Captivate, book I of the Love & Lust (19 page)

Twenty-Eight

Slade blinks against the brilliant camera flashes that attack him from all angles. He should be used to it by now, but the hysteria never ceases to amaze him.

Women of all ages flock around him, vying for his attention so they can take a photo beside him. Some attempt to cop a feel before the camera flash sends them on their way. Slade’s smile is as fake as Tamsin’s ample chest, but he grins and bears it, for Ashlyn’s sake.

He knows how important this book tour is to her, how many hours she has poured into its success, and this is the least he can do for her.

“Hey, handsome!”

He turns and flashes a grin at a thirty-something girl with a mess of raven-black curls piled on top of her head. He notices the low cut of her shirt and the distinct lack of material clinging to her backside and feels nothing.

It’s not like him to be unaffected by a pretty face, but when he looks at her, all he can see is Ashlyn’s hesitant smile. His smile falters and he sees the instant shift in the girl’s countenance. “Are you okay?” she asks, leaning closer as the camera flashes.

“No. I really don’t think I am,” he mutters as she pulls away to retrieve her iPhone.

“Why don’t you come over here and sit by me?” Tamsin croons at him, wiggling a blood-red fingernail at him.

He moves woodenly toward her, sinking down onto the empty chair beside Tamsin. It shouldn’t be empty.
Ashlyn should be here,
he thinks absently as Tamsin reaches over and takes his hand in hers, making sure to dig her nails in nice and deep. Ashlyn is the one who organized all of this, put her heart and soul into every detail, and what has Tamsin done other than party, drink, and ride as many men as she could find?

His stomach pinches and he looks away.

“Smile for the cameras,” she hisses in his ear.

The crowd goes wild as she lifts their twined hands into the air. “Isn’t he a doll, ladies?”

Another loud cheer pulls him out of his thoughts. He catches Tamsin’s pointed look and straightens his shoulders, plastering a fake smile on for the fans.

Stacks of books shift before him over the next two hours, each one signed with a flourish and stamped with a crimson kiss. Tamsin is in her prime tonight, flirting with the husbands who were dragged to the event. Slade does his best to smile, wave, and pose for pictures whenever he’s expected to, but it is all done with forced emotion.

He doesn’t want to be here. He needs to speak with Ash, to apologize for being such a tool. He never should have let her leave, not without coming clean about his relationship with Tamsin. She deserved that much.

Tamsin’s high-pitch giggle startles him from his revere. He glances over as her red pen swirls across the page. He frowns and leans forward, watching as she finishes off her name with a twist of her wrist.

Slade’s eyes narrow in on the signature, his thoughts burdened by some hidden detail he knows he should grasp. He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before opening his eyes again. When he does, the evidence is painfully obvious. “It doesn’t match,” he mutters.

Tamsin casts an annoyed glance over at him. “Sorry?”

His gaze rises to meet hers. “I saw your contract on the floor in my room yesterday. Your signature doesn’t match.”

She offers a tittering laugh and pats his arm. “Can’t do anything without me.” She grins to the crowd as she turns her head to speak to him. “You’re pretty, I’ll give you that, but you’re not too bright.”

Slade grits his teeth and fights to remain silent as Tamsin’s shiny red lips part into a knowing grin. As she draws near, he is overwhelmed with the scent of perfume, masking the stench of booze and cigarettes. She must have hit the minibar in her room before coming downstairs.

What on earth did he ever find attractive about her?

“I’m a cover, Slade. Nothing more.”

He frowns and leans back just enough to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirks and casts a glance toward the crowd of fans growing antsy on the other side of the table. She flashes them a winning smile as she places her hand on his bicep and winks. The girls go crazy, fanning themselves. Slade struggles to hold back a sharp remark, sickened by the hooting and catcalls.

“It means I’m the front for this whole party,” she says, turning back toward him. “I’m just paid to be a pretty face. The people want a naughty girl, so Sophie hired me.”

Slade’s face clouds over as he blows out an unsteady breath. His hands clench into fists at his side as he realizes his terrible mistake. “A pen name?”

Tamsin nods. “You got it!”

With a flip of her fiery curls, she turns her back on Slade, dismissing him. She clicks her pen and reaches out for another book to sign. Slade’s stomach churns violently as he stumbles out of his chair. His skin feels flushed as memories race through his mind.

All of those late-night hours Ashlyn spent on her laptop. The mounds of crumpled Post-it notes littering her waste bin. Her large donation to her own foundation. Her weak excuses about Tamsin’s lack of work ethic. Sophie not firing Ashlyn when she took off yesterday.

Ashlyn Doyle is really Tamsin Archer. He should have seen, should have known, and now she is gone.

Panic grips him as he grabs Tamsin’s arm. “Where did she go?”

Tamsin’s smile remains intact, but there is a definite chill staring back at him now. She glances down at her arm and he instantly releases her. As he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, she laughs and holds up her hand to the line. “I’ll be back in just one moment.”

The crowd groans, but she loops her arm through his, yanks him to the end of their table, and slips behind the six-foot high screen that magnifies each chiseled ab on Slade’s torso to perfection. He grimaces, realizing just how vain he must have seemed to Ashlyn.

“Look, I get that you’re having a crisis right now, but personally, I don’t care. Never did understand what she saw in you anyways. You’ve never been worthy of someone like her.” Her ample chest threatens to spill out of the black-and-red lace teddy she’s wearing when she crosses her arms over her chest.

“You and I were just a bit of fun, but she’s fragile. You should have known better than to mess with her, Slade.”

“I know I screwed up and I know I rejected you, but this isn’t about that. Ashlyn deserves better than both of us, and we need to make this right.” He looks away, knowing most of the guilt is seated firmly on his shoulders. He may not be good enough for Ashlyn, but that doesn’t change how he feels about her or that fact that he really wants to be enough for her. “Just tell me where I can find her. Where would she go?”

“Some small hick town in the Midwest. Missouri, I think, or Indiana. How am I supposed to keep track of that?”

Slade rubs the back of his neck in frustration. “Do you have her mobile number?”

Tamsin rolls her eyes and waves her hand over her skimpy outfit. “Do I look like I’m carrying a phone?”

“No.” He stares at the crowd from around the edge of the banner, sickened by the entire thing. Only a week ago, he’d been sorry to see this wild ride come to an end, but now he wishes it had never started in the first place.

Slade breathes out a weighted sigh. “Please. I just need to tell her how sorry I am… for everything.”

Tamsin eyes him carefully. She nibbles on her lower lip, her fingers tapping against the boning along her sides. He can tell that she would love to dig in the knife a bit deeper, but she’s also very aware of the line standing in front of her table. “Oh, fine. She’s from just outside of St. Louis.”

She reaches into his jeans and pulls out his cell phone. Her nails clack against the keys as she types in the information. “Here’s her address. If she asks how you got it, blame Sophie.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. He reaches out to squeeze her arm but thinks better of it and withdraws his hand. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I know.” She turns to leave but pauses with her hand on the screen as she looks back over her shoulder. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that I’m not the real Tamsin. It’s a lot better than being Annie Wanewright from Akron, OH.”

“Annie, huh?” He laughs, shaking his head. “I think you make a far better Tamsin.”

Her eyes twinkle with appreciation as she tosses him a wry smile and then saunters back to her table. He watches as she instantly leaps into a conversation with a middle-aged woman whose clothes are a bit on the frumpy side.

Slade leans against the wall, amazed by how easily Tamsin makes this woman’s face brighten with delight. Maybe being a part of all this isn’t just about a book or a publishing deal. Maybe it’s about connecting with people, not just for entertainment value, but to help people escape their lives, even if only for a few hours.

He leans out farther to really look at the women standing in line. Many of them have been here for hours. Most of them cling to a copy of Ashlyn’s book as if it were a glimpse into a life they could only ever dream about.

Ashlyn did this. She gave them hope, something to long for.

“If only you could see this, Ash,” he whispers as he withdraws from the room, using a back exit that feeds out into a side hall.

He keeps close to the wall as he nears the main lobby. It is packed with people, the line winding like a great snake through the stately room. Even with the high ceilings and ample light filtering down from hanging chandeliers, the room feels crowded.

Poking his head around the corner, he groans, realizing there’s no way he’ll be able to make it across the lobby and to the lift without being seen.

“Excuse me, sir?” He turns to find a bellman dressed in a fine black coat and pants, with highly polished shoes to match. His peppery hair is elegantly styled, giving him an air of refinement befitting such a grand hotel. Warm chocolate eyes stare back at Slade through gold-rimmed glasses. “There is a set of stairs at the end of this hall that might aid you, sir.”

Slade grins. “You are a life saver.”

The man chuckles as he moves past. “Never been called that before.”

Rushing back the way he came, Slade pushes through the stairwell door and takes the steps two at a time. Within ten minutes, he has left his mum a message to let her know he won’t be home on Monday and races down to a cab waiting for him at the back doors. He hands his suitcase to the cabbie and slides into the backseat, pressing his head back against the worn leather.

Is he really going to chase down Ashlyn back in America? What will she say when he arrives on her doorstep unannounced? They didn’t exactly part on good terms, and America is known for its loose gun laws.

“Where to, mate?” The cabbie throws his arm back over the seat to look at him.

“Heathrow International.”

Twenty-Nine

Ashlyn tosses her keys on the side table as she enters her home. The thud seems to echo loudly in her ears in the empty entry hall. She stretches out her back, feeling every single hour she spent behind the wheel of her rental car.

After all the flights she’s been forced to endure over the past couple of weeks, she couldn’t bear the thought of stepping foot on another plane. Plus, she really needed time to think, alone.

She did her fair share of thinking and crying. It seemed like every radio station she turned on was singing about love or a broken heart. Is there nothing else to sing about?

The country stations were the worst as she drove across the Midwest. By the time she passed the Arch in St. Louis, she was ready to either drive her car off a bridge or pluck out her own heart. Neither one of those really seemed like a feasible idea, though. She has a strict “no pain or pointless death” policy.

The curtains on the lower level of her house are drawn and the blinds closed. Only thin slits of light filter in through the windows.

A layer of dust clings to her living room, leaving a dismal gray film on everything as she lets in the fading natural light. Still… the house feels empty and cold. Lifeless.

With a heavy sigh, she peers out into her backyard. Night has already begun to fall and the circular rock garden and fountain are lit by a row of solar lights. The roses have begun to bloom in brilliant reds and pinks. Ivy has begun to grow up the white trellises that she had built last year, leading to the pergola, which covers the flagstone patio that overlooks her pool.

The crystal-blue water sparkles in the lamplight but lacks its usual appeal. Although the beauty of her home has not changed in the month since she left, its charm has faded for her.

She bought this home with the hopes of someday sharing it with a husband and a family. Foolish dreams for a foolish girl.

Ashlyn hefts her luggage onto her shoulder and carries it slowly up the winding marble staircase. She had thought the marble to be a gaudy touch to the home, but her mother told her it was fitting for a home of this grandeur. She never really cared about any of that.

Money was just money, not something to clasp tightly to or put much stock in.

Her footsteps echo through the empty rooms as she passes. She doesn’t pause to look in the open doorways, knowing they are filled with more furniture than she will ever need.

The house feels vacant. Of course, part of that is her fault. She hadn’t told her housekeeper that she would be returning early. Mrs. Tinsley would arrive in the morning to turn down the sheets and do the shopping. She will be shocked to find Ashlyn home already, but it will be good to see her.

Mrs. Tinsley has become almost like a second mother to her. She is plump and motherly, and she simply adores doting on Ashlyn.

Plodding down the hallway, Ashlyn passes two guests rooms and then the one her mother uses whenever she flies up from Florida to visit. She doesn’t come as often as Ashlyn would like, but once her mother is here, she can’t seem to leave soon enough.

It’s hard not to wonder if her mother comes just because of the money. She would like to think it’s not because of her success, but Ashlyn has her doubts.

At the end of the hall, Ashlyn finally reaches her own room. She places a hand on the doorknob but hesitates. The weight over the past two days falls heavily over her as she pauses just outside her bedroom. It almost feels as if entering now solidifies the fact that she gave up and ran away.

An epic failure.

Scolding herself for being foolish, she turns the knob and enters her room. Large mural paintings of Paris adorn her walls, each watercolor boasting a different view of the Eiffel Tower. Paris has always been her favorite city. The culture is delightful, the food sinfully rich, and the people so warm and welcoming.

Well, as long as you don’t butcher their language, which she did the first few times she visited. Since then she has learned how to speak fluent French.

She sets her bags on the crème settee before crawling into her bed. The covers smell stale but are welcoming after her long journey. Without taking off her clothes or even considering a shower, she closes her eyes and allows sleep to finally find her.