Out of the Ashes Read online

  One of his large hands glides over my shoulder, down my back, and over my ass, cupping me. “But even with all this, as fucking sweet as it is, I know what you really need this morning.”

  Leaning away, I raise my eyes to his dark ones, my gaze searching. “What I need?”

  With a mischievous look, he leans in to whisper, “Coffee.” His lips curve up into a devastatingly handsome smile that’s so…Hendy. “You always need coffee after a night of drinking, Pres.”

  With a perfunctory kiss on my lips, he quickly pulls on his boxers beneath the towel before dropping it to don the pair of jeans sitting on the large vanity. Then comes the ball cap, and he pulls it down over his eyes. Playfully slapping my ass, he hangs up his towel then steps around me to exit the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  And I’m left standing dazed in the same spot. My fingertips touch my lips, and I swear I can still feel the heat from his kiss. Yet, it’s one word that has a smile forming on my face.

  Hendy called me Pres. He gave me a nickname. And everyone knows nicknames mean something. A term of endearment.

  Which means I’m a tiny bit closer to showing him—proving to him—that he’s much more than looks alone.

  So much more.

  * * *

  “I hope like hell our boy here treated you with respect last night.”

  Kane says this as we’re eating the breakfast he and Hendy insisted on making, declaring it their duty since I was their “overnight guest.”

  “He didn’t try to pressure you into anything now, did he, darlin’?” Kane’s mischievous sparkle in his eyes belies his concerned tone. “Because I always remind him, ‘No means no.’”

  “Jesus,” Hendy mutters, running a hand over his face before shaking his head at his friend.

  Grinning at Kane, I wink. “He was a perfect gentleman.” Nodding as though he’s proud and relieved to hear that, he takes a sip of coffee as I add, “It was me who was hell-bent on molesting him last night.”

  He chokes on his coffee while Hendy cough-laughs into his napkin. I merely dig into my scrambled eggs with a flourish.

  “Ah, that does explain the”—his aquamarine eyes sparkle with amusement as he uses finger quotes—“‘unusual noises’ I heard at one point last night.”

  My chin drops down, concentrating on the food on my plate, and I can feel the flush of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks.

  “Aw, now, darlin’. Don’t be shy. I didn’t hear you as much as I heard him.”

  Hendy’s head jerks up from where he’d been spearing some scrambled eggs on his fork. “Excuse me?”

  Kane has that wide, smug grin, and I can tell by that alone that he’s up to no good.

  “You know, when you were in the shower this morning.” Taking a bite of toast, Kane winks at his roommate as my eyes volley back and forth between the two men.

  Hendy merely flashes his roommate a death stare. And it dawns on me. Ooooh. Hendy had been doing…that in the shower.

  “Especially liked your moaning, darlin’,” Kane goes on. “Sounded a lot like this…” He sets down his fork and proceeds to make exaggerated sounds, running his hands over his face and hair as if attempting to impersonate the restaurant orgasm scene from the movie When Harry Met Sally.

  “You’re not right,” Hendy mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he shakes his head at Kane’s theatrics.

  Just then, Hendy pipes up to Kane. “Don’t you know there ain’t nothing wrong with a little bump and grind?” I snicker, immediately recognizing his reference to an old R. Kelly song.

  “Even if it’s solo?” Kane shoots back.

  “Boys.” My tone is a warning, but I’m really teasing. “I’m trying to eat here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they answer in unison, and we eat in silence.

  After a moment, I pick up on Hendy’s faint humming, and it takes me a second to recognize what tune it is. Raising my eyes to meet his, I can’t mask the smile forming on my face when he winks at me.

  Returning to my breakfast, I join him in humming the song.

  R. Kelly’s “Bump and Grind.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hendy

  “Holy shit, woman. That feels incredible.”

  This is what I hear as soon as I make my way down the hallway, toting lunch for Presley. Lucia had let me in since they’d already locked the office doors for lunch. I’d been her first appointment of the morning, and Presley seemed like she’d been having a rough start even then, so I figured I’d surprise her with lunch.

  “Ah, shit, Cole!”

  By the sounds of it, I sure as hell have.

  Some dude’s groaning and yammering on about how good it feels—whatever it is that she’s doing. Approaching the only room with a light on and door open, I hesitate, unsure of what I’m about to discover.

  Instead, I find some massively tall guy on the adjustment table who looks like he doesn’t have an ounce of fat in sight. His legs hang off the table farther than mine do so I’m guessing he’s easily pushing over six-foot-six. He lets out a loud groan as Presley maneuvers him on his back and presses his bent leg up toward his chest.

  “Quit whining like a damn baby, Becket.” I see his leg inching closer to his chest. “If you did those exercises I told you to keep up with, you wouldn’t be so tight.”

  The man grins mischievously. “But that’s how the ladies like it. Nice and ti—”

  “Don’t go there, you perv.” Presley cuts him off, but she has no bite in her tone, only amusement. She seems at ease with him.

  With her concentration on the guy, a strand of hair’s come loose from her ponytail, and my fingers itch to slide it back behind her ear. I recall how silky soft it felt the other night. That’s not all I recall feeling the other night, of course, because the way she’d rocked her pussy against me had to have been the hottest fucking thin—

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  My eyes jerk away from Presley to find the guy peering up at me from where he still lies. Something about him seems familiar, but I can’t place him.

  “Presley Cole. Have you been holding out on me?”

  “What?” She finally looks over at where I stand in the doorway, and I’d be lying if I said the smile she gives me doesn’t make my heart beat a little faster. Because it isn’t just a smile. Nope. It’s one of those smiles that says, I kissed you and rubbed my pussy all over your lap.

  Make no mistake; those smiles have got to be the best fucking kind.

  “Hey, Hendy.” There’s an intimate quality to her tone, and I’m not the only one to take note of it.

  “Hey, Hendy,” he mimics, grinning wider as he appraises me. Right before getting swatted on the side of his head.

  “Hey! I take enough hits on the field, woman.”

  Finally, it dawns on me where I recognize him. Becket Jones. I don’t watch much pro football as I’ve always preferred college, but this guy plays for the local NFL team. If I remember correctly, he got drafted after playing for the University of Florida.

  “Well, then.” Presley slowly lowers his leg, straightening it out. “You should’ve gotten some manners knocked into you. Lord knows you used to have them back in college.”

  Sitting up, Becket’s gaze comes to rest on me, lifting his chin in a nod toward the bag of food in my hand. “You the new delivery guy?” His lips tip up at the corners. He’s clearly fucking with me.

  “Beck—”

  I cut off Presley’s warning of protest. “If you’re asking if I’m the guy delivering a smack down to anyone harassing the lovely doctor, then yes.”

  Our eyes war for a moment before his face stretches into a wide smile and those perfectly white teeth nearly blind me. Without breaking eye contact with me as he speaks, he directs his words at Presley.

  “I like him much better than Dyl-hole.” His smile gets even wider. “Much better.”

  Swatting at Becket’s shoulder, she admoni
shes, “That’s enough. Time to go. You have to be up early tomorrow. Go home, lay low, and ice.”

  Rising to a standing position, he winks at Presley, slinging an arm around her neck and pulling her in for a bear hug. “You’re a miracle worker, as always, Cole.” Pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, he releases her and grabs his keys from the chair in the corner of the room.

  Stepping toward the doorway, Becket holds out a hand to me, and when I accept his handshake, he leans in. His voice is quiet and subdued as if he doesn’t want Presley to hear, but the underlying steely currents are unmistakable. “Mess with her, and I’ll crush you.”

  After a beat of silence passes, our eyes lock, and I smirk. “Thought you only threw the ball.”

  His eyebrows rise. “Ah, so you know who I am.”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Is that so.” He says this not as a question but a challenging statement.

  “Yep.”

  He pauses briefly, eyes cataloging me, catching on the left side of my face for far longer than I’d like, and I work hard to resist the urge to fidget.

  “I know you from some—” He breaks off, eyes widening. “No fucking way.”

  “Way.” Please don’t let this guy ask the same asinine questions I normally get when someone recognizes me.

  What was it like being held by them?

  How many people have you killed?

  Bet you get a lot of ass being a SEAL, huh?

  None of those questions are okay. Well, maybe I would’ve been okay with the last one a while ago. But now things have changed. I’ve changed.

  Instead, Becket surprises me.

  One of his hands slaps against my chest. “You take good care of her; you got me?”

  Pointedly eyeing his hand on my chest, I cock an eyebrow. “No can do.” His features grow tight at my answer. “I’ll take the best care of her.” Then leaning in, my tone cocky, I add, “You got me?”

  Instantly, it’s like the ferocious mask is ripped from his face, and he’s back to the jolly, happy man. Stepping around me with another playful slap to my shoulder, he glances over his shoulder at Presley.

  “This one’s all right, Cole.”

  “So relieved you approve,” comes her dry response.

  “I think I need to fan myself from all the testosterone here,” Lucia sing-songs from where she’s watching at the end of the hallway. With a playful pout, she crosses her arms. “Nobody ever gets crazy over me like that.”

  “Now, Lucia.” Becket starts down the hallway toward her. “You should know I…”

  Tuning out his words, I avert my gaze to Presley, who has her back to me. She’s seated in a chair, still typing on the computer, entering notes for Becket.

  “I wanted to, uh, surprise you with some lunch.” Fuck. I sound like a pre-pubescent kid asking a chick out for the first time.

  Jesus. I’ve got to get my shit together.

  Clicking the mouse, the screen clears out, and she swivels around, peering up at me. “You brought me lunch? As a surprise?”

  I can’t quite put my finger on something in her tone. Disbelief, confusion, or possibly shock.

  “Yes,” I draw out the word slowly. Maybe that’s not okay. Fuck me. I’ve never done this before.

  And yeah, I realize I sound like a number one douchebag. But it’s the truth. The women have always come to me. I’ve never been the one to chase.

  But something about her makes me want to do nice things for her. She’s different. It isn’t simply because she doesn’t have any silicone fillers in her body, doesn’t play games, doesn’t act coy, doesn’t do the pouty thing with her lips, or any shit like that. Presley Cole doesn’t have “game.”

  Yet she has more game than she realizes. With her tall stature of about five-foot-seven, a slim waist, and breasts that might run on the smaller side, her legs and ass are killer. Legs so long they seem to go on forever, and an ass that’s fucking perfection like someone sculpted it. An ass I’ve had my hands on, cupped while I pulled her down to grind against my cock.

  With a silent groan, I blow out a long breath, willing my hard-on to let up. I’m trying to do something nice for the woman, and instead, here I am, getting a boner while holding our lunches.

  Fucking stellar.

  Folding her arms across her chest, she leans back in the desk chair, and her eyes track up my body, starting at my toes and lingering on my groin for a second longer than necessary. Her eyes flare with heat before rising to meet my gaze.

  “Did you bring me dessert, too?”

  And that’s when my self-control disintegrates.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Presley

  This is bad. Wrong. Inappropriate. He’s my patient. I know this—fully recognize these facts.

  It doesn’t make me any less attracted to the man standing before me. The man who showed up to surprise me with lunch. While I know that might not seem like much to anyone else, it’s a big deal for me. It seems like, more and more, Hendy’s making me realize how little I had with Dylan. Because not once had he ever done something thoughtful like this for me.

  It isn’t only that, though. It’s also the way his eyes drift over my entire body in a caress as if he’s savoring it. The moment I notice the slight tenting in his jeans—jeans which appear so worn and soft, lovingly hugging his long, muscled legs—it instantly reminds me of the other night.

  The night I basically humped him. In his bedroom.

  Shit. The heat of embarrassment floods my cheeks. But I still can’t say I regret it. It was hotter than hot. Especially when he told me a bedtime story about “a cool as hell, little northeastern Texas boy who didn’t say darlin’ every chance he got.”

  Yeah, his reference to Kane was pretty cute, as was his story. Falling asleep listening to the comforting lull of his deep voice is something I know I won’t soon forget.

  While I recall those moments—one sexy and one sweet—and recognize I’m in my place of business, I can’t help but wish right now could be a replay of that night. Except this time, we’d go all the way.

  All the way. I think I nearly rolled my eyes so hard at my juvenile reference that they got stuck.

  When my gaze meets Hendy’s, he must sense the path of my thoughts because he sets the bag of takeout on the floor, kicks the door to the room closed, and stalks over to me. Leaning down, he braces his arms on either side of me, caging me in against my desk. His face is so close to mine that I detect his minty breath, and the heat in his eyes, slightly shadowed beneath his ball cap.

  “You can’t look at me like that.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I’m trying to be good.”

  Tipping my head back, I find his lips are so close to mine. So close. “Stop trying to be good.”

  The smile he gives me is feral. “Oh, Pres. You don’t want that.” Tilting his head before lightly dusting his lips over mine, he whispers, “Otherwise, I’d have you on that chiropractic table, and there wouldn’t be any adjustments happening.”

  My panties grow damp thinking about that—the images that flutter through my mind.

  “Instead,” he continues, his soft lips grazing along my cheekbone and over my earlobe, toying briefly with it, “I’d be so fucking deep inside you, thrusting into your sweet pussy, that you’d be the one needing your spine realigned afterward.”

  I said that my panties were growing damp—that’s a lie. They’re soaked right now. To the point I think I might have to change them.

  Because of this man before me, a man who has yet to touch me—really touch me—the way I want him to. Already, he’s giving me what I want.

  Yet he’s not. Because I realize I want more. So much more.

  My breathing is ragged, and I reach out to cup him and—oh, holy shit. He leans back slightly, my eyes flying up to meet his.

  “Hendy,” I breathe.

  His eyes fall closed, and he presses against my hand, my fingers molding his hard flesh through the soft denim. Suddenly, he captures my w
rist, stilling my movements.

  He swallows hard, and his voice is deep, gravelly. “You have to stop.”

  “I’m concerned about something.” My lips curve up slightly when I watch his eyebrows arch in question. “Because I’m not sure how that’s going to fit.” And I’m only half kidding. He feels enormous.

  His lips part then close before he releases a pained chuckle. “Presley Cole. What am I going to do with you?”

  I know what I’d like for him to do with me. And it’s completely inappropriate for my workplace. Damn it. Being a responsible small business owner has a downside after all.

  More than that, though, is the immediate thought—my response—following his question that startles me. Because without hesitation, my mind—and heart—had answered.

  Love me.

  * * *

  “You and Becket met at UF?”

  Hendy and I have just finished our lunch and are sitting at the small table in my office. Taking a sip of water, I nod. “Yes.” I smile at the memory. “We were paired in Public Speaking 101 to do a presentation about whether God was a man or a woman.” Shaking my head with a laugh, I add, “Of course, Becket chose the ‘God is a woman’ stance.”

  “Sounds like it was a hell of a speech.”

  “Oh, it was. He—”

  “Excuse me.” Lucia’s voice draws our attention to where she’s standing at the door. Pointing at Hendy, she says, “You, mister, have an appointment for a therapeutic massage with me in five minutes.”

  Hendy winks at her with a short nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lucia turns to return down the hallway, and I can hear her mumbling something that sounds like, “Dios. A man like that brings you food; you ought to give him some dessert.”

  Rising from the chair, I thank him for surprising me with lunch. “I appreciate you thinking of me.” Taking our trash and placing it in the nearby bin, I don’t realize he’s moved swiftly until I straighten, finding him far closer than expected.