Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1)

  “After ten years, I would have thought that it went without saying!”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “But you married him. Behind my back. When we were still dating!”

  He shook his head in disbelief and I felt ashamed.

  “It happened suddenly,” I tried to explain. “He needed a green card to be able to keep his job. Dancing is important to him, and after everything he’s been through, I wanted to help.”

  “What about everything we’ve been through?” he said, his voice rising. “Ten years, Laney! Ten years! Ten years of managing your flare-ups and . . .”

  “Collin,” I sighed. “You always saw me as a problem to be solved, you still do—and it doesn’t work like that. This isn’t something I’ll recover from. This is something I live with. Each flare-up will go, eventually, but there will be others. I can’t focus on what the pain is taking from me—I have to focus on what I can do, what I will do. And . . . I don’t want to be your duty.”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “But you admit he married you to get a green card?”

  “Ash is my friend. I care about him—deeply. But when I suggested that he marry me . . .”

  Collin looked stunned. “It was your idea?”

  “Well, yes,” I admitted weakly.

  “Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe this.”

  “You and I were already on the edge,” I said carefully. “We’d broken up once and it would have happened again.”

  “Because of him!”

  “No,” I said quietly. “Because of us.”

  He thought about this for a moment and he didn’t argue.

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  I hesitated. “No, not about the marriage,” I admitted. “We weren’t going to tell anyone. But about you and me, yes—as soon as I got the chance to talk to you face to face, which is what happened.”

  He winced when I said ‘we’, referring to me and Ash, but still looked angry. Not that I blamed him.

  “Your family seems to think this sham marriage is real,” he said bitterly.

  I stared out at the frost coating the fields and barns; it all looked so pure, so simple.

  “Well,” I said carefully. “I’ve come to have feelings for Ash, and I believe he feels the same.”

  Collin laughed angrily. “Are you really that naïve? He’s telling you exactly what you want to hear. As soon as he’s got his green card, he’ll be gone.”

  “That’s your opinion,” I said stiffly. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  We sat in silence while he drank his coffee.

  “I have one more question,” he said, frowning into his cup.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  I looked him in the eye as I answered.

  “I promise, I never cheated on you.”

  I could tell that he didn’t believe me, but there was nothing I could do about that. I’d done enough.

  The door behind us swung open and Ash was there, standing with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at us.

  Collin stood abruptly and tried to body check Ash as he walked back into the kitchen.

  “Asshole,” Collin muttered as he walked past.

  “Prick,” Ash replied, without missing a beat.

  The strong scent of testosterone hung in the air.

  Laney

  WE DROVE BACK to the city after supper. My parents were disappointed that we weren’t staying longer, but Ash and I really needed some privacy to talk about what had happened last night.

  And besides, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having sex with him again while my family was in the house. I didn’t even know if that was something that was going to happen.

  And wouldn’t it be a crying shame if that was it? Because that had been the best sex of my entire life.

  As I drove through the darkened streets toward the highway, questions crowded my mind. Were we together or not? Should we go back to him sleeping on the couch? Was he expecting to sleep in my bed? Did I want him to?

  Well, at least I knew the answer to that last one.

  When we finally closed the front door of my . . . of our apartment . . . my head was pounding and it was a relief to be home.

  I flopped onto the couch, happy to leave Ash to carry up our luggage and load the fridge with all the leftover food that Mom insisted we take with us.

  He stole my iPhone from my purse, and the soft sounds of the new Adele album poured from the speakers.

  I listened to Ash moving around in the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, setting it to boil, and soon the aroma of chamomile tea filled the room.

  I cracked one eye as he pulled off my boots and started to massage my aching feet.

  “That feels good,” I groaned, as he dug his thumbs into the arch of my left foot.

  He didn’t answer, humming along with the music, his lips moving wordlessly.

  His fingers slid up to my ankles, massaging thoroughly. He couldn’t go any higher because I was wearing skinny jeans. I should really wear more skirts.

  I blurted out the thoughts that were on my mind.

  “What happens next, Ash?”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked up at me, his hands still moving rhythmically.

  “Whatever you want, Laney.”

  I frowned, frustrated that he hadn’t given me a real answer.

  “I just want to know where we stand.”

  He sighed and sat back on his heels.

  “I don’t know,” he said simply.

  I was going to have to spell it out. I steeled myself for the conversation.

  “Are we together, Ash?”

  His forehead puckered. “We’re married,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  For other people, perhaps, but not for us.

  “We married to get you a green card,” I said, as patiently as I could. “But . . . last night and, um, this morning, we had sex.”

  He grinned at me, his eyes glittering with carnal thoughts.

  “Yeah.”

  I shook my head in frustration. “I don’t just sleep with people!”

  His sudden, irritated expression matched mine. “I’m your husband!”

  “On paper!” I snapped. “It’s not real.”

  He stood abruptly, his nostrils flaring with anger. “I don’t know what you want!”

  I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep calm.

  “We need to work out some rules,” I said, my voice tight and clipped.

  He swept his hand in front of him theatrically.

  “What are these rules?” he asked, his voice full of disdain.

  “Well,” I replied, thinking on my feet, “will you . . . are we going to have sex again?”

  He blinked, surprise replacing anger. “Of course.” Then his face clouded. “You don’t want to?”

  I almost laughed. What a comedy of errors. I had to try and wrestle my turbulent emotions into some semblance of order and tranquility, or we’d never get anywhere. Least of all the bedroom.

  “Ash, come sit next to me,” I said calmly, patting the couch.

  He sat stiffly, oozing reluctance.

  “What I’m saying is . . . if your dick is in some sort of popularity contest, I’m not interested in competing. Or sharing at all.”

  Ash reared back in shock.

  Oops, that might have been a little more brutal than necessary.

  “There is no one else!”

  “Not even the woman you spend your nights with? Or was it women?”

  Ash was stunned. “What woman? There is no woman!”

  “Ash, I saw you! With nail marks down your chest . . . and all those nights you weren’t home.”

  His lips twisted.

  “I should have stayed to listen to you fucking the prick?”

  Oh, this wasn’t going well.

  ?
??No, of course not. I . . .”

  “Hearing you with him—it made me sick to my stomach,” he said angrily. “I couldn’t stay here anymore.”

  “So . . . where did you go?”

  “The pub.”

  “Oh!”

  He raised one eyebrow challengingly.

  “Not . . . you weren’t with . . . women.”

  “No.”

  “But your chest? I saw you!”

  He sighed and looked down.

  “I wanted to. You were with the prick, so I wanted to. I met a woman to fuck. But when she . . . marked me . . . I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want her anyway.”

  The expression on his face was dark, and I realized how that must have affected him—being marked by someone else. My heart squeezed painfully.

  I tried again.

  “We’re in a rather unique situation,” I said, understating wildly. “And I’m not sure what’s happening with us. But . . . I can’t sleep with . . . I can’t have sex with you if you’re going to have sex with other people. I know we’re not together in the traditional sense, or any sense at all in fact, but . . .”

  His face relaxed and he pulled my hand between his own.

  “You married me to help me, I know this. But I think there is something more, yes?”

  “Well, yes.”

  He stroked my cheek with gentle fingers.

  “I don’t want anyone else, Laylay. My wife. Do you?”

  “No, I really don’t. Then . . . we’re together? For real?”

  I had a momentary qualm asking this question. Asking Ash to live with me in my world, I would be the never-ending burden. I wanted to take the words back and bury them somewhere deep.

  But instead, Ash lifted my hand and held it against his chest.

  “For real.”

  I studied his face, trying to read every thought he’d ever had. It was bittersweet. Ash had chosen me, closing down other possibilities.

  “I hope you never regret your choice,” I said, my voice breaking. “What if you stop wanting me because my body breaks?”

  Anger flashed in his eyes.

  “What if? That’s all you say! You hide behind it like a shield. What if you are in a wheelchair! What if you walk like an old woman!”

  “You bastard!”

  “I’m a bastard because I make you look at the truth? I don’t care about those things! You are my sunshine!”

  My family and then Collin had shielded me from many of the highs and lows of life. But with Ash, each extreme would be part of our lives.

  Together.

  I sighed and leaned against him. “Take me to bed, Ash.”

  His eyes glowed, passion firing through them. Then he lowered his head and kissed the back of my hand.

  It was a sweet, old fashioned gesture, totally at odds with the lust I saw as he let his eyes stroll across my body, seemingly unable to choose between my breasts or my lips.

  I helped make up his mind by folding my arms around him and tugging his head down so I could press my lips against his.

  He opened his mouth, then proceeded to give me the hottest, slowest, most tantalizing kiss I’d ever had. He was telling me that he was in control and he’d kiss me the way he damn well wanted.

  Playful Ash, serious Ash, flirty Ash—I couldn’t help thinking that sexy-as-sin Ash was proving to be my favorite.

  His hips moved in a slow rhythm that may have been dancing or may have been back-to-basics grassroots grinding. I reached down for the heat between his legs, massaging the growing bulge at the front of his jeans.

  A shudder ran through his body and he ground harder against my hand. I couldn’t wait to be skin to skin.

  I unbuttoned his shirt clumsily, fingers deft as sausages as I tried to get at his bare skin. He laughed against my lips and lifted his arms so I could pull the cotton over his head.

  Skin like warm silk, smooth and soft, covering hard muscle, my fingers dragged across the planes and ripples of his chest and stomach, then fluttered over the welts and scarred flesh of his back.

  He grunted with relief as I unzipped his pants. His cock was pressing so hard against the seam, I was worried it would have a permanent zipper imprint.

  I eased his clothes down, wishing I could drop a kiss onto the glistening head as my hands slid downward. But I didn’t. Maybe we’d get there one day, but we had all the time in the world. What a wonderful thought.

  Ash kicked off his shoes, and rid himself of the rest of his clothes before prowling toward me. His eyes said, naked now! Mine replied, make me.

  He swept me from my feet so swiftly, my stomach swooped, and he carried me to the bed, our bed, working my clothes from my body between slow, hot kisses.

  I closed my eyes, needing some defense against his beautiful face and the sensations that threatened to overwhelm me. He was an ocean wave, the high tide, and I was drowning in happiness and physical pleasure.

  I raised my knees, a thrill of anticipation lighting my body as he paused to kiss my thigh, breathing deeply as he nuzzled my mound. His warm, wet lips met mine, and he circled my clit with his tongue, tasting and touching, exploring intimately. Then a moment later, he pressed his hipbones against my inner thighs, and the heat of his beautiful, powerful flesh was inside me.

  We both paused, our breath coming in short pants as we stared at each other, acknowledging together that this was real, that we were real.

  And then he started to move, showing me exactly how much stamina a professional dancer had, so far above that of us ordinary folk. Twice. He really was an overachiever. And I enjoyed every second.

  We fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, happily post-coital, Ash’s arm curled around my left boob. It seemed to be his new favorite place, and I saw no reason to complain.

  It was so wonderful to sleep in. And we finally woke at the crack of noon.

  Telling the rest of my friends about our sudden marriage was awkward. I FaceTimed Vanessa, cringing as she reamed me out for not inviting her. She swore that she’d seen a connection between me and Ash—more than the threat of imminent death, apparently. I didn’t argue. I had to promise that I’d visit as soon as possible, with Ash.

  Jo took it better, claiming that I sounded happier with Ash than she’d ever heard me, and couldn’t wait to see us both.

  Then I told my closest work colleagues, but I guess the message got a little confused, because my boss sent me a card congratulating me and Collin. I’d sort that one out when I saw him in person at our monthly meeting.

  Mom handled telling my extended family and they were all desperate to see Ash.

  So was I.

  For the last week, he’d hardly been in the apartment. He’d trail in the door after hours of rehearsals, shattered, with barely enough energy to eat before collapsing into bed and passing out.

  But then the one time we actually had a whole evening free together, we ended up fighting.

  The argument was over the stupidest thing. Well, I thought it was stupid, but Ash didn’t.

  We were watching re-runs of ‘Dancing with the Stars’. When I’d first persuaded him to watch it, he’d been quite snooty, saying it was about amateurs and he wasn’t interested. But it only took a couple of dances before he was hooked—and annoying—talking through the whole show, explaining what the pro-dancers were teaching. Well, until I offered to tape his mouth shut.

  His eyes were hazy with tiredness, and we were watching the program cuddled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over us. He was tired and a bit moody. On the TV, they were showing some video tape where the actress was saying how much she missed her dad who’d died nine years ago, and this dance was for him. And then she got all weepy. I rolled my eyes.

  “What?” Ash asked sharply.

  “It’s so manipulative! ‘I’m sad because my daddy died. Vote for me!’ It just bugs me, that’s all.”

  Ash’s jaw clamped shut and I could see a muscle ticking by his eye.

  “It’s not manipulation. When you dance
, you have to feel the emotion. It’s like a . . . a muscle memory, pulling the emotion into the dance.”

  “Oh, please! It’s a cheap ploy to get votes. It’s tacky and unpleasant.”

  He stood up suddenly, surprising me.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Then he stamped out of the living room and I heard the bedroom door slam behind him.

  I blinked. What the hell had just happened? We were fighting over a TV show?

  It was hard to dodge his emotional landmines when I didn’t know where they were. It was tiring. I was tired.

  He reappeared twenty minutes later, damp from the shower and apologetic.

  His way of apologizing was to take me to bed for some more athletic sex. The man was a machine, and if he hadn’t been so exhausted from long days of rehearsing, I’m not sure we’d have gotten to sleep at all. Although Ash rarely slept well. Most of his nights were disturbed. Demons still chased him through the darkness of his dreams.

  When the day of the first performance finally arrived, Ash was brimming with nervous energy, despite swearing that the show was going to be a disaster.

  I tried to calm him, but he was too on edge.

  “You’ll be amazing out there,” I whispered with the low voice only lovers use.

  He leaned his forehead against mine.

  “I’m amazing when I’m with you. Without you . . .”

  I kissed him. Holding his strong jaw cupped in my hands, I kissed him, pouring every emotion, every ounce of love and awe and wonder into that kiss.

  “I love you, Ash. We met, we married, we fell in love. We did everything backward. But that’s us, that’s our story. And now you’re leaving, but you’ll be coming back. Because that’s our story, as well. I’ll never have the things other people take for granted, my health, children, certainty . . .”

  Ash shook his head. “Whatever happens, we’ll have each other always, and we have our love. That makes us as rich as kings.”

  “Why do you stay with me when I can’t give you that? I can’t give you children?”

  He stared at me, his eyes serious.

  “Because I love you. Because I don’t want to dance alone.”

  He’d left the apartment after delivering a searing kiss that heated me from tip to toe, with a promise of more.