“You’ll never guess who I ran into today.”
I was glad she was changing the subject. “Who?”
“Stuart.”
“Really?” New York was, in miles, a small place, but a creepy scratch still trickled down my spine at the coincidence.
“Outside my apartment building. He said he lives around the corner from me now.”
On the Upper West Side? How could he afford that? “Seriously?”
“Yeah. He looked terrible—like he’s just gotten back from a month in Guantanamo.”
“So he talked to you?”
“I was getting back from the store, and he was walking by the building. We stopped for a second. I was shocked he didn’t ask about you.”
“I’m glad he didn’t. Did I tell you I ran into him at the bookstore a while back? He said he’d followed me there, he knew my routine.”
“Ew! I bet your Dad flipped out.”
“He doesn’t know.”
The sound of Dad’s footsteps shook the walls of my bedroom like an earthquake. The door flew open and crashed into the wall.
He filled the frame, fury squaring his face. My hand, holding the cell phone, inched away from my ear in stunned trepidation.
Felicity’s voice trickled into the air. “Ash? Are you okay? Ash?”
I hung up on her. Mother’s voice screeched from behind Dad.
“Yes, go to her, Charles. Lie to her.”
“Ashlyn,” Dad’s voice throttled the air. “Pack. You and I are leaving.”
“What?”
By this time, Mother had finally made it to Dad, but she remained a few feet behind him. “You can’t take her from me!”
Mother reached out and weakly yanked at his sleeve. Dad shoved her hand away, causing her to stumble back. Her eyes flared with fury. Dad whirled and towered over her. Breath locked in my throat.
No one moved. I stood, knees shaking. “I’m not going.”
“Do as I say,” he ground out.
I crossed to them. “My life is here and I’m not leaving.” I wove my arms over my chest.
Dad pivoted my direction. He snagged my upper arms and yanked me against him. Pain cut through my shoulders and fired down to my wrists. “You’re going to slap me again?” I snapped.
“Pack.” He threw me with such power, I tripped to the foot of my bed in a heap.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was midnight and Eddy was off duty, so Dad arranged for a cab. With shaky hands I threw some clothes in an overnight suitcase.
Mother and Dad continued arguing, Mother’s threats like arrows, Dad’s fired back like cannonballs.
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Would Colin be told about this? What would he do?
Dad escorted me down the stairs, passing Mother who remained poised next to the pencil Christmas tree she’d had decorated with imported French cloisonné bulbs. Her shoulders trembled, her eyes were red.
Dad pulled open the front door and the wreath hanging on the inside fell to the floor, rolled a foot and tipped, breaking the glass ornaments nestled inside of it. My arm in his fist, Dad took me to the curb where the cab waited for us.
He opened the door and I got in. The front door to the townhouse was left wide open, and I could see Mother at the tree, her good hand over her lips, eyes slit in tears.
“The Ritz Carlton,” Dad said. He sat back and sighed.
“I hate you,” I hissed.
His dazed eyes remained out the front window like he didn’t hear me.
We were ushered into the Central Park Ritz Carlton by a bevy of uniformed doormen. Dad spoke to them as if he knew them, and I realized then that he probably came here with whomever he spent time with when he wasn’t at home.
Revulsion turned my stomach, and I stepped ahead of him, not wanting to be anywhere near him.
Dad bypassed the check in, striding directly to me as two bell boys loaded our luggage onto a brass luggage trolley. The dazed look I’d seen in his eyes during the drive over was gone. He was alert now.
“Is this where you bring your mistresses?” I bit out, staring up at the floor indicators above the closed elevator doors.
Dad glanced around to make sure I hadn’t been overheard. His fingers pinched my elbow. The elevator doors slid silently open and he guided me inside. I pulled free and stepped away from him.
He pinned me with one of his cutthroat lawyer gazes. “Yes.”
The doors shut. Part of me was shocked he’d admit the truth, another part was disappointed that he’d admitted to something I’d suspected, but had hoped wasn’t true.
I swallowed a lump. Knowing should have empowered me, but he was too smart to admit something to me if he didn’t want it getting out in the open or back to Mother, which slapped me with the realization that I was the last to know.
The car stopped on the thirtieth floor, and the doors opened.
He led me to a suite, and I gasped when I stepped into the luxury of white on white, every surface pristine, clean and elegant in neutral colors.
Like he’d entered home, Dad tossed his keys on a waiting side table. He strolled into the living area and went directly to the mini bar. I remained in the entry.
He poured himself a scotch—no ice—and drank it down with one sharp tilt of his head. The glass landed on the bar with a clunk, and he poured another. My eyes widened. He repeated his first downing, and then leaned heavily on his arms, staring into the racks of liquor.
A knock at the door caused me to shake.
Dad crossed to the door and peered through the peep hole, then opened the door. The bellman nodded at him, smiled flirtatiously at me and wheeled in our suitcases. Dad handed him a bill and the young guy shot me one last glance before saying, “Thank you, Mr. Adair.”
Familiarity hung in the air like tacky cologne. “He probably thinks I’m one of your mistresses,” I sneered. I rolled my eyes when Dad swung around and looked at me.
“Your room is through there.” With a nod, he gestured behind me.
I took the opportunity to check out the place. Just as elegant and five star as the living area with every accessory a wealthy traveler could want: phones on every table, forty inch plasma TVs everywhere you turned, wet bars, fridges, giant fresh flower arrangements pouring out of crystal vases.
Dad plopped my suitcase on the bed, turned and left, closing the door behind him. I was overcome with exhaustion and shock. I dropped to the mattress, blowing out a sigh. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out. Mother.
Are you all right?
So Dad wouldn’t hear me and blow a gasket, I texted her back.
Yeah, u?
Miss you
Miss u what is going 2 happen?
Not to worry darling, dad and I will figure this out I hoped so.
Are you at the Ritz?
How did u k now?
A few moments passed, and she didn’t respond. How long had she known about Dad and the hotel? Sickened, I hoped she wasn’t crying. I bruised inside for her. She never replied, so I placed my phone on one of the tables next to the bed. I heard Dad’s voice, but also another. Colin?
I rose and went to the door, cracking it open just enough that as I peered out I caught sight of Colin. He wore the same outfit he’d had on when I’d seen him leave for his night out. A small suitcase sat at his side. My heart swooped.
“I’ve got to be at the office first thing in the morning, so I’m going to retire,” Dad was saying. Though his back faced me, Colin’s body language looked like he was uncomfortable and at odds with the situation.
“You can take the couch.” Dad made no excuses for the accommodations he offered, and no apology for changing our address. “Carry on as usual. School. Then here. You are not to return to the townhouse. If Ashlyn needs her things brought over, you can hire someone to retrieve them. Understood?”
Colin hesitated. “Yes, sir,” his voice was quiet.
Dad turned and vanished into his room, shutting the door wi
th a final thud.
Colin’s gaze swept his surroundings, and I opened the door of my room so that when his quizzical gaze came round, he saw me.
His eyes fastened to mine and a myriad of questions flashed over his face. “Ash, what happened?” He started toward me.
I swallowed. He looked so sincerely interested—in me. “They had a fight.”
He continued my direction. Was he still angry about the park?
I couldn’t read his face, and the day’s events bore down on me. I backed into my bedroom, even as he closed in on me, and I slipped inside, shut the door, and pressed my forehead against it. My heart hammered. I had the fleeting fantasy of him bursting through, pinning me and kissing me. Ridiculous.
I took a long, hot bath, dressed in my white pjs and picked up one of a dozen magazines left for my pleasure, but none grabbed me. A handful of suspense paperbacks lined the built in bookshelf, but I couldn’t think about reading. Not with Colin just outside the door. I paced. Almost texted Felicity, but it was way too late for that.
Knowing Colin was closer than he’d been at the townhouse filled my blood with the familiar fluttering of curiosity and wonder his nearness always induced.
I took a deep breath and opened the door. Complete darkness.
My eyes blinked, trying to adjust. Any exhaustion must have swirled down the drain along with my bathwater, because I was amazingly alert at four a.m.
I crept out into the living room area, my distorted vision trained on one of two couches. A light flashed on.
I blinked, covered my eyes while they settled.
Colin lay, half-sitting on one of the couches. White sheets and a fuzzy blanket tucked loosely around his waist, his naked shoulders and upper body framed against large, puckered white pillows.
His face scrunched in the light. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, and hesitated before tiptoeing to him. His smooth skin looked like velvet against the white bedding.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” I kept my voice just above a whisper, my gaze flicking to Dad’s room, an ominous black space between the carpet and the bottom of the closed door.
“You didn’t.” Colin scratched his mussed hair. I wanted to touch it. “What happened?” he asked around a yawn.
“Dad demanded he and I leave the townhouse.” I searched for a place to sit. Colin pulled back the coverings on the opposite end of the couch, making room for me. I squeezed into the space, but my thigh still touched his toes.
“I gathered that much when I went to pick up my things,” Colin said.
“Did you see Mother?”
He nodded. “She was a wreck.” He studied me through caring eyes. “Jeez, I’m sorry Ash.” He shook his head.
“It’s okay.” I lied and the look of compassion on his face told me he saw through it. A fresh round of tears veiled my eyes. I buried my face in my hands, ashamed I was crying again.
The couch shifted beneath me, then his warm skin surrounded me. I burrowed my face into his neck. My arms wrapped around his back. He absorbed my tears, my weeping lost in his flesh.
He kissed the top of my head and the feeling of his mouth there drew my face up. His dark eyes penetrated me, sending want through my cells, need through my blood.
He swallowed. Against my chest, the taut planes of his bare torso lifted in an erratic rhythm. His head bent close, and my heart nearly burst waiting to feel his lips.
His mouth met mine in soft, sweet pressure. His skin, beneath my fingers was firm. Smooth. My hands spread out to feel the ridges of rib and muscle in his back, the strong curve of his spine. Moving toward me, he eased me into the cushions of the couch.
Sheets and blankets fell away, baring more long lean velvet, covered only by a pair of black boxers. He crouched toward me, as if he wanted to cover and consume me.
Pressed into the cushion, I felt like a delicate eggshell on a downy pillow. Colin’s hand skimmed down my neck, anchored to the side of my head, his other and mirrored the action. He stayed poised above me, his arms roped into strong shoulders, his head hovered over mine, eyes black.
Seconds sizzled into hot minutes. He seemed to decide what to do next. My body lifted toward his, magnetized. Lightly, the tips of my fingers drew over his shoulders, behind his neck and clasped.
He closed his eyes as if in excruciating pain. Then his dark eyes opened. “Ash.” his voice was hoarse.
“Kiss me again.”
He lowered toward me, the muscles in his arms shifting in the soft lamplight until his mouth met mine. This kiss was like the petals of one flower gently coaxing another to open and bloom.
After, he sat back and touched my face. “I’m going to hate myself for doing that.”
“I won’t. I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted you to for a long time. Who cares if you work for Dad? He’s lied to me. He’s lied to Mom. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you, not here, not when you’re vulnerable.”
“Didn’t you want to kiss me?”
“Yes.” His hands broke free of mine and he fell back into the downy cushions, his hands shoved into his hair. “Yes, I wanted to.”
“I wanted it, too.”
The struggle he wrestled with became as apparent as if he suffered with a consuming fever, and I felt the first layer of weight for my part in making him go against something he’d held important.
“I’m sorry.” I could barely whisper, submerged with culpability.
I stood. He reached and took hold of my hand. “Ashlyn.” The gentle way he said my name melted as it seeped into my soul. I would never be able to numb the want I had for him, and seeing his body tangled in the sheets and blankets, his face turned up to me, urgency in his gaze, was an image I would never forget. I wanted him all to myself.
I woke hours later to a darkened room. Light peered through the solitary crack in the seam where blackout drapes came together over the window. The unfamiliar generic scent of the sheets I lay on reminded me that I wasn’t home in the townhouse, I was in a hotel.
Coffee scented the air. I found the clock, it was ten. I jerked upright. Why hadn’t Dad awakened me for school?
I tore back the sheets and stood. The night before, I’d overheard Dad tell Colin he had to be at the office early, so Dad was gone.
That meant Colin and I were alone.
The thought liquefied my bones.
I wanted to see him, but would he want to see me after last night? Dress, Ashlyn. Dress for school. But I’d forgotten to pack my uniform.
I tore through my open suitcase, even though I knew the uniform wasn’t there. I’d been so distracted by Mother and Daddy’s fight, school hadn’t entered my thought process in the slightest.
I washed my face, brushed my hair, and pinched my cheeks before opening the door. The aroma of coffee soothed, but I hesitated facing Colin. Is this what the morning after is like? I wondered. A stifled laugh sent goose bumps over my skin. As if.
Movement in the kitchen drew my attention, so I crossed through the living room and entered the white and blue area. Colin wore jeans and a light gray, V-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He stood over the sink, washing out a glass coffee pot. When I entered, he turned.
His hands went still. “Hey.”
The usual sparkle in his eyes wasn’t there, and my heart sunk. I stayed in the doorframe. “Hey.”
“Coffee?” He nodded to a steaming cup he’d put aside.
“Thanks.” I stepped into the room and took the cup into my hands. “Why didn’t Dad wake me? I’m late for school.”
“Charles said not to. I guess he figured you’d need the sleep.”
“Can’t say I’m not glad.” I sipped the hot liquid. “I forgot my uniform.”
Colin rinsed the coffee pot and set it on a towel to dry. Then he turned, crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the sink. “I’ll have your things brought over.”
I frowned. How long did Dad p
lan on us being here? My gut hollowed. Mother had said they’d work this out.
Colin stepped toward me, and his hands covered mine. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking, the coffee in the cup sloshing like the tide of the ocean. His touch stilled the trembling on contact.
The connective fuse we’d woven last night sparked again. The flicker of desire I’d seen in his eyes before was there.