I exit my car, instantly awash in the scent of ocean. The waves on the other side of the building echo around me. I enter the lobby and give my name to the doorman like last time, studying the coastal-modern decor. When he allows me to board the elevator, I press the button for Ashton’s floor.
An overwhelming thrash of wrongness whips across my spine.
I ignore it. Suppress it. Chalk it up to nerves.
In the hallway outside the elevator, I’m wowed again by the understated wealth. Glitzy seafoam accents play up the ocean theme. The plush carpet sinks beneath my feet as I walk. Soft lighting provides a calm ambiance. I knock on his door, and he answers after only a few moments. His brown hair is windswept, and he wears his black Henley like he’s doing it a favor. His smile reveals cute dimples. This guy’s looks are far too wholesome for a cheap fuck.
Beyond that, though, something else becomes starkly transparent.
He doesn’t look like Asher.
He’s missing the glimmer. The light. The indescribablesomethingthat makes Asher excruciatingly lovable. Exhaustingly irresistible.
“Welcome back,” he says.
“Hello.” I lift an eyebrow. “Ashton.”
He chuckles and presses his back against the open door. “Good memory.”
I take his silent invitation and enter his space. Soft alternative music plays from overhead speakers. The place is open-concept. Minimalist. Masculine. He has those kitchen cabinets with no handles and dim lighting to provide atmosphere.
The dude has money. A lot of it.
Once I reach the part of the space I’d consider the living room, I turn toward him. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“Interventional radiologist.” He shuts the door.
“Oooh.” I fan myself and perch on the back of the low sofa. “So fancy.”
He chuckles as he approaches, slow and purposeful. “What about you?”
I shoot him a coy smile. “Take a guess.”
“Hmm.” His head cocks. “Dermatology?”
“Ha! No. I prefer my patients asleep.”
“Ah. Anesthesia.” He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to lift my chin to look him in the eye. His hands travel to the sofa back on either side of my hips. He doesn’t touch me, but the warmth from his body radiates, speeding my heart. My skin beneath this thin, slinky dress prickles with discomfort.
I suppress the shudder.
His thumbs brush over my hips. A little crease forms between his brows. “Why are you here tonight?”
A laugh bursts from me. “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious?”
His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Not really. You seem... conflicted.”
“I’m not.” The vehemence in my voice is excessive, and he backs away.
“Listen, if you’re not—”
My hands grab for him and twist into his shirt, yanking him back. Our mouths meet in the middle, and I snake an arm around him. Our bodies converge, hard pressed to soft. His grip goes to my waist, and he lifts me to the sofa back.
Ignoring the furious and outraged voice in my head, I wrap my legs around him to deepen the kiss. He tastes likewhiskey and wintergreen, and his cologne enters my lungs, potent enough to make me forget for three long seconds that I don’t want this.
But I don’t.
I don’t want this.
