He looks around and whistles. “How many people are you feeling here? I thought you just had a few guests.”

I make a face. “It turns out, I bake when I’m stressed.”

“Then you should check your blood pressure, because this looks like trouble.” Ash smiles again. “When does Bunny leave?”

“First thing in the morning, unless she decides to stay longer.” Panic grips me, I look at him in fear. “Oh God, what if she decides to stay longer?”

“She won’t,” he reassures me. “She told me she has a lunch appointment in Charlotte tomorrow.”

I sink back against the counter. “Wow, OK, good.”

“You should do something to celebrate.” Ash glances away, almost looking shy. “My family is going out on the water tomorrow. You should come along. If you don’t have any plans,” he adds, awkward.

I blink. Ash is asking me out?

“Um, maybe,” I answer slowly, confused. Maybe he’s just being polite. “I’ll see, there might be stuff to do here, with the guests.”

“Sure. Just call.” Ash gives an abrupt nod. “Or meet us down at the harbor. I think we’re heading out about noon. It should be fun.”

Fun?

I nod faintly, too stunned to do anything but pass him the Tupperware container of leftover scones and watch him leave.

Just when I think I’ve got him figured out, he goes and surprises me again.

What the hell is he thinking?

12.

Ash.

I drive back to Dex’s place, planning to get straight back to work. I interrupted a conference call with my New York team to go help Noelle, and my email in-box is spiraling out of control with every day I spend down here. But as I approach the turn-off, I find myself driving straight on, heading along the coastal road with no destination in mind.

I can’t get her out of my head.

From the moment I saw her in the bar here in Beachwood Bay, it’s felt like two parts of my life are colliding; now, everything’s shattering out of my control.

She’s not supposed to be here.

That night in the city was a mistake; an aberration. For a few brief hours, I allowed myself to fall—to feel—but it was never supposed to last. When I woke up on that rooftop to find her gone, my regret was quickly replaced with relief.

Massive, overwhelming relief. Because if she’d stayed, if I’d felt her luscious body curled warm against me in the pale morning light, then she would have been real. What I’d felt for her, that blazing heat, the passion, it would have been real.

I would have had to walk away, but instead, she was gone. She spared me the cruel choice, and for that, I was grateful.

At least, that’s what I thought. I went back to my normal, disciplined world. Logical. Cool-headed. I told myself that impulsive adventure would never happen again, threw myself into work to drown out the memories of her bright eyes and tempting smile.

And then she walked into the bar and all my careful plans were decimated with just one touch.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, feeling off balance and hating every minute of it.

She’s dangerous. Unpredictable. And worse still, she makes me lose all rational thought the minute she comes around. How else can I explain the way I’ve been acting the past few days? Kissing her in the bar, blowing up at Tegan like that. I cut off an important business meeting to go running over to fix a leaky faucet, instead of simply sending a plumber out and focusing on the most important project of my career.

But when I walked into that bathroom and saw her, soaked to the bone and frazzled as hell but laughing through it all, none of that mattered. I just wanted to be there, near her.

No matter what the cost.

I pull off the side of the road and park by the cliffs, looking out at the ocean. I don’t understand how she’s affecting me this way. I’ve had affairs before, even thought myself in love, once upon a time, but no woman has ever consumed my mind—and body—like this before. She’s the opposite of everything I look for in a girlfriend: hot-headed where I want calm; impulsive where I coolly calculate risk. If she was a prospective business partner or employee, I would send her packing in an instant. There’s no room for a wild card like her in my life. My entire empire is built on assessing just what bets are worth making; the numbers that never lie. Black and white, data you can depend on.

There’s nothing dependable about the way she makes me feel.

Bold. Reckless. Wild.

It’s an intoxicating rush, just being in the orbit of her whirlwind energy. The vivid pulse ricocheting from every smile, every touch. Like a ray of light and color bursting through the grey, making me question everything I’ve always believed in.

Making me wonder what I’ve been running from for so long.

I turn away from the ocean, trying to shake the memories of her branded into my brain. Straddling me on that rooftop in New York City; her dress falling down around her waist, her wild curls tangled, backlit by the halo of neon lights.

She was temptation, plain and simple, and I let myself lose control. But I haven’t made it this far by giving in to every passing desire. My whole life has been about responsibility; doing the right thing. The smart thing. Ever since that day my parents went out to the grocery store and never came back, there hasn’t been room for impulse or error in my world. Making it through business school, finding a job, keeping a roof over our heads—that’s what’s been driving me on. I had to build a safe life for me and my family, become successful and secure enough that nothing would ever hurt us again.