Page 57 of Wicked Heat

I take a sip of my latte, certain my cheeks have gone crimson. “I should get going.”

I can tell he’s fighting a smile as he walks me toward the stairs. “There are secrets you keep, Miss Bree. As you should. But as you navigate whatever arrangement you are negotiating with our Ashton, keep in mind that you aren’t the only one with a darkness in your past that you’d rather not share.”

Seventeen

Ash wanted to kick himself for being an ass and scaring her away. He knew better. Especially considering this was Bree. He knew what she’d been through. Knew all about how she’d been kidnapped with Anne, his little sister who—at the time—he knew existed, but had never met. Now that he did know her—and adored her—Ash would have happily killed the fucker—plural, as it turned out—who’d taken them. But someone else hadn’t gotten there first.

He’d overheard Nikki and Damien talking one evening, so he also knew that Anne remembered nothing of the kidnapping and hadn’t been physically abused at all. He knew less about what had happened to Bree, but he did know that although she’d been drugged for much of the time, she hadn’t been raped.

That good news had been twisted up with the bad, though. Because the bottom line was that someone had stolen her control. Had ripped her away from her world and tossed her into his own. Had violated her. Abused her.

But hadn’t broken her.

There was too much strength in her. He’d seen it. Felt it. That bastard Rory and the others had smashed her up hard. Maybe she was cracked, but she never shattered.

Right then, all Ash wanted in the world was to be the glue that held her together. Ironic, considering he was pretty damn cracked himself. But he didn’t matter. Only Bree mattered. She’d gotten under his skin in a way he’d never experienced before.

She’d become his North Star.

And so you try to coerce her into being your sex slave? Good one, dude.

Ash feared that his conscience—that annoying little prick—wasn’t entirely wrong. Considering how she’d stormed out, he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The woman had been robbed of her control. Taken against her will. And he—asshole that he was—had stepped in to say that if she wanted his help, then he owned her. That she would be his to do with what he pleased.

And given her a panic button, too. You’re not forcing her to do anything. You’re giving her all the control.

He ignored the voice in his head. He had a reputation for using and throwing away women, after all. For destroying them.

Hell, maybe he had. After all, try as he might, he’d never truly wanted them. Not even Delia.

But it had been different with Bree. From the first moment he’d seen her, she had filled his thoughts. His fantasies. And not just those moments when he was alone in the shower, the air heavy with steam and his hands slick with lather. He damn sure hadn’t pushed those fantasies away, but those were just sex. Need. Hunger.

Delicious and wonderful, but the other fantasies were what he treasured. The ones where she’d pop up in calmer, sweeter times, unbidden and unexpected. Like when he was having coffee on his back porch on the Hudson Bend peninsula outside of Austin. Or sitting on his downtown penthouse balcony overlooking Lady Bird Lake. Or when he was driving through the Texas Hill Country or along PCH.

He’d tried to exorcise her. To tell himself that he’d never have her and might as well forget her. To convince himself that he preferred the amalgamations. The cardboard cut-out women who’d so eagerly fall into his bed.

But it wasn’t true. How could it be when every single time he fucked another woman, he could feel Bree nearby? Her soft lips brushing his ear, asking him why he would do that. Why a man like him—a man with enough intelligence and self-awareness to know his own worth even if he didn’t believe it—would get busy with a woman like that? A woman he didn’t even want.

He never answered her. Hell, he pushed her away, practically begging her to tell him no in each one of those fantasies.

He should push her even further away tonight.

With a long, slow breath, he studied his face in the mirror. Yeah, He knew an asshole when he saw one.

She can still say no. You aren’t the asshole yet.

Except she wouldn’t. She obviously needed the money. And he would give her that. More if she needed it, no matter what hoops he had to jump through to pull together that much cash. He wanted her close. Wanted her to feel safe.

Mostly, he wanted her. And the frustrating thing was that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Not even for sex, though that was definitely high on his Want List.

No, what he craved was her heart. Her trust. He wanted to hold her and protect her. To support her. To be the man she turned to when the world became too much.

He wanted to be her refuge.

Refuge.

With a frown, he stood up then started pacing, trying to shake loose a recalcitrant thought. Refuge. Help. Safety.