Leave Me Love(8)

Ash stood on the other side, holding a bouquet of roses in a vase, wearing his trademark leather jacket, a nicer pair of pants than his usual jeans, and a blue sweater. He smiled, appraising me with an admiring glance up and down my body and making me flush. "You look beautiful," he said.

I considered asking him about the photos. Hey, have you been cheating on me with my best friend? But this was our first date, and that didn't sound like a first date question. So I thanked him instead.

He handed me the roses. "I figured you didn't have a vase, so… "

His words trailed and I took the flowers, inhaling the sweet aroma and clearing a space on my desk for them. "Do I finally get to know where we're going?" I asked.

"Nope. It's still a surprise. You'll see when we get there."

"Am I dressed okay?" I grabbed my purse and dropped the painkillers into it, just in case.

He reached for me, pulling me against his chest as he cupped my face with his hands. "You're perfect, and I missed you last night."

Before I could reply, he kissed me, his lips warm and soft and tasting of everything wild and spicy. My body responded without hesitation, leaning into him, aching to be closer than we could possibly be, fully dressed as we were.

A wave of dizziness washed over me when he ended our kiss, and I gripped his arm to steady myself.

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"Yes. You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet."



***



We held hands as we left the dorm room, sides pressed against each other. The sun broke through thick clouds, sending shafts of light to warm my skin. The campus smelled fresh, like grass after a rain. Students passed by, caught up in their own lives, just as we were. I leaned my head against Ash's shoulder, wrapping my free hand around his bicep as birds chirped around us, and I smiled, forgetting all my fears and concerns. Forgetting Lucky and the horrors that had plagued me. Forgetting everything but this moment together.

Ash squeezed my hand as if reading my thoughts, his smile promising more times like this.

I expected to see his motorcycle, but he walked me to a black Jaguar and opened the passenger door for me.

"I figured this would be easier for you while you recover."

The car gleamed and had that telltale new car smell. I raised an eyebrow. "When did you buy this?"

"Yesterday," he admitted.

"So, you bought a new car, just so you could drive me to a date?"

"There are probably other uses for a car," he said.

"Like what?"

"Like, grocery shopping would be easier."

"Do you do your own grocery shopping?"

He smiled. "Not specifically."

I laughed. "You're impossible." I couldn't even conceive of buying a car on a whim like that. I thought about the Bruiser, probably turned to spare parts by now. "Now tell me where we're going."

"We'll be there soon enough. Have patience, woman!" Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. We got in the car and he reached for my hand, holding it on his leg as he drove.

The drive into Boston only took a few minutes and I expected to pull up to a restaurant, but he parked in front of a large brownstone instead.

A brownstone so familiar it made my heart skip a beat.

The brownstone Ash and Bridgette were leaving in the photos.

Before I could get out of the car, Ash put a hand on my elbow. "Let me." He walked around the car and opened the door. "Welcome to my home, Miss Travis."

I swallowed, keeping my nerves at bay. And what would Bridgette be doing in your home?

The front door opened to a spacious entry with high ceilings and a chandelier that seemed made of crystal.

I followed him into the living room, slack-jawed at the sheer size of his home.

"It was originally built in 1871 and was eventually purchased by President Grover Cleveland's Secretary of War in the late 1880s. It's a historic landmark, so I've tried to preserve a lot of the period details while also giving it a simpler, more modern feel," he said, showing me around the first floor.

His modern touches of abstract paintings and simple clean furniture allowed the details in the home's architecture—exquisite black and white fireplaces, doorframes, ceilings—to stand out without looking gaudy. I followed him from room to room, admiring his decorating style.

A woman and a man worked in the stainless steel kitchen, preparing a meal fit for a king. When they saw us, they both smiled.

"Mr. Davenport, you're early," the woman said. "We're nearly done with supper. Everything outdoors is prepared." She had a warm smile and kind eyes, and I liked her immediately.

"Mrs. Brown, I'd like you to meet Catelyn Travis." Ash presented me like a trophy.