Page 54 of Wicked Heat

Except I am. Because, of course, I’m going to go back to the guest house and agree to every one of his stupid terms.

His stupid, terrifying, enticing terms.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Raindrops.

Roses.

Whiskers.

Kittens.

I let the mantra fill my head as I climb the grand staircase that leads from the ground floor up to the third floor, which serves as the heart of the house. It boasts a huge living area, the master and other suites, and the family kitchen and dining area. It’s not the actual kitchen—that’s a massive restaurant-worthy space on the ground floor. Instead, this area was originally planned as a catering kitchen before it became Stark Dining Central.

Right now, I’m only interested in the coffee machine. As my latte finishes brewing, I realize I’m no longer channeling Julie Andrews. And, yes, I’m feeling decidedly less stressed.

With a sigh, I take my latte and head to the sitting area. I glance up at the portrait of Nikki before settling on the sofa. She started her business with the money Damien paid her for that nude portrait in a deal not dissimilar to what Ash has offered me.

Like father like son…

Shit.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone, then put a call in to Teresa, only to get her message that she’s out of the country on vacation, but that if it’s a crisis I can press nine for an on-call therapist. I start to do that but change my mind and call Aria instead.

“Tell me everything,” she says without preamble.

I do, pretty much word-vomiting all over her. I leave nothing out. And when I’ve given her all the embarrassing, sordid, details, the first thing she says is, “There’s nothing wrong with you for wanting to take the deal.”

“I don’t want to. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh. Right. Gotcha.” She sounds unconvinced. I feel an uncomfortable squiggling in my gut. “Have you talked to Teresa?”

“I tried her first. Nothing personal,” I add, making her laugh. “She’s on vacation.”

“Wanna know what she’d say?”

I hesitate, then sigh. Aria’s damn good at reading people, and she’s gotten to know Teresa pretty well over the years. “Sure.”

“Same thing I’m going to say. Take the deal.”

“Oh.”

She laughs. “Do not even. You called because you’re attracted to the guy. You want to sleep with him, but you’re scared to sleep with him. And now this guy is basically offering you baby steps and an out clause? It’s a no-brainer.”

I bite my lip. She’s not wrong. “What if I freak out. What if I have a panic attack?”

“Oh, sweetie…” For a moment, there’s just silence. Then she says, “For the record, I’m still not convinced that Ash isn’t the creep who’s blackmailing you in the first place. But assuming he’s not, we already know he’s attracted to you, right?”

She barrels on, not giving me time to respond. “And he said you could take it slow, which means he’s clued-in to the possibility of panic attacks, also right?”

This time, I manage an affirmative sound while she takes a breath.

“Plus, you want him to fuck you.”

“No. I⁠—”

“Do not even. This is me. You want to get past it. I know it. You know it. Teresa knows it. You’ve been working on yourself for years, and now we know that there’s some honest-to-goodness crap locked away in your brain because of what your fucking kidnappers did to you. If getting busy with Ash helps get you past that, then I say Go, Pussycat, Kill, Kill.”