Chapter 7 #3
“No, Camille.” He sounds unbearably tired. “Out of the bath. You’ve been in there too long, and you need Neosporin.”
I decide not to argue or push. Whoever the woman in the photo is, that’s none of my business. I’ve been a therapist long enough to understand that when people don’t want to talk about something, there’s no point in pushing. They’ll only dig in deeper, not trusting you as a safe place to share.
Ash hands me a fluffy blue towel as I step from the tub, then offers another for my hair. I wrap it around my head like a turban, conscious of Ash hovering nearby.
The whole time I dry myself, he doesn’t say a word. Just watches me closely, not speaking, not smiling. He sits like a statue carved with a frown on his handsome stone face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he hates the sight of my naked body.
“Brigitte and I were married nearly five years.”
My heart hits the floor and I turn at the sound of his voice. He stares straight at the wall, not making eye contact at all.
Swallowing hard, I anchor the towel at my breasts. “The woman in the photo?”
“Yes.”
“She’s very beautiful. Kind eyes.”
“Yes.”
I wait to hear more, braced to accept that’s the end of the story. It’s Ash’s decision whether to share more.
“The boy is my son, Grayson.” Pain fills his eyes as he stares at the wall. “ Was my son.”
“Oh, Ash.” I step to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t respond. Just looks at the wall like the rest of the story lies there. “They died in an auto accident nearly twenty years ago. I rarely speak of it.” His throat rolls as he swallows. “I never speak of it. Ever.”
“I understand. We don’t have to speak of it now if it bothers you. I’m sorry I asked.”
He looks up from the wall, blue eyes finding mine through the steam of the bath. “It was my fault they died,” he says softly. “When I tell you I don’t get involved—that feelings aren’t part of the equation—that’s why.”
That’s one hell of a statement to make. Empathy urges me to insist he couldn’t possibly be to blame. To spill platitudes and condolences, sympathetic words that might assuage his grief.
But I need to tread carefully here. “Guilt and grief almost always go hand-in-hand, regardless of the circumstances. If you want to share, I’m here to listen.
If you want to change the subject, we can do that, too.
You don’t owe me your pain, Ash. But if it feels right to share it, please know I’m a safe place to do that. ”
“Thank you.” His jaw clenches tight and he looks away. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Of course.” I make a mental note not to bring it up again.
“I don’t know why I shared all that.” That’s clear from his look of befuddlement.
“I asked, so that’s on me,” I say softly. “I know better than to be nosy.”
“I could have lied.” He looks me dead in the eye, then swallows again. “I’m quite a skilled liar. I could have told you she’s my sister, my best friend from college. An old girlfriend.”
“You could have.” What does it mean that he didn’t?
And what does he mean by skilled liar ?
Ashton seems quieter after that. I watch for signs that he’s spiraling, maybe grappling with fresh waves of grief now that I scratched off the scab.
But Ash forges stoically ahead with our afternoon plans. Maybe for a man whose default setting swings from grumpy to bossy , it isn’t a leap to toss grieving into the mix.
He might not be chatty, but he makes us a beautiful lunch.
He fixes buttery scampi with fat, fresh shrimp and a tossed herb salad.
Afterward, we laze on the beach in the shade of a purple umbrella.
I fulfill my nude sunbathing fantasy, while Ash wears swim trunks and a scowl.
He taps away on his laptop, pausing occasionally to mutter at the screen.
We both check our phones every few minutes for news on the pilots’ strike.
“Still going,” he grumbles after making a call. “My colleague assures me they’re doing everything they can to end this.”
“That’s ambiguous.” I sit up and stretch. Annoyed as I am by the news, the sun on my bare skin takes the sting out. And I’m not even feeling the jellyfish sting anymore.
Ash’s eyes dart to my naked breasts, then skitter quickly away. “She anticipates the strike dragging on for at least another day. Possibly longer.”
“I’m sorry.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, grateful he’s trying so hard to get me home. “You were probably counting on having quiet time to yourself with the resort shut down.”
“It’s been a hardship.” He’s clenching his jaw as he looks over the water. “Somehow I’m suffering through the agony of sex with an exquisitely stunning intruder who revels in nudity.”
“Way to be a trooper.” My ego adores being called exquisitely stunning . Especially by a man so sparing with sentiment.
Still watching the ocean, he sighs. “I should probably return you to the resort. I have an early meeting tomorrow in Negril. I’ll likely stay gone overnight. You’ll be left to fend for yourself.”
His sarcasm’s catching, so I try it myself. “Sounds like absolute torment, relaxing on a beautiful Caribbean island with a bottle of white wine and an eReader stuffed with erotic romance.”
Ash quirks an eyebrow, dragging his eyes off the water. “What sort of erotic romance?” There’s a light in his eyes that’s been gone since I asked about the photo.
“You read my intake forms. You’re probably more familiar with my kinks than my best friends are.”
“Hmm.” His eyes dip to my bare breasts like the answers lie there. “I seem to recall an exhibitionist streak.”
I guess the answer is there. “Not hard to guess.” I shimmy my boobs just a little to give him a show. I love being nude in the open like this. “I might not fulfill my whole kink list, but I’ll go home with a killer full-body tan.”
“Hmm.” That’s apparently his favorite response. “I also recall you ticked several boxes related to intimate relations with other women.”
“Did you commit my kinks to memory?” It’s flattering to think so.
Ash ignores the question, though his response says enough. “I also recall you selected the option for our Queenly Quartet enchantment.”
“Ah, yes.” I laugh. “More commonly known as being pounded by three men at once.”
“Sadly for you, there aren’t presently three men on the island.”
“Oh, come on—I haven’t met Lars the chef yet.”
Ash chuckles. “Shall I see if he’s available? Perhaps he has some accommodating geriatric friends.”
“I’ll pass, but thank you for making the effort.”
“I pride myself on guest satisfaction.”
That explains why I’m feeling so satisfied. I mist more organic sunscreen on my shoulders and neck, taking extra time around my décolletage. “How about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve created this entire sex resort.”
“And?”
He’s suddenly guarded, so I do my best to keep my voice light.
“Surely you have kinks of your own. I’m just curious.”
“My kinks are irrelevant.” A shadow rolls over his face as he looks at his watch. “We really do need to go.”
“I can take a hint.” I get up and stretch one more time, tipping my naked breasts toward the sun. Between skinny dipping and the nude sunbathing, I’ve spent more time nude today than I have in a long time. “If I lived here, I’d probably stay naked all day.”
“Your patients would appreciate that.”
All the blood drains from my head. “Oh, God.”
“What?”
Guilt grips me tight in cold claws, squeezing my lungs and my heart. “No, no, no, no, no —” I scramble for my phone, heart thudding in my ears
“Camille, what’s wrong?” Ash frowns. “What is it?”
“I totally forgot I booked a telehealth session with one of my patients.” It’s four p.m. here, which means it’s five in Halifax. Two hours past when I promised my patient I’d try to connect. “I’m the worst fucking therapist ever.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I snap. “I told her I’d be there for her and I wasn’t.”
Toggling to email, I see she sent me a message thirty minutes ago.
Hi, Dr. Plier. I logged into the portal and waited around for fifteen minutes, but it looks like you couldn’t make it. We’ll connect another time.
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself for spending my day rolling around naked with Ash. “I’m such a dick.”
“You certainly aren’t.” Ash’s brow furrows. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I’m too fucking mad at my own dumb ass to make a hard-on joke. “My patients depend on me. I don’t have the luxury of not being there for them.”
“You’re entitled to have a life, Camille.” The urgency in his voice makes me open my eyes. “That doesn’t make you a bad therapist. For fuck’s sake, you’re on your damn honeymoon.”
I peer into cool blue eyes. “A honeymoon with a man I met yesterday at a sex resort I wasn’t supposed to be at. Goddammit .” With more force than necessary, I cram my phone into my beach bag. “I can’t believe I let her down like that.”
Ash picks up my gym bag. “Come on.” He stuffs my eReader into a pocket. “Grab the rest of your things. You can email her from the boat and reschedule for this evening. You can take the call from the comfort of your suite.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
He folds up a chair, tucking it under one arm. “Would you believe me if I said it’s for the blowjobs?”
“No.” I start stuffing my things in my bag. “I’d believe you if you admitted you’re secretly a very nice guy who just pretends to be a grumpy asshole so no one gets close to him.”
Ash goes still as a statue. Cool-blue eyes turn to ice. “Do not ,” he snaps, “psychoanalyze me, Camille.”
I freeze at the sharpness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. Clearly, I touched a sore spot. I’m batting oh-for-two as a therapist today. “I was just being glib. I understand you have secrets. Pain I can’t possibly?—”
“That’s right, you can’t.” Gritting his teeth, he picks up the other lounge chair. Slamming it shut, he stuffs it under his arm. “I’ll wait for you on the tender.”
Ash storms away and I watch him go, observing the tension in his back. The closed-off hunch of his shoulders as he stomps down the dock.
God, I’m a jerk. I can’t believe I didn’t read the signs. There’s been turbulence bubbling just below the surface from the moment I brought up that photo. I should have picked up on it sooner. I should have known better than to push.
I gather my things, rehearsing an apology I plan to deliver on the boat.
I’ll mind my own business for now. For the rest of my limited time with Ash, I’ll remember my place in his life.
I’m an uninvited guest taking advantage of his kindness and his sexual attention.
We’re not friends. Not even lovers, really.
We’re temporary fuck buddies on a layover lasting a little longer than either of us planned.
As I shoulder my beach bag, I order myself to remember that.