Captivate, book I of the Love & Lust (16 page)

The bartender helps him up onto the barstool. The man’s grip is strong against his arm. “Thanks for the help. Not sure how much more of a beating I was in for, but I’m betting those other blokes were itching to take a turn on me.”

“I’ve done my fair share of fighting over a girl in my day. I prefer to let the cops fight my battles now.”

Slade nods, clutching his side. “Sounds like a better plan than mine.”

He turns to find Tamsin struggling to remain upright. “I should probably get her back to her room. Do me a favor? Next time you see her down here, just cut her off early. When she gets pissed at you, just tell her Slade’s looking out for her.”

The bartender nods and helps him get Tamsin on her feet. Her feet buckle as she takes a step and Slade grunts as he takes on her weight to keep them both upright. He grits his teeth against the pain but manages to get them out of the bar and into the lobby.

“This would be easier if you would actually help me walk.” He grunts.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She grins, pressing her lips against his neck.

The women working at the front desk watch him as he passes by slowly. He can only imagine what they must be thinking to see a young guy carrying a scantily clad and very drunk woman toward the elevator.

“It’s okay. She’s just had a bit too much to drink. I’m taking her up to bed now,” he calls out. As he turns to press the up button, he winces, realizing what he just said probably didn’t make this awkward situation seem any less messed up.

Twenty-Four

Ashlyn lifts the strap of her black dress onto her shoulder, annoyed that it keeps slipping off. Her knees bounce as she searches the lobby again for any sign of Slade. The large golden clock perched on the wall above the check-in desk says that he’s nearly twenty minutes late. She can’t really fault him for the entire twenty minutes, though. She was running behind by at least ten of them.

“Where are you?” she whispers to the empty lobby.

Fidgeting with the hem of her dress, Ashlyn agonizes over whether or not she dressed properly for the occasion. Slade had told her to dress nice, but to what level was she supposed to rise? When you stop and think about it, anything is nicer than sweaty exercise clothes.

Her high-heel shoes have already begun to make her ankles ache. A blister began to form before she even reached the lobby. Of course that might be because she spent ten minutes pacing frantically in her room, trying to talk herself into actually going through with this.

What was she thinking to agree to dinner with him? Doesn’t that technically mean this is a date? Is that what he intended, or is she overthinking this entire situation?

Ashlyn sighs and leans back against the soft back of her armchair. She watches couples come and go, some dressed in fancy suits and dresses for a night out and others wearing simpler clothes for sightseeing. She envies the latter.

By the time Slade is a full thirty minutes late, an uncomfortable realization sinks in: Slade has stood her up.

Embarrassed and furious with herself for even going through with this charade, Ashlyn rises with as much dignity as she can muster and heads for the elevator. As the doors close behind her, she pushes number four instead of her own floor.

Her mind screams that she is insane to confront him when she’s angry. Logic tells her to wait until she’s thinking rationally before she expresses her frustrations, but the temptation to lay into him is just too strong.

When the elevator opens wide, she steps out and heads directly down the left wing. She knows where his room is because it’s exactly right below hers.

Her ankles threaten to buckle as she hurries down the carpeted hall. She considers pausing to remove her heels but comes to an abrupt halt when she realizes she’s already arrived outside his door.

Nervous tension roils through her belly as she tries to figure out exactly what she should say. Should she tell him how hurt she is? How she knew letting him in was a mistake?

She lifts her hand to knock but pulls back when she hears voices from within the room. Not just voices… laughter. Ashlyn’s chest clenches when she realizes there is a woman in Slade’s room, and it sounds like she’s having fun

Numbness falls over her as her hand drops to her side. How could she have been so foolish? She knew who Slade was and still she dared to hope that maybe, just maybe he would try to overcome his playboy ways.

“You’re a fool, Ashlyn,” she whispers as a tear slips from her cheek and splatters against her chest.

She turns and heads back toward the elevator, her shoulders sagging. As she pushes the button for her own floor, Ashlyn leans her head back against the wall. “So this is what it feels like to be rejected.”

A mother’s rejection is something she knows all too well, but this… this is why she never let herself get too close to a guy. She clutches her chest, sickened by the pain chipping away at her. Betrayal is like a poison, slowly eating away until there is nothing left.

The loss of hope is far worse.

Her steps feel weighted as she turns down the hall to her room and lets herself in. She doesn’t glance at her laptop or even have the desire to change out of her dress. Ashlyn slips under the covers and curls into a ball. She reaches behind her and grasps a pillow to hug close as her tears come.

It takes several hours before her tears finally dry up, and when they do, she falls into a restless sleep. She tosses and turns, tormenting herself with thoughts of seeing Slade the next day at the book signing. It’s the last one in the States. The last one close to home.

As Ashlyn rises with the sun, she goes through the motions of prepping for the day but doesn’t really have any memory of doing so. She sinks into her chair after she’s fully dress and pulls her legs up to her chest. She rests her head on her knees, fighting against another round of tears.

She doesn’t want to cry over Slade anymore. She wants to get back to work. Work never hurts her. Work never abandons her. Work never lies.

But looking over at her laptop, Ashlyn can’t bring herself to do anything. The lethargy of her pain slowly weaves into razor-sharp anger.

He knew what he was doing,
a voice whispers in her mind—that cynical side of her that has remained silent until now.
It was all just a game for him.

No.
She shakes her head, unwilling to think of him like that. True, he is perfectly capable of having his moments where he comes across like a true English wanker.
But it’s not who he really is… is it?

Surging to her feet, she grabs her door key and rushes out. She can’t stand this emotional upheaval. She stabs at the level-four button and taps her foot, waiting impatiently for the doors to open. When they do, she practically charges down the hall to confront Slade.

She hammers on his door, not caring in the least that it is barely 6:00 a.m. “Slade!”

The logical side of her mind tells her that she’s going to wake up the entire floor. The emotional side couldn’t give a crap.

She knocks three more times before she hears the lock on the door shift. She steps back and crosses her arms over her chest, fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind.

When the door cracks open, she sees Slade’s bare chest first, followed by his unruly hair that looks achingly gorgeous. His dark-blue boxers leave little to the imagination as he wipes his sleep-filled eyes. “Ashlyn?”

“Where were you?”

Her demand catches him off guard. He blinks, suddenly appearing to be wide-awake. “I left you a message at your room. Didn’t you get that?”

Ashlyn’s mouth opens and closes without a sound escaping. Had she checked her messages last night? She is vaguely aware of a blinking red light on her phone.

Chewing on her lip, she can feel some of her anger melting away. “I don’t really recall…”

Slade leans against the doorframe. “I should have known you would take it like this. I swear I didn’t mean to stand you up. I had to…”

“Slade?” Ashlyn rises onto her toes to see Tamsin rising from the bed. She clutches the sheet to her chest. “What’s going on?”

Ashlyn goes cold, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. Her gaze lowers to his boxers and her anger boils over. “You lying son of a—”

“Now hold on right there, Ash.” He lifts his hands to stop her. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“I thought you were better than this.” A sob catches in her throat as she looks beyond him to see Tamsin’s clothes strewn about his bedroom floor. “Don’t ever call me Ash again.”

She turns and flees down the hall. The numbness sweeps back in to steal away her anger.
He chose Tamsin over you,
repeats on a maddening circuit in her mind.

Slade’s bare feet slap against the carpeted floor as he races out the door and charges after her. “Ash, please! Wait up!”

Her hair tangles in her long eyelashes as she races down the hall. All that matters is that she gets away, far away.

She was fool to think Slade might actually be able to care about someone other than himself.

Blinded by tears that she wishes she could seal away, she stumbles down the hallway. Her hands skim the golden wallpaper for support as she sprints for the elevator.

“Sorry!” Ducking her head, she mutters her apologies as she rushes past an older woman walking her poodle in the hall. Its leg is cocked and ready. The selected ornamental shrub has already begun to show signs of browning just above the roots. Obviously, this has been a regular occurrence while the woman has been staying at the hotel.

“Ash!”

Fueled by the nearness of his call, Ashlyn races around the woman and her prissy poodle and jabs her finger on the up button. She bounces on her toes, begging the doors to open.

“Come on!”

Ashlyn can tell that her eyes have grown puffy by the way her nose drips incessantly. She has always been a messy crier.

When she hears the older woman’s tsk of disapproval, she risks a glance behind her.

“Go back to bed, Slade. I’m not interested in your excuses.” She tries to be inconspicuous about cleaning her nose with her sleeve but fails miserably as a damp patch appears on her arm. She stuffs her hands deep into her pockets and glares at Slade.

“It’s not what you think,” he says, holding out his hand as if to try to stop her from leaving. His other hand clutches to a bed sheet that he wrapped haphazardly about his waist before dashing out the door. She does her best to keep her eyes focused above his neck as he steps forward, his bare feet plodding on the hallway runner. “If you had listened to my message, you would already know that Tamsin was drunk last night and I couldn’t just leave her. She was a mess.”

“How noble of you,” the elderly woman says as she sniffs indignantly in the air and tugs her dog away from the bush. She turns her back sharply on Slade and offers Ashlyn a consoling smile as she passes. Her white poodle prances at her side, nose high with similar disdain.

“This is none of your concern,” Slade shouts after the woman. He grunts in frustration as she merely waves him off and slams the door to her suite behind her.

“Look, I get what that must have looked like back there, but you are taking this way too personal, Ash. Nothing happened. I swear it!”

Ashlyn nibbles on her lower lip, suddenly gripped with indecision. What if he really is telling the truth? What if what she walked in on was as innocent as he claims?

“She was naked in your bed, Slade. And you’re not exactly dressed much better yourself right now. What am I supposed to believe happened?”

“I don’t know? Maybe you could try doing something radical for a change… like actually trusting me for once.”

The door at the end of the hall opens and a very hung-over Tamsin leans out into the hall. She grips the doorframe tightly to keep from spilling over. Her fiery mane is lopsided, pressed flat on one side and wild on the other. “Slade? Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

Slade’s mouth drops open as Ashlyn drills him with an accusing glare. “You can pick up your check at the concierge desk when you leave.”

“Wait? What?” His brow furrows in confusion. Ashlyn nearly cries out in relief when the elevator doors finally open. She leaps inside and repeatedly presses the close button.

Leaning back against the wall, she closes her eyes, praying he will just let her go. It would be so much easier if he would.

As the doors begin to shut, he shoves his arm through and her hopes sink. His jaw is rigid when he pushes the door back open. “You can’t just fire me. I’m under contract.”

Ashlyn’s anger and pain simmer in one large melting pot of highly explosive emotions. “I wrote your contract and I can break it whenever I want. You are done, Slade. Pack your things and go home.”

She jams her finger on the close button and shoves his chest with just enough force to remove him from the elevator. He stumbles back but doesn’t try to stop her again as the door finally seals him out.

The last emotion she saw on his face wasn’t anger. It was regret.

Ashlyn collapses back against the wall, hugging herself as she lets the tears come.