Until Ashlyn
Page 8
“Fine, if you want to see how this goes, I’m going to pretend like we didn’t get married and that we are just dating.”
“We are married.”
“Not in my head we’re not,” I grouch, and his nostrils flare. “I’d like to remind you that you think I’m crazy and don’t even really like me.” I know I drive him nuts, and that he thinks I’m off my rocker most days, so I don’t understand why he wants to stay married, or why he even married me to begin with. That memory is still fuzzy, but I swear he is the one who insisted we tie the knot after I made a joke about us getting married.
“Oh, I definitely like you.” His finger flicks my clit as his mouth touches mine. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
Rubbing my hands down my face in frustration, I mutter, “Pancakes, bacon, and eggs. And coffee, the largest pot they have.”
“Got it.” His fingers slide away and his mouth touches my shoulder before I feel him exit the bed. Pulling my hands from my face, I watch him move across the room to the phone and place the order for our food before he walks to the dresser and opens it, pulling out a pair of boxers.
“No one is supposed to use those dressers,” I inform him, sitting up and noticing his suitcase is nowhere in sight, while mine is still open on the floor in the middle of the room with items scattered out around it.
“Pardon?” His eyes come to me then drop to my breast. Rolling my eyes, I tuck the sheet under my arms and nod toward the dresser.
“No one folds their clothes and puts them away in those dressers when they are on a vacation or a trip. Everyone lives out of their suitcase.”
“Says who?”
“I don’t know, everyone.”
Grinning, like he thinks I’m cute, he opens another drawer and pulls out a shirt then steps toward the bed. “You wanna shower with me?”
“No.” I shake my head, even though I really do want to. “I told you, from this moment on, we are just dating. So no more naked anything, and definitely no showering together.”
“If you say so.” He walks to the bathroom, the mirror on the wall across the hall from him allowing me to continue watching him until I get annoyed with myself and pull the pillow from the bed next to me, put it to my face, and scream. Swearing I hear him laugh as I do.
Chapter 2
Ashlyn
“Baby, plane’s landing,” Dillon says into my ear, and my eyes slowly open as my head lifts off his shoulder, where it dropped as soon as the plane left the ground. Putting my feet to the floor, I look around the first class section, watching the flight attendant pick up empty glasses and trash.
“I missed the champagne,” I complain, looking at Dillon. “I told you to wake me up for that part.”
“You were tired. You needed sleep. You can have champagne at home.”
My nose scrunches and I make a gross face, gagging, and mutter, “Ewww no, I hate champagne.”
Chuckling, he leans toward me. “Then why’d you want to drink it now?”
“’Cause we’re in first class. I wanted the full experience.” I shrug. I’ve never flown first class, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like. It’s honestly no different, just bigger seats. Well, plus free champagne, which I didn’t have.
“You’re a nut.”
“Stop calling me that,” I say for the billionth time, glaring at him.
“A cute nut.” He leans in, kissing the side of my mouth, then runs his fingers down my cheek and I see his wedding band sitting at the base of his finger, which makes my stomach turn. The weekend went by in a flash. Between conferences and dinners, there wasn’t a lot of time to think about the fact we are now married. Well… there was time to think about it, because he insisted on introducing me as his wife to anyone and everyone, which completely freaked me out.
“Where are we sleeping tonight?” he asks, dragging me out of my head. I pull my eyes from his ring and lean down, picking up my bag from the floor, pretending I didn’t hear his question. “Ashlyn.” His hand moves to my denim-covered thigh, squeezing.
“Hm?” I pull out my compact and flip it open.
“I know you heard my question. Where are we sleeping? Your place or mine?”
“You’re sleeping at your place and I’m sleeping at mine,” I mutter, pulling out my chapstick, only to have it snatched out of my hand. My eyes fly to his and I swallow when I see the look he’s giving me. I tried over the last three days to insist we sleep in different beds. That didn’t happen. He would join me in mine or drag me to his, each and every time. And each and every time, I put up a fight, knowing I would lose.
Okay, so I may not have fought that hard.
There was something about sleeping next to him that made me feel oddly whole—something I liked a little too much, if I was honest with myself.
“Fine, we’re staying at my house.” He sits back, buckling his seatbelt.
“No.” I shake my head. “No way am I staying at a house that you bought for another woman. No freaking way.” I snap my compact closed and toss it in my bag.
“I did not fucking buy that house for her,” he growls, setting my teeth on edge.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head; even the thought of her makes me mental, makes me want to kill someone, mainly him, because he is the one who was engaged to the woman—a woman I’m almost positive has the devil inside of her.
“We are married.”
“Not in my head we’re not,” I grouch, and his nostrils flare. “I’d like to remind you that you think I’m crazy and don’t even really like me.” I know I drive him nuts, and that he thinks I’m off my rocker most days, so I don’t understand why he wants to stay married, or why he even married me to begin with. That memory is still fuzzy, but I swear he is the one who insisted we tie the knot after I made a joke about us getting married.
“Oh, I definitely like you.” His finger flicks my clit as his mouth touches mine. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
Rubbing my hands down my face in frustration, I mutter, “Pancakes, bacon, and eggs. And coffee, the largest pot they have.”
“Got it.” His fingers slide away and his mouth touches my shoulder before I feel him exit the bed. Pulling my hands from my face, I watch him move across the room to the phone and place the order for our food before he walks to the dresser and opens it, pulling out a pair of boxers.
“No one is supposed to use those dressers,” I inform him, sitting up and noticing his suitcase is nowhere in sight, while mine is still open on the floor in the middle of the room with items scattered out around it.
“Pardon?” His eyes come to me then drop to my breast. Rolling my eyes, I tuck the sheet under my arms and nod toward the dresser.
“No one folds their clothes and puts them away in those dressers when they are on a vacation or a trip. Everyone lives out of their suitcase.”
“Says who?”
“I don’t know, everyone.”
Grinning, like he thinks I’m cute, he opens another drawer and pulls out a shirt then steps toward the bed. “You wanna shower with me?”
“No.” I shake my head, even though I really do want to. “I told you, from this moment on, we are just dating. So no more naked anything, and definitely no showering together.”
“If you say so.” He walks to the bathroom, the mirror on the wall across the hall from him allowing me to continue watching him until I get annoyed with myself and pull the pillow from the bed next to me, put it to my face, and scream. Swearing I hear him laugh as I do.
Chapter 2
Ashlyn
“Baby, plane’s landing,” Dillon says into my ear, and my eyes slowly open as my head lifts off his shoulder, where it dropped as soon as the plane left the ground. Putting my feet to the floor, I look around the first class section, watching the flight attendant pick up empty glasses and trash.
“I missed the champagne,” I complain, looking at Dillon. “I told you to wake me up for that part.”
“You were tired. You needed sleep. You can have champagne at home.”
My nose scrunches and I make a gross face, gagging, and mutter, “Ewww no, I hate champagne.”
Chuckling, he leans toward me. “Then why’d you want to drink it now?”
“’Cause we’re in first class. I wanted the full experience.” I shrug. I’ve never flown first class, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like. It’s honestly no different, just bigger seats. Well, plus free champagne, which I didn’t have.
“You’re a nut.”
“Stop calling me that,” I say for the billionth time, glaring at him.
“A cute nut.” He leans in, kissing the side of my mouth, then runs his fingers down my cheek and I see his wedding band sitting at the base of his finger, which makes my stomach turn. The weekend went by in a flash. Between conferences and dinners, there wasn’t a lot of time to think about the fact we are now married. Well… there was time to think about it, because he insisted on introducing me as his wife to anyone and everyone, which completely freaked me out.
“Where are we sleeping tonight?” he asks, dragging me out of my head. I pull my eyes from his ring and lean down, picking up my bag from the floor, pretending I didn’t hear his question. “Ashlyn.” His hand moves to my denim-covered thigh, squeezing.
“Hm?” I pull out my compact and flip it open.
“I know you heard my question. Where are we sleeping? Your place or mine?”
“You’re sleeping at your place and I’m sleeping at mine,” I mutter, pulling out my chapstick, only to have it snatched out of my hand. My eyes fly to his and I swallow when I see the look he’s giving me. I tried over the last three days to insist we sleep in different beds. That didn’t happen. He would join me in mine or drag me to his, each and every time. And each and every time, I put up a fight, knowing I would lose.
Okay, so I may not have fought that hard.
There was something about sleeping next to him that made me feel oddly whole—something I liked a little too much, if I was honest with myself.
“Fine, we’re staying at my house.” He sits back, buckling his seatbelt.
“No.” I shake my head. “No way am I staying at a house that you bought for another woman. No freaking way.” I snap my compact closed and toss it in my bag.
“I did not fucking buy that house for her,” he growls, setting my teeth on edge.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head; even the thought of her makes me mental, makes me want to kill someone, mainly him, because he is the one who was engaged to the woman—a woman I’m almost positive has the devil inside of her.
