Page 22 of Wicked Heat

I wish I could argue, but I think she’s right. More, I think the game he’s playing is dangerous. I’m just not sure what kind of danger.

“Dammit, Ash. I’m not in the mood. Tell me why you’re calling or I’m hanging up.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” he says, his voice firm, but gentle. “Your mood.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s something going on with you. Right now, you’re edgy. And earlier you seemed off. And I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s just because of what happened at the airport.”

“I’m not edgy,” I snap at the phone. I’m not proud of the way I bailed on him that night, but I sure as hell don’t want to get into it now. “And I wasn’t off at the coffee shop. I was tired. I’d just come from a two-hour talk and book signing. And then you popped up at my car and startled me, and⁠—”

“And that’s all it was? Being startled?”

Something twists inside me. Something dark and a little dangerous. I meet Aria’s eyes, and she shakes her head slowly.

I hesitate, then I take the phone off speaker and shift away from her. But not so much that I miss her exasperated expression.

“Listen,” I tell him, “I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me, but I’m peachy keen. Really.”

“Very glad to hear it. I’m in North Hollywood at the moment. I was supposed to grab a drink with a friend, but he had to bail. Why don’t you come join me? Or I can swing by and pick you up. I can’t be more than twenty minutes away.”

I glance sideways at Aria, who cocks her head in a way that makes me think she knows exactly what Ash just proposed. I turn away again, not wanting her to see the temptation I’m sure is all over my face.

“Sorry. Gotta say no.”

“Because you don’t want to have a drink with me? Or because I spooked you?”

The words hang there, cold and terrifying. Is Aria right about him? Is this all a game, and this call is his way of never letting me know for certain—even while he drops hint after hint—that he’s behind the videos?

“I’m not in the mood for games,” I say. “And my mood is fine. Just because I didn’t go all gooey when you pounced on me at my car doesn’t mean that something spooked me out of my senses.”

Except, of course, that’s exactly what it means.

“Fine,” he says. “You weren’t spooked, and you aren’t acting strange. All of that is entirely in my imagination.”

“Glad we’re finally on the same page.”

“In that case,” he says, “it must be me.”

A chill races through me. Surely he’s not saying…

I force the thought away. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re flat-out rejecting me tonight. You shoved me away outside the coffee shop. You stood me up at the hotel a few months ago. And now I learn that you didn’t reach out to me in Texas. As you may be aware, I’ve got a reasonably high-IQ. I can do the math.”

“Can you?”

“Indeed. And my quick wit and superior reasoning skills have concluded that the only possible remaining reason why you won’t have a drink with me is, well, me.”

“You really may be as smart as they say.” And even as the words pass my lips, I realize that I’m flirting. My entire life is crumbling around me, and I’m actually flirting.

More, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

All I do know, in fact, is that I should hang up. I should just end this cat-and-mouse game right now. Even if he’s not responsible for the videos—and I really, really don’t want to believe he is—I do not need the distraction of playing mental footsies with a guy like Ashton Stone. Not when hell is nipping at my toes.

Except…

“We’re meeting with Maggie tomorrow,” he says before I can gather my thoughts.