Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (34 page)

Pulling on my arm, he slips his hand in mine as he walks us past the living room, down the hall, through his bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Dropping my hand, he reaches into the shower and turns the water on. There are two shower heads, and steam quickly floats across the ceiling, making us warmer than we already are.

Facing me, he reaches behind his head and grabs his t-shirt, pulling it off. Golden skin . . . lots of it. Right in front of me. My heart rate picks up.

His eyes drop to the front of my shirt, and he skims his fingers across my breasts and over the band name. “I really like you wearing this, but I’m gonna like it better on the floor.” Gently, he grabs the hem and drags it up my body and off. Stepping closer, he reaches around to find the zipper of the skirt, and pulls it down. The skirt drops, leaving me in my bra and panties.

“You are so beautiful.” His eyes travel over every inch of me and my body flushes at his appreciation.

Reaching for his pants, my fingertips slide under the waistband as I pop the buttons of the fly. Grabbing the denim on his slim hips, I pull and they slide down his legs. He kicks them off, leaving him in a pair of tight, black boxer briefs.

He’s breathing hard, I’m breathing hard, and not one part of me is nervous about what’s about to happen. In fact, I’m pretty sure if something doesn’t happen soon, I’m going to combust.

Stepping up on my tiptoes, I grab him by the back of the neck, and that’s all the invitation he needs. His mouth smashes down on mine and the few pieces of clothing we were wearing instantly disappear.

His hands run up and down and over every part of me, feeling me, memorizing me, branding me, and I do the same to him. Hard lines, lots of muscle, and incredibly delicious, hot skin. Tangling my fingers in his hair, his fingertips pull my hips into his, and I moan at the sensation of his excitement pressed into my stomach. I’m doing this to him, me, and I want more. My mouth falls to his neck, and salt from the sweat reminds me why we’re in here in the first place.

Pulling away from him, he groans in protest.

“No.” He tightens his hold on me and I giggle.

I reach for the shower door, and he reluctantly lets me go, his hair falling over his forehead and blue eyes tracking my every move.

“You’ll feel better once you’re clean,” I grin at him.

“I’ll feel better once I’m buried deep inside of you,” he throws back at me.

Oh my.

His words cause an instant visceral reaction and my eyes drop to take him and his impeccable body in. He chuckles and pushes me into the shower.

He steps under one shower head, I step to the other, and both of us stare as we wash away all evidence of tonight’s show.

How did I get so lucky to be here, with him, right now? Tears burn my eyes and I close them to hide the emotion. Tilting my head back, the warm water runs over me and washes away the vulnerability. Now is not the time or place for this.

Catching me by surprise, Ash’s hands slide over my head, under my chin, and gently, he caresses my throat before wrapping them loosely around the back of my neck and settling them on the tops of my shoulders.

My eyes fly open. He’s watching and waiting for my reaction, but my skin burns for him with an inexplicable craze. I know he’s worried about me slipping from now to then, but he doesn’t need to. I’m here, and I want him. All of him.

With steam whirling around us, and the scent of soap lingering in the air, I look up at him through my wet eyelashes and swallow.

“Ash.”

His eyebrows raise just a little in question and he licks his lips.

“More. Lots more. Touch me. Everywhere. I don’t just want it, I need it.” My words are throaty, laced with a longing that’s just for him, and he squeezes my shoulders in response.

Dropping his eyes, he follows his hands as they slide with the water and move over my collar bones, and down to cup my breasts. His thumbs swipe back and forth, causing every muscle in my stomach to constrict. From there, they glide over my ribcage, and onto my hips. One settles on my outer thigh, and the other travels to explore the more intimate parts of me.

My toes curl into the water pooling at our feet in an attempt to grip the travertine. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me, and it feels so good to be touched by him.

Him
.

Only him.

Reaching up, I cup his face and rub my thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes are hooded and dark, his cheeks are dotted red, and it’s obvious what he’s doing to me has him as affected as I am.

Bending over, his lips land on mine at the exact moment his fingers sink inside. Grabbing on to his arm for balance, I gasp at the sensation as he begins to make love to me with his fingers and his mouth . . . at the same time.

Sensory overload.

The warmth of the water. The burn of his skin. The taste of his tongue. The determination of his hands. The feel of his heart. The losing of mine. I surrender to him and fall into a trance of complete and utter bliss.

Backing me up against the wall, his hands grab my waist, and he lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around him, and he leans forward, bracing me in with his hips. One of his arms falls over my head to support himself, and the other under my butt to hold my weight.

Never breaking eye contact, he gently shifts my body and lowers me to exactly where we both need me to be. My head falls back against the wall and his face falls into my neck. A moan slips out at the pleasure he’s giving me, and his fingertips dig in as he begins to rock back and forth.

Back and forth.

Never in my life have I felt anything as moving and earth-shattering as this. He fully imprints himself on me, and I feel ravished, cherished, and loved. From the beginning to the end, the entire experience elicits emotions so raw and so real, I cling to him as tightly as I can as my heart swells and bursts into thousands of tiny sparkling pieces. How I’ll ever be able to find them all again, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to.

I am in love with him, and this just cemented his life to mine.

Laying my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapped around him, neither one of us moves. I think if I could stay like this with him forever . . . I would.

Something in his room makes a noise and wakes me.

Cracking my eyes open, I look at the clock and see it’s eight thirty. A groan rumbles through me; I’ve only been sleeping for two hours. I roll over on to my side. Soreness, that’s what I feel, and I decide it’s a good thing, smiling to myself.

Ash either has a very healthy appetite for sex, or a very healthy appetite for me, or both. Not that I’m complaining. I would repeat the hours we spent together last night any time. The buzz goes off again, and I reach over him, feeling along the nightstand to find it.

It’s his phone. No, it’s mine. Oh, I don’t know, phones all feel the same. Picking it up, a text from Juliet is lit up across the screen.

Juliet: Once she leaves, come back over, we missed you this morning.

Sitting up in bed, I reread the text as my heart starts pounding in my chest. I can’t be reading this clearly, but I am. I know it. The screen goes black and I freeze.

Once she leaves
. She knows I’m still here. I know there were tweets and photos of me taken at his show last night, but still. How much does she know about me? Did he tell her about us? And if so, how is she okay with him being with another girl? Nausea instantly hits my stomach.

Come back over
. This implies that they’ve been together recently, real recently. Like spent-Thanksgiving-together recently. Tears blur my eyes. I’m so confused.

We missed you this morning
. I don’t know how to take this. Clearly, he sleeps there, and frequently, if he’s missed.
We
. Is she talking about the little boy he has as his wallpaper? Oh, God. Is this even his home, or is it just where he takes girls he meets?

Suddenly, flashbacks of Chris and his spring break affair come to mind. I found out about that too by text, and I can’t believe that the past is repeating itself.

Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe over to the closet door and open it. It’s only half full, and not because the other half is meant for someone else, but because he doesn’t have a lot of clothes hanging in here. How did I not notice this before?

I feel so stupid.

Who is Juliet?

Looking down, I’m still gripping his phone. Hitting the button, I slide it on; it doesn’t have a password. I open the web search and type in “Will Ashton and girlfriend” into the browser, and hit the images tab. There, as I scroll through, are hundreds and hundreds of pictures of him and the girl from the night of the benefit.

Oh my God.

Clicking on a random picture from last year’s Country Music Awards, the headline pops up, “Will Ashton, escorted by longtime girlfriend, Juliet Brooks, wins Male Vocalist of the Year.”

My heart stops, and tears spill over.

How could he do this me? How could he do this to her? How can she be okay with him being with other women? I know if he was mine, I certainly wouldn’t be, but then again, I guess he’s not mine and never will be.

With shaking hands, I close the browser and place the phone back on his nightstand. He’s lying on his stomach with one arm tucked under his pillow and the blanket has slipped down to his waist.

He’s so handsome.

My stomach clenches at the sight of him, and I hate myself for fully trusting him and allowing my heart to so freely become his. Somewhere in the back of my mind, warning bells should have been going off. After all, we started out as a lie; it makes sense that we would end on one.

Sucking up my pride, I quickly move around his room and collect my things. I have to get out of here before he wakes up. I feel humiliated enough without it being shoved in my face any more than it already has.

Glancing at him one more time, my heart feels like it’s being ripped from my chest as I force it to silently say goodbye, and tiptoe out the front door.

The elevator comes, the doors slide open, and I step in.

On the back wall, there’s a mirror and I gasp at the sight of myself. Swollen lips, color in my cheeks, tired but bright eyes, crazy hair. It’s easy to see what kind of night I had, and staring at my refection, I suddenly feel guilty for trying to sneak out versus confronting him.

The doors close and I don’t move. If I do, and the elevator leaves this floor, I can’t get back.

Regret engulfs me and the weight of it bends me as I collect my wits.

Maybe the media is wrong. This wouldn’t be the first time.

Ugh.

What am I doing? This is stupid. I can’t leave here without talking to him first.

Running my hand through my hair, I suck in a deep breath, and hit the “open” button.

Taking the walk back to his front door, my heart slams into my chest. I’m nervous, scared even. I feel out of control of this situation and I hate it.

Quietly cracking his door, I’m startled when I hear Ash’s voice, my eyes flying up to see Clay standing at the edge of the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Ash asks as he approaches him cautiously.

What’s wrong? It’s eight thirty in the morning and Clay knows I’m here, well, at least he thinks I am. Oh my God. What if there’s something wrong with Emma? Prickles break out across my skin; I should just walk in, but something deep inside is warning me not to.

“D-d-did you a-a-ask Juliet to m-m-marry you?”

WHAT?!

No, no, no! This can’t be happening.

Ash lets out a rush of air, takes a step back, and tucks his hands into his pockets. He’s thinking about how to best answer Clay, when he really doesn’t need to—it’s written all over his face.

Oh my God.

My hand starts trembling on the door. I so badly want to close it because I know what’s coming, but I can’t.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says calmly, shaking his head. The defense in his tone is apparently not what Clay wants to hear and his entire body stiffens.

“That’s not what sh-sh-she says. Sh-sh-she says y’all are talking about getting m-m-married.” He takes a step closer to Ash and his hands fist and flex at his sides.

Ash’s eyes track the movement and his brows furrow.

“We did. If you’ll just let me ex-”

Without warning, Clay’s fist slams into Ash’s jaw knocking him backward and I feel like it was me. I feel sucker punched straight in my stomach and I can’t breathe. Ringing fills my ears and tears cover the burn in my eyes.

Forget the text. This is so much worse. He just admitted to his best friend that he talked about marrying that girl. Marrying! And recently!

Why is this happening?

Splintering grief.

Absolute desolation.

Obliteration.

Without even closing the door, my body starts moving on autopilot as tears drip down my face and onto the floor. One foot in front of the other, my feet take me to the elevator . . . which takes me to the lobby . . . and then I’m walking away. Away from the one person I thought was meant for me.