulse begin to slow. “I’m here with someone.”
“I realize that. But it doesn’t mean you can’t speak with anyone else. I’m sure he won’t mind loaning you out for a dance or two.”
Loaning her out? What was she, a library book?
Mason frowned. “I’m sure Ash can decide for herself—”
“See there?” Her father was either oblivious to Mason’s sour tone or he chose to ignore it. “You’ve got a good friend. Maybe he can go get a drink while you find Preston. And, for the love of god, do not piss him off.”
All the blood drained from Ashlyn’s face as she watched her father walk away, leaving her lightheaded and slightly dizzy. Shit. Shit. Super shit. It was official; the entire universe was against her. Preston Harding didn’t strike her as the overly forgiving sort. Odds were he probably wasn’t over the whole ‘making him eat his balls’ thing.
“Hey . . .” Mason edged closer, draping his arms over her shoulders to create a semi-private space for the two of them amid the chaos. “You alright? Need some air? Food? We can—”
“No, no. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. Fine was quickly becoming a foreign concept as she scanned the room for the one face she was looking for and hoped not to see. “Why don’t you go get a drink while I—”
“I don’t want a drink.”
“Then get me one.” There he was, near the veranda with a girl on each arm. Preston threw his head back as he laughed at something someone said, blue eyes sparkling, and the girls swooned. Bitterness coated Ashlyn’s tongue. The charming bastard looked like a cover model for Perv Magazine. “I’m gonna need it.”
***
Ashlyn watched Mason get swallowed up by the crowd before setting her course. She needed to get this over with. Preferably before he returned.
Preston stood sandwiched between a pair of blondes. Obviously, he had a type. Noelle Marsh, daughter of Mark and Linda Marsh, joint CEO’s of a waste disposal company that had made them richer than God. And Vanessa Lewis, daughter of Governor Aaron Lewis. The governor was a nice enough man, but his daughter took after her mother; a gold-digging sociopath.
Ashlyn’s steps slowed to a stop near the edge of the dancefloor. He was talking. It would be rude to interrupt. Excuses, excuses a little needling voice sing-songed in the back of her mind. So what if he was a douche-canoe? They were in the middle of a very crowded room, surrounded by very important people. Not even Preston would dare try anything there. Ashlyn’s chin came up and she squared her shoulders, prepared to march into battle. Her mother was counting on her. She could smile, be polite, somehow charm her way out of this mess.
With a racing heart and no clue what she was going to do or say, Ashlyn stepped forward only to be brought up short almost immediately.
“Ashlyn, it’s so nice to see you.” Roger gave a polite, if somewhat quirky, little bow and grinned up at her. “The belle of the ball as always.”
“Um . . .” Ashlyn glanced over his shoulder. Preston could wait another minute. The first genuine smile of the evening curled her lips as some of the stress eased from her rigid spine. “Thank you, Roger. It’s nice to see you, too.”
His hair was parted down the middle and combed neatly into place. And, as usual, he wore a tux and a friendly smile. “How are you doing this evening?”
“I’m good. Thanks. And you? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course. Your mother does throw the best events.” Roger leaned closer. With his height he had a perfect vantage for peeking down her dress, but his eyes never once strayed from hers. “Mainly because you’re at all of them.”
His wink made Ashlyn laugh. He really was sweet. Someday he was going to make some girl very happy.
“Care to dance?” He held out his hand and Ashlyn hesitated. Why wasn’t she that girl? What was wrong with her that she’d let a guy like Preston Harding take her upstairs, but she couldn’t seem to cultivate an ounce of interest in a nice guy like Roger? Something in her brain must have been wired wrong.
“I’m sorry, Roger. I’m actually with someone tonight. And I really must speak with Preston for a minute.”
The warmth drained out of his expression, leaving it cold and flat. “Oh. I thought—”
“Don’t.” Preston materialized beside them and slapped Roger on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “You’ll hurt yourself, Rog.”
Ashlyn’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t even seen him coming. At last glance he’d been thoroughly occupied. Noelle and Vanessa looked like a pair of abandoned puppies, staring after him. If they hadn’t both been raging bitches to her in the past, Ashlyn might have almost felt sorry for them.
“Heard you were looking for me.” A self-satisfied smirk sat below his crooked nose. “I saw you talking to your dad. No doubt he sent you over here with instructions to . . . play nice.”
Preston ran his knuckles down her bare arm and goosebumps sprouted in their wake, sending a bolt of ice cold straight to her core. Ashlyn recoiled as though his touch was venomous and her body responded in much the same way. Pressure built from within, making her skin feel too tight. Breathing became a chore and darkness tinged her vision.
Play nice. Play nice. Play nice.
“Please . . .” She searched desperately for reinforcements, but Roger had abandoned her. She was on her own. “Don’t touch me.”
“What if I want to touch you?” His tone sounded conversational, but she heard the underlying threat. “What are you going to do about it?”
What could she do? Her control was gone. Taken by her mother’s campaign, by Mark’s research, by her father’s request, and handed over to Preston-dirtbag-Harding. Ashlyn had to extract her fingernails from where they’d embedded themselves in her palms to keep from punching the smug bastard.
You know how important tonight is.
“Listen, about the other night, I wanted to—”
“Yes, about that . . .” Preston leaned in closer, purposely invading her personal space. Unlike Roger, his gaze was not nearly as chivalrous. Ashlyn suddenly wished for a turtleneck, and a scarf, and a Kevlar vest. “I was thinking we could pick up where we left off and—”
Ashlyn took a step back and bumped into someone. Grateful for the intrusion, she spun around to apologize only to have a wine glass shoved into her hands.
“Here’s your drink.” Mason’s glare arched over her head.
“Got yourself a new boy-toy?” Preston gave him an unappreciative once over and sneered. “Watch out for this one, man. She may look pretty enough . . .”
Again he reached for her and Ashlyn had nowhere left to run. She cringed and felt Mason press harder against her back. Or maybe she was pressing against him. Then, out of nowhere, Mason reached around her and grabbed Preston’s arm, bending it back at an awkward angle.
“Hey, man.” Preston struggled, but Mason had been on the wrestling team for three years in high school. He curled his free arm around Ashlyn’s waist and gently maneuvered her aside.
“She asked you not to touch her,” Mason growled.
Ashlyn’s stomach dropped. Pain pulsed through her body as adrenaline flooded her veins. A rising tide of nausea crept up the back of her throat.
“Stop.” Discarding her untouched wineglass on a passing tray, Ashlyn worked to pry Mason’s grip from Preston’s arm. “Let him go. Please, Mason . . . not here.”
“Yeah, Mason. Not here. Not there. Not anywhere,” Preston spit the words in her direction. “This girl’s nothing more than a serious case of blue balls just waiting to happen.”
Mason stepped into him, drawing his arm up even higher until Preston’s mouth snapped shut. “You don’t talk to her like that. Apologize. Now.”
“Mason, please . . . Please don’t.” She grabbed his thumb and yanked, finally succeeding in breaking his grasp.
Preston took a quick step away and shook out his arm. He looked pissed.
For the love of god, do not piss him off.
Ashlyn’s throat closed. Heat swelled as though she’d stepped inside a furnace and a sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead and palms. Her gaze bounced from one exit to the next. The walls were closing in on her. She needed to go. She needed to get the hell out of there right now. If she could just get outside . . . But she couldn’t. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. Couldn’t breathe.
“Preston, I’m so sorry. He didn’t mean to . . . I didn’t . . .” Deep breaths. She needed to keep it together for a few more minutes. Long enough to do some damage control. “I apologize for—”
“No need to apologize.” The salacious twist of his lips could hardly be called a smile. “Just kiss it and make it better.”
“Wh-what?” Ashlyn sputtered.
“You heard me. Give me a kiss and I might not have to tell my grandfather about all of this.”
A low keening noise reached Ashlyn’s ears and it took her a moment to realize it was coming from her.
“Ash . . .” Mason tugged on her elbow. “Let’s go.”
She took a step back and Preston lifted his chin. “Oh look, there he is, speaking with your mother. It looks like she’s doing a fine job of charming him.”
Senator Harding stood near the podium beside her mother. She had her hand on his arm and as Ashlyn watched, he laughed at something she said.
Senator Harding’s support is the key to nailing down this election.
“It would be a shame if your boyfriend here ruined all her hard work. My grandfather doesn’t take lightly to physical violence.”