The Bridal Path: Ashley (8 page)

“Right in the middle of the mental bull’s-eye,” she agreed cheerfully. “But I’m over that now.”

“Must have been some drive.”

She looked straight into his eyes. “Must have been some hike.”

“Touché.”

She settled her tush onto the railing right next to his propped-up feet. “Now that we’ve made peace, let’s start fresh. Let’s pretend we’ve just met for the first time. Why don’t you tell me who Dillon Ford is today? All of the relevant statistics–where you live, what you do, who you date.”

That would be the easy way, but Dillon had never opted for easy in his life. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think maybe that’s one you should figure out for yourself.”

She regarded him worriedly. “Why? Is there something you’re trying to hide?”

There was no mistaking her meaning or the tiny flicker of unease in her eyes. Dillon gave her a hard stare and asked, “You mean am I wanted for any major crimes?”

She winced at that. Before she could try to wriggle off that particular hook, Dillon took pity on her. As insulting as he found the question, he supposed she had a right to ask, was even smart to ask, for that matter. After all, she was all alone with him here. And though she obviously didn’t feel herself to be in any danger–except perhaps from her hormones–some level of concern was clearly nagging at her.

“No, sweetheart. I will tell you that much. My slate is clean with the law. There won’t be any cops arriving at the front door to interrupt us.”

He watched closely for her reaction to his declaration. She didn’t look either relieved or disappointed. She simply nodded, accepting what he said as truth, apparently.

“I’ll go fix dinner,” she told him, and headed for the door.

“Ashley?” Dillon called after her.

“What?”

“I’m very sorry you felt you had to ask.”

She sighed. “Me, too.”

Chapter Six

A
shley had no idea what to make of Dillon’s odd mood or her own. As relieved as she’d been by his response to her pointed question about whether he was hiding out, she also felt an amazing amount of guilt over having raised the issue at all.

It had been an insulting question. If she’d been on the receiving end of it, she doubted she would still be sharing a house with the person who’d asked.

The possibility that he might yet decide to walk out on her terrified her. She found that she didn’t want to be alone. More, she didn’t want to lose this chance to discover if she and Dillon had anything more in common than mutual lust and old yearnings.

And yet she wouldn’t blame him if he left.

Not that Dillon seemed to be holding her question against her. He’d chatted pleasantly all through dinner, though there was an unmistakable distance between them that had never been there before, not even years ago.

She couldn’t blame him for that, either. She should have trusted her gut feeling that deep down Dillon was honest, kind and caring. Since his unexpected arrival here, when he’d discovered her already occupying the space he’d expected to find empty, he’d been all of those things, in spite of her lack of welcome. Her only excuse for prodding was that she didn’t trust her own judgment about much of anything these days, least of all men.

It didn’t help that Dillon intentionally diverted attention away from himself and focused on her. She supposed she ought to be flattered, but she was so used to men whose monumental egos required they be the center of attention that Dillon’s actions seemed suspect.

Add to that her current low level of self-esteem, which left her convinced no one as sexy as Dillon could possibly be interested in her unless he had an ulterior motive, and she was left struggling with all sorts of doubts and dire warnings.

She finished washing the dishes and stared into the living room where Dillon had gone right after dinner. Despite his all-black attire and too-long hair, he looked perfectly at home. He looked like a man who knew who he was and was thoroughly comfortable with himself and his environment. She found that almost as disconcerting as the way he so easily provoked a sensual response from her body.

He was sitting in one of her father’s overstuffed leather chairs reading some book he’d plucked from the shelves. Given the dull topics of most of those books, she couldn’t imagine what he found so fascinating. As far as she knew, he had no particular interest in either fishing or cattle, but it was evident he was totally absorbed.

As far as she knew… Of course, that was the real crux of the problem. She didn’t know a darn thing, and he didn’t seem inclined to change that.

I think I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.
What the devil was that supposed to mean? she wondered irritably.

Suddenly she recalled her own words the night before. She’d been complaining about men never looking beyond her glamorous image, about them never seeing her. Wasn’t that really what Dillon was asking of her? Didn’t he simply want her to get to know him for who he was and not be distracted by her memory of the way he had once been or by whatever it was he did for a living? Good or bad.

She felt like charging into the living room and announcing, “I get it.”

Well, she concluded, there was more than one way to pry information out of someone who’d clammed up. She’d tried the direct approach. Obviously, it was time to use more subtle techniques. She would do as he preferred and gather clues from his behavior and from dropped hints about his life. She simply had to create an environment in which hints were likely to be dropped.

There was no time like the present to start. Studying Dillon promised to be far more intriguing than wrestling with her own problems. He promised to be an incredible diversion. She began by walking into the living room and asking if he wanted to play cards or a game.

“I think there’s a Monopoly set here somewhere,” she added.

She’d discovered in New York and on the road that a rowdy round of Monopoly or any other game often told her a lot about a person’s need to win, his quick-wittedness and his greed. Men who refused to play any game at all were generally too stuffy to bear. She waited anxiously to see which category Dillon fell into.

“How about chess?” he asked, readily putting aside the book. “Your father and I get the board out first thing when we’re here. He told me that you, Sara and Dani all play.”

Ashley grinned. “Who wins when you play Daddy?”

“I do. Why?”

“I just like to know ahead of time if I’m likely to get trounced.”

“Are you a sore loser?”

“Sometimes.”

The somber expression he’d worn all evening gave way to a grin. “Me, too.”

“Then it should be an interesting evening, shouldn’t it?”

He shot her a wry look. “With you and me in the same room, sweetheart, it couldn’t be anything else,” he said in a way that sent goose bumps chasing down her spine.

“You get the board,” she said in a breathless rush. “I’ll get us something to drink. What would you like? Coffee? Beer? Whiskey?”

“I’m tempted to finish off that bottle of twelve-year-old special-blend Scotch your father brought back from Glasgow and has hidden away, but I think I’ll stick to beer.”

“Afraid he’d check for fingerprints on the bottle?”

“No, sweetheart. I want to keep all my wits about me for the game.” He shot a knowing look at her. “And after.”

Ashley felt her throat close up. Apparently he wasn’t holding a grudge. She practically ran from the room. In the kitchen, she filled a glass with water and drank every cooling drop. She barely resisted the urge to splash some on her overheated face.

When she’d salvaged her composure, she returned to the living room with Dillon’s bottle of beer and her coffee. If he thought he needed his wits about him, she wanted a large dose of caffeine to bolster her own.

Dillon had set up the old board that had belonged to her grandfather. As a child, before this chess set had been moved from Three-Stars to the cabin, she had loved to touch the smooth ivory pieces. When her father had finally agreed to teach her the game, she had felt so grown-up.

“Why the smile?” Dillon asked.

“I was just remembering the first time Daddy played chess with me. I felt as if it were some sort of rite of passage.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight, maybe. Until then I had been so envious of Dani and Sara. Daddy played chess with them practically every evening after dinner. First one and then the other. It never took him long to beat them.”

“I suppose you vowed then and there that you’d be the first one to beat him.”

“Of course.”

“Did you?”

“Just once.” She chuckled at the memory of her father’s expression when she’d suggested the stakes. “We bet my future. If I won, I got to go to New York and he’d stake me for the first year. If I lost, I promised to go off to some suitable college and get some disgustingly practical degree the same way Sara and Dani had.”

Dillon whistled. “You must have been awfully confident.”

She shook her head. “No, desperate, really. I knew if I didn’t do something totally outrageous, he’d never believe I was serious about going. He’d bully me until I wound up with a degree in accounting or computer science so I could keep the ranch’s books for him.”

Dillon shook his head. “You and your sister must be big on outrageous bets.”

At her quizzical look, he explained, “I heard about Sara betting Jake that she could beat him in bronc riding to win the ranch. Obviously neither of you would flinch at the role of the dice in Vegas, no matter how much you had on the table.”

Ashley grinned. “If the stakes aren’t big enough, what’s the point? Besides, don’t let Jake kid you. He was betting as much for Sara as he was for the ranch.”

“Remind me not to gamble on anything major with any of you. So, how long did it take you to win the chess match with your father?”

“Two days,” she recalled. “We played until after midnight, until Mother insisted we go to bed because I had school in the morning. We finished the next night. He had me checked three or four times, scared the daylights out of me, but I managed to wriggle out and stay in the game. When I finally said checkmate, I’m not sure which of us was more stunned.”

“What did he say? Do you remember?”

“Sure. He asked me if I wanted to make it the best two out of three,” she said, laughing. “He never gave up.”

“But he gave you your stake and let you go without any more arguments, didn’t he?”

“Without more arguments? You must be kidding. But, yes, he let me go and he financed that first year. He grumbled all the time, though.”

“Just to keep you on your toes,” Dillon assured her. “He always told me that getting you set up in New York was the best investment he ever made because it had made you happy. He told me that a man’s greatest accomplishment was the happiness of his children. If he achieved that, then he’d done okay.”

Holding a pawn in his hand to make his first move, Dillon fixed his gaze on her. “Moving to New York, becoming a model has made you happy, hasn’t it?”

Ashley shrugged and evaded that penetrating stare. “Every job has its ups and downs, but on the whole, yes. I’ve been happy.”

“How come you can’t look me straight in the eyes when you say that?” he asked.

She forced her gaze to meet his. “Do I need to say it again to make
you
happy?”

He studied her intently for the space of a heartbeat, then shook his head. “No, I’ll accept your earlier statement for now.” He reached across the table and tucked a finger under her chin. “But sooner or later, we’ll get into whatever’s troubling you, sweetheart. Count on it.”

“Why does it matter to you whether or not I’m content with my career? A few more days, a week and you’ll be gone. I’ll be the last thing on your mind.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, angel. It would take more than a little time and distance for a man to forget you.”

He sounded so thoroughly, beguilingly sincere that Ashley’s heart began to thump unsteadily. She slowly lifted her gaze and searched his face, looking for some clue that would prove what was really in his heart. His eyes blazed with blatant lust as he deliberately, provocatively locked gazes with her. Her pulse ricocheted wildly.

“Do you really want to play chess?” he asked quietly.

The words barely registered. “Hmm?”

“Are you going to be able to keep your mind on the game?”

“What game?”

His lips curved in a lazy, satisfied smile. “Precisely my point.”

Because she wasn’t crazy about the implication that he could distract her so easily, Ashley forced her attention to the chessboard. The prospect of playing had never struck her as duller, especially with that promising gleam in Dillon’s eyes as competition. Why not just have the fling she so obviously craved and be done with it? It was way past time for her to flirt a bit with danger.

She looked up until their gazes caught again, then she slowly, deliberately swept her hand across the board, tumbling the chess pieces from their places.

“I guess the game’s over,” Dillon observed.

“I don’t know,” Ashley said softly. “It seems to me as if it’s just begun.”

The taunt was very effective. Dillon stood in such a rush that the small table between them wobbled dangerously. He cast it aside as if it was no more than a troublesome fleck of dust, then reached for her.

All her doubts about him fled in that instant, lost to a more pressing hunger. Ashley moved into his arms with the inevitability of metal being drawn by a powerful magnet. His mouth settled on hers in a coaxing kiss that stole breath and thought.

While that first memorable kiss they’d shared a few days before had been greedy and demanding, this kiss was all about persuasion. Sweet and gentle and warm as a summer shower, the kiss teased and taunted until Ashley melted in Dillon’s arms. He could have lured her anywhere with the seductiveness of his lips on hers.

Instead, though, he seemed content to explore all the possible nuances of kissing. In time, sweet and gentle escalated to dark and mysterious and from there to a passion so all-consuming, so hot that Ashley wondered how she’d ever imagined any other kiss to be anything more than adequate.