Heart of Ash (4 page)

Oh yeah. He couldn’t wait to feel another clench…

Again, he had to discipline himself to focus on steering. Thinking about anything else could lead to disaster.

They reached the small island in no time and he reversed the engines as they floated toward the dock. It wasn’t much of a dock, but it didn’t need to be.

He grabbed the tether and pulled the boat in, then helped her off, cutting the engine and flipping a few key switches. She laughed as she shook out her pant legs. They were soaked to her knees.

There should be absolutely nothing sexy about a woman in purple overalls, flip-flops and a droopy hat. But when she laughed like that, like there was no greater joy in the world than being here and when she gazed at him with her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted… Ash had never seen anything sexier in his life.

It poleaxed him.

A niggle of guilt speared him, for lying to her, for luring her, for the seduction he planned to unleash, but he thrust it away. She was a grownup. She’d come willingly.

And he wanted her.

And she wanted him.

He was certain of it.

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her off the dock and onto the beach. “The nests are over here.”

“Ooh. It’s so pretty,” she said as they headed down the shadowed path into the woods toward the nesting site. Or where it might possibly be. He hardly gave a shit.

“Mmm hmm.”

“I love when the trees form a canopy like this. It’s like a cathedral. See how the sun filters through in shafts?”

Damn, she was a chatterbox. “Mmm hmm.”

“Oh look. Isn’t that beautiful?”

He glanced to the left, where she was motioning. “The…spider’s web?”

“Oh yes,” she said. Now that she mentioned it, it was rather stunning. Geometric perfection dotted with glittering raindrops from a recent shower.

But seriously? He’d never met a woman who’d liked spider webs.

Her observations continued on, unabated, as they made their way through the woods. She loved the way the moss felted the branches, the way the sky peeked through the lacy leaves, the smell of the loam. Ash let her monologue wash over him, and occupied his mind with thoughts of silencing her…with a kiss.

“So what do you do, Ash?” she gusted, as they topped a rise.

“Hmm?”

“What do you do?”

For a living? Nothing. But he couldn’t say that. “I like to play with glass.” It was his passion. His only passion, anymore.

Something lit in her expression. Something he liked. A lot. She was pretty before. Now she was downright gorgeous. “Leaded or fused?”

A trickle of satisfaction dribbled through him. She knew. She knew the art. The one thing that gave his life some meaning. “Both. But I like fusing the most. I have a kiln.”

“Really? Which kind?”

He named a model that made her murmur, “Nice.”

Naturally. It was top of the fucking line. His whole life was top of the line.

Judging from her well-worn outfit, an obvious hand-me-down, she came from a very different background. Not that he cared. It hardly mattered. He didn’t have marriage, or a relationship of any kind, in mind.

“Oh, I see them!” she cried.

Ash blinked and then followed her gaze. Holy hell. He hadn’t been full of shit. At least, not completely. Several eagles perched on the treetops, ruffling their wings and scanning the woods.

“They’re splendid.” A sigh.  “Just splendid.”

Damn. Once he looked at her, he couldn’t look away. She was so goddamn pretty to begin with, but with delight dancing in those wide eyes, she was irresistible. And damn, those eyes. They were an icy blue, ringed with an almost purple hue. Combined with her dark pupils, they were mesmerizing.

He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t wait a moment longer. He had to kiss her. Now.

He tipped up her face and came in slowly, giving her a chance to resist, step away, stop him.

She did not.

Her lips parted. Her tongue peeped out. A shudder walked through him.

Damn.

Damn. Damn.

His lips touched hers. Just a soft brush. A skim. A tantalizing tease. He tasted, smelled, felt wonderful.

Emily was typically very nervous around men, especially hunky and handsome men who seemed too self-assured for their own good. But something about Ash set her at ease. His smile, his laugh, his slightly reserved approach. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she liked him. Trusted him.

And this tender exploration was far too sweet. She didn’t want it to end.

So she cupped his nape, went up on her tiptoes and opened her mouth against his.

His breath hitched, tangling with hers and, issuing a low growl in the back of his throat, he yanked her against him.

Holy Hannah, he was hard. His chest. His ropy, muscular arms…his groin. A scalding blush crept up her cheeks as she realized exactly what that firm pressure bespoke. Arousal. For her.

Normally, in a situation like this, when a man rubbed an erection against her like that, her natural reticence would kick in. Fear would flare. She’d back away. Fight free if necessary.

But no fear flared as Ash deepened the kiss. No nasty memories awoke. Anxiety did not claw at her bowels.

No. A joy, an elation unlike anything she’d ever experienced in a man’s arms, flooded her.

Perhaps it was because she really, really liked this man. Or perhaps it was because, even though the kiss was wild and savage, he held her gently, as though she were a delicate China doll. As though he would let her go if she but asked.

Or perhaps it was simply because everything about this felt right.

Ash lifted his head and gazed down at her, a muscle working in his cheek. Slowly he released her, though his caress lingered as it slid away. “We—” He cleared his throat. “We should be getting back.”

Her belly plunged. “Getting back?”

He looked up at the sky and for the first time, she realized dusk was falling. Ribbons of crimson and amber streaked through the puffy clouds. “Come on.” He laced his fingers through hers and led her back to the dock. He stumbled a few times on upturned roots, because he wasn’t watching where he was going. He was gazing at her.

Heat crawled up her neck.

He was so handsome. His hair was blond and sun-streaked. His face was broad, open, tan. His muscles bulged against the fabric of his shirt. Where they intertwined, her fingers tingled. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

They reached the dock way too soon and he released her hand to unlash the Jet Ski. “Do you want to drive back?” he asked.

 “I couldn’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. I’ll show you.” He helped her onto the seat, in front, and then settled behind her. She leaned against him as the little craft bobbed in the waves. His warmth surrounded her. She shivered. “Just turn the key,” he said, “and gun the throttle.” She did. The engine revved. Then coughed. Then died.

She pursed her lips. “I think I did it wrong.”

“Try again.” His breath, fragrant and sweet, caressed her cheek.

She swallowed and focused and did it again.

And again, the engine died.

“Huh,” he grunted. “Let me try.”

His hands, long-fingered and sure, fiddled with the controls. The engine sputtered, but didn’t catch. He sighed. “I think we might have flooded it.”

It was getting dark. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do. But wait.”

She shuddered. The thought of driving across the expanse of water to the main island in the dark was frightening.

He shrugged. “I guess we could spend the night here.”

She froze. Apprehension rose. Or maybe it wasn’t apprehension. Maybe it was anticipation. “Sp-spend the night?”

“We won’t have to camp.” He gave a little laugh. “There’s a cabin.”

“B-but my friends will be worried.”

“Did you bring your cell phone? We can call them.”

“No. Did you bring yours?”

He shook his head.

Emily gazed at the main island. It seemed so close, yet so far away.

Ash got off the Jet Ski and re-tied it to the dock, then settled a somber look on her. “I don’t think we have any option, Em.”

Normally, she didn’t like nicknames, but she liked when he said it.

He reached out a hand and she took it, let him help her back onto the dock. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

And she believed him.

Chapter Four

The cabin was adorable, nestled as it was in the trees. It was a tiny one-story, but had a lovely porch that hung over the cliff, looking out on the water.

“There’s no power,” Ash said as he pushed open the door and ushered her in.

Emily narrowed her eyes against the gloom. She could make out a table by the window and a sofa in front of the fireplace. The interior was rustic at best. She hugged herself as a wave of disquiet swamped her. She was alone with a man. In a cramped cabin. On an isolated island.

She’d been alone with a man in an isolated spot once before.

That had been a catastrophe.

“I’ll start a fire. Can you light those lamps?”

The sound of his deep voiced snapped her from a dark memory and she started. “Lamps?”

“I see two on the mantel.”

Ah. Yes. She swallowed heavily and crossed the room. There were, indeed, two kerosene lamps on the mantel, and a box of matches. She carried them to the table, where there was a hint of sunshine, and worked on trying to figure out how to light them while he set a fire.

When the first one flared, chasing away the shadows, she felt better. The second illuminated the room even more.

It was actually quite charming, she decided. Homey. There was a door on the other side of the cabin, which she assumed was a bathroom and another next to it, which was probably a closet. Even as her stomach growled, her gaze stalled on a cupboard by the fireplace. She carried one of the lamps over, opened the door and found it stocked with staples.

She shot a glance over her shoulder to find Ash watching her. A fire crackled cheerily behind his kneeling form, surrounding him with a warm circle of light. For some reason, the sight of that halo calmed her nerves.

“We won’t starve,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear it. What’s in there?” He stood and brushed off his knees and came over to check out the fare.

“Let’s see. A can of peaches, pancake mix, condensed milk, coffee.” She shot him a grin. “Spam.”

“Spam?”

“Spam, spam, spam, spam,” she sang, delighted when he laughed.

“Ooh, caviar.” He pulled out a fancy jar.

She wrinkled her nose.

“What? You don’t like caviar?”

“Ick. I’d rather eat a bug.”

“Really?” He scanned the contents of the cupboard. “Any bugs in there?”

She snorted a chuckle. She couldn’t help it.

“Oh, there’s wine.” He pulled out a bottle of merlot. “Do you like red?”

Again, she wrinkled her nose. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“One glass?”

She shrugged. “Maybe one glass.”

He hunted for a minute, coming up with a bottle opener and two tin cups. He held them up with a wink. “Classy.”

“With a ‘K.’” She plucked at her damp pant legs. The clinging fabric annoyed her.

“Do you want to take those off?” he asked.

Her pulse lurched. “Wh-what?”

“You can dry them by the fire.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” she said. She wore a long shirt beneath her overalls, but the thought of prancing before him with bare legs set her teeth on edge. She would rather be a little uncomfortable.

She pulled out a box of crackers and arranged them on a plate, spreading them with peanut butter from a jar in the back, and then arranged their feast on the table. They sat, limned in the glow of the fire and the flickering lamps, and dined. On peanut butter and crackers and merlot. An odd combination, but she enjoyed it. Because he was there.

While they ate, they chatted about his glasswork and her glasswork and pets they’d had and nothing much in particular. The merlot was delicious. She had two tin cups full—more, perhaps, because he kept topping hers off. It lit a spark within her, singing in her veins. By the time they finished eating, she was feeling particularly mellow.

As she tidied up, putting the peanut butter and crackers back in the cupboard—the wine she left out because he said he wanted more later—he explored the cabin, opening the two doors and peering inside.

The first door did indeed lead to a bathroom, which Emily found comforting. She didn’t relish the idea of relieving herself in the woods.

He opened the second door and grunted, “There are sheets in the closet. I wonder if the sofa is a fold out.” He crossed the room and pulled off the cushions, revealing a hide-a-bed, which he pulled up and out. Expanded, the bed took up most of the small space.  “You can sleep here,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Emily winced. The floor was hardwood. It would probably be very uncomfortable. “That’s not fair,” she said. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Ash put his fists on his hips and mock-glared at her. “There’s no way you’re sleeping on the floor. A gentleman always lets the lady take the bed.”

She nearly sighed. He was so chivalrous. In her experience, men that handsome were…less than chivalrous.

She opened her mouth and the words slipped out. “We can share the bed.”

Egads
. Had she actually said that? Her heart thudded, awaiting his response. To her relief, his reaction was nothing more than a friendly nod.

“Okay.” He turned away, back to the closet, riffling through it. He pulled out sheets and pillows and blankets, which he piled on the back of the sofa. “Are you a lefty or a righty?”

“A what?” She laughed and picked up the bottom sheet, ignoring her shaking hands. He took hold of one corner and together they fanned it out over the mattress. She couldn’t meet his gaze. This was all far too intimate.

But he was so matter-of-fact. That, in itself, calmed her.

“Do you sleep on the right or the left when you share a bed?”

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t know. She’d never shared a bed. Never
slept
with a man. “I…ah… It doesn’t matter.”