2. Between a Date and a Hard Place
Chapter 2
Between a Date and a Hard Place
Ash
T urns out, there is a major kink in my plan and that kink is in the form of a beautiful woman.
No, I’m not referring to Oriana Thorne.
I mean, my lady for the evening, a prearranged good time that totally slipped my mind. At least, until she sashays through the door of Black Lotus and makes a beeline for my office.
“You ready to go, Ash?”
I glance up from my laptop, my mind blanking at her question.
She rests a hand on her hip, her lower lip pushing out in a pout. “Don’t tell me you forgot. I spent hours getting ready for our date.”
First, it’s not a date, but I rarely correct women on the terminology. She knows it’s a casual hangout because that is the only type of dating I do. Second, I’m an asshole and not for the first reason.
Despite my packed schedule, I never forget a meetup, especially when they end up with a gorgeous woman naked in my arms.
And this woman is a looker and a half. She’s poured herself into a pair of tight leather pants and a top that barely covers her enormous tits, leaving no curve to the imagination and no doubt about her plans for extracurricular activities.
But this lovely woman also conflicts with my primary plan for the evening—my chat with Oriana Thorne.
“You’re not canceling, are you?” She shifts her weight from one heel to the other, apprehension wafting off her voice.
One thing I never do is disappoint a woman. Some men get off on shattering a woman’s confidence. I’m not one of them.
Women have no clue how spectacular they are, in every sense of the word.
I don’t believe in love, but I sure as hell believe in worshipping a woman’s attributes.
So, I slide on a reassuring smile as my gaze moves along her figure. “Of course I’m not canceling, Lydia. Just have a few things to finish up. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Do you mind sticking around?”
“For you? No problem. Do you like my outfit?” Lydia pivots, offering me a glimpse of her ample assets.
“I do.”
Hey, I’m not lying, although I wonder why women try so hard to be sexy when they’re already inherently sensual creatures. They don’t require all the spackle they slather on their faces or the surgeries to repair perceived shortcomings.
But when they feel beautiful, they also feel free. And freedom is so much damn fun. When I entertain women, the release of all inhibitions is my goal.
Since I don’t want to disappoint Lydia, it appears any discussion about tenancy rights with my pain-in-the-ass neighbor will have to wait for another night.
Yet another setback in my speakeasy quest.
Lydia motions toward the entrance of Black Lotus. “Take your time. I’ll be in the bookstore next door. Come find me when you’re finished.”
Fuck me.
I never set foot in One More Page. Even if zombies were chasing my happy ass, I’d chance it on the outside, rather than darken Oriana Thorne’s door.
She returns the favor by staying far away from Black Lotus.
Trust me, that’s the only thing the Ice Queen and I agree on.
My hope is that when I venture into Oriana’s shop to chat with her about our shared basement space, she’ll understand the gravity of my situation just by my very presence in her store.
Then, once we finish with our tête-à-tête, we’ll return to our normally scheduled avoidance.
It was a solid plan too until Lydia changed the play by going next door to shop behind enemy lines.
If I want to get laid tonight, and I’m pretty damn sure my lady friend has the same idea, I can’t holler for her from the shared hallway like an auctioneer.
Even I have more tact than that.
I’ll walk in, grab Lydia, and leave. Simple.
Twenty minutes later, I stroll into One More Page, half expecting a bomb to go off the second my boots hit the hardwood floor.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and Lydia will be done and raring to go.
But I release a strangled grunt when I fix my eyes on her leather clad ass. Not only is she still browsing, but she’s also chatting with the devil herself.
Oriana Thorne.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.
So much for best laid plans. Here goes nothing.
I shove my hands into my jean pockets and walk over to the corner reading nook where the two ladies sit ensconced, a coffee-table book open between them.
“Ready to go?” I ask, careful to maintain a neutral tone in my voice.
Both women glance up. A smile cuts across one face. A dour frown crosses the other.
Bet you can figure out which is which.
“You finally made it,” Lydia says, reaching up to thread her fingers through my belt loop. “Oriana and I were talking about France.”
Personally, I don’t care what they were discussing. I just want to leave. Now.
I nod, careful to avoid the petite bookshop owner’s glare, which is currently cutting holes into me. “Is that right?”
“Have you been to France, Ash?” Lydia inquires, oblivious to the imaginary daggers being pitched my way by Oriana.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“We should go one day. Wouldn’t that be fun? ”
At this point, I’d agree to visit Mars with the woman, so long as it gets her ass moving from the store.
Lydia turns to Oriana, a smile splitting her face. “Your store is magical. You’re a most amazing addition to Sparkwood.”
In my defense, I didn’t mean for the scoff to fly out of my mouth. It just happened.
Oriana’s expression shifts into overdrive as she turns the full force of her glare on me. “You have something to add, Mr. Hammond?”
So many things, Ms. Thorne. How much time do you have?
I bite back the smirk, but it’s no use. “Nope.”
Oriana stands up and walks toward me until she’s less than a foot from my side. Then she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, plants her hands on her hips, and glowers up at me.
God, you do not play fair. I pray my poker face kicks in, because Oriana’s stern pose is not garnering the reaction she hopes for.
Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re hardly intimidating.
In truth, if she wasn’t such a frosty bitch, her aggressive stance would be wickedly adorable right now—like an angry Chihuahua taking on a Rottweiler. Thankfully, I manage to keep that thought safely within the confines of my brain.
“Really, because your expression says otherwise.” Oriana clicks her tongue against her teeth, her eyes never wavering from my face.
Daring me to say what I’m thinking out loud.
I can do one of two things: engage with her anger or tease her. I’m pretty sure which one will piss her off more, and of course, that’s the option I choose .
No, it’s not the wiser move, but one might say Oriana brings it out of me.
I cross my arms over my chest and look down at her, a wide grin splitting my face. “You sure are feisty for someone so small.”
Lydia giggles at my comment, but Oriana doesn’t laugh. In fact, I bet money she’s plotting my murder. No joke. If looks could kill, I’d be buried several feet under right now.
Should I have kept my mouth shut? Probably.
Was it worth it to watch the fire ignite in her eyes? Absolutely.
I gear up for round two, but my petite adversary has a different idea.
Oriana averts her eyes as she grabs the books off the coffee table, shaking her head in disgust. “So typical. Lydia, it was lovely meeting you. And you ”—she hisses, once again pinning me with her gaze—“may you have the day you deserve.”
She storms away, toward a rickety ladder perched against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Lydia’s eyes widen as she watches Oriana’s departure. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, feeling a twinge of guilt kick in at Oriana’s reaction. Although, it’s not my fault the woman lacks a sense of humor.
“Are you two …” Lydia’s voice trails off as she gestures between Oriana and me.
“Are we what?”
“Sleeping together? Did I step on some toes by coming over here? ”
My brows fly up at her intimation. “Me and her? What in the world would give you that idea?”
Lydia shrugs and grabs her purse. “Something about the way you two are together. Your energy.”
“We spend a whole lot of it hating one another.”
“Oh, I get it. You used to sleep together.”
What is with this crazy conversation train?
Shaking my head, I gently steer Lydia toward the exit. “We’ve never done anything together, except argue and plot ways to avoid each other. Good enough answer for you?”
Lydia pauses before falling into step with me. “Sure. Guess I read it wrong.”
You sure did, sweetheart.
One thing is for certain: I can’t get out of here fast enough.
But luck is not on my side tonight.
As we stroll past the worn ladder, a gasp sounds above us, only seconds before one of the hardcover books tumbles to the ground with a thud.
Glares from Oriana are one thing, but now she’s throwing crap at me?
After dodging the falling book, I scowl up at the Oriana, gearing up to toss a heated retort in her direction.
But the words die in my throat.
The rickety ladder is on its last legs—literally.
The rung on which Oriana stands is cracked, and with every passing second, her weight, slight though it may be, is testing its last vestiges of strength.
But it’s the look on Oriana’s face that erases the anger from my brain. Her eyes are wide and frantic, her hands wrapped around the sides of the ladder in a death grip .
Grabbing the ladder to steady it, I look up at her. “Come on down. I’ve got the ladder.”
A frown creases her brow, but she remains rooted to the spot. “Wouldn’t you rather knock it out from under me and finish the job?”
I swear to God, this woman is jumping on my last nerve.
“Sure, which explains why I’m holding it right now. Look, I’ve got places to be, so if you’d hurry and get your ass down here, I’d appreciate it.”
But she doesn’t move. Oriana’s expression wavers between fear and frustration, no doubt weighing her options: a fall on her head from eight feet in the air or allowing me, the detestable inked hoodlum, to function as her knight in shining armor.
“I’m going to count to three, and then you’re on your own. One, two?—”
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her foot searching out the rung below her. “I’m terrified of heights.”
“Then why are you on the ladder?”
Some women make no sense.
“Good question,” she whispers, another whimper escaping her throat when her foot slips.
Enough of this nonsense.
I shrug off my jacket and hand it to Lydia before climbing the six rungs to reach Oriana, all the while praying the damn ladder holds us both.
A trip to the emergency department with this woman is not on my agenda for the evening.
“What are you doing?” Oriana asks, shooting me a confused look over one shoulder.
“Getting you down. Turn around. ”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Release your right hand and grab my arm. Then turn yourself slowly and hold on to me.”
Oriana hesitates, and I wonder if she’s prepping for another argument. Instead, she releases a deep sigh and abides my request, her hands gripping the fabric of my shirt in a stranglehold.
“Now, wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’ll do the hard work. You just hold on to me.”
“You promise you won’t drop me?”
Maybe it’s the blatant fear in her face or the timidity in her voice. For the first time, I see the human side of Oriana Thorne.
“Hey,” I murmur in a voice normally reserved for the bedroom. “I would never drop you. Believe that.”
She peeks at the ground and releases another whimper before wrapping herself around me.
I slide my hand under her ass to hold her steady and take a careful step down. So far, so good.
But when Oriana buries her face in my neck, my entire world shifts on its axis.
My mind blanks as her scent assails my nostrils.
I don’t know what the hell she’s wearing, but it’s intoxicating. Warm and sweet, with an undercurrent of sandalwood and jasmine, all mixing to wreak havoc on my senses.
Or maybe it’s just her. The woman smells like heaven, and I fight the urge to drag my tongue along her ivory skin. Does she taste this delicious, too?
My blood pounds in my ears, but I can’t wrap my head around any thought but her. I’m hyperaware of every inch of Oriana’s form pressed to mine, and how damn good she feels in my arms.
Fuck Ash, get it together.
“Are you two okay up there? Do I need to grab one of the guys next door?” Lydia’s voice breaks into the moment and I shake my head to clear it.
How long was I perched on this ladder with this woman clinging to me?
That’s it. Oriana Thorne is a damn siren—a beautiful but deadly creature who seduces a man before dragging him to a watery grave. Or in this case, a crash to the floor below.
“We’re fine. Just another loose rung.” I duck my head toward Oriana’s face, still burrowed against me. “Are you ready?”
Oriana lifts her head, her dark eyes wide behind her glasses. She bites her lip and glances at the floor. “I’m ready. You sure I’m not too heavy?”
“Not even a little bit.”
With careful, measured steps, I descend the ladder, her siren scent messing with me the entire time.
Much more of this, and I won’t be accountable for my actions.
But Oriana doesn’t release her grip on me, even though we’re safely on solid ground. She clutches at me as though terrified the floor might suddenly give way beneath us.
“We’re off the ladder,” I whisper, my hand offering a reassuring stroke along her spine. “You’re okay.”
And she is fine. I’m the one who isn’t okay.
Her breath warms my neck, her lips hovering so close to my skin that I can almost feel them .
Now, I’m nursing another problem and need to put some distance between us immediately.
“Thank you.” Her voice is soft and her lower lip wobbles as she chances a glance in my direction.
Fuck, Oriana has a beautiful mouth. Then again, aren’t sirens notoriously appealing, right before they drag you to your death?
“Can we go now? I really need that drink.” Lydia clears her throat, her foot tapping the floor as she shoots darts in our direction.
Easy, sweetheart. You’ll get your turn.
But unless Lydia’s angling for a threesome, I need to deal with the petite woman in my arms—a woman who seems in no hurry to escape.
Looks like the Ice Queen has a heart, after all. Or at least a healthy libido.
I shoot Oriana my trademark smirk. “Darling, I know you like being in my arms, but my date is waiting.”
Oriana’s gaze clears as though she was part of the same trancelike state as me. Shaking her head, she scrambles off me, gifting me with a flash of her stomach before yanking her shirt down. “Right. Sorry about that.”
Her words say one thing, but her gestures and the flush climbing her cheeks say another.
Maybe I’m a bastard, but I love the idea that she felt it, too.
Whatever it was.
I take my coat from Lydia, shooting another cocky grin toward Oriana. “Not a problem. Happy to be of service, although you didn’t have to fall off a ladder to get my attention. You could have just told me you wanted to be in my arms. ”
Oriana scoffs and shoves her glasses up her nose. “For a second there, I actually thought you were a nice guy. My mistake.”
And once again, the boxing gloves are on.
I’m not sure why her caustic reply irks me so much, but there is no way I’ll allow this woman the last word.
Seems she isn’t done shooting zingers in my direction. "I'm shocked you didn't let me fall.” Her voice is low as she picks at an imaginary thread on her blouse, her cheeks bright pink.
I glare at her as my heroic moment twists into frustration. "Trust me, I considered it. But then I remembered I have far more important places to be than waiting here for the ambulance.”
“Enjoy your date, or whatever you call it,” she snaps.
“You know, a thank you would be nice, or is that too tricky for a woman like you?”
She worries her lower lip with her teeth and shifts her weight. “Thank you.”
“Wow. That was almost believable. Don’t worry, sunshine. Next time, I’ll make sure to walk away first.”
I storm toward the door, acutely aware of my date watching our heated exchange. “Let’s go.”
“You sure?” My date nods toward Oriana, who is gathering up the few books that fell off the shelf during our tangle up. “Let me guess. She’s not happy you’re going out with me.”
“Why would she care? We hate each other, remember?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Despise, loathe. Those are acceptable terms, too.”
She nods, unconvinced. “Hmm.”
“What? ”
“Didn’t look that way from here.”
“What was I supposed to do? Let her fall on her head? Despite what she thinks, I’m not a bastard.”
My date turns and pushes open the bookstore door, strolling a few steps ahead, her ample assets swaying in front of me. “That’s not what she thinks either. It’s what she wants you to think.”
I shake my head and follow her to my bike, handing her the spare helmet. “Come on, let’s focus on our night.”
It can never be simple, can it?
My idea to focus on Lydia isn’t working, because I can’t stop thinking about Oriana. As the evening drags on, Oriana’s words and the look in her eyes keep playing over and over in my brain, gnawing at me.
By the time I finish my first drink, I know I have to end the night early.
I set my glass down and look over at my date. "I'm sorry, but I need to cut this short. There's something I need to take care of."
She gives me a knowing look, a mix of disappointment and sarcasm. "Let me guess, a bookstore emergency? I hope you two figure out whatever unresolved issues you have."
“It’s not like that. It’s business.”
“Asher Hammond, isn’t everything in your world?” Lydia shakes her head and finishes her drink. “Let’s go. Why delay the inevitable?”
Lydia is pissed, and rightfully so, but it doesn’ t matter.
Will I pass up on a night of guaranteed sex to ensure I have a signed lease for my speakeasy?
Absolutely.
Besides, I can make it up to my date another night when I prove to her it really is just business.
I ride back to the parking lot, offering Lydia a chaste kiss before watching her drive out of view.
Then I turn my focus to the dimly lit interior of One More Page. The store is closed, but Oriana’s truck is still in the lot.
Perfect.