Heart of Ash

Heart of Ash

A Tryst Island Erotic Romance
by Sabrina York

Heart of Ash

ISBN  978-0-9891577-3-5

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Rebound Copyright © 2013 Sabrina York

Edited by Monica Britt

Cover design by Wicked Smart Designs

Electronic book publication October 2013

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Emily Cale, Tina Donahue and Sidney Bristol. When you read the book, you’ll know why, if you don’t already.

Acknowledgements

First of all, thanks to my amazing beta readers, Charmaine Arredondo, Laurie A., Kim Brown, Carmen Cook, Shelly Estes, Angie Lane, Regina Ross, and Michelle Wilson. And to my amazing street team who shares the word about my books: Crystal Biby, Kim Brown, Fedora Chen, Celeste Deveney, Shelly Estes, Stephanie Felix, Angie Lane, Rose Lipscomb, Laurie Peterson, Tina Reiter, Hollie Rieth, Regina Ross, Dee Thomas as well as Christy, Elf, Gaele and Laurie.

My deepest appreciation to Wicked Smart Designs for a rocking cover and to Monica Britt for helping me whip this novella into shape. I bow deeply before Shelly Estes, who suggested the rockin’ title.

Thank you so much to my dear author friends for your support: Emily Cale, Kristine Cayne, Dana Delamar, Cerise de Land, Delilah Devlin, Lisa Fox, Desiree Holt, and Tina Donahue.

To all my friends in the Greater Seattle Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink and Rose City Romance Writers groups, thank you for all your support and encouragement.

Chapter One

Emily Donahue tipped her face into the breeze, enjoying the spray wafting up as the ferry sliced its way through the deep cool waters of Puget Sound. She stood at the bow, her favorite spot, holding back the urge to crow, “I’m the queen of the world!”

As much as she loved spending the weekend with her friends at the vacation house they shared on Tryst Island, she loved the ferry ride more.

There was something about water, the ocean, the slapping waves, that invigorated her, woke her up, made her feel alive. The view was spectacular. Emerald islands dotted the azure sea as far as the eye could see. The bird’s egg blue sky was laced with fat white clouds. Rainbows sparkled as the sunshine danced over the water.

The boat jounced and a cool mist surrounded her. She licked her lips, tasting the salt, and laughed out loud.

Glorious. It was simply—

“Well, hello beautiful.”

Irritation trickled through her as a low voice intruded on her reverie. Not because a voice intruded on her reverie, but because it was a man’s voice.

She could just ignore him. If she’d been anyone else—her friend Bella, perhaps—she might have. But Emily had been born and bred to be a lady. And ladies were polite. Even to people who weren’t.

It was a curse.

She steeled her spine and turned away from the glorious panoply to look at the man who had sidled up to next her. Her breath slowed. Her muscles tightened. She tried, very hard, not to grimace.

Grimacing was not polite in the least.

But it was difficult to maintain her expressionless mien. She knew his type. Disliked his type. Intensely.

Judging from his outfit and his smug, entitled smirk, he was a typical trust fund baby.  So like all those boys she’d known in college. And the ring on his pinkie branded him as a frat boy. Or at least he had been once.

Some men never outgrew being a frat boy.

This frat boy was tall and bulky with an unruly mop of brown hair. He held a drink in a red plastic cup like this was some kind of kegger. His linen shirt, unbuttoned halfway to his navel, revealed a thick mat of dark curls. His ascot flapped in the wind. And yes, he wore an ascot. Worse than that, a hint of predatory interest glinted in his eyes.

He was the epitome of everything she disliked about men. And here she was. Trapped by him, cornered in the bow of the boat. She glanced around, a frantic hunt for one of her friends, but no. They were alone. Utterly alone.

She forced away the flicker of panic—panic served no purpose—and eased her fingers through her hair, casually unfastening her barrette. If push came to shove, she could gore him with it.

The boor leaned in, way too close. His breath wafted over her cheek in a bilious huff. She doubted one could get drunk from inhaling fumes, but the smell of alcohol emanating from him was overwhelming. As though he were steeped in it.  Emily leaned back against the rail, disciplining herself not to gasp for fresh air. A dark cloud rose and roiled in her head.

“Did it hurt?” he asked.

Emily frowned. “D-did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven?”

All fear flew in the face of his absurdity. She gaped at him as his words hit home. Seriously? Her third grade class could come up with better pick-up lines. Although she hoped they never did.

Why, oh why, did she always seem to attract men like this? All she wanted was a nice, sweet man. Someone she could feel safe with. Someone who cherished her for who she was.

Not a horndog on the prowl for an easy lay.

Was that too much to ask?

The boat hit a swell and the horndog’s drink sloshed all over her skirt. Emily didn’t care, because this was a perfect excuse to flee. She swiped at the stain and murmured, “Oh no,” and pushed past him with a pained smile and scuttled away. Not to scrub out the spot. Just to escape his leer.

He might have been a decent guy, if a little drunk, but it didn’t matter. Something about him set her teeth on edge, and Emily had vowed never to ignore her gut again. Not when it came to men, especially men like
him
.

Relief flooded her when she spotted her friends at a table in the coffee shop on the ferry’s upper deck. She slid into the open seat between Jamie and Kaitlin and gusted, “Douche alert.” Bella had coined the term, one they all now used to warn the others of impending douchebaggery.

Kaitlin, bless her heart, took Emily’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze, calming her. Kaitlin always knew how to calm her.

“Where?” Jamie crunched into a pastry. It crumbled to bits and flaked all over her t-shirt.

Emily winced. It was a damn shame to waste all those flakes. The bag on the table sported the Stud Muffin logo, so she knew it was one of Tara’s evil creations. She was always creating evil, that Tara.

But it was a delicious kind of evil.

They were all delighted whenever Kristi invited Tara to spend the weekend on the island. Because she always brought a healthy supply of high-calorie sin.

Emily reached out and blotted the crumbs that fell on Jamie’s plate. Pastries always soothed her, but she had to limit herself to crumbs because carbs had a tendency to collect around her waist. “Out on the deck. He’s wearing an ascot.”

Tara looked up from the papers she was studying and snorted. “Oh, holy hell. Him?”

Kaitlin rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. Even like that, with her eyes rolling and her lips pursed, she was beautiful. Kaitlin was a stunning redhead. Her face was perfection, her figure exquisite, like a woodland elf. Emily felt like a rhinoceros next to her. “That creep cornered me in the hall earlier. I had to spill my coffee on him to escape.”

Emily nibbled her lower lip. “I was luckier. He spilled his drink on me.” She showed them the stain, which had spread into the cherries printed on the fabric. Damn. She’d liked this skirt. It was cheerful and whimsical and made her feel happy. Now it was ruined.

She’d picked up this outfit at a thrift store. All her clothes came from thrift stores, much to her mother’s chagrin. But she taught third grade. It wasn’t practical to wear expensive clothes when one never knew what kind of grunge one might pick up in the course of the day. More often than not she came home with worms in her pocket.

Jamie bent and sniffed at the fabric. “What the hell was he drinking?” Her brown eyes narrowed. She sniffed again. “Vodka with cranberry juice? A squeeze of lime?” Jamie was something of a savant. Identifying someone’s drink from nothing more than a whiff was one of her bar tricks. She made a fortune in quarters at Darby’s on the weekends.

“Where’d he get vodka?” Tara asked. “I thought they didn’t serve hard alcohol on ferries.”

Just then, Ascot Man pushed into the room and joined two men seated in the far corner of the cafeteria. He upended a flask into his drink. “Apparently he brought his own,” Jamie quipped.

“Goddamn frat boys.” Kaitlin muttered. Though she cloaked it with a smile, there was a definite hint of bitterness in her tone. She and Emily exchanged a glance. A memory rose in Emily’s mind. Two girls at a frat party. Lured to an isolated room…

She pushed the memory back into the shadows.

“Do you know them?” Jamie asked.

Kaitlin fiddled with her napkin. “Maybe. The handsome one went to the U.”

Tara wrinkled her nose. “Which one’s the handsome one?”

Emily blotted more crumbs. Yeah. They were all pretty cute, in a frat boy way. Except Ascot Man. He was just droopy.

“The one with the spiky hair.”

Jamie leaned to the side. “Which one with the spiky hair? I swear. Those guys all look alike to me.”

“The one with the dark hair. In office casual. I think his name is…Parker.”

Something in Kaitlin’s voice caught Emily’s attention. Surreptitiously, she studied the frat boy with the spiky hair in office casual. He was definitely good looking, with a wide, handsome face and eyes that slanted a bit at the corners. And he did seem familiar.

The memory rose again. Unease trickled through her. She shifted in her seat. Blotted more crumbs, though there were hardly any left.

“I met him at a frat party once…” Kaitlin trailed off. Everyone waited for her to finish, everyone but Emily, who knew she wouldn’t.

They didn’t want to hear that story anyway. No one did.

“I just hope it’s not a rowdy weekend,” Tara muttered.

Just then a raucous cheer went up in the corner and the girls groaned in tandem. The frat boys had already started to party, and they hadn’t even reached the island yet.

But then the horn tooted and the engines revved in a backwards thrum, and Emily knew they were almost at their destination. As she bent to gather her things, her gaze fell on Ascot Man.

Her stomach clenched as he waggled his tongue at her.

Oh lord.

She might just barf.

Friday night at Darby’s Bar and Grill was crazy.

Ash Bristol stepped from the sunshine into the shadowed tavern and glanced around at the milling crowd. He spotted an empty table and made his way toward it. His step faltered when he saw Bella Cross, but he just kept going.