The knocking begins again.
I exit the bathroom and walk to the door but I’m not opening it yet. I push to my toes to look through the peep hole, which turns out to be an impossible task since it’s too high for me. I exhale and consider calling out, but if it’s The Beast, he’ll know it’s me before I spray him.
“I got it, sweetheart.”
At the sound of Asher’s voice, I turn to find him walking toward me, in nothing but a towel that looks much bigger when wrapped around me, water droplets on his naked chest, his hair wet. He moves past me to the door, and I instinctively back up, holding up the spray, ready to defend him as he flips the lock. He opens the door to reveal our visitor, a tall, dark stranger, that I quickly assess. He’s good looking, in his thirties, dressed in faded jeans, the name ‘Walker,’ printed in white on his black T-shirt. His dark hair is thick and neatly trimmed and he has no apparent tattoos. He’s also holding a small duffle bag that has the same Walker logo printed on the side.
Asher takes the bag and eyes me, his gaze flicking to the mace. “Don’t mace him. Invite him in. He’s one of the good guys.”
The man, who I assume to be Blake, looks at me and arches a brow. I lower my weapon. “Come in.” I stick the mace in my pocket. “There’s a chair and a bed. Take your pick.”
“Chair it is,” the man says, crossing the room while Asher closes the space between me and him, to stand in front of me. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“You’re in a towel,” I say.
“Glad you noticed,” he replies. “If you hadn’t, I’d be upset.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re in a towel.”
“I can take it off,” he offers.
“Asher. Stop. Please.”
He lowers his voice. “Whatever just happened, Sierra, know this: I got you.”
I suck in air with the impact of that promise, and I have a moment where I actually want to just fall into this man. Literally. But I can’t. He’s in the moment, and this problem is forever for me. And yet somehow I have fallen into him. My hand is on his chest, nestled in the center of blond, springy hair. I try to pull it back.
He covers it with his, holding it over his heart which seems to be racing. Why is his heart racing? He doesn’t even know the danger he’s in with me. “Sierra,” he says, willing me to look at him but I do not.
“Please go get dressed,” I whisper.
“That is generally not what a man wants a woman to say to him. But under the circumstances, I forgive you.” His hand falls away from mine, and when he turns and walks back toward the bathroom, my palm is damp from his skin and warm from his touch.
He shuts the bathroom door and only then do I remember his friend. I whirl around to find him sitting in the chair by my desk, looking like a giant in a room made for a child, he’s that big.
He’s at the foot of the bed, so I walk to the side, and sit down, angling toward him. “I’m Sierra,” I say and looking for a way to take attention off myself, I blurt. “Are you Blake, otherwise known as Dickhead?”
“No,” he says holding his hands up stop sign fashion. “I’m not Dickhead, though my wife occasionally might disagree but I pay the price when she does, believe me. I’m Luke. The middle brother of the three.”
“Meaning, you, Blake and Asher?”
“Asher and I are SEAL brothers,” he says. “Blake and Royce are my blood brothers.”
“You and Blake are nothing alike,” I say, my interest in sibling personality variations part of my used-to-be-studies. “Actually, from what I can tell, Asher and Blake are more alike than you and Blake.”
“That becomes obvious rather quickly,” he agrees. “Royce and I are the more reserved of the Walker clan. Asher and Blake are not. And nothing if not colorful right out of the gate.”
“Colorful,” I say. “Yes. They are both quite colorful.” We laugh easily and he doesn’t even seem to notice my pathetic living situation. I like him. I like that he is someone Asher calls brother and friend. “How long were you in the Navy with Asher?”
“I think it’s best if I let Asher reveal his own history, but for what my opinion is worth, since you don’t know me. He’s a good man. I owe him my life about three times over.”
“I believe I owe you mine four times over.”
At the sound of Asher’s voice, I rotate to find him walking towards us, now dressed in a snug black T-shirt, and a pair of black jeans, tucked inside biker-style boots. His hair that isn’t nearly as long as I thought, damp and loose to his shoulders.
“We’re even then,” Luke says. “Because I’d bet that hundred bucks you owe me that you saved me from getting maced at the door when I got here.”
“Oh no,” I say quickly. “Don’t let Asher off that easily. I would not have maced you.”
“But you maced me?” Asher challenges, leaning an elbow on the mockery of a short bar, dividing the kitchen from the living area.
“You got up close and personal,” I remind, “in the dark without announcing yourself and you know you did.”
“Are you saying I deserved it?” he asks.
“I am,” Luke interjects. “She was alone after dark.” He looks at me. “You were right to spray first and ask questions later.”
“Especially in this neighborhood,” I say, because he’s too nice to say it.
“In any neighborhood,” Luke corrects me.
His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket, glances at his messages, and then at Asher. “The wife needs me and Blake says he has a situation.” He stands. “I’ll meet you on the street. Do you want me to take your bagged clothes?”
Asher motions behind him. “By the shower in the bathroom.”
Luke walks that direction and by the time I stand up, Asher is in front of me. “Hi,” he says, this time.
“Hi,” I say, finding myself blush at the silly, innocent exchange.
“I deserved it?”
“You kinda did,” I tease.
“Next time I’ll leave with you.”
I meant to object, but suddenly he’s looking down at my bare feet, and just as suddenly, I’m glad that I splurged on a five dollar bottle of pink polish way back when. “Why are you looking at my feet?”
“I didn’t want to step on them” he says, easing closer, the heat of his body radiating into mine.
“You looked too long.”
“How long is too long, Sierra?” he asks, and I don’t think we’re talking about feet anymore, but he doesn’t give me time to reply anyway. “I like you like this,” he adds.
“A wet mess with bare feet?” I ask. “I’m wet and—please tell me I didn’t say that.”
His lips twitch, eyes filling with mischief. “I won’t go every place I could go with that comment. I’ll just say this.” He lowers his voice, to a gravely seduction. “You’re beautiful.”
My breath hitches with the almost spontaneous way he says those words. I don’t know what I’m doing with this man but it’s happening too fast. “Asher, I can’t—”
“Nice to meet you, Sierra,” Luke calls out heading to the door, reminding me that he’s even here.
I wave at him. “Nice to meet you, Luke.”
The door opens and shuts, and Luke is gone. Asher and I are alone, the room somehow even smaller than normal. The energy between us, around us, charged. “I’m going to have to go,” he says.
“Right. Of course.” And I can’t help but wonder where a man goes at two in the morning. I shouldn’t be wondering. He needs to leave. He has to leave.
“The Walker brothers own a security company,” he says, seeming to read my mind. “I have a job with Blake tonight, or I wouldn’t leave.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“No,” he agrees, “and the crazy thing is that if you were any other woman, I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither do I, but I want to find out. Do you have your phone?”
“Yes. In my pocket.”
“Put my number in it,” he orders. I open my mouth to argue and he doesn’t give me the chance. “You’re living alone in a big, dangerous city. Be smart and have a resource if you need help. No strings attached, Sierra. If you end up hating me, I’ll still be here if you need me and so will my people. That’s who we are.”
I believe him and regardless of how my judgment failed me in the past, it’s also kept me alive these past nine months. I pull my phone from my pocket and set up his number in the contacts. “Thank you,” I say, when I slide it back into my pocket.
He retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Are you going to give me your number?” I open my mouth to speak, and again, when I would object, he heads me off. “You maced me, sweetheart. Surely I earned your number and yes, I’m pressuring you, because I have to go.”
The man offered me his unconditional help after I maced him. He also came to my rescue in the bar when that idiot attacked me. “Yes,” I say, and I give him my number. He punches it into his phone and sticks it in his pocket. “Thank you, Asher,” I say because it has to be said. I might need help. I might really call him and his people.
His eyes warm again, and magically it seems, once again, I warm with them. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, “but I have to do this.” His hand settles at my hip, and one of mine instinctively goes to his arm. In that short distraction, his other hand has slipped under my hair, cupping my neck, and he’s lowered his mouth a breath from mine. I tremble with the promise of what’s to come, and he feels it, too. “God, woman,” he murmurs and in the next moment his mouth slants over mine and he’s kissing me, his tongue stroking mine. I try to resist, but it’s impossible. I kiss him back. I melt into the hard lines of his body, and when he pulls back, his forehead against mine, I breathe with him.
“I have to go or I won’t be able to leave,” he says, releasing me and walking to the door. “Lock up behind me.”
He pulls it open and exits, and I dart across the room and flip the locks, my hand flattening on the wooden surface. He’s still here. I sense it and seconds tick by before he says, “Good night, Sierra.”
“Good night Asher,” I reply, and I swear, I feel him smile. And I smile the first smile I’ve smiled in a very long time.