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The elevator door dings and we climb in. I watch as he pulls out the key, inserts it, and hits the button for his floor.
“We have a doorman at ours in New York.” My voice trails off as I take in a deep breath and look at the ground.
“Hey,” he says softly, squeezing my hand, regaining my attention. “Just relax, okay? Everything is fine.”
“I know. All in all, it was a really great night, I think I’m just tired—on an emotional level.”
“I get it.” He cups my face with his free hand and runs his thumb back and forth across my cheek. It’s so comforting, I want to roll into him like he’s a security blanket.
The elevator dings and he pulls me out. The hall isn’t very large and there’s only one other door. As we walk toward the one on the right, I assume the one on the left is Clay’s.
“Just two units here?”
“Yep, about two and a half years ago, Clay and I did a little remodeling. We bought out the other units, had design plans drawn, and while we were out on tour had the construction done.” He pulls his keys, and unlocks and opens the door. Black and tan fur comes barreling at us, and a laugh escapes me.
“Oh, hi, Whiskey,” I coo at him. He rams his head into my leg and almost knocks me over. “Geez, buddy, I’m happy to see you too!” He circles around us, Ash pets his head and guides us into the foyer.
My eyes sweep up from Whiskey and pass over the condo before me. I’m shocked by the detail and overall ambiance of his home. This condo looks like it could be featured inArchitectural Digest.Where his lake house is all rustic, this space looks more like a contemporary loft, but still accents his country roots, making it his. From the columns, crown molding, marble flooring, soaring ceilings, lighter coloring, and clean lines to the soothing shades of blues and browns, draped windows, plush throw rugs, and oversized furniture, it looks like him, and immediately I feel at home.
Stepping down into the sunken living room, my eyes fall to a far wall that holds all of the music awards he’s won and framed images of his albums and concert tours. There are pictures of him and Clay that span their years together, and most noticeably to me, their days as the Blue Horizons.
Ash comes to stand next to me as I look at all of his successes across the wall.
“You know, I kind of feel bad for what I said to you about the music now.” My thoughts turn to how I basically told him his new music wasn’t any good.
Turning to face him, I watch as he runs his hand across his jaw, taking his time before he answers. “Don’t. You didn’t tell me something I didn’t already know. I think the music, how I felt about what we were singing, it became my biggest problem.” He looks away from me and back to the wall.
“I suppose we have some things we need to talk about, huh?” I lean into his side.
“Yeah, we do. I have so much to tell you, but most can wait until tomorrow. I have to say though, I wouldn’t change a thing. You not knowing about all of this meant you got to know me for me, and not what I can offer you. Although, knowing you now, I don’t think it would have mattered, or maybe it would have been different in some other way, but what did matter to me was no one’s ever taken the time before. I have to imagine you probably feel the same way.”
Taking my hand, he begins walking toward the hallway.
“Then again, had I known who you are, I definitely would have done things differently.” He flashes me one of his gorgeous smiles. “So, I’m glad I didn’t know. Don’t get me wrong, the emotions I felt today when Mr. Lang introduced you were all over the place. I was completely floored by your beauty, starstruck, and embarrassed to think that I probably should have figured this out sooner, but I didn’t.”
“I agree with you. If I had known you were ‘The Will Ashton,’ I never would have let myself get to know you. Part of your allure was that I got to feel like a nobody with another nobody. Not that you’re a nobody . . .” I blush. “But you know what I mean. So is that your real name?”
He laughs at my question and walks us into what I assume is his bedroom. It’s decorated in dark grays and white with dark wood furniture and thick carpet. He has a fireplace, more windows that have treatments, and a huge built-in entertainment center. “Yes, it’s William Ashton, no middle name. Everyone calls me Will. You and Clay are the only two who call me Ash. What’s yours?”
“Avery Emerson Layne, but my friends all call me Av. It’s nice to meet you, William Ashton.” I smile up at him. I love the sound of his name.
Letting go of my hand, he helps me out of his jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair. Being bolder than I have in a really long time, I reach up and gently stroke his cheek with my thumb. He tilts his head into my hand and his eyes close. Just knowing that my touch is affecting him this way makes my heart beat faster. His eyes open, lock onto mine, and I can’t help but bite my bottom lip. His eyes drop to my lips, but he doesn’t move.
Being close to him makes me so nervous, and not in the way that I’ve become accustomed to, more along the lines of good nervous butterflies, but at the same time I’m not nervous with him at all. I haven’t been this comfortable with a guy since Chris—well, before things turned bad—but with Ash, it feels effortless.
Desperate to get this dress off and into some of his comfortable clothes, I slowly turn around and look at him over my shoulder.
“Do you mind helping me with the zipper?” I ask confidently.
“Ah, Ms. Layne, is that your way of asking me to take your clothes off?” he smirks at me and winks.
My eyes narrow and his smile grows wider, forcing those dimples to make an appearance. It’s not lost on me that this is the same flirty Ash from the night we met. Only this time, his off-handed comment doesn’t leave me blacking out and running for the street.
“Do you trust me?” he tilts his head as his eyes assess me.
“You know I do,” I say quietly.
Silence fills the room and heat assaults my back as he steps closer to me. My heart starts racing and my breathing picks up in anticipation of him touching me.
