Taming the Legend (8 page)

A new voice came on the line with a creaky,
weak, “Hello.”

“Mr. Trenton?”

The voice trembled. “Yes.”

“Why?” It was all she wanted to know. All she’d ever wanted to know.

The noise of his exhale was like a tornado against her ear. “I thought it was best for my son. I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke, and muffled sobs traveled down the line. Camila relaxed her grip on the broken pen, ignoring the black ink that seeped
into the skin of her palm. She couldn’t release years of agony at once, but as the man’s regret flowed over the connection, she was flooded with a feeling she’d spent years searching for. Understanding. Hadn’t she made a gut-wrenching decision of her own, thinking it was the best she could do for her child?

She couldn’t assure Ash’s dad that what he’d done was okay. It wasn’t and never would
be. But she could give him the only thing that was hers to give. “I think I understand.”

His shuddering breath was the only indication that he heard her before Ash’s voice reached her again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Surprisingly okay. Perhaps her conversation with Ash earlier had paved the way for this feeling of okayness. Or maybe it was finally discovering the truth instead of being
left with nothing but unopened letters and millions of questions. Whatever the reason, the past finally began to bury itself, and a new sprig of hope sprouted from its grave.

“Good. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll phone you when I’m there.”

Her hands relaxed even more, and she pulled a tissue from a box on the desk, wiping her inky palm with it. “Sounds good. And thank you.”

She hung up and stared at her blackened hand. She’d held on to her anger for so long it had seeped and spread through her, tainting every area of her life. Time for a clean beginning. How strange that the man she’d been so furious at would be the one to give it to her.

She washed her hands and started her new beginning with a nap, followed by a walk around the neighborhood. Then she went
back to the hotel and finished journaling about her talk with Ash’s dad. When her phone rang again, she hesitated only a second before picking it up. “Hello?”

“How are you?” Ash’s gorgeous accent made her ear tingle.

“Okay.” Journaling always helped get the demons out. As heart-wrenching as today had been, she felt more balanced now that she’d written everything down.

“I wondered
if you wanted to come down to the bar and meet me for a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Not even Fanta?”

The memory hit her hard, and she grinned. “I don’t think I’ve had a Fanta since I left Barcelona.”

“Sounds like it’s time, then. I’ll be down here, if you want to join me.”

She hung up and slid her journal into her carry-on so she wouldn’t accidentally leave it when she went
to the airport in the morning. Five minutes later, she walked into the bar off the lobby and looked around.

No Ash.

Did the hotel have more than one bar downstairs? She was just about to turn away and ask the concierge when a hand brushed the small of her back, and she jerked around to find him.

He looked amazing. He’d changed his clothes, putting on nice jeans and a dark green
button-down shirt that made his brown eyes and dark hair stand out. She couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied, suddenly embarrassingly breathless.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ash.”

She blinked down at it, then up at him. “Um…”

“I saw you walk in and thought you looked like a woman I’d like to get to know.”

Ooh…he wanted to play
that game. Bit by bit, the tension she’d carried to London with her melted away. “Well, then. That shows excellent judgment on your part,” she teased, making him laugh. Some of the lines around his mouth softened, as if he’d been worried how she would react.

He gestured toward an empty table next to a window. “Care to join me?”

She did care to. Eschewing the Fanta, she let him introduce
her to a soft drink called ginger beer, which had a fiery ginger flavor while still being sugary sweet. They talked for an hour and never mentioned the past they shared. He didn’t ask about her family, nor she about his. They discussed films they’d both seen, music they listened to, politics they hated and places they’d love to visit. At some point, Ash picked up her hand and began teasing her
with soft, flirtatious touches. Camila responded by letting her legs stretch out to brush his.

A bright spark of interest hit his eyes. He leaned forward conspiratorially, and she met him halfway. “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered.

“Please do.”

He looked around, as if to make sure no one was listening. Then he leaned even closer. “I’ve got a butler.”

Camila bit back her
laugh and tried to school her expression into one that looked suitably impressed. “Wow. You must be a very important man.”

He shook his head. “Not so important. Just lucky. I was thinking of having dinner in my suite, served by my butler. I mentioned the butler, right? I would love it if you joined me.”

Some of her playfulness dampened. What was he expecting of her? She wasn’t going
to have sex with him, no matter how much he’d helped her festering old wounds heal today, and no matter how adorable he was being right now.

He seemed to follow her thoughts because he said, “Only dinner. Maybe a film, if you’re up to it. Or some dancing—my suite comes with an outrageous sound system. You wouldn’t believe it. I’ll have the butler turn it on for us.”

Dance with me.
Her
memory of the words floated around her.
Dance with me,
he’d said that first night they’d run into each other at the club, and all her nerves and insecurities had swirled up inside her like a tornado. Just like now. “I don’t know, Ash.”

He squeezed her hands. “No pressure. I’m just really enjoying your company, and I know I won’t have it for much longer.”

“You’ll be in California soon,
though, right?” The first stirrings of panic fluttered through her.

“Of course. I’m not backing out. But I’m not ready to say goodnight yet either. I’m enjoying this, Mila. And I’m hungry.”

She chuckled. “Okay. I’ll have dinner with you.”

His sexy grin spread slowly. “Good. Ready to go now?”

“It’s only six. You really must be hungry.”

“All I had for lunch was a scone,
and then my mum spiked my tea with Bailey’s and I’ve felt queasy ever since. I need something to settle my stomach.” He stood and held out his hand. She took it and let him pull her up, expecting him to let it go. But he didn’t. Threading his fingers through hers, he held her gaze captive. “I’m glad you came, Mila. It’s been a rough day, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

She fought to keep
his words from touching her too deeply, but she feared she’d already lost that battle. When it came to zigzagging around her barriers, Ash had always been a pro. As she held his hand and walked to the lift with him, she felt sympathy for all the opponents he’d met on the rugby field in his career. They were probably breathing deep sighs of relief at his retirement.

Meanwhile Camila felt more
conflicted about him than ever.

Chapter Seven

Camila stayed far later than she should have. She blamed the ginger beer. The sugar rush was too damn good at holding her jet lag at bay, convincing her she could stay ten more minutes, then ten more. So she stayed and enjoyed an exquisite, pant-splitting five-course dinner, with a view of Ash in front of a backdrop of nighttime London through the wall-to-ceiling
windows.

This isn’t real. It can’t be.

But she was really in London, and Ash Trenton was really with her. Teasing her. Smiling at her. Flirting with her.

She couldn’t bring herself to flirt back. She’d spent too long hating him for all her feelings to drop away so quickly. But his confidence was infectious, and she gradually found the tension easing as, piece by piece, he chipped
away at the limescale that crusted her memories of him.

“You’re shattered.”

She blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

“Exhausted. Falling asleep in your dessert.”

“Oh hell no.” She shielded the sticky toffee pudding with her arms and shot Mr. Frye a warning glare, just in case he dared think about taking it away. When she’d ordered it, Ash had told her it was a traditional
British dessert that was more of a comfort food than a Michelin-starred treat, but she didn’t care. She needed comfort, and this toffee-drenched cake was providing it. “I would never fall asleep on this beauty. That would be rude.”

She dug her fork in and took another bite as Ash laughed. “You know, you’re welcome to stay the night if you’re too tired to make it down to your room.”

The cake froze in her mouth, and her chewing slowed.

“There’s a second bedroom.” He gestured over her shoulder, and she relaxed again as she swallowed.

“That’s okay. I can’t stay too much longer. I have to get up early to get to Heathrow. It took a lot longer to get here than I’d expected, and I want to make sure I give myself plenty of time. I’m not really used to public transportation.”

“Why don’t I take you?”

“To Heathrow?”

He grinned, and his voice was dry as he drawled, “Yeah, I’m not offering to drive you all the way to L.A.”

She bit back a smile. “That would be really nice. Thank you.” A prolonged farewell. At least it meant she wouldn’t have to go through the awkwardness of saying goodbye tonight, when she was still so raw. She shoved the final bite of
dessert in her mouth, and it seemed to have a tranquilizing effect on her. As soon as the warm cake hit her belly, her eyelids dropped. “I think I should go. I won’t be very good company.”

She half expected him to try to convince her to stay, whether by tempting her with his body or the promise of a sleep-filled night on a penthouse mattress, something she’d never experienced and never would
have another opportunity to again. But he stood as she stood and walked with her to the door.

And then out the door.

“Uh, I think I can make it without an escort. I mean, I’m sure these corridors are just as dangerous as the streets of L.A., but I’m a tough girl and can handle myself against any butlers I run into.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just wanted a few more moments in your company.
Is that okay?”

Oh. God, he was turning her upside down. “Yeah. More than okay.”

More than okay?
She mentally shook her head at her own lameness, but Ash didn’t seem to care. He walked her back to her room, and she was hit by all the terrifying questions she hadn’t worried about since she was a teenager.
Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me? Will I kiss him back?

But
the answer to the first question appeared to be no, which made the other two moot. “What time’s your flight?”

“Noon. I’d like to get there by nine so I know I don’t have to panic.”

“Meet me in the lobby at eight, then.”

“Sounds good.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand, but that was the extent of the physical intimacy. “See you in the morning.”

“See you. And Ash?”

He turned back to look at her.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve done nothing—”

“I know. But you’re going to, and that means everything to me.”

He smiled. “Sweet dreams, Mila.”

Those words ended up being a curse. She dreamed about him not just that night but the next few as she got home and tried to settle back into her routine. She hadn’t been in London long enough to get used to
the time difference, but the lack of sleep on her flights had messed up her body clock, and thanks to the dreams she kept waking up feeling more exhausted than when she’d fallen asleep.

One dream replayed itself over and over, the dream of Ash defending her honor against her cousin Sergio at the dance club. Her dad’s grandmother had originally been from Spain, and the family had kept in touch
with distant relatives there through the generations. Her dad had known how stifled she’d felt by life in her small Montana town, where everyone knew the scandal surrounding her and Gabriel’s conception. So he’d called his cousins; one of them had two small children and agreed to give Camila room, board and a bit of spending money if she babysat the kids every morning. Her dad had bought her
flight and sent her to Barcelona.

She’d been there a month before she overhead Ash and Alfie’s outrageous conversation on the beach. In that month, she’d seen plenty of men ogle women and discuss them as if they were weighing up the commercial benefits of a heifer at a county fair. But something inside her snapped when Ash reduced one woman to a bubble butt.

After that, she spotted Ash
quite a few times on the beach. He always went to the same spot, always sat there watching girls pass by as if he were desperately searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. She knew he went clubbing every night too. She saw the fluorescent ink stamped onto the back of his hand and heard him discussing the selling points of various clubs with Alfie. She would’ve dismissed him as being just
like most of the guys she knew—horny and desperate—but something started to change. He kept making excuses. And one day she twigged that his excuses weren’t based on the inadequacies of the female bodies he saw but on the fact that he was looking for something else. He never defined it, and she grew as intrigued by his hesitation as he and Alfie seemed frustrated by it. She wondered if she might
possess that quality he was searching for.

A couple days passed and he kept ignoring her, and she couldn’t help her mounting anxiety as every nerve in her body shouted
Why not me? I’m right here.
She wanted to be wanted for more than just her proximity, but the fact he barely seemed to notice her annoyed her.

And then came that awful night when she convinced her cousin Sergio to take
her to one of the clubs in the hopes of running into Ash. He’d taken her to one before and tried to hook her up with one of his friends. Actually,
hook her up
described it perfectly, since Sergio’s asswipe friend had treated her like she was no more than a cow carcass hanging in a slaughterhouse. She’d politely declined, and the bastard had said to Sergio in Catalan, “I thought you said she’d
fuck anyone?”

She hadn’t wanted to spend another night in Sergio’s company, but she didn’t know which clubs British guys hung out in. It was the early days of the internet, and her cousins didn’t have it at home, nor had she ever been online. It would still be two more years before she got her first email address. So she’d casually asked Sergio where the best places to go dancing were, and
he’d told her he’d take her out that night. She’d swallowed her misgivings, so eager was she to accidentally run into Ash.

She found him dancing with the leggy Italian girl. No, dancing didn’t describe it. Dry humping—that was more like it. But then he spotted her, and the strangest thing happened. The music fell away. All the sweaty, smelly, drunk teenagers around her disappeared. And Ash
approached her. Not just approached her but made her laugh. And after coming back with her Fanta—undrugged—he sat and shout-talked with her for an hour about the book she’d brought to deflect interest from anyone who wasn’t him. Finally he seemed to grow restless with conversation and got the gleam of anticipation that all boys got when they were ready for action.

Except he was ready for
a different kind of action.

“Dance with me.” Ash held his hand out palm up and waited for her to take it.

“I don’t dance,” she replied, momentarily reliving the mocking laughter she’d been subjected to the only time she’d gone to a school dance.

“Of course you do. Everyone does.”

“Nope. Not everyone. You see, I have this condition.”

Horror rippled across his face. “What
condition?”

“You’ve heard of two left feet?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a terminal case.”

His horror slowly transformed into a grin. “You won’t die with me.”

“No, but you will. I’ll pound your toes till they’re dust. You’ll wither away and die. It won’t be a pretty death.”

“Are any?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only died of embarrassment. It
definitely
wasn’t pretty, and that
was the last time I danced, so I swore off it.”

He stood, his hand still outstretched. “If you won’t dance with me, take a walk on the beach with me.”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s very safe.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Her gaze flicked down his body. It was a great body, but it was difficult to see that when he was wearing more than a bathing suit. He was short. To hit six
feet tall, he would have to wear two-inch platforms and stand on his toes. “No offense, but you’re not exactly intimidating.”

His grin grew. “I might be compact, sweetness, but I know how to use what I’ve got.”

Damn.
Her breath caught in her lungs as desire and intrigue spread in a hot wave through her lower belly. He had to be talking about physical accomplishments other than sex. According
to what she’d heard on the beach, he had no clue how use what he had, sexually speaking. But she had no doubts he’d figure himself out quickly. “All right. Let’s go for a walk. I just need to tell my cousin.”

She finally took his hand, and a trickle of excitement shuddered up her arm from where their flesh connected for the first time.

He followed her around the edge of the dance floor
till she found Sergio. Ash stood back far enough that she didn’t think he would overhear the conversation, and she was pretty sure he didn’t understand Spanish, much less the Catalan she was picking up from her cousins.

Sergio was an arrogant bastard at the best of times, but she’d never seen him drunk so she had no idea what he’d say when she told him she was leaving and would find her own
way home. Still, he shocked her. He shot Ash a glance and then gave her a derisive, full-body once-over and said in Catalan, “So I was right. The slut doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

The blood in her veins turned to icy sludge. Her jaw trembled with the force of her fury. “That was unnecessary, dickhead.”

Dickhead
was in English—her Catalan wasn’t
that
good—and Ash perked up. He did
that stupid male thing of puffing out his chest and taking a step forward, despite his opponent being significantly bigger and a mean bastard. Desperate to spare Ash a pummeling, she grabbed his arm and turned him toward the door.

“Puta!”

Whore.

That word sliced deep into her back, catching her lungs and making all her sludgy blood pour out.

Ash spun back and faced him. “What
did you say, mate?”

Camila grabbed his elbow. “Ash, don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. You matter, so it matters.”

It took several seconds for those words to sink in, but they couldn’t patch up the damage. All she could think was
You’re wrong.

“I said she’s a whore,
mate.
” Sergio’s voice dripped with taunting mockery.

“You know what, Sergio?” Camila got
all up in her cousin’s face, hoping to draw his attention away from Ash because she doubted Sergio would hit her. Even if he did, she’d been hit by boys before, enough that she considered herself an expert on the matter. They never hit girls as hard as they seemed to hit other boys. The blows were more for humiliation, to teach a lesson about where her place in the world was in relation to theirs.
But if Sergio hit Ash, he would do it to cause real physical damage.

As opposed to that fake emotional damage it’s done you?
She pushed the troubling thought aside and focused on her sneering cousin, who was still trying to intimidate Ash despite Camila fronting up to him. “I don’t give a shit what a fucked-up loser like you thinks about me. I’m leaving. Come on, Ash.”

She grabbed Ash’s
hand and tugged. He seemed reluctant, but he came with her. Sergio wouldn’t give up, though. He yelled in Spanish, so she couldn’t fail to understand, “Spread your legs and get used to it, whore. It’s all your mother was good for, and you’re no better.”

Camila felt the blood drain from her face. She squeezed her lips together and blinked hard. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she tried
to hide it by turning her head away from Ash.

Too late. Cursing under his breath, he spun around and rushed back to Sergio, who was still yelling and jabbing the air with his finger when Ash flew at him in a full tackle. Camila gasped, her hands covering her mouth in shock just like silly female bystanders did in the movies. The two guys slid across a table and fell hard on the ground, the
crash of drinking glasses shattering against the floor making hardly any noise over the thumping music.

To Camila’s great regret, Sergio didn’t put up much of a fight. He struggled a bit, his eyes darting back and forth as if he hoped no one noticed he’d just been flattened by someone he’d dismissed as no threat. His arms flailed in an attempt to punch Ash, but Ash had no trouble restraining
him. He grabbed Sergio’s fists and pinned them to the floor. His voice shook with barely contained aggression as he seethed, “Whatever you just said to her, you’ll never say it again. Will you?”

Sergio tried to buck him off, but Ash slid his knee into the soft flesh between his thigh and groin. Sergio’s eyes bulged in fear.