“Isn’t there anything you like that isn’t good for you?”
Playful Ash was back in the building. I was happy to see him, but he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.
“Where did you get it?” I frowned.
“Some woman,” he mumbled around the cigarette, sucking hard then blowing a long plume of smoke into the night air.
“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Why ‘of course’?” he asked, grinning at me.
“Like you don’t know!” I scoffed. “One smile and I bet she was putty in your hands.”
He smiled and leaned closer, holding the cigarette away from me.
“Does it work on you?”
Oh boy, did it ever!
“I’m immune,” I said, lifting my chin. “I have a boyfriend.”
Ash scowled. “You’re back with the prick.”
“Stop calling him that!”
“Douche? Asshole? Fucktard? Hey, do you know any words starting with ‘q’?”
He danced away as I tried to punch his shoulder.
“Stop being a jerk!”
“I already did ‘j’,” he grinned at me.
Happy Ash was adorable, even if he was being a pain in the butt.
I put my hands on my hips.
“Apologize! Right now!”
Ash put his hands together in a prayer, the cigarette dangling from his pouty lips.
“Sorry,” he grinned.
I stomped inside and took a much needed drink of beer, letting it cool me down. Ash stopped to talk to a woman with dyed red hair. He seemed to be thanking her, so I guessed that she was the one who’d given him the cigarette.
I really didn’t need to worry about him—he could probably get everything he needed from random women. But then I remembered the broken look on his face, blood on his back, when he’d yelled at me to get out of that bathroom in Vegas. The dread on his face as we drove up to the police station, the despair and exhaustion when he’d finished.
Ash caught up with me and grabbed my hand.
“Dance with me, Laney.”
“What? Here?”
I glanced around, panicked, and noticed that two couples had edged onto the tiny dance floor and were gyrating to the fast music.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, hauling me toward the dance floor.
“I . . . I . . . I don’t like dancing.”
Ash stared at me.
“But . . . everyone likes to dance.”
I chuckled at his shocked expression. “Um, nope. Not me.”
He gave me a knowing look and pulled both my hands around his neck until our bodies were pressing together. He pushed one firm thigh between my legs, then leaned down, his smoky breath warm against my cheek.
“Don’t worry. Even if you can’t dance, when you’re with me, you won’t look bad.”
Conceited ass! He’d totally called me on my complete inability to clap my hands in rhythm, let alone dance.
His wrists rested on my hips, and he used his whole body to control my movements. The beat of the music pulled me under, the warmth of his hands, the glow of contentment in his eyes as we moved together. For the first time in my life, I was dancing and enjoying it.
“Relax,” he whispered. “You’re dancing like you have a broom up your ass.”
A laugh exploded out of me. “You’re so rude!”
He grinned. “Yeah? But it worked, see?” And he rotated his hips, forcing me to move with him.
I glanced down at our joined bodies and saw the crotch of his pants jump—just enough that I noticed.
My cheeks heated up and I couldn’t look him in the face, but I danced. I danced my uptight little ass off. And I loved it.
But then I thought of Collin and what he’d say if he saw us like this, my breasts pushing in Ash’s chest, his hands low on my hips. My movements slowed and I rubbed my forehead: it was going to be a long few weeks.
Ash pushed my hands from my head and started massaging my temples, his long fingers sweeping gentle circles over my flushed skin. Then he spun me around so my back was pressed against his hard chest, and his hands slid down my neck, his strong thumbs digging into tight muscles, making me groan.
“Oh my God! You have great hands.”
The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I thought Ash would make some joke, saying he already knew, but when I squinted up at him, his face was serious, a small crease between his eyebrows as he concentrated on his work.
“Your muscles are really tight,” he said, a chastising tone in his voice. “You should get a massage. I think it would help you.”
I sighed as his thumbs dug in deeper, just this side of painful.
“I do sometimes, but I can’t as often as I’d like on my income.”
Ash pulled out all the money Angela had given him and tucked it into my purse.
“Enough for a massage,” he murmured.
“Ash, no!”
He pretended not to hear me, so I pulled the money out of my purse and stuffed it into his hands, stepping back so he had to accept it.
“That’s emergency money for you! Not so I can schlep off and get massages!”
“Then I’ll do it,” he offered. “I’ve learned a lot about sore muscles over the years,” and he laughed lightly. “More than I want.”