Bad Boy Summer (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 5) Page 11

“Ever?” he said. “You sure about that, Pamela?”

  She took another sip of coffee and turned her face away from him, staring out the window. “We shouldn’t have let it… I mean, it was great, okay? More than great. But it was a mistake. Let’s just leave it there.”

  “A mistake,” he deadpanned.

  “Yes.”

  “Who you trying to convince, Deeds.” Ash slid his hand down to her ass, yanking off the Post-it and sticking it to her shoulder. “Me, or you?”

  She was hiding in her coffee mug again, her face as red and flushed as he’d made it last night. He kept waiting for the punch line, but time stretched out between them, and she wasn’t backing down.

  She was obviously nervous. That part, he got—hell, he was nervous, too. This whole thing was fucking awkward as shit, and there was still a lot between them they hadn’t addressed. But from Ash’s vantage point now, the conversation was starting to look a lot less like nerves and a lot more like regret.

  Maybe he’d misread her last night.

  Maybe he was misreading her now.

  “It's not like that.” Pam tore the Post-it from her shoulder and ducked out from under his arms, putting some distance between them. “Can we just… can we be mature about this, Ash? Please?”

  Mature. Right.

  Disappointment dropped in Ash’s gut like a rock, followed immediately by stone-cold determination.

  Time to shut it down. All of it. He didn’t do drama, didn’t do all this messy bullshit and tangled up emotions. Disappointment? Regret? Awkward morning-after coffee and bullshit comments? Fuck that shit. He couldn’t deal with it when they were younger, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

  Yeah, last night had been fun. Great. Best sex he’d ever fucking had. He’d hoped they might go a few more rounds this summer, but if that’s how she wanted to play it, fine. Probably for the best anyway. They’d had their fun, avoided getting busted by Liz, and now they needed to cool off, forget it ever happened. In a few weeks, the house would be done, Pam would be heading back to New York, and Ash would be… well, who the fuck knew where he’d be after this. He only knew where he wouldn’t be—stuck in the past, pining after the woman he never should’ve walked away from in the first place.

  “Fine by me,” he said. “What happened last night? Already forgotten.” Ash turned his back on her and reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself another cup even though he was already way too amped up from the last two. He needed her to leave. Now. Let him focus on his work, on cleaning up the kitchen, on staring out the fucking window—anything to keep his mind off last night.

  “Ash, come on,” she said softly, reaching out to brush her fingers along his arm. Her touch was electric, sending a bolt of heat straight to his dick. “Don’t be like that. I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t you have a list to make?” He turned the glare at her over his shoulder, fighting for control—over his dick, and his emotions. “Some important factoid to highlight in a book somewhere?”

  “A list?” Pam laughed, but it was harsh and bitter, and he immediately regretted his words. “So that's how we're playing it today? I set boundaries, you walk all over them, then you make fun of me. Great! Now that I know the rules of the game—”

  “You and your fucking rules.” He set his mug down hard on the counter, spilling lukewarm coffee all over his hand. Wiping it on his shorts, he said, “You know what those rules do?”

  “Obviously nothing if you don't follow them.”

  “Pam, you’re driving me—”

  “They keep me grounded!” She exploded, all semblance of control gone. “They keep my life in order. They keep my brain and heart from blowing up whenever I feel like things are out of control and I can’t fucking breathe. And most of all, they keep me from getting hurt.”

  Pam’s eyes were wild with frustration and rage and something else Ash couldn’t quite define—something vulnerable that made him ache for the way he’d left her before. The way her parents had left her. She’d built up those walls, those damn rules, all because nobody in her life had ever stuck around.

  “You’re wrong, Deeds.” He grabbed her chin and titled her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Shit like that doesn’t keep you safe. It keeps you locked up in a little box, alone and afraid while your whole fucking life goes by in a blink. Believe me.”

  “You have no idea how—”

  “No?” Ash shook his head. “You’re scared? Yeah, I get it. Me, too. You think this is easy for me, being back here? With my sister? With you? You think I know what the fuck I’m doing here, Pam? Jesus Christ. I never thought I’d see you again.”

  She batted his hand away from her face. Her eyes were glassy, her chest rising and falling faster with every breath, but this time she didn’t back up. Didn’t look away.

  “You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m scared to death.”

  Ash touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin.

  “Tell me you can stop after last night,” he said softly. “Tell me you really don’t want any more, and I’ll walk away right now. Respect every last fucking rule and list and boundary you make.”

  Pam didn’t say a word.

  Ash opened his eyes. She was staring up at him, searching, her warring emotions playing out across her face.

  “Say it,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks. “Tell me to walk away.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She swallowed hard, her eyelids fluttering closed. “I don’t want you to walk away, Ash. I don’t want you to stop.”

  He pulled her into a kiss, sliding his hands into those curls, devouring her until he couldn’t fucking breathe. She tasted like coffee and summer and that sweet, gorgeous taste that was all Pam, his Deeds, his fucking girl, and Jesus fuck, he never wanted to let her go.

  Without breaking their kiss, he backed her up against the counter again, pressing his body against her curves. He reached for the hem of her shirt, but before he could lift it over her hips, she grabbed his hands.

  “You okay?” he asked, his heart banging like a hammer.

  “No. I mean, yes. I’m… yes. I just…” Pam bit the edge of her lip, and Ash had to resist the urge to bite her, too. “If we’re really doing this… Shouldn’t we have some rules? Like before? Just so we know what to do?”

  Ash laughed, kissing the soft skin just beneath her ear. The faint throb of her pulse against his lips made him growl like a fucking animal. “Fuck your rules, sweetheart. I don’t need a manual to know how you like to be touched, and right now, that’s the only thing I care about.”

  “But… what if things get out of hand?”

  “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

  Pam gasped as Ash lifted her onto the countertop. His intentions were crystal fucking clear now, and there was no more talking things out, no more let’s-forget-about-it bullshit as Ash unbuttoned her cutoffs and yanked them off, along with her red cotton panties, pitching all of it across the room.

  Ten minutes ago, her lips had said last night was a mistake. But hell, her body was as honest as they came, and that body was hot, wet, and ready for more.

  “Spread your legs, beautiful.”

  “What… what are you doing?” she asked, her blue eyes darkening with raw desire.

  “Well, first I’m gonna touch you, just like this.” Ash ran his hands along her thighs, sliding between them and spreading her wide. “And then I’m gonna eat that pussy until I forget the fucking taste of food.”

  He pulled her forward and pushed her knees up, propping her heels on the half-open silverware drawer under her ass, stroking her creamy thighs as he lowered his mouth to her wet, needy flesh.

  Pam arched her hips against his mouth, whispering his name like a prayer, and Ash blew a hot breath across her clit, loving the way she shivered for him.

  “Ash. You’re so… God.” Pam slid her fingers into his hair, pulling him close, her head l
olling backward against the cupboard. “More. God, please, more.”

  Fuck…

  His tongue darted out, swirling around her sensitive nub, the heady scent of her arousal making him damn near drunk. He dipped his tongue inside, stroking her harder, then pulled back. Taking his sweet fucking time, he sucked her clit between his lips again, licking her, grazing her with his teeth, bringing her closer and closer to the brink.

  She wouldn’t last much longer—she was already trembling, the muscles in her thighs tightening beneath his firm grip.

  “Ash! I can’t wait!” Pam gasped, fisting his hair and rocking her hips into his face, making him hard as fuck. “I’m right there. I’m… oh my God… Ash!”

  Ash thrust his tongue inside her as she came, fucking her with his mouth, his lips, sucking and eating that sweet, gorgeous pussy as she bucked against his face, her thighs clamped around his head, blocking his ears and muffling the sound of her cries. She rode him hard, her hands tangled in his hair, yanking it until his eyes watered, and still he didn’t stop. He sucked her harder, savoring the taste of her just like he’d intended, even as the dishes in the cupboard behind her head rattled and clanked, even when his coffee mug toppled into the sink, even when the drawer under her foot gave way and clattered to the ground, dumping all the silverware onto the floor.

  It took a long time for Pam to finally stop shaking. Ash pulled back slowly, kissing her thighs, her belly, gently lifting her off the counter. He set her down on her feet and held her against his chest, giving her time to catch her breath.

  When both their heart rates had returned to normal, he buried his face in the crook where her neck met her shoulder, brushing his lips along the curve. “You okay?”

  “More than okay.”

  “This mean we can stop with the rules and regulations bullshit?”

  She laughed, the sound reverberating against his chest. “You were never good at following them anyway.”

  “No, but I’m good at other things.”

  “Um, yeah.” Pam tightened her arms around him and sighed. “Too good.”

  “Come on, then.” He kicked aside the silverware in their path and threaded his fingers with hers, tugging her toward the living room. “Might as well see what else we can break before you change your mind.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The shower curtain.

  The coffee table.

  A windowsill in the living room.

  The front passenger seat in Ash’s beat-up truck.

  In just over a week’s time, Pam and Ash managed to break quite a few things at Summerland, adding pages to Ash’s endless to-do list and an ache between Pam’s thighs that only Ash could satisfy.

  Afternoons were strictly for work—Pam locked in her bedroom, diligently reading the Financial Times and Wall Street Journal while Ash sawed and hammered and sanded his way through the house, transforming it. Lizzie spent her days on the beach or out on Luke’s boat, but the three of them cooked and ate dinner together, sometimes staying up late to play naughty Scrabble, drink too much, and catch up. Pam had been taking pictures, too—picking up that old camera to snap random shots of Ash and Liz, sunsets, sandpipers, even goofy stuff like the dinners they cooked and the empty wine bottle collection they’d amassed.

  Even with that deadline looming over her, Pam couldn’t remember a time when she’d laughed so much, had so much fun.

  It was at midnight, though, when Pam truly came alive, sneaking down to the beach with Ash for what had become their nightly ritual. There on the beach, in the place where the water met the sand, where the night met the morning, they shared the most intense, passionate hours without clothes, without reservations, without an end.

  Yes, it was scary. The more time she spent with Ash, the less she wanted to say goodbye, the sunset on her California trip sitting low on the horizon, just over a week ahead. Thinking about it made her heart hurt.

  She never should’ve taken it so far with Ash. Logically, she knew that. He wasn’t the type to make any promises about the future, and she wasn’t about to back out on her own best-laid plans.

  But for the first time in her life, Pam was breaking every last one of her rules—and enjoying the hell out of it. It was Summerland, after all, and maybe—just for a little while—Pam wanted to believe in magic again.

  “Morning, sunshine. You’ve got mail.” Liz broke into her thoughts, tossing a FedEx package onto Pam’s bedroom desk. It was only seven a.m., but Liz was already dressed in a cute rose-colored sundress and strappy sandals, her hair woven into a loose side braid. “Anything exciting?”

  Pam’s stomach knotted up. “If you call historic stock prices for the textile and oil industries exciting, then strap yourself in.”

  She tore the strip off the package and peeked inside, confirming the contents. She’d been expecting the package—her advisor had emailed the other day to let her know he’d be sending it, and “strongly encouraged” her to familiarize herself with the documents. He also included another note—just more of the same insults and threats, all of it veiled as support and concern for her future.

  Pam set the whole thing aside, a sour taste lingering in her mouth. Not wanting to think about it, she picked up the camera instead, popping out the spent film canister and loading in a new one. She hoped the film was still good—she’d found a fresh pack tucked away with the camera, but the expiration date was three years ago.

  Liz narrowed her eyes. “What’s that face?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, that's it. Intervention.” Liz sat on the edge of the bed, her face pinched in concern. “You're in here every day, working your ass off for that man. But every time you hear from him, you look like you're about to burst into tears. What’s the problem? You're getting your work done, right?”

  “I guess so.” Despite all the time she’d been spending with the camera, not to mention sneaking around with Ash, she had gotten a lot done—pages and pages of solid research and well-articulated arguments.

  But no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to please Ferguson.

  “You guess so?” Liz said. “What does that mean?"

  “Nothing I send him is good enough.” She turned around in her chair to face Liz, resting her chin on the back of it. “I know my work isn’t perfect—far from it. And it's his job to push me. To challenge me. But I've seriously lost all perspective. I used to live and breathe this stuff, but I feel like… like I can't connect to it anymore.”

  Ugh. Just saying it out loud made her chest ache. This was her life—her future. Why was she losing sight of that?

  “Maybe you’re just burned out,” Liz said. “Three weeks on the beach can’t cure everything, Pam. You need more time.”

  “Ferguson thinks I don't give a shit anymore. I don't know if he's being a hard ass or if I’m… if I just…” Pam looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't give a shit anymore.”

  Despite her best efforts to keep it together, the waterworks started up, and Pam’s throat tightened, cutting off her words. It was as if the universe didn’t want her to say them, because once they were out there—spoken and heard—there’d be no taking them back. No going back.

  But at this point, did she even want to go back?

  “I'm scared,” she admitted.

  “Of Ferguson?” Liz asked gently. “The committee?”

  “Of… I just… I can’t… I don’t know what I want anymore, and I don’t… I…” Pam’s heart hammered, her insides twisting up. She kept licking her lips, but her mouth was so dry, so thick, and she couldn't get enough air. Suddenly the walls were closing in, suffocating her, and the room spun, and she couldn’t—

  “Breathe, Pam. Just breathe.” Kneeling in front of her, Liz grabbed Pam’s hands and took a deep breath, gesturing for Pam to do the same. “In, and out. Just relax.”

  Pam followed Liz’s lead, closing her eyes and willing her heart to chill out. A few m
inutes and deep breaths later, she was finally calm again, the walls right where they were supposed to be.

  “Sorry,” Pam said, opening her eyes. “I don't know what the hell is wrong with me lately. I feel like… like I don't know who I am anymore. Being back here with you guys…” Pam tried to blot the tears with her shirtsleeves, but that only made it worse. “Lizzie, honestly? Two weeks at Summerland, and I can't even remember why I ever left California.”

  New York, finance, the MBA, the corner office in some downtown Manhattan skyscraper, the money… that had always been Pam’s plan A, and she’d sacrificed nearly everything to make it happen. She was one stupid thesis away from securing the next link in her plan—an important link. But now that she was so close, she wasn't sure she even wanted it anymore.

  Deep down, maybe she’d never wanted it.

  She’d loved California. Loved her friends. Loved her life here, other than the situation with her parents. But by the time she graduated high school, they were long since divorced, and Pam could’ve gone to school anywhere. Why had she left at all? Was it just because she was scared of becoming like her mother? Dependent on a man to support her, giving up her own identity just to cash in on that meal ticket? Had she really felt like New York was her only option? Some guarantee against future mistakes? Or was she just running away?

  God. Two weeks in California had her questioning everything.

  She didn't know whether that made her brave or a complete fool.

  “Maybe you just need to schedule more downtime. Come visit us once in a while—not just on your doctor's orders.” Liz squeezed her knee. “Being here is a good reminder that you're allowed to have a life outside of work. That you're allowed to have fun somewhere other than New York.”

  “No, it's not that.” For Pam, New York wasn’t fun—never had been. It was practical. Logical. The smart choice. The city had the job prospects, colleagues, professional contacts—just what Pam needed to secure her future.

  “What is it then?” Liz asked.

  Pam sighed. Where did she even start?

  It was being back here at Summerland. It was those carefree, late-night dinners with Liz and Ash. It was the feel of the sand on her toes when she walked the shore, looking for Liz. It was hearing her best friend’s laughter bubble up from the water as she goofed around with Luke. It was the familiar weight of the camera in her hand, the sound of the shutter as she clicked away, capturing moments in time.