25. Kendall
Chapter 25
Kendall
If getting stranded with Ashton seemed like a date in the beginning, it’s now starting to feel like a honeymoon, especially as I lie in his embrace, enjoying another post-orgasmic haze.
Ashton’s stomach rumbles. “Want to have dinner?” he asks lazily.
I do, so we munch on the trail mix and talk, getting to know each other even better—which is probably a bad idea, but I just can’t help myself. Despite the messiness of whatever this is between us and my conflicting feelings, I’m hungry for every detail about him, no matter how trivial.
I think the reverse is true as well because he doesn’t stop peppering me with questions. By now, he may know more about me than all of my previous boyfriends combined—not that I’m saying he’s my boyfriend, of course.
“Want to play ‘Two Truths and a Lie?’” Ashton asks after we finish eating.
“Is that to spruce up the ‘get-to-know-you?’”
He shrugs. “What else is there to do?”
“All right. Want to go first?”
He shakes his head. “You go. I’m very good at this game, so you need all the help you can get.”
How is going first going to help me? Also… “Should we do random facts or have a theme?”
His eyes heat up. “How about we make it dirty?”
“Huh.” I think for a couple of seconds. “I haven’t had sex for three years. I once showed up on a date wearing an anal plug. I liked giving you that foot job.”
Ashton’s nostrils flare. “The anal plug?”
“Damn it,” I say.
“But… three years?” he says. “Are you some sort of camel when it comes to orgasms? Got enough that one night with me?”
“Please.” I scoff. “I simply haven’t been dating much. Because of too much work and bad luck. It had zero to do with you.”
“Sure. Sure.”
“Your turn,” I say grumpily.
He purses his lips. “Your pussy tastes like apples. Your nipples taste like hibiscus. And your mouth tastes like vanilla.”
Hmm. “They all sound like lies.”
“Does that mean you give up?”
“No. I think the nipple thing is a lie.”
“Nope,” he says. “Your mouth doesn’t taste like vanilla.”
I know he wants me to ask what it does taste like, so I don’t give him the satisfaction. “That was cheating,” I say instead. “My pussy doesn’t taste like apples.”
“Oh.” He walks up to me and licks his finger. “Care to put that to the test?”
If I weren’t so sore, I’d be dying to have those fingers inside me. Even as is, the proposition is too tempting.
“I’ve tasted myself before.” Granted, it’s been a while. “I didn’t taste any apples.” Then again, I do like those apple strudels they sell at the bakery near my house. And I’ve been drinking plenty of fresh-squeezed juice made from apples and carrots, so if you are what you eat…
“Does anything of mine taste like a carrot?” I ask.
He shakes his head, grinning. “But hey, taste is a very subjective experience.”
I roll my eyes. “I think I want to play something else.”
“Sore loser much?”
Loser, no. Sore—very much so.
“How about a round of ‘would you rather?’” I suggest.
He agrees, and we play that for a while. Among other things, I learn that Ashton would rather explore the deep sea than go into space, and he learns that if a time machine existed, I’d rather meet my ancestors than my descendants.
“Is it getting cooler, or is it just me?” Ashton asks after I admit that I’d rather speak like Yoda than breathe like Darth Vader.
“Yeah.” I walk up to the window and raise the makeshift curtains. “I think the sun is setting.”
Ashton leaps to his feet. “Want to go for a stroll?”
“Sure. We can play ‘I spy’ as we do.”
I enjoy circling the island a lot, and as it turns out, I’m much better than Ashton at “I spy.”
“My turn,” he says after it takes him five questions to zero in on the cypress tree. “I spy with my little eye something small.”
I grin. “So… not your cock?”
He chuckles. “Unlike my cock, this thing can fly.”
“Don’t sell your cock short. It made me feel like I could fly.”
“This thing can buzz too.”
I grin. “So… a tiny vibrator?”
He looks around. “How would I spy that ?”
“Sheesh, touchy. You’re obviously talking about a mosquito.”
“Finally.” He slaps his forearm. “I think now that the sun is setting, they’re out for a meal.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Let’s hide.”
He points to the cabin nearer the water. “Want to see if your bed is now usable?”
Shit. It probably is. I can see that the water has receded, and we left the door open, so the smell must have cleared out. The problem is, I don’t like the idea of not sharing a bed anymore. If we ever get off this island, then sure. But as is…
“You’re not going to kick me out of yours so easily,” I say. “But if you want to go to that cabin yourself and?—”
“Nope. You’re not going to kick me out of ‘mine’ either.”
We hide out for a couple of hours, then come out when it’s completely dark and the mosquitoes are less active. However, the temperature has dropped so much that we have to return, remove our clothes from the window, and put them all on.
Even with the extra layers, we only stay out for an hour to enjoy the light display before we get back into the cabin and jump into bed in a spooning position to warm up.
“That was a nice day,” I muse. “Considering.”
“I enjoyed it too,” he murmurs into the crook of my neck. “Considering.”
Feeling obscenely cozy in his arms, I close my eyes and immediately pass out.
I wake with a start.
Someone is banging on the door.
“Stay back,” Ashton tells me, then goes over to open it.
It’s Bubba, looking disheveled, and Dottie, looking frightened by the expression she must see on Ashton’s face.
“ You ,” Ashton growls.
With the lethal speed of a predator, he pounces—and has Bubba dangling in the air in a millisecond.
“Where the fuck were you?” The question is accompanied by a rough shake.
“Oi, don’t hurt Bubbala!” Dottie shouts. “Our boat broke. We forked out extra to get it sorted ASAP.”
Ashton drops the tour guide. “Why didn’t you leave us the keys to the other boat?”
“Oh,” Dottie says. “We didn’t reckon you’d be needing it, mate.”
“Take us back, now,” Ashton orders through gritted teeth.
“And pray I don’t feel litigious when I get home,” I add, matching his tone.
Looking sullen, the tour guides help us get into their boats. After a short argument, it’s decided that I will go with Bubba and Ashton with Dottie—because no one is sure if Bubba would survive the trip otherwise.
Possibly murderous inclinations aside, I must admit that I find pissed-off Ashton very hot. He is magnificent in his fury—a fury he hid pretty well until the last second, by the way.
“Now, listen to me carefully,” Ashton says to Bubba, enunciating each word with cool precision. “You can ride with Kendall, but if she arrives at the shore with so much as a hair out of place, I will make you very sorry, and no excuses will save you.”
Looking like he’s on the verge of peeing his pants, Bubba nods profusely and mutters, “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
“Ashton had better get to our destination in one piece also,” I say to Dottie. “Or else.”
I have no idea what “or else” implies in my case, but my ride with Bubba happens in a sullen silence—at least until we get close enough to civilization for my cell service to show up again. As soon I get a couple of bars, a million messages flood my phone, the majority from my mom, Emma, and Mr. Boss, along with a few from my brother.
I call Mom first, and explaining takes a while, especially when she hears there was a guy involved. The only reason I mention Ashton is because I know that it will make her retroactively feel better about the whole situation. For whatever reason, Mom doesn’t think a woman can survive without a man, especially in the wilderness.
“What’s his name?” Mom asks when I’m done.
Leave it to Mom to zero in on the trickiest part of the tale.
“Ashton,” I say. “He was a groomsman at the wedding.”
“Oh,” she says, imbuing the word with all sorts of meaning that one doesn’t want to discuss with a parent. “Is he cute?”
“I have to call more people now.”
“Please thank Ashton for me,” Mom says. “And tell him your father and I want to buy him dinner.”
Yeah. No. “Gotta go.”
I hang up and call Emma to get her up to speed. With her, I skip the part about Ashton’s involvement. If she were to tell me that Marcus is searching for Ashton, I’d fess up, but men being men, Marcus probably hasn’t noticed his friend has been radio silent for the past two days.
“What about your flight?” she asks.
I sigh. “Missed it. Will have to figure something out.”
“That sucks. And I don’t think Marcus’s plane is?—”
“Don’t even,” I say. “You’re on your honeymoon. Just relax.”
“Okay…”
“How is that going?” I ask, smiling into the phone.
“Amazing. Fiji has the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen, and the resort is out of this world.”
I grin mischievously. “Shouldn’t you be singing praises to Marcus’s cock?”
Bubba darts me a glance but says nothing—clearly still impressed by his “conversation” with Ashton.
“I was trying to keep my reply appropriate for the spa, which is where I am,” Emma says, and I can almost see her pale face turning pink.
“Say no more. I’ve got to go anyway. You’ll tell me all the juicy deets some other time.”
Before she can protest, I hang up and call Cameron.
“Hey, sis,” he says. “Mom told me you’ve been located. What happened?”
I give him a brief version of the story without mentioning Ashton.
“Very interesting,” Cameron says when I finish. “Anything else you want to share?”
Crap. “Such as?”
He chuckles. “All Mom talked about was your new boyfriend.”
“Is that right?” I squeeze the phone tighter.
“Oh, yeah,” Cameron says, and I can just see him smirking in that infuriating way of his. “About how he saved you and all that. Odd that you didn’t mention him at all.”
“Ashton is not my boyfriend,” I say, and see Bubba raise his bushy eyebrow. He clearly also has an opinion on this.
“Who is he then?” Cameron asks.
“Emma’s new husband’s friend,” I reply.
“Ah,” Cameron says. “You don’t want to jeopardize your relationship with your best friend by dating someone close to her husband. I get it.”
“ You get it? The man who cost me two friends because he couldn’t resist dating them?” It’s actually two friends and one frenemy, but I was glad to be rid of the latter.
He sighs. “Come on, sis. Can’t you let that go? It was high school. I didn’t do much thinking with my brain.”
“Gross.” I take a calming breath. “But fine.”
No reason to beat this dead horse anymore. After the third incident, Cameron and I got into a big fight, which we resolved by making a pact not to date anyone in our respective circles—a pact he’s honored to the best of my knowledge. Then again, I never introduced him to Emma, Janie, or anyone else I was friends with in college, so it’s not like he’s had an opportunity to betray said pact.
“Anyway,” Cameron says. “If you’re not dating this guy, how did you get stuck together?”
“Because he took the same cursed tour as I did by sheer accident.” I glance at Bubba in time to see him wince. “We collaborated in order to survive. Nothing more.”
“So… Mom was right? This guy saved you?”
“We weren’t stuck long enough for me to need saving,” I say. “But I guess if we had been, he does know an obscene amount about surviving in the wild.”
“I see,” Cameron says. “How about this? Once you guys are far enough along in your relationship to be meeting each other’s families, I’ll buy him a drink.”
“There is no relationship.” Nor can there be one, given Ashton’s attitude toward something I’m not ever going to discuss with my brother. “But you probably should meet him, sooner rather than later. He wants to add AI features to his app.”
“Oh. What app is that?”
“ThriveFit.”
“Shit,” Cameron says after a moment of silence. “I just looked him up. An amazing catch for you—and a great business opportunity for me. Invite him to my birthday.”
“He’s not my catch.” Also, crap. With everything that has happened, I almost forgot about my brother’s big day. Speaking of… “Do you really want to talk business on your birthday?”
Cameron scoffs. “Are you really going to accuse me of being a workaholic… on my birthday?”
“Today is not your birthday, so I can call you whatever I want.”
He sighs. “I agreed to the big shindig for Mom. She guilted me with the story of my birth and how she labored to push me out for twenty-five hours.” I can visualize his grimace on the other end of the phone. “If something productive comes out of it, that would make me happy… on my birthday.”
Fuck. I can’t say no to him now. Except… “I don’t know if he’ll go to such a family event.” I would surely hesitate if our roles were reversed.
“It won’t hurt to ask.”
“No. I guess not.” And if Ashton is insane enough to agree, Mom and Dad could thank him at that time instead of having a separate dinner—which sounds a lot more embarrassing.
“All right,” Cameron says. “I’ve got to run.”
“See?” I tell him. “Workaholic.”
My brother mumbles something like “incorrigible” as he hangs up the phone.
All right. Time for the most unpleasant part.
I skim the million texts from Tierre.
At first, he was merely annoyed that I was late for work. Once it became clear that I wasn’t coming in, he grew increasingly irritated, with texts like, “It was bad enough you took a four-day vacation, but how dare you skip day five?” His last text informs me that I’m fired.
Seriously? No “what happened?” No “Are you okay?”
I check his voicemails, and they follow the same pattern as the texts.
Gritting my teeth, I call the asshole.
“You’ve got some nerve,” Tierre says instead of a hello. “First, you disappear off the face of the Earth, and now you call me like nothing is the matter.”
What was I supposed to do? He hasn’t even given me a chance to speak yet.
“I had a good reason for my absence,” I say as politely as I can. “I went on a tour and?—”
“Spare me,” Tierre says. “I meant it. You no longer work here.”
My stomach feels like it’s hit an iceberg. I’ve heard Tierre say “you’re fired” to other people in the heat of the moment, but he usually changes his mind and lets the person keep their job.
“I was stuck on a deserted island.” I glare at Bubba. “Barely survived. I can bring you proof.” Like maybe that waiver I signed before the tour? Or?—
“I’ve already given your job to someone else,” Tierre says with zero remorse.
“You what?”
“I’m going to hang up now,” he says. “You’re sending me too much negative juju.”
With that, he disconnects.
I fight the overwhelming urge to toss my phone into the swamp. Instead, I force myself to check on flights. Naturally, there aren’t any available because that would mean that something has gone my way. I call the airline directly, and the so-called customer service agent informs me that the money for my earlier ticket is forfeit, and that, just like it states online, there aren’t any flights available for tonight.
Damn it. This means I’ll need somewhere to stay, and I have no idea if Marcus booked that mansion beyond yesterday.
Speaking of which, what about my stuff at the mansion?
I stress over all of these questions until we reach the shore, where Dottie and Ashton are already waiting.
Ashton must notice my gloomy expression when we get off the boat because he grabs Bubba by his collar, lifts him in the air again, and after a shake, demands, “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t him,” I say quickly.
“Oh.” Ashton sets Bubba back on his feet. “What happened?”
“Not now,” I say. “We have bigger problems.”
Ashton frowns. “Like?”
“Like our stuff.”
He waves my words away. “I called Marcus. The staff at the mansion packed our suitcases. They’re waiting for us in the garage.”
“Oh. Great. Can we sleep there one more night?” And if so, would we share a room, as per our new tradition? It’s probably a bad idea, but I could?—
“Why sleep there?” he asks. “We have a private plane waiting.”
Oh. “Must be nice to be so rich.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says with a grin. “It’s Marcus’s plane.”
“I obviously knew that,” I mutter.
He leads me to where a car is already waiting for us, and as we drive to the mansion, I tell him about losing my job.
“That fucker,” he says grimly. “But you know what? You’re better off.”
“Am I?”
He puts a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “If he can fire you like that after three years, and over basically nothing, then fuck him.”
“Maybe you’re right.” And Ashton doesn’t even know that my salary from that job wasn’t enough to pay my bills. “I’ve already learned everything I wanted to learn from him.”
“There you go. It’s time you work for yourself. Create VersaWear, or something else that inspires you.”
“Yeah.” I feel a jolt of excitement. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“Did you bring your laptop with you on the trip?”
I nod.
“Why don’t you work on VersaWear on the flight back? I’ll help as much as I can.”
How wrong would it be if I jumped on his cock right here and now? The driver wouldn’t mind, right?
Before I get the chance to do anything, we pull up to the mansion.
“Can you wait for us?” Ashton asks the driver. “It might be a few minutes, but I’ll make it worth your while.”
The driver agrees, and we walk up to the mansion, where the butler takes us to our suitcases.
“Can we shower and change before we go?” I ask.
“Sure,” the manager says. “No one is using the steam room at the moment. There are showers there and a locker room.”
We head over there, and when the warm water hits my skin, I barely suppress a moan of pleasure.
How did humanity survive without showers for the majority of its history?
After the shower, I debate whether to dress comfortably for the flight or to make Ashton want me.
Then again, why choose? I’ve got a bodysuit and skinny jeans with me. Yeah. But I won’t go overboard and wear heels on the plane. Instead, I put on a fresh pair of socks and sneakers, then work on my makeup.
Feeling amazing, especially for someone who’s just lost her job, I exit the changing room and smile at Ashton, who’s already waiting for me.
The heat in his eyes tells me my outfit is working as intended.
Oh, and boy, did he clean up well also. His face is freshly shaved, his skin glowing, and his lush golden hair would look right at home in a shampoo commercial. To make matters worse—or better—he’s wearing a tight white polo shirt, navy fitted chinos, and brown leather boots, a combo that makes me want to strip him naked.
“Should we go?” he asks.
I walk up to him. “Maybe. Or maybe?—”
The stupid manager comes in at that very moment and asks if there’s anything else we need.
Getting the hint, Ashton gives the guy an obscene tip, and we return to the car with our luggage.
“If you’d like, I can call a few of my clients and consult with them on VersaWear,” Ashton says as we get going.
I glance at him. “I’m not sure…”
“Let’s give it a shot,” he says and calls someone named Megan. He introduces me and asks her what features she’d want in an outfit that can be worn for workouts and out.
“Interesting question,” she says, and it finally clicks that this is the Megan—who happens to be one of the hottest women in Hollywood.
In a daze, I listen to her ideas—most of them annoyingly good—and then swear to send her a prototype of VersaWear when (not if) it becomes reality.
As soon as we hang up, Ashton calls a few other celebs, and I pick their brains until we get on the plane and take off.
“So,” he says. “Ready to work on it now?”
I scan our luxurious—and very private—surroundings. “I think I need to process what Megan and the others have said. And do some market research. And sleep on it.”
“Makes sense,” Ashton says.
The captain comes on the intercom, informing us that we can unbuckle our safety belts.
“So.” I moisten my lips. “We have two hours to kill…”
“Right.” Ashton pulls me to him. “I think it’s time we joined the Mile High Club.”