Page 34 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“ No one can save you.”

I wake with a start, my heart pounding, adrenaline tightening my chest. My grandmother's voice echoes in the clamshell of my ear. As if she just whispered to me while I slept.

But, of course, I'm alone…in a canopy bed…in a castle…in Scotland. Pulling the covers off, the morning chill seeps through my thin sleep shirt, breaking goose bumps over my skin. I hurry across the cold rug to the closet and pull out a robe, then go over to the fireplace where coals still glow.

I throw on another log, sparks jumping from the ashes. The dry wood quickly catches and tiny flames lick up over the bark, feasting on it. The fire I was forced to escape when I last spent time with Omar burns its way past the haze of sleepiness hovering over me.

He thinks Ash sold us out, but I know it was Linda Whitmore. I didn't tell Omar that. He left without touching me after promising me he'd see me today. Only a man who wants more than sex does that—especially when he's already had the milk for free, as that repulsive saying goes.

Omar is playing a long game. He's not the first powerful man to become enamored with me. But this feels different somehow.

I think Omar wants to care for me—in part because he thinks I can't do it myself. But also because he feels we have a unique understanding between us. I comprehend the double-edged nature of his glamorous life.

It's very possible Omar thinks I would make a useful, pleasant royal consort—perhaps even a queen one day—capable of what the role requires. A consort who needs him to stay alive…

My phone pings on my bedside table, and I have to leave the warmth of the fire to go to it.

“Are you up?” Ash asks.

I don't bother texting back, just cross to the door and open it.

Ash stands there, taking up so much space it's almost a joke. What does his mother think of him? Is she amazed by his size every time she sees him? Does she still think of him as a boy? There was a time when this man didn’t reach his mother's knee.

"What are you smiling at?" Ash asks, his brow furrowing.

I shake my head, stepping back so he can enter. “I was thinking there was a time when you were tiny. A baby." He turns to me, head cocked. What? A baby? I close the door. Leaning against it. “You're just so big. It's funny to think you were little once. Do you have siblings?"

"Yes," he answers slowly, unsure how I will use this information. "An older sister."

"She was once taller than you." I'm grinning now.

"That's not a fact I'm willing to confirm at this time." His expression is blank but there is a hint, some distant twinkle of humor, behind his eyes.

I laugh. The memory of when Ash grinned at me comes back in full technicolor and heats my cheeks.

His head tips to the side. What now?

I take in a breath and move past him back toward the fire. "What can I do for you at this ungodly hour?" I ask, taking one of the seats by the fire, pulling my legs up onto it and tucking them under me.

"I wanted to talk about security on the hunt. Assuming you're going."

I bite my lip. The hunt. There are ten more guests arriving today. And they are going out after a stag tomorrow. Tromping through the Scottish moors in tweed with rifles and good old-fashioned grit.

Ash takes the other seat, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze rakes over me. “You okay? Something seems off.”

I sigh and lean back into the chair, letting my gaze wander to the molding at the junction of the wall and ceiling—it's ornate like everything else around here. A tribe of cherubs blow horns and shoot arrows around the edge of the ceiling.

"Omar knows…" My words drift off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

I bring my gaze back to Ash. His eyes have sharpened.

His entire face transformed—it suddenly has more angles.

There is not a hint of softness left. Nothing of that boy his mother must have adored.

The one his sister could pick up. I sigh.

"He knows I'm an asset. And that I'm now a target of my own nation. He offered to help me."

Ash's frown deepens.

"By killing you," I finish.

Ash's top lip twitches—almost a snarl.

"Don't be like that," I say, sighing again. "He thinks you're the one who leaked our location in London, information that was shared with the bombers. And in a way you did, I guess. Because you told Linda." Ash's jaw tightens, eyes chilling, iceberg mode activated.

"Ash, I know you were as betrayed as me." I lean forward, my feet touching the warm rug. "I haven't had any coffee, you know?" It comes out a whine. And a defense. I would have figured out how to say that in a way that didn't make you so emotional if you'd brought me coffee.

A knock at the door sounds before Ash can respond. He stands to answer it. Alesana hands him two mugs of coffee, giving me a nod good morning. I nod back, kind of chastised but, in my defense, I hadn't had any coffee.

Ash returns and passes me my mug before taking his seat again, leaning back into the generous chair, and crossing his legs. "What did you say to him?" he asks, voice even, not iceberg, but no fucks are being given out for free this morning.

"I told him not to hurt you."

Ash huffs a laugh—as if Omar could.

I roll my eyes, sip the coffee. It's good, creamy and rich with a touch of sweetness. I close my eyes and rest my head on one of the chair’s wings.

I open my eyes to find Ash watching the fire, jaw tight…it would probably be a more fun game to note when it's not bunched with tension. Those moments where he's not holding back.

I've never seen him in a fight, but I'd guess it's loose then—I bet he's relaxed when he's in combat. When he’s unconsciousness, whether natural sleep or concussion-based.

I take another sip of coffee. When he's on the verge of a smile, that little bunch of muscles relaxes. Maybe that's how Zade figured out Ash's funny bone—watching the line of his jaw. I could see that.

A log cracks loudly, making me jump. It splits, half falling into the coals, shooting up sparks. My heart rate settles, I pull my legs up again. Sip my coffee and shift my focus to the fire. Ignoring Ash.

His attention falls on me; I can feel his inspection as hot as the flames in front of me. "What?" I finally say.

"Nothing."

I turn to him because the lie is so scalding. "Seriously, you're staring at me."

"I'm sorry." Ash drops his gaze to the carpet between us.

"You're mad that Omar thinks you betrayed me?"

"No."

"You think I'm playing with fire and are concerned for my safety?" His jaw relaxes and his lips twitch. I grin, pleased with myself.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," Ash says, keeping his focus on the intricately patterned rug.

"Don't ruin my fun."

His eyes come back to me, and concern tightens the skin around them. "Angela." Fuck, when he says my name like that, the whole grid lights up, sparks skittering between us. Does he feel that too? He must. This kind of thing can't be one-sided. Can it?

No. He wants me—Ash has made that clear.

That he wants me but isn't going to do a damn thing about it because of his nobility and professionalism.

Traits I admire. Sort of. I swallow and his eyes drop to my throat as if he can tell I'm trying to push down the lust that his voice saying my name just ignited in my sleep-addled body.

Does he know the way it fuzzed my not nearly caffeinated enough brain?

"This hunt is a bad idea," Ash continues.

"I'm not going hunting," I say, shaking my head and dropping my gaze to my coffee cup. "I might go horseback riding with Omar. But I'm not joining the hunt."

"Okay."

"Why?" I look up. "Do you think I'd be hurt? Or are you worried about how you and Alesana can provide security?”

"I'm worried about you." His eyes hold mine and there is an always at the end of that sentence he's not saying out loud. The fealty I wanted is right there. I got it. But it doesn't feel like enough…

"I'll be fine," I say.

"I know."

My smile trembles. "Because you'll take care of me?"

"You can take care of yourself. I'm just here to watch your back." I laugh because it's so ridiculous. His head tips, examining me from that other angle he seems to need when I'm not making sense. "Angela."

"Don't." I shake my head.

His head tips further—my words just getting more confusing.

"You are very capable. You saved my life.

" Fuck, he's doing that earnest thing again and I cannot.

I just cannot contend with earnest Ash. Iceberg Ash is better than this vulnerable man leaning forward, his eyes intense—practically begging me to see what he sees.

"You've saved mine a few times." I wave a hand at him. The memory of his big body blocking me every time I've needed a body to block mine in the last two years except for that blast. That ambulance. The sickening need to kill I've been fighting grips me by the throat.

"What?" Ash asks, noticing the shift in me.

I meet his gaze, suddenly desperate to tell him.

The words are sitting there. I wanted to kill him, Ash.

I wanted to slide my blade across his throat and feel the warmth of his life pour over my skin.

I wanted to end him so he would never hurt anyone again.

"Nothing," I say, shrugging one shoulder, and turning my focus to the fire.

"You can tell me," Ash says, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "If there is ever anything…you should tell me. It makes it harder to have your back when you don't share."

The laugh that comes out is bitter. It belongs to a woman who has realized all her efforts have gotten her nowhere but to the edge of an abyss. That she made all the wrong moves for the wrong reasons. I note the swirl of emotions that elicit it. The thoughts running through my mind when it escaped.

He would never understand.

Don't risk telling a man what you really think.

Sharing your darkest thoughts will only hurt.

Life will kick you in the teeth the moment you think it won't.

Faith is the most dangerous drug.

"Angela," Ash uses that tone again and this time it makes me want to cry. "You can trust me."

I nod, forcing the burning behind my eyes to subside. Puppies playing with a roll of toilet paper. A panda bear doing somersaults. "I know I can trust you.” I reach out to touch Ash, trying to soothe him, to make him forget he's sure I'm hiding something.

When my fingers connect with his wrist a spark sizzles between us. "I know," I say again, my voice quieter. The tone you'd use in church to confess your sins. But I won't admit my blood lust to Ash.

Ash turns his hand and twines his fingers with mine, surprising me. I had to move to the edge of my seat to reach out to him. My feet on the fire-warmed rug, arm extended, fingers now trapped…held by his.

He's staring down at our joined hands. I follow his focus. My nails are painted a pretty pink—they're long enough to bead blood but short enough they don't get in my way every time I pick up a fork. Ash's fingers end in blunt, naked nails, his fingers thick and rough. Mine slender, soft.

"You're stronger than you think you are," Ash says without breaking his gaze from our fingers. "I'm sorry you have to use so much of your strength to hide from everyone."

He looks up at me then, and I'm not ready for Ash's gaze. I'm staring at him, my masks all forgotten. He held me while I sobbed and never said a word about it. He carried me. Followed me. "I'm sorry you have to hide too," I say.

Ash blinks, surprised by my response. We stare at each other, our fingers interlaced, the electricity between us crackling louder than the fire in the hearth.