Page 11 of Wicked Heat

“I could call ABC rules,” Aria says, making me scowl. We established the ABC Club way back in second grade. A for her. B for me. C for chain. Because the rule chained us together as Best Friends for Life. No request too big. Always having each other’s backs.

“Fine,” I say. “But just remember, he’s an asshole. And if I introduce myself, it will surely get back to the Starks, and I’m going to look like the jerk who used this lovely weekend they gave me to toss my friend in front of celebrities.”

I cross my arms and stare her down. “But if that’s what you want me to do….”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Aria says. “I mean, I’m your bestie. Stark’s just a paycheck.”

I shake my head, roll my eyes, then settle back onto my chaise. “Bitch,” I mutter, making her crack up. I reach for my Cosmo, only to find the glass empty. And though I could signal a waiter, I sit up, stretch, then stand, albeit a little unsteady after two—no, three—drinks. “I’m going to hit the ladies’ and order another round. Same for you?”

I’m unsurprised when she eagerly agrees. After all, this trip is all about sluffing off, getting drunk, then crashing in our suite and spending the next two nights talking and trashing every bad movie we can find before she flies back to New York on Tuesday.

There’s an entrance to the lounge off the pool, so it only takes a second to pop by the bar and put in the order. Then I shift course to the nearby ladies’ room, which is about as elegant as Buckingham Palace. When I come out, the bartender signals to me, and I head his direction, curious as to what he might need.

“One of our guests offered to buy your current round of drinks. I told him they were already comped, but I thought I should let you know.”

I stand up a little straighter. “Really? Well, that was nice of him. Can you point him out?”

“He’s already left the lounge, but his name is Ashton Stone. I believe he’s checking out tomorrow.”

“Oh.” A dangerous heat spreads through my body. “I, um… Thank you.” My voice sounds thin, and my pulse has kicked up its tempo. I want to ask if he knows where Ash went. Did he exit to the outside? To the lobby? To the pool deck?

But I say nothing.

Instead, I force a thank you past my suddenly dry mouth, then hurry back to the safety of my bestie and our snug little cabana.

Except it’s not safe.

As soon as I settle onto my chaise, I see him. Ashton Stone. A man who could be the role model for all those bad boy cliches. Tall. Dark. Definitely dangerous. I’d first met him at the Starks’ Malibu home when he’d shown up out of the blue, cloaked in secrets and drama.

I’d seen the tension between him and Damien.

And, yeah, I’d felt a different kind of tension between him and me.

Worse, I’d liked it. Probably too much. The sensation of those eyes roaming over me like a caress. The nights imagining what those hands—so famous for working on sleek, fast cars—would feel like on my skin. He’s a man who, like his father, walks through the world like a magnet drawing in power and control and passion, so that it all seems to swirl around him in a heady, intoxicating mix. But there is no way I can allow myself to get drunk on Ashton Stone.

I Won’t.

I can’t.

I just… can’t.

Except there he is on the far side of the pool, and though I know I should look away, I don’t. As if he’s heard a siren’s call, he turns his head, and his eyes lock on mine. He takes one step forward, then another until I almost believe he’s going to walk across the water to my side. But then he stops at the edge, his eyes still on mine.

I try to look away, but don’t. I can’t seem to break the spell.

“Bree?”

Jarred back to reality, I turn to see Aria cocking her head toward the waiter who is holding out my drink. When I take it, Aria catches my eye, and I realize that she’s noticed Ash, too. She raises a brow, but I just shake my head. One tiny fraction of an inch.

That’s all I need to do, and in true BFF fashion, Aria slides off her chaise, goes to the front of the cabana, and closes the drapes to block our view of the pool.

And just like that, Ash is gone.

I tell myself that’s the way I want it, but as I take my first sip of the Cosmo, I can’t help but wish that it was Ash making my blood buzz, not vodka. But that’s never going to happen.

No matter how much I might sometimes think I want it to.

Five