The Promise of Paradise - By Allie Boniface Page 0,58

Main Street had to empty their freezers. He’d adored her ever since.

“Hi yourself,” she answered, waving back. The sun winked in and out of clouds, and she felt it press down on the back of her neck. Warm. Comforting. Like a hand urging her home.

She practically skipped the last block, rehearsing her speech to Marty in between thinking of the first thing she wanted to tell Eddie. Not to mention the first thing she wanted to do to him. With him. Her face burned a little, but she didn’t care. When you figured out what it was you wanted, you’d do whatever it took to get it back. Even if that meant staring down the vixen from your lover’s past.

Ash cracked her knuckles as anxiety welled up inside her. Due at work in less than an hour, she didn’t have a lot of time. Her fingers dug inside her pocket as she rounded the corner, and because her house keys got stuck in a loose thread, she was looking down as she made her way to the porch steps.

So he saw her first. He spoke first. And when she raised her head to see who waited for her with a smile in his voice, all breath left her body. Tall and impossibly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that belonged on a magazine cover, Colin Parker stood on the porch of number two Lycian Street. He winked. Cocked his head to one side, the way she remembered too well. Grinned that camera-ready smile that flipped her stomach over and loped down the steps to meet her. All Ash could do was stand there and stare as his rolling bass voice carried her back through time.

“Hi, babe. God, it’s good to see you again.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Garbled country music jarred Eddie awake. “Shit.” He reached a hand in the direction of the motel nightstand and jabbed his thumb at the alarm clock. There. Silence. Falling back against the flat pillow, he flung an arm over his face. Jesus, but he had a headache to beat all headaches. And he guessed he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night, because now a strip of sunlight streamed across the bed, eye-level.

“Eddie?”

He squirmed. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the bed.

Cass poked a finger at his bare shoulder. “You feeling okay?”

He didn’t answer. What the hell did she think? The last twenty-four hours had tossed him into the center of a tornado. If he looked in the mirror, he wasn’t even sure whose face he’d see, or if he’d recognize it. Couple that with the fact that last night’s binge had left him with someone playing drums inside his skull and someone else painting the roof of his mouth with acid, and no, he wasn’t feeling okay. Or anything close to it.

She trailed her fingertips along his spine. “Want some water?”

He shook his head, still staring at the backs of his eyelids.

Did I sleep with her? He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. The bed dipped, squeaking a little as she got up.

“I’m going for some coffee,” she said. “I’ll bring you back some.”

Eddie heard the soft slipping of fabric over skin as she dressed. Grunting, he waited until the door closed before he turned over and opened his eyes. He took his time surveying the room, looking for signs of a knockdown, drag-out, all-clothes-off-in-sixty-seconds adventure the minute they’d stepped inside the room last night.

It’s happened before. I’d be a fool to think it couldn’t have happened again.

But he didn’t see much out of place. No chairs tipped onto the carpet. No ice spilled the length of the dresser. Even the bedspread covering his lower half, in some God-awful plum pattern, appeared smooth and tucked in. Only his shorts and shirt lay tossed on the floor, alongside the two motorcycle helmets.

Eddie slid from the bed and lurched into the bathroom. He dropped the toilet lid and slipped to an awkward seat. Leaning forward, he rested his head in both hands and stared at his lap. At least he still wore his boxers. That was a good sign. He couldn’t remember actually doing anything with Cass by the time they’d collapsed inside this wreck of a room, but then again, he couldn’t remember walking the two blocks from the bar to the motel, either, or checking in at the front desk.

“Idiot,” he said to his feet. He turned on the cold water. The fact that Ashton Kirk had just twisted him inside