Anger was a wonderful thing. It was protection. Insulation. A way to feel something, anything, when every other emotion coursing through your mind and body was too scary, too torturous, simply too awful to process.
Anger was a living, breathing way of life for Olivia, and the poison had been directed at one person, and one person only.
It motivated her to wake up in the morning, put her feet on the floor, and get out of bed. To take a shower without collapsing. To be a productive member of society. To do it all again the next day.
The first six months, she’d been raw and bleeding. Numb.
But then the rage crept in, taking the baton from depression, her inner turmoil a constant reminder that she’d never return to the carefree, untroubled woman she’d been before—the wife who was loved and in love.
Yet somehow, in these last few weeks spent playing house with Ash, that anger had started to change. To morph into a sad acceptance, absent the wrenching pain that usually spurred her anger. She was still rip-roaring pissed, for sure. At Ash, at the universe, at Rosa’s God. At herself.
But she was also, inexplicably, having real moments of happiness. Of hopefulness.
What she wasn’t having, much to her vocalized dismay, was any more orgasms.
“You’re doing it again,” Ash muttered, his massive shoulder holding up the bathroom doorway, his hot gaze tracking her body.
“Doing what?” The lipstick in her hand stilled as she assessed him in the mirror’s reflection.
Freshly showered and naked except for a worn pair of unbuttoned jeans, he was Monday morning eye candy, and she wanted a lick. She’d drop to her knees right now and enjoy a good long suck if he’d allow, but Ash was a man who took his mission seriously.
“Wearing that don’t-touch-me-I’m-a-professional-woman dress, along with those fuck-me-hard-and-fast-from-behind heels. It’s gonna make every man who sees you hard as a nail spike, including me. I’m not good with mixed messages.”
“Mixed messages? You’re the one holding out. I’m ready to bend over, and you’ve gone all timid virgin on me.”
And her black sleeveless dress and strappy heels were certainly business appropriate. The hem hit just above her knees, even if it was snug and only allowed for thong underwear. No woman wanted embarrassing panty lines.
Against her back in a flash, the muscled weight of him surrounded her, his palms flat against the vanity, caging her in. Lipstick smudged the mirror as she dropped the tube, reaching for him as the hot lash of his tongue tickled the skin below her ear.
“Does this feel timid and virginal to you?” Lifting her to her tiptoes, he rocked his hips, the steely length of his erection sliding along the seam of her ass. “Or does it feel like a good start on a nail spike hard-on?”
Cocooned within him, she clutched his corded forearm. “Let me take care of that for you.”
A head taller than her, they locked eyes in the mirror, his thumb swiping across her lips. Maybelline’s Bruised Plum stained his finger.
“Thinking about these shiny lips wrapped around my cock is driving me insane. I’ll blow in thirty seconds.”
“I hate to keep repeating myself,” she drawled, nipping the fleshy pad of his finger, “but I’m happy to give you a hand. A nice, firm, oiled-up grip. I won’t even time you.”
He laughed, his arms tightening in an embrace. When he kissed the top of her head, Olivia’s heart melted. Summoning the hate didn’t work. Searching for the resentment was futile. Both were MIA.
“Someone’s trying very hard to reach you,” she murmured, his pocket ringing for the tenth time since sun up. “And you’re gonna be late again. You don’t have to wait for me.”
“Don’t care.” His mumbled response mussed her hair.
Those blue eyes held her spellbound, and she grinned, knowing he hung around an extra hour every morning so they could leave together, his cell ringing off the hook as they rushed out the door. Caroline had started texting her every day, too, offering personal thanks for sending him to work a happy man.
The woman had no idea he’d show up a whole lot happier if he’d let his cock out to play once in a while, but apparently Olivia wasn’t the only one settling back into married life with surprising ease.
Ash was downright Husband of the Year, walking through the door each night around six, eager to see her. Traveling was part of his job, she knew. Unlike The Unit, he’d been an open book about Scorpio Securities, their assignments worldwide and generally dangerous. So far, he’d remained home, though, a complete turnaround from their first two years of marriage.
His lips traced the shell of her ear. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not really sure.” He shrugged. “For agreeing to this. For holding up your end of the bargain and coming home. For listening when I talk about Scorpio and ignoring the disgust I can’t hide when you talk about the vineyard. But mostly, for giving me a second chance.”
“I agreed to a summer of sex,” she clarified, for her benefit as much his. “Not a second chance.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not the same thing at all. And I’m tired of talking. For the last two weeks, I’ve told you everything about my day except how much wine I drink when Marshall isn’t looking. I believe in testing the merchandise. Call it quality control.”
She had to give Ash credit. His body language gave nothing away at the mention of Marshall, a marked improvement in a relatively short time. Residual anger from both sides was in short supply these days.
“I enjoy our conversations,” he pointed out. “I get off talking to you. So far, best summer ever.”
“How about we both get off with some hot and sweaty summer loving.”
“Not sure what you mean. I’ve been loving on you already. Going on six years now.” His eyes locked on hers in the mirror. “Probably won’t be stopping anytime soon.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of loving, touching, squeezing. S-E-X, if you need it spelled out.”
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m trying to say I love you. L-O-V-E, if you need it spelled out.”
Laughing at his declaration was easier than acknowledging it. “That’s your hard-on talking.”
“No, it’s me talking, Liv.” His tone was serious, but a ringing cell phone saved her.
“Answer that stupid thing before they send SEAL Team Six to find you.”
Mentioning his respected comrades earned her a grin. “Those buffoons couldn’t find me if I stood in Times Square.”
Sliding against his erection one last time, she rushed to wrap up her morning routine. Trey had requested an early morning meeting to discuss retailer targeting, and her commute was a killer.
“Nolan, what the hell? Call Sam when I don’t answer.” Ash’s gaze followed her as he pulled on a T-shirt, listening to the caller. “You’re on the emergency rescue in Acapulco. Some stupid gringo stole a shitload of coke from the wrong cartel, and now they have his girlfriend. Her family would like her back. Preferably in one piece, but they’ll take two, if no other choice.”
Slipping on a gold bracelet Ash had given her for their first anniversary, she watched him pace, engrossed in conversation. “No, I’m not going. Yeah, I know I usually do, but I’m staying put for a while. Sam, too.”
When the piece of jewelry caught his eye, and he gave her a small smile, the voice on the phone rose. “Yeah, I’m here. Mike and Grady will ride shotgun, but you’re leading. You’ll have to run this without your buddy Beck. I need him here.”
Then he laid out a laundry list of instructions seemingly off the top of his head. A flight into the region via an international carrier. A stop to buy weapons from a shady but money-hungry villager. An exit plan that included a high-speed boat ride up to Nuevo Vallarta via the Bay of Banderas.
Somewhere in there, they would waltz into a drug cartel and scoop up a hostage like it was nothing more than grabbing a carton of milk from the grocery store.
Acapulco wasn’t one of the worst cities in Mexico. It was one of the most dangerous in the world. Beautiful to visit, as long as you didn’t get yourself kidnapped. She expected Ash to pull out his trusty olive green duffel and hit the door running. He delegated instead.
Yet another sign of his newfound allegiance to her.
His large hand snagged hers just as she hit that door herself, waving goodbye.
Ending the call, his focus was back on her. “For real, Liv. I love you.”
“Yeah? What do you love about me?” Her tone was sarcastic and skeptical. Four years’ worth of skeptical. Where was his allegiance then?
His head shot back in surprise. “A million things.”
“Like my willingness to play second fiddle while you played Call of Duty, the live version?”
“That’d be one of the million, sure.” The sudden edge in his tone matched hers.
“Was another that you could mosey on home and get laid whenever the mood suited, then hotfoot it back to The Unit before you lost your swagger?”
“It was a perk, I admit, but that’s not what has your back up. It’s because this is good.” He motioned between them. “You and me? We’re still good. Without the vineyard, The Unit, or the sex, this is still fucking great. Deny it all you want, but I know you feel it, too.”
“What I feel, besides annoyed at Rosa’s continual attempts to log our sexual interaction and chart my cycle,” she pointed out, “is horny.” Sliding her sunglasses on, she swung open the front door. “All of which, is thanks to you.”
“Wait.” His grip on her hand tightened. “Rosa charts your cycle? Why?”
“You’re a relatively smart man. Figure it out.”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with the tampered condoms you mentioned, am I right?” His grin was sinful. “I’ll modify my mission to include a pregnancy clause.”
The mere hint, even said in jest, brought the hate. “Good boy. You got it right on the first try. Pat yourself on the head, and beg for a treat. Don’t bother adding that clause.”
“Olivia.” Despite her struggle, he tugged her back inside and closed the door. “It was a joke. A bad one, yeah, but that’s all. I won’t apologize.” He paused, letting that sink in. “And do you find it ironic that we keep having deep relationship discussions while you literally have one foot out the door?”
“Yeah, I do. How’s it feel?”
“It fucking sucks.” His lips quirked, blue eyes dancing. “I hate the taste of my own medicine.”
Cupping her neck, he laid those lips over hers in a hard, clinging kiss meant to connect emotionally more than physically.
Releasing her, his mouth hovered. “But I love the taste of you. Reason number three.”
“There you go again, using that love word like it means something.” Nipping at his bottom lip, she grinned, the anger gone as quickly as it came. “I really have to run. If I get a speeding ticket, you’re paying the fine.”
After another kiss and a fortifying whiff of his spicy scent, she flew out the door.
“Don’t worry, darlin’.” His voice trailed after her. “I’ll text you the other nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand reasons.”
Ash was a man of his word.
Her phone had been blowing up all day, the twinkling text notification ringing randomly, never silent longer than a half hour. She hadn’t made it out of the condo’s parking lot before the first one came.
7:38 a.m. I love your cooking, which hasn’t killed me yet.
7:40 a.m. I love your driving, which hasn’t killed me yet.
It beeped in the middle of her meeting, distracting her and putting an already annoyed Trey on high alert. He’d arrived promptly for a meeting she’d shown up twenty minutes late for, staring long and hard at her wedding ring. A ring she now wore without hesitation, no matter where or what her business that day. For reasons she wasn’t ready to analyze.
8:24 a.m. I love the way your lips move when you read the newspaper.
8:59 a.m. I love that you cry at Subaru commercials, no matter how many times you’ve seen them.
9:22 a.m. I love that you have a very specific ratio of ice to water when drinking ice water.
9:43 a.m. I love that you use this same unscientific ratio when drinking any iced beverage. It’s not anal at all.
It beeped while she walked the rows of grapevines with Marshall and Benny, her heels sinking into the rich earth as they took soil samples and inspected the fruit for insects, freeze damage, and delayed growth.
10:32 a.m. I love that your skin smells like happy hour at a beach bar in Tahiti.
10:47 a.m. I love that you can peel an apple in one long, spiraling slice.
11:06 a.m. I love the way you touch me after a deployment. Insistent, but gentle. Like I’m fine glassware you covet, but are afraid to use.
It beeped while she sat on a granite bench in the rose garden, the slab underneath her cold despite the ninety-degree day. Her usual spot to have lunch, she ate a fruit salad and stared at the precious words etched into stone. Some days lunch was followed by a quick detour to the bathroom to fix her mascara. Today she returned to her office smiling.
12:10 p.m. I love the way the hair at your temple curls into corkscrews when you sweat.
12:22 p.m. I love that sexy gasp you make the first time I slide completely inside you.
12:45 p.m. I love that you don’t need me to change a flat tire, but you do need me to kill a spider.
It beeped while she processed the weekly payroll and accounts payable invoices, printing checks she wasn’t authorized to sign. Only the man in the office next to her could sign them, and much to Olivia’s irritation, the man sending the flattering texts.
1:10 p.m. I love the way you snore.
1:11 p.m. Yes, you snore. Yes, I love it. Deal with it.
1:50 p.m. I love the way your accent deepens when you’re mad. Or aroused.
2:21 p.m. I love when you laugh. It’s liquid sunshine injected straight into my veins.
For years, she’d questioned Marshall’s insistence that Ash remain an officer of Coleson Creek Winery, having full access to the bank accounts. It flew in the face of his hostility toward his only son, but she’d long given up trying to understand the dysfunction.
Right now she was focused on her impromptu visit to Ash’s office, impulsiveness and a low-grade sexual fever quickening her steps. As the elevator ascended to the sixteenth floor, stopping along the way to drop off passengers, she scrolled through his texts again, though she’d memorized them at first sight.
Little things he loved, details so inconsequential she would’ve bet money he’d never noticed, tallied electronically. It was a curve ball. A revelation. One of the most romantic things he’d ever done.
But it was his latest message, sent forty-seven minutes ago, that spurred her ambush.
2:42 p.m. I love that you once loved me. I hope you can love me again.
Five minutes later, she was speeding down the blacktop road, the vineyard in her rearview mirror.
“Hey, pretty lady.” Caroline was now her biggest fan. “Can I tell him who you are this time? Or do you wanna have some fun and mess with him again? I’m up for getting him riled. We’re less exciting than an accounting firm until Ali has her baby next month.” She clutched a handful of manila folders, stacking them straight before sliding them into a file cabinet. “Sam’s as cool as a cucumber, but Ash won’t let him go farther than a twenty-mile radius. You’d think he was the brand-new father. He’s as jumpy as a virgin at a prison rodeo.” Her brow rose in a perfect arch. “And that’s real jumpy.”
Ash’s concern, as far as Caroline described it, gave Olivia pause. The sunny yellow nursery flashed in her mind, with its antique crib and loyal white Labrador waiting to be a big brother.
The hurt came as it always did, sharp and swift, hidden behind a smile. It eased quickly this time, no sweeping tide of anger chasing it, and she was grateful. The blanket of pain might be lifting, mercifully after four years, but the jab to her heart was welcome. It meant she remembered. She hadn’t forgotten like everyone else. Like Ash.
“Give Ali my regards the next time you see her.” Congratulations felt premature. “I’m sure she’s excited.”
“Of course.” Caroline nodded. “You two should meet. Have lunch. Your husbands are as close as brothers, so it only makes sense you’d be great friends.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Her gracious manners were behind the reply, but there were two glaring reasons why such a relationship would test Olivia’s religion.
The first went without saying. The second just as obvious. She was the soon-to-be ex-wife of one of those two men as close as brothers. Labor Day poisoned Kool-Aid was on the menu.
Pointing down the hall, she sidestepped Caroline, walking toward Ash’s office without invitation. “I’m just gonna pop in for a quick hello.”
“Oh. Well—” Her worried tone didn’t slow Olivia’s stride. “Usually he likes to know who’s coming through the door before they actually do. Fair warning if he snarls. Or reaches for a weapon.”
After a single knock, she opened his door, finding him and two dark-haired men focused on multiple computer screens, deep in conversation.
“Liv.” Surprised, he stood, walking around the side of his desk. “Everything okay?” No snarl. No weapon—that she could see.
“Fine and dandy.” She smiled when the other men stood, observing her with interest.
Neither looked familiar, but based on their physical attributes, could earn a six-figure living working a part-time gig as male escorts. Despite the visual feast, it was her handsome, cunt-teasing husband holding her attention.
“I wanted to stop by and chat about dinner tonight. You’ve been promising me some prime beef, and today I’m so hungry I could eat a porterhouse.”
“Ma’am.” Vibrant green eyes greeted her, reaching out a large hand. “Beckett Smith.”
“Oh, you’re the Beck part of Hope and Beck, right?” His affirmative grin was endearing.
Ash’s annoyed grunt was interrupted by a GQ model wearing a charcoal suit minus the jacket, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. “Sam Gleeson. Glad to finally meet you.” His handshake was firm, but she sensed he tempered it. “You were quite a pleasant surprise around here.” He slanted a keen look Ash’s way. “And a large piece of the puzzle.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here.”
Grinning, she tilted her head toward the big man wearing a disgruntled expression. “Do y’all mind if I borrow him for a few minutes?”
“Hey, he’s the boss.” Beck’s tone was carefree. “That makes you Mrs. Boss.”
“What’s that make me?” Sam asked, following him out the door. “Chopped liver?”
“I sleep with his sister,” came Beck’s dry reply. “I have to kiss his ass if I don’t want my bones held together by screws.”
Closing the door behind them, Olivia locked it, the metal sliding into place with a click.
Turning, she held up her phone, a magnified shot of Ash’s last text on the screen. I love that you once loved me. I hope you can love me again. “Did you mean this?”
He sat on the window sill and crossed his arms, as if prepared for a fight. “I wrote it, didn’t I?”
“Well, I hope you meant it in the literal sense, soldier.” Tossing her phone and purse in the chair, she reached for the zipper on her dress, her movements as lazy as her drawl. “How soundproof are these walls?”
He swallowed and dropped his arms, bright blue eyes tracking her hands. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to love all over one particular part of your anatomy.” She shimmied her hips, the fabric sliding down to pool at her feet. Heels still on, she kicked the dress to the side. “Next question. How quiet can you be?”
Slack-jawed, he rose and took a step toward her, gesturing at the wall of windows behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Nobody can see me. The sun is too bright.” Standing there, in the middle of his office wearing only a sheer bra that covered almost nothing, a matching thong that covered less than that, and strappy heels that put her four inches closer to his six-and-a-half-foot frame, she pursed her plum-tinted lips. “And even if they could, I don’t care. Let them watch.”
He eyed her like a snake about to strike. “Watch what?”
“This,” she whispered, placing her palm on his wide chest and pushing. The element of surprise worked in her favor because he obeyed, dropping back against the sill, his breath suspended as he waited for her next move.
Dragging her hand down his torso, she slid her fingers under the hem of his black T-shirt, feeling the warm, muscled expanse of his flat belly. A downy soft happy trail dipped below the low-riding waistband of his jeans, her path to paradise. She traced the line an inch into the denim, then back up to his belly button, his abs contracting with each leisurely stroll of her fingertips.
Down low she’d go, fingers disappearing into his pants, a little farther each time, then up. And down again. Brushing closer and closer to her prize.
“How quiet can you be?” she repeated.
His throat moved as he swallowed again, his breath catching each time her fingertips ventured deeper, grazing him. “As quiet as you need me to be.”
“Good.” She wedged herself between his thighs, their breath mingling as she leaned in, a fraction of space between their mouths. “Because if you make too much noise, I’ll stop. This is a professional working environment, and we’re in here discussing what to make for dinner.”
She sucked on his bottom lip, shooting him a warning glare when he groaned.
“We’re definitely not in here getting our groove back.” Fingering the button-fly on his jeans, she tugged hard, the placket opening wide. “With your pants undone, my dress on the floor.” Inhaling his choked gasp, she slid her hand inside, gripping him. “And this fat cock in my mouth.”
He growled, and not quietly, the sound more animal than human.
“Shh.” She nipped at his mouth. “I’ll stop if you’re too loud.”
Pushing the jeans down to free him, she stroked his hard length, measuring him for the first time in four years.
She’d convinced herself he wasn’t as big as she remembered, that his hefty size was a figment of her imagination, increased by the passage of time and the yearning for otherworldly physical satisfaction only Asher Coleson could provide.
She was wrong. He was just as her sexually deprived body recalled. Long and thick and strong. Throbbing in the space of a five-second, dry handjob. Poor guy.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her against him in a hard kiss, his tongue sweeping inside, sending tingles down her spine and moisture to her core.
He released her just as fast. “Liv, we shouldn’t—”
“Swear to God, Ash,” she cut him off midsentence. “If you even breathe the word mission, I’m gonna hurt you.” She squeezed his erection to prove she could. It only made him harder.
“You really wanna do this? Here?”
So much so, she was going for broke, her behavior more brazen than ever. The shock value, along with the scrapped mission, was worth it. Not releasing her grip on him, she slid her other hand into her panties, swiping through wetness only he could inspire.
Bringing a glistening finger to his mouth, she answered him. “What do you think?”
Tongue snaking out, he licked her finger clean, eyes blazing fire. “I think I’m still hungry.”
When he tugged on her panties, she stepped out of reach. “Uh-uh. My game, my rules.” A tap to his chest sent him back to his perch. “I’m in charge.” Unhooking her bra, it dropped to the carpet next to her dress, her nipples hard with arousal. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”
His grunt was pure alpha, eyes locked on the tight peaks. “I’ll touch if I want. Doesn’t matter what you say.”
That sexist comment sent a flood to her center, the wetness turning her sheer panties translucent, molding her, exposing her secrets. And his smile turned predatory.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered, “but otherwise, do not move.”
Leaning back against the wide window sill, a spot he seemed to favor, he looked like a jungle cat sunning himself. Appearing harmless, even while stalking his next meal. Doing as his lioness asked, he peeled the shirt off, bunching it in his fist. Keeping his hands occupied as he stared at her breasts, then between her legs.
Olivia looked her fill, too.
His chest, ripped with muscle and covered in a smattering of dark hair, heaved in arousal. Six-pack abs guided her down to a full-blown hard-on that brushed his flat stomach and bobbed in her direction, demanding attention.
Happy to be of service, she dropped to her knees, cupping him and inhaling.
He was a man she’d once known like the back of her hand, loving him like he was the only person on earth. He was a man whose actions triggered a tsunami while she’d been clinging to life, desperately trying to survive the precursory earthquake.
He was a man that, despite the resulting devastation, still owned her, heart and soul.
Body, too, based on the attraction zinging her nerve-endings. She ran the flat of her tongue from the base of his shaft to the thick tip, swirling over and around, licking away the bead of moisture already collecting. Ash was surprisingly obedient, she’d give him that. His rumbling growl of pleasure was long but low, more vibration than sound.
Wrapping both hands around him, she worked them in countering circles and took as much of him into her mouth as she could. He hit the back of her throat and she swallowed, the rippling motion massaging him before she drew back, releasing him with an audible pop of suction.
“Liv—holy hell.”
Encouraged by his ragged, uneven breathing, she did it again.
And again. And again.
Stopping intermittently to nibble and kiss her way down to the soft sack below, she suckled and tugged while her fist still stroked, giving his bubbling release time to simmer, then building it back up again, one deep-throated swallow after another. And another.
“Wait. Stop—” Exhaling in rapid pants, he made a halfhearted attempt to pull free of her mouth. “Darlin’, stop. I’ve been without you too long.” A flush rode high on his cheekbones. “I’m gonna go off before I can control where. I’m too close.”
“I’m in control of where.” Locking eyes, she opened her mouth wide, tapping the plump head of his erection against her tongue.
A distinctly feral growl escaped him, drawn from somewhere deep in his belly, his head falling back on his shoulders.
“Quiet,” she warned, her fist tightening around him. “We’re debating steak or chicken, remember?”
He choked out a garbled laugh, white-knuckling the window sill, hips thrusting in time with her movements. He let her control the pace, the depth, the suction, but his rare docility was wavering.
“I’m… Are you sure? You don’t—I mean, I want… but you don’t have—”
She spoke around the cock in her mouth. “I’m sure. Now shut up.”
More sure than ever, she didn’t let up. Not when he grew impossibly harder in her mouth. Not when his choppy breathing rose in volume, remaining inside the walls of his office, but barely. Not when he cupped the back of her head, just short of rough as he held her to him.
Not when his renowned control vanished, a long, low growl escaping him as he came heavily, releasing exactly where she’d told him to. Several seconds passed while he jerked and groaned, loosening then tightening his hold on her hair, riding out a high-intensity orgasm he’d made them both wait weeks for.
Olivia didn’t come, but his stinging pull on her hair and display of raw, uninhibited pleasure almost sent her over the edge.
Dabbing at the corners of her mouth, plum lipstick long gone, she smiled at her handy work. Eyes glazed a smoky blue, he stared at her, body slack with satisfaction as she rose to her feet. He watched with hooded lids as she grabbed tissues from the box on his desk, blotting the dripping moisture between her thighs. The unsatisfied throb in her core would be a nuisance the rest of the day, but she had a plan for that, too.
His shrewd gaze tracked her as she dressed, not moving a muscle, and once done, she approached him with care. It was a mistake to assume Ash wasn’t dangerous. One second he could appear aloof, the next he could throw her over his desk and be eight inches deep before her brain registered the threat.
“I’ll meet you in our bed in—” She checked her watch. “—three hours.” Cupping the back of his head, she kissed his stubbled cheek. “Don’t be late, or I’ll start without you.”
It wasn’t ten minutes later when her phone beeped another text notification, his message coming through just as she pulled out of the parking lot.
4:02 p.m. Reason one million and one. When I tell you I’m gonna come… and you suck harder.