Page 4 of Wicked Heat

Everything except Bree.

“You’re an idiot, Stone. And you’ve got one hell of an ego.”

Fuck that.

He turned the ignition key, firing the engine and fully intending to pull away. He even went so far as to put the car into gear and give it a little gas. Then he spat out a curse, slammed on the brakes, and shifted back into park before killing the engine.

And then, as he had for the last ninety minutes, Ashton Stone sat in the borrowed Mercedes… and waited.

Two

The night air is cool against my bare arms as I cross the asphalt to where I parked Maisy, the adorable Mini Cooper convertible my parents got me as a congratulations present when I sold Reveries. I guess they’d been paying attention every time I mentioned how much I love my former boss’s car.

Now I open the passenger door and put the basket in before circling back to the driver’s side. I hesitate only a moment, then climb in and start the car. I consider putting the top down, but it’s been raining on and off all day, so I leave it up and maneuver my way onto the street. But I don’t go to Burbank. Not yet.

Instead, I pull into the first coffee shop I see. I’m already over-caffeinated, but I order a latte at the drive-through anyway, then slip into one of the parking places so I can sip it while I rummage in my goodie basket. Because, hey, why wait to see what else is in there? It’s not like I’m in a hurry to get to my imaginary party.

I roll my eyes at my own self-pity. After all, technically, I’d had plans. They’d just gone kablooey. My bestie, Aria, with her screwy work schedule. And Kari with whatever emergency kept her from coming. She hadn’t said. Just called the bookstore and asked Leah to pass along the sorry-see-you-soon message.

To be honest, that was fine by me. That little emotional factoid twists in my stomach. After all, Kari was the first friend I made after moving to LA, and we’ve always vibed. But I can’t deny that there’s been some distance between us ever since⁠—

No.

The word blares out like a foghorn in my mind, because no way am I letting my thoughts go there. Not on such a great day. Hell, not ever. Not ever, ever again.

Raindrops.

Roses.

Whiskers.

Kittens.

It’s a stupid mantra, but I learned the hard way that my mom’s advice to channel Julie Andrews really does work. And with every repetition, I push the approaching darkness back just a little bit more. Then, for good measure, I text Kari and tell her I’m sorry she had to bail, but that I’d probably see her tomorrow at Upper Crust, the cafe/bakery where she works.

I take another sip as I glance around, then frown when I notice the burly forty-something man standing a few feet from the coffee shop’s door. He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see his eyes, but it looks like he’s staring right at me.

I think back, trying to figure out how long he’s been there. Yes. He’d been there when I pulled into the space. He’s still there. Is he watching me?

Why would he be watching me?

Panic courses through me, turning my body to ice, and I clench the steering wheel, forcing myself to do the breathing exercises that my therapist taught me in those long months after the kidnapping when every little glitch seemed to set me off. A sideways look from an unfamiliar man. A car behind me following the same route to the grocery store. A stranger asking to share a table in a coffee shop.

A man staring at me for no reason.

Stop.

Deep breaths. I remind myself to take deep breaths. And once I’m calm, I’ll get the hell out of there.

Then I see him extend a hand as a well-dressed woman approaches. They hug, he leads her into the coffee shop, and I slump in my seat, relief and irritation rushing through me. I’m past that. I’m fine.

Or, at least, I’m trying to be.

I take another sip of my latte, forcing myself to stay right here in the parking lot to prove the point. And since I now need a distraction, I turn my attention back to the gift basket. In addition to a Ripped Bodice tee and a card thanking me for coming to the signing, there are goodies from fans, including a pair of earrings that have little covers of the book and a framed print that has a romantic quote from Ace done in beautiful calligraphy. When I find a box of pralines, I remember the woman who’d insisted her family take a detour in their journey from Louisiana to Disneyland so she could come meet me at the signing.

After I’ve looked at everything, I arrange it all back into the basket—albeit not as neatly. I’m about to start up the car again when I notice the envelope tucked in between the decorative purple tissue paper and the wooden weave of the basket itself.

I pluck it out and can immediately tell there’s a gift card in there. Probably for the store, and since my reading habit is voracious, I’m grinning when I rip open the envelope.