Page 104 of Wicked Heat

He stands up, then bends over to pick me up. He cradles me in his arms as he carries me to his bedroom, then strips off my shoes and the sweatpants of his I’d put on this morning since I wasn’t about to wear Nikki’s dress for even one more day. He leaves me in an over-sized tee, then puts me in bed and pulls the covers up to my chin. I sigh, then curl up into a ball.

I want to protest that I just woke up, but the truth is I’m still drained. And when he climbs into bed from the other side and moves close enough to put his hand on my hip, I know that right now, this is exactly where I need to be.

We stay like that for at least two hours, half-sleeping, half-touching. I think we both want more, but we each feel fragile.

As for me, I feel exhausted, too. Not from sleep deprivation, though. Exhausted from life. From disappointment. From the loss of a friend, and from the withering loss of my own trust in myself. Because I never saw it coming. Not from Rory, who started it all. Not from Kari, who I believed was my friend. Not from Maggie, who I knew was reprehensible. Even knowing that, I was blind.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Thirty-One

The day after the arrests starts with a flurry of phone calls and paperwork and calls from the press that we refer to Ash’s public relations chief, a tall, fifty-something woman with a no-nonsense attitude that goes hand-in-hand with a Mama Bear kind of protectiveness. I immediately adore her, all the more so because she’s not only handling comments for Ash and me, but she’s very strongly stated her opinion that we should make no media comments at all. And that’s a policy I’m very happy to get behind.

Noah stays around for the next two days until we’re certain everything is wrapped up tight, then he hits the road, eager to get to Manhattan. I’m sad to see him go, but also glad that Ash and I will be alone. Since the moment we landed in Austin, we’d been swept up in a flurry of activity and people.

“Whatever will we do with ourselves?” he teases.

“I can’t imagine,” I say, returning his grin.

“I do have a meeting at five,” he says. “You’re welcome to come, but we’re going to be talking engines. My feelings won’t be hurt if you’d rather hang around the condo. Or explore Austin, for that matter.”

“How long is your meeting?”

“Shouldn’t be much more than an hour. I’m meeting at their office. With travel time, I expect I’ll be back no later than seven.”

“Why don’t you show me a little bit of downtown, buy me lunch, and then we can come back here for some recreational activities before you head off to do the Big Shot Corporate Dude thing.”

“Recreational?”

“You know. Tennis. Rugby. Really hot sex. Take your pick.”

“I haven’t played tennis in ages.”

“Imagine what you could do with a racquet.”

He laughs. “Now I’ll be thinking that during my meeting.”

“You’re welcome.” I lift a shoulder. “Has to be more scintillating than engine talk.”

He brushes the pad of his thumb over my lips. “Definitely.”

We agree not to talk about the kidnapping or the arrest, and my initial fear that the morning will be filled with gaps of awkward silence—after all, that’s certainly been the focus of our lives and conversation for the last few days—turns out to be completely wrong.

Instead, we talk about everything and nothing. From the architecture of the buildings on Austin’s famous Sixth Street, to the height of the capitol building at the end of Congress Avenue, to our favorite television shows, to which local speakeasy we’re going to check out that evening.

Any stretches of silence that sneak into the day are the comfortable kind. The whole day, in fact, is the comfortable kind. And by the time we return to his condo after lunch, I’m certain that the way I’ve come to feel about Ash isn’t because he’s the man who saved me, but because he’s the man who fits me, like that one final piece in an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. You can tell what the picture is without it, sure. But the puzzle’s not complete until that piece fills the gap.

“What?” he asks as we return to the condo, and I realize I’m lingering in the open doorway, just soaking him in.

“Just—thank you,” I say, because you fill my gap sounds a little pervy.

He raises one brow, a trick I envy. “And for what do I deserve your gratitude?”

I grin and lift my shoulders. “For today. For taking the time to show me around even though I already stole three of your days. And for those three days. And everything that with went them.” I take a step closer and take his hands. “For saving me.”

He lifts our joined hands, then then brushes his lips over my knuckles. “Anytime,” he says, and though I know the words are partly a tease, I’m also certain that he means them.

“Ash?”