It was barely 9:00 a.m. and Ash had already learned two valuable lessons.
Lesson number one: when you asked a woman if you could stand in the corner of the bathroom and masturbate while watching her get ready for work, it got you a cold stare and the threat of a hot curling iron to the gonads. Considering the ick factor, it also made you feel like a sexual deviant, so he probably wouldn’t have done it, even if she’d approved.
Probably.
Lesson number two: no matter what an uppity pastry chef or sugar-addicted kid told you, a dozen cupcakes could spur an inquisition and ruin your day.
Or attempt to ruin it.
When you woke up with the woman of your dreams tracking kisses across the blade of your shoulder, it was tough to summon irritation for the coming day.
Ash slid the clear plastic container of red velvet cupcakes toward the center of the table in the Scorpio conference room and pulled out a chair opposite Sam. Dropping his phone on the table with a clatter, he palmed his leaded coffee and leaned back in the supple leather. Five stunned faces stared at him, their animated cross chatter ceasing abruptly.
Grady gripped the table’s edge, confused. “What’s happening here?” Seeking guidance, he looked toward Sam. “Sammy?”
Sam wasn’t talking, nor were Nolan and Beck. They were too busy assessing him like he’d grown a third eyeball.
“What is it, Ash? Are the Russians coming?” Mike snickered. “Do I need to grab my family and head for the safe house in the Sierra Nevadas? There’s room for everyone, as long as Nolan doesn’t bring his harem. We’d need a Marriott to hold that.”
“There’s not that many,” Nolan scoffed, then counted on his fingers. “Oh, hold up a minute. Beck, how many women constitute a harem?”
“Do I look like Google?” Beck indicated the cupcakes with his chin. “I’m trying to solve that mind-blowing riddle right now.”
“They’re fucking cupcakes, people. Get over it.” Ash took a burning gulp of coffee.
“Yeah, we know what they are,” Sam said, finally speaking up. “What we don’t know is how they came to be in your possession. And why.”
The caffeine weaving through his veins made Sam’s grin less annoying.
Carrie breezed in, bringing the scent of baby power and the sound of rustling papers with her. Head down, she walked toward the windows, shuffling through the reports.
Stopping in front of the wide window ledge, she looked up. Then to her right. Then her left. “Where is he? I watched him walk in here.”
Five index fingers pointed directly at him when she swung around, wagging for good measure.
Her face scrunched up in concern. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your back? Oh, my God, did Olivia take a baseball bat to you? I know she’s mad, but she didn’t seem violent. I guess what they say is true, hell hath no fury. But still, I’m outraged on your behalf, Ash. Outraged. I’ve got half a notion to go give her a piece of my—oh, cupcakes!” Tossing the papers his way, she clapped her hands and cracked the plastic seal. “Yummy.”
Like ravenous animals, the rest pounced in a feeding frenzy. Only he and Sam, who tapped rapidly into his phone, remained seated. When Ash’s cell beeped a text notification, he glanced at it, seeing Sam as the sender.
Sammy: Love’s a wild ride. She may not make it easy, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me. Welcome back to the land of the living, brother.
Grumbling under his breath, Ash shut the door on that conversation immediately, tapping back a retort.
AC: Okay, Wise One. Wanna tell me why Mike’s fingernails are so dirty?
Sammy: That’s not dirt. It’s brownies. Carrie put him on a diet. He binged on his way here.
“Hey, Ash, what do you think of these chairs? Comfy, right?” Nolan rocked in his identical chair, squeezing the leather-covered armrests and executing a full spin. “Nice, right?”
“Funny.” Barely looking up, he sorted through the reports. “They were a small fortune, so they’d better be.”
“Leave him alone,” Carrie said, coming to his rescue. “Or he’ll go back to his hiding spot and we’ll never get him out again.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” he fired back, scowling.
“Of course, you weren’t, sweetie.” She slapped Mike’s hand playfully when he reached for a third cupcake, snapping the lid shut before he could grab it. “You were just a frowny-faced wallflower, waiting for the right girl to ask you to dance.”
He eyed her, ready to dodge a condescending head pat.
“So, I have a hypothetical question for everyone,” she said, around a mouthful of cake. “Everyone but Mike, that is.” Her tone raised their antennas. This was a trick question.
“Damn, Carrie, you know they’re gonna side with you.” Mike winked at her. “Because you look so pretty today.” When she glared, he shrugged, taking the assignment report Ash slid his way. “Apparently I make rage-inspiring comments.”
“If your husband is cold and attempts to snuggle with you because your ‘winter body,’ as he rudely worded it, will warm him up, what do you think the appropriate response is? Outside of lacing his Gatorade with antifreeze.”
Clueless, Mike defended himself. “I also said your lasagna makes every other lasagna that came before taste like dog shit. It’s a compliment. You make a tasty dinner, and you’re very warm.”
“I’m concerned you know what dog shit tastes like.”
“Hey, I had a life before you.”
Grady held up a hand. “Are you two talking about lasagna or something else?”
“Lasagna,” they chorused in unison.
“Dude, that’s terrible.” Grady gave Carrie a shoulder squeeze. “Clearly the only answer is castration. Let me grab a rusty pair of pliers and a dull knife. You can do the honors.”
“Until I get a girl, I need his baby maker intact.” She wiped cupcake crumbs off the table with the side of her hand and headed back to the lobby.
The mention of a baby had gazes swinging toward Sam, and the smile that split his face was pure pride.
“We’re waiting. It’s just about killing Ali, but we wanna be surprised. And we’re up to our ears in yellow. Yellow paint, yellow crib bumpers, yellow T-shirts no bigger than my hand. I’m betting this kid won’t be a week old before she hits the home improvement store and cracks out a ladder and paintbrushes. I’m team girl. She’s team boy.”
“Only one dick to worry about with a boy,” Mike pointed out. “With a girl, you gotta worry about all the dicks.”
As they rattled on, Nolan whispered to Beck, “What are crib bumpers?” He held up two fists. “Baby boxing gloves?”
Beck’s uncomfortable shrug made Ash’s lips quirk, but he kept the smile to himself, along with the answer. The cupcakes had caused enough uproar.
“According to Instagram, Nolan is a new dad,” Grady interjected, the office gossip hound.
A ruddy flush stained Nolan’s cheeks, and he shook his head. “It’s a tale as old as time. Boy meets girl, girl is a spitfire in the sack, boy becomes a moron.”
“Boy becomes pussy-whipped.” Grady held up his phone, showing photographic evidence. “Or should I say, puppy-whipped. He has spindly legs, jumps on the furniture, and pees on the carpet. No need for a paternity test. Acts just like you.”
“It’s a chihuahua. She got him last week, named him Brutus, and promptly announced to the world, meaning Instagram because she’s one of those people, that I’m the daddy. She called me out by name. I allow this,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “because she’s a spitfire in the sack and I’m a moron. But don’t worry, I’ll be a deadbeat before too long. I only got two hours of shut eye last night, thanks to Brutus. It sucked. She didn’t.”
“Do me a favor and make that happen ASAP,” Beck said, speaking up. “Hope’s all over me to set you up with her friend Bridget, and I need her off my back on this one.” A sappy smile on a Navy SEAL wasn’t a regular occurrence, but they were all witness to it now. “We’re in love, so she thinks everyone else should be, too.”
“Jesus, I never thought I’d see the day,” Nolan grumbled. “I could run over a leprechaun riding a unicorn on my way home tonight and not be more surprised at what I’m seeing. First Beck falls in love, then Ash sits in a chair at the table like a normal person.” He cupped his forehead. “It’s been a really traumatic day for me.”
“Let me distract you,” Ash interjected, voice surly, “with a little thing called work.”
Sliding reports to each guy, Sam took over, leading the morning meeting per usual.
Their agenda filled with mundane assignments, Ash leaned back and downed caffeine, unable to deny Nolan’s glowing endorsement of the chairs. They felt pretty damn good. Hell, he was feeling pretty damn good, too, if he was honest. And it had nothing to do with chairs and everything to do with Liv. Oh, there was still a tough road ahead, based on her attitude this morning, but she’d woken up next to him, and Ash considered that a victory.
Coming slowly awake after his best night of sleep in four years, her lips blazed a string of kisses across his shoulder, her hand sliding delicately down his belly, under the sheet. Reflexes quick despite his sleepy state, he caught her before she made contact.
“You’re not very good at following mission orders, darlin’.” She yelped when he tugged, yanking her body over his so they lay face to face. Cupping her cheek, he lost himself in her flashing hazel eyes. “Good morning.”
“Sweet Jesus, the rumble of your voice still gives me the shivers.” The observation wasn’t complimentary. “And I was trying to return last night’s favor. How rude of you to stop me.”
His attention-starved cock agreed.
Grinning, he sealed their lips, ignoring the way her body stiffened. The skilled slide of his mouth coaxed her into kissing him back, and he was pleased at how quickly she melted beneath his touch.
“Glad to know I can still make you shiver. And last night wasn’t a favor. It was my pleasure.”
Hands on the move again, the scrape of her nails on his abdomen sent a jolt of desire straight to his morning wood. “Let’s keep the pleasure going.”
“No can do. Against the rules.”
“After last night’s conversation, I’m all talked out. It’s time for action.”
“Last night’s talk was wonderful.” He swiped a finger down her pert nose. “I want a lot more of that. In bed and out.”
“The Ash I knew could talk and screw at the same time.” Her face wrinkled in an adorable pout. “Who are you?”
“Your husband.” He touched her wedding ring, the adornment a sparkling symbol of their love and commitment, resting in its rightful place.
“You do know once I get out of this bed, it’s business as usual, right? Your half-naked body won’t be a distraction, and I’ll go back to hating you again.”
“You don’t hate me. You want to, but you don’t.” Christ, he hoped to God that was true. His mental health was riding on it.
“Oh, I assure you, I do. Not so much I want you to suffer a terrible fate, but enough that I want you to develop a severe allergy to bacon and lose your ability to get an erection.”
He looked down at his hard-on. “That last part seems like a long shot.”
She smiled wickedly, daring him. “Use it or lose it, soldier.”
“You’re making a strong case for staying in bed, I’ll admit, but sooner or later, I have to eat.” He glanced down at the V of her thighs, wetting his lips. “Something other than you, I mean.” She closed her eyes on a moan, the lusty sound almost breaking him. “And you don’t hate me, Liv. If you really did, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“So confident, yet so wrong.” She stood, tying the loose string on her pajama shorts. “Have you already forgotten the real reason I’m here? I need something from you, and it isn’t your body.”
The Liv from last night was gone—the one who, under the cover of darkness, dared to dream out loud with him.
In the bright light of a new day, Olivia Quinn Coleson was back in place. A vibrant, independent women and beautiful, dishonored wife who ran a thriving vineyard, who held a grudge like a champ, and who’d endured more pain than any one person should.
Somewhere in the complicated mix, underneath the sadness manifested as hate, was Liv.
“You weren’t hating my hands in your pants a few hours ago.”
“It’s been awhile. Any man could’ve made that happen.” Grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she tapped through the screens. “I need the shower first. I have a meeting with Marshall in an hour.”
The thought of another man touching her, sliding his fingers through her creamy goodness, making her come in that erotic, cock-hardening way of hers, doused his congenial mood. Add in mention of his old man, and Ash saw red.
“It’s been awhile?” he repeated, following her into the bathroom. “It better have been four fucking years since somebody touched you. Somebody meaning me. I’m not kidding around about this, either. I’m fucking serious. I will end someone’s life.”
“You can dial down the testosterone. I stood by my vows.” Her brow rose haughtily.
“Don’t start that holier-than-thou bullshit.”
Pulling her tank top off, she shook her blonde hair loose from its knot and turned the shower on. “What about somebody meaning me?”
Her sexually charged words were as arousing as her bouncing bare breasts.
Pretty pink-tipped and centerfold worthy, he stared at those luscious tits, his bluster and misguided jealousy evaporating. That was when the urge to jack-off while watching her take a shower overcame him. When she made it clear that option was, in her words, “Not gonna happen, perv,” he’d made her breakfast instead.
A veggie omelet prepared the way she liked it—so loaded with cheese it could no longer be labeled heart-healthy—bought him time to get his voyeur fix. Propped against the bathroom doorway, he watched her apply makeup in between bites of omelet, wearing nothing but an ivory lace bra and tiny matching panties. Rattling off her to-do list for the upcoming work day, she slipped on a flowery summer dress and heels the same shade as her tanned legs. They looked a mile long.
He followed as she rushed to leave, grabbing her purse and ringing cell phone on the way.
“Liv, wait.” He flattened a palm against the door before she walked out without so much as a second glance.
Turning, she narrowed her eyes at him, answering the phone. “Marshall, hello.” Whispering an irritated, “I gotta go,” to Ash when he pressed her against the door, she spoke to the caller. “No, not you. I’m on my way.”
“You’re not leaving without a proper goodbye.” He inhaled the tropical scent clinging to her loose, wavy hair.
“I know we have a meeting in twenty minutes,” she said, placating the impatient person on the phone. “Obviously, I’m running late. I’m sorry. I’ll make up time on the road.” Covering the mouthpiece, she hissed at him. “I have to go. I’m already late, and you’re really pissing me off.”
Angry gibberish came from the phone, and he grabbed it from her hand, barking at the man on the other end. “Jesus Christ, you don’t own her. She’ll be there when she gets there.” Tapping disconnect, he cupped her slackened jaw and smiled. “Now, where were we?”
Fusing their mouths, he swallowed her angry retort, sliding his tongue along hers. The kiss was slow and methodical, a guarantee she’d be thinking of him the rest of the day, no matter how cozy her boss got.
The lacy underwear hidden beneath her dress, which was flowy and sweet yet somehow hot as hell, amped up his intensity.
When she wrapped her arms around his waist, returning the kiss with equal heat, he released her, sending her off to the vineyard with a nervousness bordering on fear. As if she might disappear, escaping into the clutches of his mortal enemy.
As if she hadn’t done exactly that four years ago.
But if she was spending the day—and only the day—with Marshall Coleson, then she would do it with the taste of her husband’s loving kiss on her lips.
Then he spent a few extra minutes in the shower, taking himself in hand so he could hit up the local bakery for red velvet cupcakes without a persistent, and frankly embarrassing, hard-on leading the way.