The hard part was, Aston didn’t know the half of it.
My eyes were still squeezed shut at the prospect of coming clean. As little electric waves coated my nerves, I could sense him rise to his feet and stand next to me.
“Come with me.” His hand tugged on mine. “Open your eyes and come with me. I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, you know that.”
I wanted to believe him, even though I knew I shouldn’t listen to him. My head at war with my heart, the latter won, and I went with him. After all, hadn’t I just sat in the window waiting for him only a couple of weeks ago?
“Leave the cup. They’ll get it,” Aston said as he handed me my cardigan, then led me out of the back door of the Beanery as I slid it back on. In the alley, he stopped and turned to me. “Bexley, I know I’ve done a bang-up job of ruining everything, but I’m going to make it right,” he said with confidence oozing from his words. “I swear to you.”
Before I could respond, his lips came down hard on mine. He’d backed me into a brick wall—literally and figuratively—and took over my soul with one touch of his lips.
With the brick biting into my spine and his mouth assaulting mine, I hadn’t been this hot for years. Never with Seth. Maybe halfway with my own hand and memories from long ago.
“I made so many mistakes,” he said into my mouth. “But you were never a mistake.”
His tongue swept through the O my mouth had formed, and his hand slid up my side, his thumb caressing my breast over my bra. A shiver ran the length of my body, despite my cardigan.
His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, under my hair, his thumb continuing to caress my nape. Back and forth and back and forth, the pad of his finger moved. My back arched and my pelvis rocked forward, both desperate for contact.
“I should’ve said fuck it all,” he said as he broke free from my mouth. “Told my dad to go fuck himself. You were all I ever fucking wanted. Fuck.”
I should have been turned off by his crude language, but his f-bombs only took me higher, made me hotter. I was fire and his body ice. Together, we smoldered, smoke pouring off of us.
“Oh God,” I said, meaning his closeness, his words, everything.
“I fucking mean it. I need you.” His lips came close again, his hardness grinding into my semi-softness.
The back door swung open, nearly hitting us, and a hipster with a beanie on his head stepped out and lit up a cigarette without making eye contact. “Sorry, dude.”
Aston ran his hand over the side of my face and held me close, protective and dominant. “It’s cool, but watch where you’re going, buddy.”
I leaned closer and sniffed, inhaling Aston’s scent. Cologne permeated his suit, and I remembered the smell from years ago. It was a special blend imported from Europe.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured against the top of my head.
He led me to a black sports car, a manual, of course, as if I weren’t turned on enough already. “We can grab your car later,” was all he said before the engine purred like my libido, and we took off.
As he drove us toward my house, I watched him, trying not to overthink what was about to happen. At least, what I thought was going to happen.
The itch between my legs—the one that dared me to scratch it—won.
My brain turned to mush and my pulse quickened as Aston parked in my carport. He was at my door before I could open it, and he took my hand and tugged me out.
“Wait!” I said, looking down as I blew out a breath. “We have to stop.”
Aston backed up slightly but still held my hand.
Finally meeting his gaze, I said, “I told you, we can’t just hop back into bed like we don’t have history between us. We just can’t. It doesn’t solve your current problems or erase all the bad memories.”
He nodded, looking more like a scolded schoolboy than a cocky businessman. “Let me walk you in.”
Knowing better, I shook my head. “It’s fine. Go. I’ll see you soon,” I said before turning and heading to my house.
Alone and realizing I needed an Uber to get back to my car.
Aston
“What’s up, Doug?” I said as I picked up my phone.
I was back in my office, my assistant finally calmed down, happy I wasn’t in jail. Wasn’t a man allowed to get busy without justifying it?
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” Doug Pyle yelled into the phone.
“You mean you weren’t watching what I was doing?”
I shouldn’t have pushed his buttons, but I was furious with him. I sat back in my chair, a smug look on my face. I didn’t trust this guy, and my mood was already foul. He was going to be on the receiving end of my nasty side.
“No, you ass. I was talking with your other guy, Bill, after he got a text from you.”
I leaned forward. Doug had my attention now.
“Yeah, we chatted, and now I have some interesting theories.”
“Good. Are you going to enlighten me?”
“In person.”
“Okay, when? Tonight? The Bull Lounge at seven? Should I bring my lawyer?”
“No, and you tell Bill,” Doug said before he disconnected.
Sitting forward, I rested my head in my hands, wishing I could still smell Bexley.
Cognac swirled in my tumbler as I set it down and waited for Bill. I’d arranged to meet with him first, needing us on the same page before Doug showed up.
Fucking Doug. He was so full of hot air and inflated self-worth. He should remember that without me, he’d be nowhere.
“What’s happening?”
A hand tapped my shoulder and I turned to see Bill, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, his shiny bald head looming above
