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CHAPTER SEVEN

Ainsley woke up the next morning and smiled.

She was in Coulton’s bed again. After sharing her relationship history, she’d expected him to bolt. Because Jesus, she’d stabbed boyfriend number two.

But he hadn’t walked away. Instead, he’d gazed at her with something that looked strangely like respect. When she considered all the reasons why she was attracted to Coulton—and the list was growing—it occurred to her the fact he never pitied her was very close to the top. He looked at her like she was strong, a survivor. On rare occasions, she felt those things about herself, but most of the time, it just felt like she was going through the motions, more numb than powerful.

Talking about Montgomery had ripped the scab off a wound that wouldn’t heal, and for a little while, she’d remembered exactly why she needed to protect herself around Coulton. Of course, that newfound self-preservation hadn’t lasted through dinner last night, because her resistance when it came to the sexy, far-too-charming goalie was zip, zilch, nil, non-fucking-existent.

They’d dined on the best food she had ever put in her mouth, even though she wasn’t a hundred percent sure what half of it had been. The waiter had described each course—there had been courses!—which included seared foie gras with red onion marmalade, caramelized figs and pan toast, rack of lamb with a macadamia nut crust and a fancy sauce, roasted red potatoes, mint pea timbale, carrot puree, and a crème br?lée.

It had been incredible, delicious, and then, after dinner, they’d done just what Coulton had suggested. Stood at the railing, watching the world pass by as they sailed over calm water and listened to contemporary string music piped through the yacht’s sound system. Coulton had drawn her into his arms during an instrumental rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” the two of them swaying on the deck, and for the first time in her life, she’d wished time would freeze.

Right there.

Right then.

Once they returned to the marina, he’d asked her to come home with him, and she’d said yes without a second’s hesitation. Because seriously…he’d taken her out on a yacht, wined and dined her, then slow-danced with her! It was like something ripped out of a romantic movie.

Ainsley glanced toward the window, the curtains closed to keep out the sunlight, and tried once again to regret that she wasn’t being as careful as she should.

She’d fallen for three of the worst men on the planet, so opening herself to that kind of heartbreak again would be the height of stupidity. And while Tiger and Jagger had hurt her, it had been Montgomery, with his sweet words and thoughtful gifts, who’d crushed her heart so thoroughly, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

It had taken her some time to realize that Montgomery hadn’t just claimed her heart. He’d given her the hope of a better life. Hope that she could have a life outside of Cherry Hill and Mick’s Tavern. That she wouldn’t always be hungry, tired, scared, alone.

That was why his cut had been the deepest.

Coulton placed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder when he woke up.

She didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she said, “Your hand is on my tit.”

Coulton gave her breast a squeeze. “Hmm. How did that get there?”

Ainsley laughed, especially when he flexed his hips, his very hard cock pressed against her ass.

“Someone’s wide awake,” she joked.

Last night, they hadn’t made it more than a handful of steps inside his condo before Coulton pushed her against the wall, kissed her senseless, then stripped her down and took her, fast and furiously. From there, they’d progressed to the bedroom, where they knocked quite a few sexual positions off their list. In addition to missionary and doggie style, they added cowgirl and sixty-nine to their repertoire. At one point, as she was begging for mercy and more at the same time, Coulton joked that it was a marathon, not a sprint.

“Sweet dreams?” he asked.

She chuckled. “You fucked me into a state of dreamless exhaustion.”

“Mmm. I think I wouldn’t mind doing that again,” he said. “Are you busy tonight?”

Ainsley’s heart fluttered at the thought he wanted to see her again, even as the skeptic inside told her to get her head in the game.

Rather than commit to any future sexcapades, she rolled in his arms, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. She reached out to run her fingers over his face.

“I like your beard,” she confessed.

Coulton rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I do too. Never had a beard before Baltimore.”

“Why not?” she asked, curious. “It suits you.”

He lifted one shoulder casually. “Evelyn wasn’t a big fan of facial hair.”

“Ah.” It was the first time he’d mentioned his ex since that initial morning in his kitchen. They’d spent a lot of time talking last night, but too many of those conversations had been one-sided, Coulton asking the questions and her answering them.

So much for playing her cards close to her chest. She’d told Coulton things about her relationships and childhood that she’d never shared with anyone. Maybe because he was a great listener. Or because he seemed genuinely interested. Or because of that lack of pity in his replies.

Most likely, it was all of those things combined.

But now, it occurred to her there were a million things she wanted to know about him too. Like basically everything. “Did you always want to play in the NHL?”

If Coulton thought her question had come from left field, he didn’t let on. “I think every kid in the world dreams of growing up to be a famous singer or actor or professional athlete. I was no exception. Of course, I was blessed with a generous helping of common sense, so while I wanted to play professionally, there was that little voice in the back of my head reminding me it wasn’t a realistic goal.”

Ainsley reached out to place her hand on Coulton’s waist, thrilled when he mimicked the touch. “But you must have found a way to ignore that voice,” she pointed out. “Because look at you now.”

“I don’t know if I ignored it as much as I didn’t let it hold me back. It was there more for protection than as a barrier.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t stop going for my dream because it was unachievable. But, if I hadn’t succeeded, I had that little voice to reassure me that it was okay if I failed, because my goal was a hard one. As long as I tried my best and did everything possible to achieve it, then I could still hold my head up high if I didn’t make it. I think it’s human nature to dream big, Ains. It’s fun to win, but it’s also important to be able to accept losing without letting it destroy your self-confidence or happiness.”

Ainsley pondered that, letting it sink in. “That’s a cool way to look at it.”

“What about you?” Coulton asked. “What did you want to grow up to be when you were young?”

Ainsley wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. Probably because there wasn’t an answer. Or at least not a good one.

“I don’t remember.”

Coulton narrowed his eyes. The guy was scarily good at recognizing when she was lying. “Try.”

“I didn’t really think about what I wanted to be as much as where I didn’t want to be,” she finally said.

Coulton reached over her shoulder, his finger tracing the skin where her birdcage tattoo was. “You dreamed about escaping?”

“When I was younger, yeah. Whenever Mick would smack me around or lock me in a closet, I would dream about the day when I could get out, away from him and Eli and all of it. But that dream died in high school.”

Coulton frowned. “Why?”

“By that point, I was old enough to understand that I didn’t have the luxury of dreaming.”

“Explain that to me,” Coulton insisted, running his fingers through her hair.

She tried to concentrate on her response, but when he touched her—something he did a lot—it was hard to focus on what she was saying over how he was making her feel.

“I was a mediocre student, Coulton, so it wasn’t like I was going to ever go to college. I didn’t have the grades to get a scholarship, and without a scholarship, I didn’t have the money. I don’t have a driver’s license because we’ve never owned a car, so my employment options were limited by public transportation. I applied to work as a cashier in a local grocery store when I was in high school, but Mick flipped his lid. Said if I was going to work, it was going to be for him, because he’d had enough of me freeloading on the rent and food.”

Coulton had an expression she was starting to call the Mick scowl. “He’s your fucking dad . Those things are his responsibility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do I really need to point out our different upbringings again?”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t,” he said darkly. “Not sure I can stand to hear it anymore.”

Ainsley pushed forward, planting a quick kiss on Coulton’s lips, touched by how angry he was on her behalf. It was a novel experience for her, and she liked it way more than she should.

“Anyway, that was when I started working in the tavern,” she continued.

“Pretty sure you weren’t old enough to be a bartender.”

She smirked. “I started out washing dishes, serving the crappy food, cleaning the place. Not that it helped much, because the tavern has always been a pit, disgusting as shit. And don’t even get me going on the bathrooms. The only thing that would improve that place would be some gasoline and a match.”

“So you’ve been working at Mick’s since high school?”

She shook her head. “No. I thought I’d managed my escape from Mick and Eli with Jagger. I moved into an apartment with him and found a job as a waitress at a chain restaurant near the Inner Harbor. The tips were good enough that I could pay the rent and buy groceries, but not enough that I could save anything for a rainy day. Savings accounts are a rich person thing,” she said, giving Coulton a playful grin. Ever since he’d discovered she’d never had a bath, she’d started making him a list of “rich” things, something that seemed to amuse and upset him in equal measure.

This jest did the same, as he smirked and shook his head in unison. “Why did you quit the restaurant job?”

“Refer back to me stabbing Jagger. I missed three shifts in a row without calling because I was locked up. The manager had a zero-tolerance policy, so when I went back to explain… Well, let’s just say my boss didn’t think being in jail for stabbing someone made me a person he wanted to retain.”

“So you moved back in with Mick?”

“The day after I got out of jail, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Where had you planned to go when you left Jagger?”

Ainsley sighed. “Another waitress from work said I could sleep on her couch until I found a place I could afford on my own. It wasn’t a great plan, but I’d been desperate to get away from Jagger. That offer dried up when my job did. Because again…me stabbing a guy really seemed to be a sticking point for everyone at the restaurant. That left me only one option.”

“Mick.”

She nodded. “It was either go home or sleep on the street. He was a smug fucker about it too. He’d been pissed when I quit working at the bar and moved out. He made me beg, then he saddled me with a shit-ton of shifts as a way to pay penance. I didn’t have a choice because I knew I was going to get hit with a bunch of legal fees, and at the time, I was at least eighty percent sure I was going to jail. I’d been too terrified to think about the long term.”

Coulton gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Jesus, Ainsley. I can’t begin to imagine how scary all of that must have been for you.”

She shrugged, trying not to let him see how much his affectionate kiss and kind words were impacting her. She really needed to learn how to manage her expectations with Coulton, because nothing good was going to come of this. It never did.

“Does your asshole father even fucking pay you?” Coulton asked hotly.

“Of course he does. I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t work for free. It’s just…not a lot. The money we make from the tavern these days goes into one account, and that’s what we use to pay all the bills. It used to be more, but with his medical issues,” she sighed, “whatever’s left at the end of the month is split between me and Mick, and lately…”

She stopped talking, her eyes darting around Coulton’s very clean, well-furnished, bougie-ass condo, and her pride kicked in. It was hard for her to admit just how poor she was. Not that she had to. Coulton had seen the truth up close and personal when he’d picked her up for their date. She’d been absolutely stunned he hadn’t taken one look at the shithole she called home, turned on his heel, and gotten the hell out of there.

Coulton looked only slightly appeased by her response. “If you could be anything you wanted and money wasn’t an object, what would you be?”

Ainsley opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again because she didn’t have an answer to that. She hadn’t lied when she said she didn’t dream. Dreams were built on hope, and that was something she’d lost a long time ago.

Coulton called his little voice common sense.

She called her voice reality. And while she’d always thought it was there to protect her, now she was wondering if it had also held her back. She hated to think she’d been making excuses for not trying, but now that she considered it…

God. Coulton was really getting into her head. Every time she had tried to better her life, she’d gotten knocked right back down on her ass. And while that sucked, when the hell had she stopped getting up?

The idea that she’d settled—or worse, given up—didn’t sit well with her.

“Honestly,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

She expected Coulton to press the subject, but something on her face must have told him she was telling the truth. “Do me a favor,” he said, squeezing her hip. “Give it some thought.”

“Ooookay,” she said, shooting him a funny look, because why? Rather than ask, she just agreed. She’d already said way more than she was comfortable with. “I will,” she lied.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Coulton gave her a cheeky grin, one that said he knew he was pushing her.

“Sure. Why hold back now?” she joked, even though this conversation had well passed the limit in terms of her comfort zone.

“Why do you stay with Mick? You got a job at a restaurant once. Why not do it again? There are other places to live in Baltimore.”

Ainsley bit her lower lip. That question was harder to answer than the one about her dreams. She blew out a long, slow breath. “I…don’t know.”

Coulton wasn’t letting her get away with that lame response, so he waited her out.

“You missed your calling,” she said disgruntledly. “You should have been a shrink.”

He chuckled but didn’t take the bait, lifting one eyebrow as he waited for her reply.

Ainsley hadn’t known the answer to the dream question, but she knew this one. Even if she hated it. “He’s a shitty dad, but he’s still my dad,” she said. “He’s mean and cruel and a total bastard. I know he doesn’t love me. Hell, he doesn’t even like me, and the only reason he keeps me around is to use me, but, apart from Eli, he’s the only family I have. When Mom left, saddling him with two brats…”

Coulton narrowed his eyes.

“Mick’s words, not mine,” she hastened to add. “He didn’t ditch us. I know that’s a low bar, but I had some friends from school who were growing up in the foster system. They were constantly getting shuffled around from place to place, and some of those homes were…well…they were really dangerous. Especially for the girls. Better the devil you know, I guess.” She shrugged. “Shortly after the Jagger ordeal, Mick first got the COPD diagnosis, and he started struggling at the tavern. Now, he can’t work, and I don’t know. I feel like…”

“You can’t ditch him,” Coulton finished for her.

She looked away, closing the lid on that subject. She’d started this entire conversation hoping to learn more about him , and as always, Coulton turned it all back around to her.

“Can I see your drawings?”

Ainsley had only shown her artwork to one other person because they were deeply personal to her. But the second he asked, she realized how much she wanted him to see them. “Yeah. You can. Wait here.”

She climbed out of bed and quickly walked to the living room, where she’d left her messenger bag. Grabbing the sketch pad, she returned to the bedroom, climbing back under the covers. Coulton was already sitting up, reclining on a pillow. He’d even set up a spot for her.

For the next hour, she flipped through page after page as Coulton studied her drawings, asking about her inspiration and complimenting her work. He even recognized which pictures she’d had inked on her skin.

“I’d love to have any of these tattooed on me,” he said, as she reached the last page. “You’re so talented, Ainsley.”

She smiled, touched beyond words. “The only other person to see my artwork is the guy who did my tattoos. He said the same thing, said they’d be awesome inked on skin.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, drawing her attention back to him. “For sharing that with me. I know it’s not easy for you. So…how about a reward?” he asked, as he rolled her to her back, climbing over her.

“Reward, huh? Pretty sure of your skills there, aren’t you?” she teased, grateful he was able to read her moods and so good at giving her easy outs.

“You were in this bed last night. You know exactly what my skill level is.” Coulton wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“God, I want to call you a cocky ass, but…” She had to give credit where credit was due. “All those damn orgasms would prove me a liar.”

Coulton gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Since you were too wrung out from my mad skills, I’m going to show you what I dreamed about.”

As he slipped his cock inside her, she reconsidered her stance on certain types of dreaming.

Because wow.

Coulton rocked inside her, his pace and depth increasing with each return until her vision turned white, her nails digging into his shoulders. While she’d read about passion in the silly romance novels her mother had left behind, she’d never experienced it up close and in person until him.

He held nothing back as he kissed her, nipped at her chin, pulled her hair, and whispered dirty, dirty things in her ear. He fucked her with a relentless force that made her tremble in the best possible way.

Coulton continued pounding through her first orgasm, pausing for only a minute during her second, before joining her in her third, the two of them exploding brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Ainsley tried to still her breathing in the aftermath, her hand flat on Coulton’s chest, the hard thud of his heart matching hers.

Then, he turned to look at her, giving her that affable grin that was almost boyish, and she couldn’t help but return it. When was the last time she’d smiled this much?

When his grin faded too soon, morphing into something that looked like regret, she wondered what she’d done wrong.

“I’m heading out this afternoon,” he said. “Four days on the road. Flying to Vegas, then on to San Jose.”

“Oh.” She understood that traveling was a big part of his job, but that didn’t stop the uneasiness that pressed in on her at the idea of him being gone. She didn’t subscribe to that absence makes the heart grow fonder bullshit. She belonged to the church of out of sight, out of mind .

Surely during his time away, Coulton would come to his senses and see this thing between them wasn’t destined to go the distance. For all she knew, he was just slumming, like Montgomery. She wasn’t a fool; she knew women hovered like flies around shit when it came to professional athletes. Maybe she was just his current Baltimore booty call, and he planned to indulge with other women while jet-setting around the country. She hated to think that way, but him using her for sex made a hell of a lot more sense to her than anything else.

Coulton sat up, giving her a bird’s-eye view of his muscular back and sexy ass as he bent down and picked up his pants from the floor where he’d dropped them last night.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get back,” he said, even though that traitorous part of her that couldn’t trust instantly doubted him. “And I’ll text while I’m gone.”

“Okay. Cool,” she replied, striving for casual.

“How about some breakfast?” he asked. “I make a mean French toast.”

She forced a smile and nodded, hanging out in the kitchen while he made her a restaurant-worthy breakfast.

All the while, she couldn’t help but feel like the bottom was about to drop out from under her.

* * *

Ainsley refilled a pitcher, then delivered it to a table of grizzled old men, fighting over who the best quarterback in the NFL was, as if anybody really gave a shit.

What a difference four days could make, she thought miserably.

On Tuesday morning, she’d been flying high on yachting and amazing sex, but like Icarus, she’d ventured too close to the sun.

Because unluckily for her, she had plenty of people in her life more than ready to knock her down a peg or thirty.

Coulton had texted a lot the first couple of days he was gone, and she’d been as giddy as a teenager whenever her phone pinged. They’d engaged in some very fun, naughty sexting the first night, and she’d been thrilled that he was thinking about her while on the road.

She should have known better than to get carried away. The last two days had been total radio silence, which meant she’d spent forty-eight hours rereading all their previous texts, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, then kicking her own ass for acting like such a stupid idiot.

If he didn’t want to talk to her, then fuck him.

Anger was an easier emotion for Ainsley than sadness, so she grabbed hold of her fury, letting it burn long and hot. All the while, she justified again all the reasons why she should have steered clear of the sexy goalie. Rich guys, in her experience, were all the same. Coddled little mama’s boys who took one look at her tats and piercings and pegged her as a bad girl, one they could sow their wild oats with before settling down with a nice girl.

Montgomery—and now Coulton—had seen her as an easy mark. And the part that really pissed her off was, they’d been right. She was. All they had to do was say a few nice things, buy her a freaking decent meal or a trinket, and—because she was so light on kindness in her life—she’d been putty in their hands.

Well, screw that.

And screw Coulton Moore.

Fuck it. Screw everybody.

Mick, in typical form, wasn’t helping the situation, reminding her over and over she wasn’t good enough for anyone to love. Not for Jagger. Not for Montgomery. And definitely not for Coulton. In the past, she’d either ignored Mick’s bullshit or fought back, defending herself. This week, she couldn’t summon the energy to do either. After a lifetime of his verbal abuse, she thought her thick skin impenetrable.

She was wrong.

Because this week, Mick’s cruel words hit hard. It didn’t help that his health was declining. The worse he felt and the harder it was for him to breathe, the meaner he got. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could live with him without losing her mind completely. Ainsley was slowly suffocating, at home and at work, but guilt wouldn’t let her leave. Mick truly was helpless, and without the money she brought in, he would also be broke.

Coulton had asked her to dream about a different future, and without realizing it, she had started to do so, imagining a world where she lived somewhere safe and warm and clean. Where she worked as a tattoo artist. Without admitting it to herself, she understood now that her countless sketch pads and years’ worth of art was her way of building a portfolio.

Or it had been.

Until a few years ago, when Mick, in a fit of anger over some slight she couldn’t even remember, stole her sketch pads while she’d been out and burned them all. All her art, reduced to ash. It had taken her nearly six months before she could even stomach picking up a pencil to start drawing again. Nowadays, her sketch pad was always in her bag, always on her person.

Ainsley rubbed her eyes wearily, wishing she could tuck the bad memories away, but Coulton had opened Pandora’s box, and the lid wouldn’t close again.

To make matters worse, she’d gone the extra mile on dreaming and had included Coulton in that perfect, fictional future. Her gut had told her things between them were over, but she hadn’t wanted to listen, so she’d ignored it.

Ainsley reached behind her for her sketch pad. It was a slow night. Usually drawing helped, but tonight she wasn’t feeling particularly inspired. She flipped to the last page, sighing as she studied her current drawing. She’d started it after the first night she’d spent in Coulton’s bed. It was a portrait of his face, and while it wasn’t finished, there was enough there to make her heart ache with longing. She wasn’t sure why she tortured herself by drawing him.

“You think Coulton will make an appearance tonight?” Petey asked. “The Stingrays aren’t playing.”

Ainsley shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

She’d hadn’t told anyone—not even Maren—she had gone on a date with Coulton, and now she was glad. Telling Maren about the romantic cruise or Coulton’s affectionate kisses or the way he made her a breakfast of fluffy French toast served with real butter and maple syrup would have only make her look like even more of a loser, now that shit had gone south.

Ainsley looked around the tavern, checking on the patrons. Everyone had a full glass, so she decided it was a good time to hit the bathroom. Locking the register, she pocketed the tiny key, then quickly slipped into the back. Since she was working alone tonight, she made it fast, unwilling to leave the tavern unmanned for more than a few minutes.

When she returned, she caught the backend of Eli slipping out the door.

“Was that Eli?” Ainsley asked Petey.

Petey, when engrossed in a game, was worse than useless. He barely spared her a glance. “Huh?”

Ainsley walked over to the older man, blocking his view of the television. “Was that Eli who was just in here?”

It took Petey a second to direct his focus to her face. Finally, her words sank in. “I don’t know. I was watching the game. Didn’t know you weren’t behind the bar.”

Ainsley returned to the cash register, a pit in her stomach starting to form. Turning the key, she hit the button to open the cash drawer.

Empty.

That motherfucker!

Since the drawer hadn’t been jimmied or broken, and considering Eli had gotten in and out so quickly, there was only one way he could have opened it. There were two keys to the register, and since she had hers…

She pulled her cell from her back pocket, dreading this call.

“What?” Mick barked.

“Where is your key to the register?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Where is it, Mick?”

“On my fucking key ring, where it always is. Did you lose your goddamn key? Because if you did, I swear to sweet fucking Jesus, I’ll?—”

“I have mine.” She cut him off before he could make his threat. “Go check your key ring.”

Ainsley pulled the phone from her ear as Mick let loose with a string of breathy curses. She let him rage, since she also heard him put down the leg to the recliner. Given the fact he was losing steam and no longer able to yell at her due to a lack of air, she figured he was walking to his bedroom. He kept his keys in a bowl on the nightstand.

When she heard him mutter, “Where the fuck is it?” her suspicions were confirmed.

Eli had obviously been waiting outside the bar for her to leave her station.

“Eli was just here. The register’s empty.”

Despite his inability to breathe, Mick still managed to launch into one hell of a breathless tirade. Mercifully, eighty percent of his ire was directed at Eli, but it still wasn’t going to make for a pleasant evening at home later. Especially when he asked where she’d been, and she said the bathroom. Apparently, she should have a better grip on her bodily functions. Good to know.

“How much did he get?”

Ever since the attack, Ainsley had stopped leaving a lot of cash in the register, shifting the majority of it to the safe. “Maybe a hundred bucks.”

While it wasn’t a lot, it was more than they could afford to lose, considering they were also down the two hundred bucks Mario and Luigi stole last week. At this point, Ainsley was starting to worry they wouldn’t be able to cover the rent.

“I’m going to kill that motherfucker,” Mick said, with enough rage that Ainsley believed him. Mick’s health was declining every day, and she couldn’t help but think a man with limited time left and nothing to lose was a dangerous combination. “If he shows his face here, I’m going to blow his fucking brains out.”

“I gotta go. Customers,” she lied, left uneasy by Mick’s threats, especially since he’d bought a gun a couple of years ago for home protection after someone had kicked in the door to their apartment and stolen their TV. Ainsley had seen Mick pissed off before, but lately, his anger had progressed to the next level.

She didn’t dare tell Mick that she’d shown up this morning to discover someone had painted the words “slut” and “cunt” on the front of the building. While she couldn’t prove it was Mario and Luigi, they obviously weren’t the type to let an unpaid debt—or an ass-kicking—go unanswered.

She would have to find a way to get the graffiti covered without letting Mick know, because he sure as hell didn’t need any more ammo against Eli.

Ainsley bowed her head, trying to stretch the kinks out of her neck, exhaustion kicking in hard. The past four days had been a good wake-up call. Because this was as good as her life got, and all the dreaming and wishing in the world wouldn’t change that fact.

“I’m heading out,” Petey said, handing her a tatty ten to cover his beers. She handed him his change, unsurprised when he didn’t add anything to the tip jar, then she gave him a half-hearted wave as he left.

She glanced down the bar at the two old guys slumped over the counter. They’d come in together, but you wouldn’t know it, given the fact they’d said less than four words to each other. She could probably shoo them along and close early, but what was the point? It wasn’t like there was anything better waiting for her at home. In fact, given Mick’s current mood, she was tempted to call Maren to see if she could crash on her couch tonight.

Needing to keep herself awake, she picked up a dishcloth and started working her way around the tavern, wiping down tables that weren’t dirty simply to have something to do.

She’d just finished wiping down the last booth when the door opened, and she turned, grateful for customers.

She frowned when Coulton walked in.

He smiled when he spotted her, but it faded quickly when he caught her less-than-pleased expression.

Walking across the tavern, he paused a few feet in front of her. “Hi, Ainsley.”

She scowled. “Coulton.”

He reached out, intent on taking her hand, but she pulled it away, transferring her dishcloth to it to stop him. She didn’t bother to hide the fact she was pissed off, but he didn’t seem to care as a ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

“Mad at me?”

She scoffed. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I broke my phone, Ainsley. Second night on the road. I didn’t have your number memorized, so I had no way to reach you. Tried the bar’s landline, but it didn’t go through.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the busted phone she’d been meaning to replace. Then she lifted one shoulder casually. “You don’t have to call me or text. I don’t expect that.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t?”

She rolled her eyes like his question was completely ridiculous, even though that response cost her something. She might not expect it, but she’d wanted it.

Time to shut this thing down. She didn’t like the way she’d felt the past two days when her texts went unanswered. It proved it was time to pull on the reins. Hard. Because she was letting herself fall for him. “We hooked up a couple times, Coulton. That’s it.”

“Felt like more than hooking up to me.”

Ainsley scoffed. Pretty words. That was all they were. She was a sucker for them, but that needed to stop now.

“Well, you’re wrong. It was just sex. You helped me scratch an itch, so I’m good now. Won’t need your services again,” she said in her bitchiest tone, holding her breath as she waited for him to reply with some nasty barb before walking out.

Coulton studied her face for a moment, looking at her in that way that made her think he could see right to her soul. It was unnerving and intimidating and…hot.

“It wasn’t just sex to me,” he insisted.

Now, as always, his response threw her for a loop, because who said something like that? Who put themselves out there like that? The man had no sense of self-preservation.

“I…” She hesitated, uncertain how to respond to him.

“Who did the graffiti outside?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know.”

His look told her he suspected the same assholes she did. His next question confirmed it. “Did those guys come back?”

She shook her head. “No. They’re probably still licking their wounds. Pretty sure I broke Luigi’s arm.”

“Hope you did. Are things okay with Mick? Eli?”

Ainsley had spent the past two days listing all the reasons why she was finished with Coulton Moore. She hadn’t expected to see him again, but since he was incapable of taking a hint, she was going to have to spell things out for him. “What’s the deal with the Spanish Inquisition, Coulton? Mick and Eli and those assholes are none of your business. You and I are not in a relationship. I’m not interested in being your booty call or your girlfriend or whatever the fuck this is, and I don’t do clingy guys, so back off.”

Coulton snorted.

Actually fucking snorted.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re mad. Like a wet kitten with her back up.”

Ainsley was slammed with two emotions, both striking her simultaneously. Fury—because what the fuck kind of comment was that? And happiness—because no one had ever called her adorable…and she didn’t hate it. Not at all.

“Adorable?” she gasped, unable to come up with a witty response.

“Close the bar, wildcat,” he said, in that deep, dark tone that got her nipples hard and her pussy wet.

“No. I can’t just close whenever I want. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”

He glanced around the tavern pointedly. She didn’t bother to follow his gaze because she knew what he saw. The only two people in the place were the same old guys sitting at the counter, and they’d been nursing their beers for the better part of an hour.

Rather than respond, Coulton walked over to the men and offered them both a fifty if they left. Needless to say, they took the cash and got out.

Coulton followed them, closing the door, and locking it. Then, he turned off the lights, leaving them in near darkness, the dim streetlamp outside casting them in silhouette.

“What the hell kind of big-baller play was that?” she asked, a million butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “You just wasted your money. I don’t know what you expect to happen here, but let me go ahead and clue you in. It’s a big fat nothing.”

He moved until he stood close to her again. “Let’s start over,” he said, in a soft voice devoid of anger. What the hell was wrong with this guy? She was being a total cunt. Why wasn’t he getting pissed off and leaving?

“Start what over?”

He reached out again, moving faster this time, and snagged her wrist. He took the dishcloth from her hand and tossed it onto a nearby table. Using his grip, he tugged her until her breasts brushed his chest.

“I missed you, Ainsley,” he murmured, his lips a breath away from hers. “Thought about you every night.”

“Well, I didn’t?—”

Coulton closed the distance, kissing her roughly, hungrily, wiping the lie from her lips with his own.

No, he wasn’t merely wiping it away. He was obliterating it.

Ainsley would like to meet the woman who could resist this kind of passionate, all-encompassing, incredible kiss, though she was pretty sure she didn’t exist. Her lips softened and her tongue met his as she returned the kiss.

Coulton paused for a moment, his lips tickling hers as he spoke. “You can push me away as hard as you want, wildcat. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why not?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

He pulled away from her. Not far. Just enough that he could see her face clearly. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“How incredible you are.” He didn’t give her the chance to respond, not that she would have known what to say anyway. Coulton had found an entire vocabulary of words no one had ever used to describe her. Incredible. Adorable.

He took her lips again in another forceful kiss, twisting her as he did so, pushing her, step by slow step, until her back was pressed against the bar. With one hand, he pulled off his T-shirt, draping it over one of the stools, like he was one of those old-timey gentlemen placing their coats across a puddle for women to step over.

Then he unfastened her jeans and panties and tugged them down until they landed around her ankles. She only managed to kick one leg free before he lifted her and placed her bare ass on the shirt-covered stool.

Between the darkness and the sheer curtains over the windows, it was unlikely anyone could see them from the street. Not that she gave a shit at the moment.

Coulton drew down the zipper on his own jeans and pulled his cock out. She’d seen it several times, but that still didn’t quite prepare her for the sheer girth of the man. Even now, after he’d rocked her world countless times, she suffered that split-second moment of doubt that the massive thing would fit inside her.

He wasted no time, proving just how much he’d missed her. Sliding his fingers through her slit, he grinned cockily at the wetness he found there.

She scowled, though there was no heat behind it. The man kept putting himself out there for her, so she figured she owed him one—or twenty. “Fine. I might have missed you. A little bit.”

Coulton’s smile was wide and bright and so gorgeous it took her breath away, though that reaction was brief and washed away when he lined his dick up with her opening and slammed inside.

His thrusts mimicked his kisses, as he took her with a power and a need that mirrored her own. Ainsley dug her nails into his upper arms, her hips sliding forward and back as she matched his rhythm and pace.

“God,” she cried out, when he slid a hand between them, his fingers stroking her clit until she saw stars.

“Come for me, wildcat. Then you’re coming back to my place, so I can convince you once and for all that this isn’t just a hookup.”

If she wasn’t on the precipice of an orgasm, maybe—ha ha—she’d find a way to resist that invitation, but all she could do right now was hang on for dear life.

“Coulton!” she screamed, climaxing hard enough her teeth rattled.

He followed her over, not bothering to drag it out, as was his usual style. “Fuck, Ainsley,” he gasped, his jaw clenched as his own climax raced through him. “I missed you.”

He’d said those words several times, but this time, she let herself hear them.

And more than that, she let them soak in.