Captivate, book I of the Love & Lust (20 page)

Thirty

“Why do these bloody American’s drive on the wrong side of the road?” Slade grumbles to himself as he waves his hand in apology and moves back into his appropriate lane. Everything in this oversized vehicle is backwards to him. He keeps turning on the windscreen wipers instead of the turn signal, and he has lost count how many times he has unlatched the boot instead of the gas cap.

His gas-guzzling SUV is horrid to maneuver around downtown St. Louis. He has already passed the Arch four times and appears to be on his fifth lap.

“Where is that bloody road?”

“Turn left at the next street.”

“That’s what you said before,” he snaps at the GPS as he yanks the wheel to the left. Horns blare as he squeezes into a space far too small for his vehicle and maneuvers toward the motorway.

Once he finally finds the right road, he sets the cruise control and searches for a music channel. There are far too many offering twangy country or the latest pop hit. He stabs at the dial until he finds a rock station and taps out a guitar rift against the steering wheel.

The miles seem to blur past as he moves outside the city and heads west. The ground turns into rolling hills with towering rock formations along the side of the road. Signs warning against falling rock make him sit up a bit straighter.

His back aches and his right eye is throbbing with the lingering effects of a migraine that began brewing somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. He really should stop and find somewhere to eat and get cleaned up, but he is desperate to see Ashlyn.

He has a lot to make amends for. His behavior was appalling and his manners even more so.

Slade runs his hands through his tangled hair and blows out a deep breath. “You can do this, man. Courage, that’s all you need.”

And a big pair to go along with that,
his mates back home would say.

Although he would never have thought it possible, he admits that they were right all along. He never should have gotten himself mixed up in all of this. He let the fame go to his head—the money, the women… but without all of that, he never would have met Ash.

“Exit right in one mile, then keep right.”

Slade turns on his signal and veers off the motorway. He brakes at the stoplight at the end of the ramp and swivels his head back and forth to stare down either side of the road. He left the city behind him nearly an hour ago, and civilization, too, apparently. This exit boasts a single gas station that looks like its prime ended about twenty years ago. The pumps look a bit rusty and the clientele even more so.

An old motel, long abandoned to the elements and disuse, sits off to his right. The roof sags near the middle and some of the windows are boarded up. “If this were in a movie, it would be the perfect setting for a murder,” he mutters as he pulls out onto the road.

Tall grasses grow along the two-lane road, waving lazily in the breeze. Fluffy clouds hang overhead, casting enormous shadows on the road before him. Hawks sit perched on wooden fence posts that line farmer’s fields. Large tractors till the fertile land, prepping for spring planting.

The air flowing through the car vents feels cool against his skin. The sleeves of his button-up shirt are rolled to his elbows and the sun warms his arm as it rests against the closed window.

If it weren’t for the nervous tension that has begun to worm its way through his gut, he would rather enjoy this drive. He’s never really had much of a chance to explore America, and the heartland, albeit more backwoods that he’s used to, looks homey.

When he glances at his GPS and realizes he is less than ten miles from Ash, he begins to wonder if Tamsin sent him on a wild goose chase. Was she really
that
cruel?

The problem is… he can’t really answer that question.

He considers pulling over to call Sophie and ask but thinks better of it. Sophie will only blow up at him for leaving the signing early and for even daring to stir things up with Ashlyn again.

Besides, it’s better for Ashlyn to rebuff him face to face rather than on the phone, which would no doubt be her preferable method.

Following the road signs into Oakdale, Slade stares in disbelief at the rundown country town. A small grocery store sits off to the right when he enters town. Only four cars rest in the parking lot. Two gas stations stare at each other from opposing corners like an old-fashioned western showdown. A single stoplight blinks in the center of town.

The main square boasts several redbrick buildings, most uninhabited with FOR RENT signs in their window. A small elementary school sits just on the outskirts of town with a rusted chain-link fence surrounding a deserted playground. A park with a small lake and two swings lies just beyond that.

It only takes him a couple of minutes to pass from one town limit to the next. He spies a handful of dogs, some singlewide trailers in need of a good power washing, and children playing ball at the rundown field beside the school. Two pickup trucks pass him as he leaves town, both loaded down with hay bales from last season.

“Turn left in eight hundred eighty yards.”

“What are you doing here?” he mutters to himself as he turns onto a side road that jars his teeth and rattles his aching bones.

Three miles later, he finds himself immersed in a heavily wooded lot. The road, if you can call it that, has turned into a mud track from the rains the previous night. Mud splashes high onto the side of his car as he grits his teeth and yanks on the wheel to miss another pothole.

“This is mental!” he yells for the fifth time since entering this road.

“Three hundred fifty yards to destination.”

“Finally.” He adds a bit more pressure to the gas pedal but instantly lets off as he slams into a deeply carved rut filled to the brim with water.

“Arriving at destination on right.”

Slade brakes before a towering wrought iron fence that seems to stretch on forever before him. The scrollwork is elaborate and somehow perfectly fitting to Ash’s style. There is no sign, no grand entrance. A small gray box is attached to a curved, metal pole that rises from the ground beside his car.

He rolls down his window and presses the intercom button. After a minute of silence, he presses it again. “Hello?”

“Yes, sir?” An elderly woman’s voice answers, startling him.

“I’m looking for Ashlyn.”

There is a pause. “Miss Ashlyn isn’t taking visitors at the moment.”

Slade wets his lips. He was prepared for this. “My name is Slade Collins and I work with Ashlyn. It’s very important that I speak with her.”

Another pause, this time far lengthier than before. “She says you no longer work for her and she has nothing to say to you.”

“Ash?” he shouts into the box, leaning heavily against his door. He searches the trees, wondering if there is a camera hidden within the tall maples. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. I just… I need you to hear me out. Please.”

He waits so long he’s sure there is no reason to hope, but finally the gates swing inward, allowing him access. “Thank you,” he shouts at the box.

The SUV slides through the gates and up onto a smooth paved path. The gates close immediately behind him, sealing him inside.

A canopy of maples and pines shades the driveway that winds through the dense forest. He catches small glimpses of color, but they disappear as quickly as he spies them.

After several minutes of driving, the shade trees gives way to brilliant sunlight and his breath catches at the sprawling estate before him. The lawn is manicured and overflowing with ornamental bushes. Hanging flower baskets spill over with fuchsia wave petunias, and a gurgling stream feeds into a large pond. Ducks and geese swim about near the reeds that grow along the far shore. A wooden dock leads out into the pond and a small kayak is tied beside it.

A white gazebo sits higher on the hill, large enough to house three loungers and drink tables beside each. Bright red cushions line each wooden chair. A ceiling fan spins above, keeping the flies at bay.

As Slade steers the car around the final curve in the driveway, he catches a glimpse of the cool blue waters of a pool on the backside of the house.

“You sure are full of surprises,” he mutters to himself as he puts the vehicle in park and descends from the car.

A path of river rock stones crunch underfoot as he approaches the wide steps that lead up to the porch. Tall white columns greet him on the final step. The whitewashed porch creaks as he pauses before the wide double-paned glass door. The frosted glass has been etched with roses to match the magnificent bushes that line the front of the home. A black scrolling handle adorns the door.

He leans forward, trying to peer through the narrow gaps between the frosted glass but jerks back at the sound of approaching footsteps.

An elderly woman rounds the end of the porch from his right and heads straight for him. Her snowy hair is pulled back into a bun tight enough to smooth out some of the wrinkles along her forehead and around her eyes.

Although Slade suspects her to be the loving grandmotherly type, she seems less than pleased to see him.

“Hi,” he calls, offering a weak wave. When she doesn’t smile, he lets his hand fall awkwardly to his side again. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“I didn’t.” She stops less than two feet from him, her cornflower-blue dress flapping in the gentle spring breeze.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Mr. Collins, and frankly I don’t care.” She takes a step forward and pokes an arthritic finger toward his chest. “But if you think you can waltz in here and break her heart again, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Break her heart?” Slade takes a step back. The old woman’s words hit him like an uppercut to his gut. “I never meant to hurt her. It was all a misunderstanding…”

“Yeah.” The old woman nods, her lips taut with disapproval. “I’ve heard that line before. Ashlyn has written it far more times than I care to count, but it’s always the same. A heart is not a thing to be played with, young man.”

“No, ma’am. It’s not.”

Her eyes narrow at his sudden show of respect. “Are you crackin’ jokes, sonny?”

Slade shakes his head, wishing more than anything that he could get through this grilling so he can finally see Ashlyn. His head is pounding, his body is weary from the journey, and he is seriously starting to second-guess his decision not to find a motel and crash for a few hours before coming here.

“I wronged Ash. I’m just here to try to make amends.”

The woman stares at him for a long moment. Finally, she clicks her tongue and heads toward the front door. She pauses and turns back. “She’s a good girl, innocent in many ways. I expect you to take that into consideration when you speak to her.”

“I will.”

It’s only when the front door closes behind her and her footsteps trail off into the interior of the home that he blows out a breath. “Man, that old bird is intense!”

Thirty-One

He follows the porch to the end of the house and turns right, heading toward the backyard. The house stretches on far longer than he would have imagined possible. He counts twelve windows before he even reaches the end of the home.

Poking his head around the edge, he realizes that the deck must wrap entirely around the house. An opening appears in the waist-high white banister near the center of the home, giving way to a stone pathway that leads toward a one-story wood-sided house and the pool beyond.

As he approaches, he can see a blue paddleboat propped against the far wall of the small house. A dark-green canoe hangs from the rafters, it’s oars perched against the wall. A stack of lounge cushions sits gathering dust in the opposite corner.

When he rounds the edge of the pool house, he stops short, shocked by the view. It isn’t the tapering manmade waterfall that spills down into the water from the sloping hill at the back of the pool or the elaborate outdoor grill off to the right that would be any man’s dream that catches his eye, but the petite girl sitting on a lounge chair with her back turned to him.

Her shoulders are hunched over, her arms curled tightly around her knees. Her cheek is pressed against her kneecaps as she rocks. Her flyaway curls dance about in the breeze, lifting from her bare shoulders to tickle her face.

Slade clears his throat and watches as she stiffens. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. He takes a deep breath as he walks around the edge of the pool, careful not to slip in the spray from the waterfall. “I hear I have you to thank for letting me in.”

Ashlyn turns her face away.

He hesitates, suddenly at a loss for words. “Can I sit?”

She shrugs and continues to stare off toward the pond. The geese have moved onto the land in search for food. The ducks continue to swim in lazy circles, teaching their fuzzy young how to stay close.

Spring is all around him, in the delicate blades of grass and the budding flowers. This place feels vibrant with life, yet Ashlyn looks so miserable among it all.

He chest clenches, knowing that he is the reason.

The wooden lounger is hard against his back as he sinks down beside her. He clutches his hands together as he rests his elbow against his thighs. “I, uh… I came to apologize…” She lifts her head and turns to look at him. He can see the caution in her eyes and the warning in the firm set of her lips. “I was a jerk.”

“Obviously,” she says. She reaches up and tucks several strands of flighty hair behind her ear.

Slade rubs his hands together, noting how clammy they feel now that he’s finally here. “I worked on this really eloquent speech on the flight over, but I realized that wouldn’t work on you.”

Her eyes narrow and he backpedals. “Not that this is some stupid line or anything, ‘cause it’s not. I am genuinely sorry.”

Ashlyn stretches out her legs and turns to look at him, positioning her body so that her legs fall on either side of the end of the lounger. “I don’t need an apology, Slade. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“No.” He shakes his head and leans forward. “Don’t you see how wrong that is?”

The freckles on her nose crinkle as she frowns. Ashlyn opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand to silence her. “You have spent the last twenty-two years doing everything on your own. You are tough, even though you would never admit it, and I admire that about you, but at some point, you have to let people in.”

He slips to the edge of his seat and leans forward to take her hand in his. She eyes him warily but doesn’t pull back. “I know I hurt you and have no right to ask your forgiveness. I can be a tad bullheaded at times.”

Ashlyn’s lips tug into a smirk. “And arrogant, egotistical, self-righteous—”

“Yeah, I get it.” He laughs, holding up his hand for her to stop.

She smiles and drops her gaze. He rubs his thumb across the delicate skin along the back of her hand, enjoying the silky texture against his rough skin. “I really am sorry. If I had known who you were…” He trails off.

Her hand stiffens in his. “Would it have mattered?”

Slade tilts his head to the side and considers his answer carefully before nodding. “Yes, but not for the reason you think. I don’t care about the money or your closet fame or anything else.” He slips off the chair and leans up onto his knees before her. “You made me a believer.”

“In what?” she whispers.

He smiles warmly as he reaches up to brush his fingers along her cheek. “In love.”

She erupts into a feverish blush as she bursts into a fit of giggles. “That is the worst pickup line in the world, and I should know!”

“No.” He shakes his head, cupping her cheek as he rises up to meet her eye to eye. Her smile falters when he remains serious. “You were right about me. I’ve got a chip on my shoulder. I like to party, have a good time, but it was all just for fun. I didn’t know how to let people in because I didn’t really know the real me. I’ve spent years being what I thought everyone else wanted me to be, but you saw something more.” He leans in closer. “You showed me that there is more to life than just having a good time.”

Ashlyn hardly breathes as he leans in so close he can smell a hint of mint on her breath. Her eyes widen as he cups her neck with both of his hands, holding her close. “I don’t know how you did it, but you changed me.”

“What about Annie?”

“Well…” Slade grins and ducks his head as if he is actually considering her question. Ashlyn’s lips purse as she whacks him in the side.

“I’m just joking!” He laughs, letting his hands fall to her arms to contain her. “You are so beautiful when you’re feisty.”

Ashlyn falls still, her mouth gaping open in disbelief. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Slade gently pulls her toward him. His gaze drops to focus on her lips, moist and slightly parted with surprise. “Do you remember when I crashed your room that night Tamsin… um, Annie ditched me?”

She nods hesitantly. “You said you weren’t drunk.”

“Yeah.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I totally was.”

“I know,” she whispers.

He shifts forward on the chair ‘til he’s almost falling off the edge. The need to be close to her, to say the right things, sends a small tremor through his fingers as he clings to her. “I may have been drunk, but I wasn’t blind. Seeing you in that bathrobe and slippers, all flushed from you bath, was almost more than I could bear.

“You were real, Ashlyn. Not some girl made up in fancy clothes and make-up. Your beauty is natural.” He lifts his hand to cup her cheek. “You took my breath away.”

Her skin feels warm beneath his hand as her gaze darts away. He thinks for a brief moment that she’s going to flee, but instead, she surprises him as a smirk tugs at her lips and she stares back at him. “Was that before or after you began snoring like a freight train?”

“Before.” He chuckles. “Definitely before.” She seems pleased with that response. “After that, I was so nervous around you, afraid you would notice me staring at you.”

Ashlyn pushes back slightly against his hold. “I just thought you were watching Annie.”

He smiles as he gives her a wink. “That’s because you were always standing right next to her.”

When she laughs, a warmth spreads through his stomach. He places a hand gently at the back of her neck and leans in so close their lips almost meet. He can feel her trembling in his arms. “May I?”

It feels weird to be asking for permission to kiss her, but when she nods, he knows it was the perfect thing to do.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time,” he whispers as he closes his eyes and presses his lips against hers.