Page 54 of Resist

She was in Coulton’s bed again. After sharing her relationship history, she’d expected him to bolt. Because Jesus, she’d stabbed boyfriend number two.

But he hadn’t walked away. Instead, he’d gazed at her with something that looked strangely like respect. When she considered all the reasons why she was attracted to Coulton—and the list was growing—it occurred to her the fact he never pitied her was very close to the top. He looked at her like she was strong, a survivor. On rare occasions, she felt those things about herself, but most of the time, it just felt like she was going through the motions, more numb than powerful.

Talking about Montgomery had ripped the scab off a wound that wouldn’t heal, and for a little while, she’d remembered exactly why she needed to protect herself around Coulton. Of course, that newfound self-preservation hadn’t lasted through dinner last night, because her resistance when it came to the sexy, far-too-charming goalie was zip, zilch, nil, non-fucking-existent.

They’d dined on the best food she had ever put in her mouth, even though she wasn’t a hundred percent sure what half of it had been. The waiter had described each course—there had been courses!—which included seared foie gras with red onion marmalade, caramelized figs and pan toast, rack of lamb with a macadamia nut crust and a fancy sauce, roasted red potatoes, mint pea timbale, carrot puree, and a crème brûlée.

It had been incredible, delicious, and then, after dinner, they’d done just what Coulton had suggested. Stood at the railing, watching the world pass by as they sailed over calm water and listened to contemporary string music piped through the yacht’s sound system. Coulton had drawn her into his arms during an instrumental rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” the two of them swaying on the deck, and for the first time in her life, she’d wished time would freeze.

Right there.

Right then.

Once they returned to the marina, he’d asked her to come home with him, and she’d said yes without a second’s hesitation. Because seriously…he’d taken her out on a yacht, wined and dined her, then slow-danced with her! It was like something ripped out of a romantic movie.

Ainsley glanced toward the window, the curtains closed to keep out the sunlight, and tried once again to regret that she wasn’t being as careful as she should.

She’d fallen for three of the worst men on the planet, so opening herself to that kind of heartbreak again would be the height of stupidity. And while Tiger and Jagger had hurt her, it had been Montgomery, with his sweet words and thoughtful gifts, who’d crushed her heart so thoroughly, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

It had taken her some time to realize that Montgomery hadn’t just claimed her heart. He’d given her the hope of a better life. Hope that she could have a life outside of Cherry Hill and Mick’s Tavern. That she wouldn’t always be hungry, tired, scared, alone.

That was why his cut had been the deepest.

Coulton placed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder when he woke up.

She didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she said, “Your hand is on my tit.”

Coulton gave her breast a squeeze. “Hmm. How did that get there?”

Ainsley laughed, especially when he flexed his hips, his very hard cock pressed against her ass.

“Someone’s wide awake,” she joked.

Last night, they hadn’t made it more than a handful of steps inside his condo before Coulton pushed her against the wall, kissed her senseless, then stripped her down and took her, fast and furiously. From there, they’d progressed to the bedroom, where they knocked quite a few sexual positions off their list. In addition to missionary and doggie style, they added cowgirl and sixty-nine to their repertoire. At one point, as she was begging for mercy and more at the same time, Coulton joked that it was a marathon, not a sprint.

“Sweet dreams?” he asked.

She chuckled. “You fucked me into a state of dreamless exhaustion.”

“Mmm. I think I wouldn’t mind doing that again,” he said. “Are you busy tonight?”

Ainsley’s heart fluttered at the thought he wanted to see her again, even as the skeptic inside told her to get her head in the game.

Rather than commit to any future sexcapades, she rolled in his arms, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. She reached out to run her fingers over his face.

“I like your beard,” she confessed.

Coulton rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I do too. Never had a beard before Baltimore.”

“Why not?” she asked, curious. “It suits you.”

He lifted one shoulder casually. “Evelyn wasn’t a big fan of facial hair.”

“Ah.” It was the first time he’d mentioned his ex since that initial morning in his kitchen. They’d spent a lot of time talking last night, but too many of those conversations had been one-sided, Coulton asking the questions and her answering them.

So much for playing her cards close to her chest. She’d told Coulton things about her relationships and childhood that she’d never shared with anyone. Maybe because he was a great listener. Or because he seemed genuinely interested. Or because of that lack of pity in his replies.

Most likely, it was all of those things combined.

---