Page 49 of Wicked Heat

To my surprise, she turns her focus off me entirely, aiming that thin smile at Ash. “And what about your history of recklessness in racing? And the chance you’re taking with this new kind of motor?”

His eyes narrow. “What about it?”

“Just that you have a history of taking risks. I’m wondering if that serves the same purpose for you as writing does for Ms. Bernstein. That it’s cathartic, I mean.”

“Yes,” Ash says. One simple word that holds a lifetime of pain.

“Really? And what is it that you’re so desperate to work out?”

My stomach twists with guilt, because while I hate that she’s got her claws in Ash, I can’t deny that I’m curious about that very thing.

He pushes back his chair. “We’re done.”

“I was promised a full thirty⁠—”

“We’re done,” he repeats. He holds out his hand to me. Come on, Bree.

I take it gratefully.

Right now, he really is Ace. And I’m Bethany. And he’s sweeping me out of harm’s way.

Fifteen

“God, I hate that woman,” Ash says as we cross the parking lot to the red Mercedes.

“Right there with you,” I tell him. “But I think it went okay. Thanks for reining her in.” As unpleasant as the whole experience was, Ash’s strong hand was what made it bearable.

“I’m not sure anyone can truly rein in that woman.”

“Amen to that,” I say, then clear my throat. “Listen, can we talk?”

He realizes that I’ve stopped walking and turns to face me. “Sure. Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too. I was worried, you know.”

“About Maggie?” I shudder. “You had reason to be. But we survived. Even if I do feel like I rolled around in poison ivy.”

“Not her,” he clarifies. “You. I was worried when you disappeared at the airport. I thought something had happened to you.” He shrugs. “And then when I got your message, I worried that I’d done something to—I don’t know—scare you off.”

“Oh.” I swallow. Since he hadn’t brought it up earlier, I thought we were going to simply skip over that little blip. “I’m really sorry about that. It wasn’t you. Truly. And, well, I should have realized that you—anyway, I’m sorry.”

He nods slowly, then slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he studies the ground. I tense, waiting for his response. Polite, because that’s who he is. But laced with hurt over what I did, and temper because I did it to him.

But when he lifts his head, all I see is the faint glint of humor in his eyes. “I get it. Probably best to avoid drunken weather-inspired sexcapades. They never turn out the way you expect.”

“I—” I stop because I have no idea what to say. I can barely process his words, much less the fact that they convey understanding.

He looks at me with the tiniest hint of a smile. “Did you expect me to say you owed me a night?”

“I—well, no. But—wait. Sexcapades? I thought you invited me up for a movie.”

He presses a hand to his heart. “A guy can dream.”

My laugh is cut off when he grabs my hand and tugs me to him. Since my mind is currently running through a Technicolor reel of sexual acrobatics, I’m fully expecting him to kiss me. And I’m more disappointed than I should be when he mutters, “Damn drivers think a parking lot is a racecourse.”

That’s when I realize I’d been so caught up in thoughts of Ash, that I hadn’t been paying attention to where I’d been standing. As in, right in the middle of the driveway. I take a step back, intending to move out of the circle of his arms, but he holds me in place.

“I’ll admit to being disappointed that night,” he says, his voice like a low rumble moving through me. “But you don’t owe me a thing. I know what trauma can do to a woman.”

My head snaps up, and I realize the fear on my face must be palpable when he loosens his arms and steps back from me.