When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, slap on a smile and come on down for breakfast.” His mother’s voice drifted up the stairs to his bedroom in the family home.
Awake for hours already, Asher’s stomach did grumble with the need for food as the smell of bacon followed the sound of his mother’s voice. But a smile wasn’t happening, and he knew he wouldn’t be fed until he could produce a better mood, so he stayed where he was.
The surgery had gone well, but his leg hurt more now than ever, and the painkillers they’d given him were doing jack shit—the result of his overuse before.
His reliance on the drugs had made him a patient not to be trusted, and the hospital had only signed off on him going home if he was released into his family’s care. His mother, of course, was thrilled to assume the role of nurse and warden, but the worried, sidelong looks he’d received from her and Jackson on the way to Glenwood Falls had put him severely on edge, and he’d lashed out.
It was not exactly the best way to convince them all that he wasn’t an addict.
Back at the house, he’d gone straight to his old bedroom and tried to focus his mind on getting through the next six to ten weeks. Nope. Not six to ten. Six tops. Hopefully not that long. He couldn’t put his career on hold until the New Year. He hadn’t gone ten weeks without playing hockey since he was five years old. He didn’t know what it felt like not to lace up almost every day, not to feel the cool stadium air against his face and the smooth surface gliding beneath his feet. Hockey was a part of who he was, the biggest part—it defined him. Without it, he was already lost.
Sleep the night before was impossible. Getting comfortable with the thick bandages around his knee and brace on his leg was something he’d given up on around midnight, and the image of his brother charging at him with four minutes and thirty seconds left in the second period was on repeat in his mind.
Unlike the night before the surgery, his emotions were a whirlwind now, competing for top spot. Anger, disappointment, despair all circled around him into the early hours of morning, and he longed for the numbness he hadn’t fully appreciated.
It was hockey. Shit happened. But the fact that it was Ben…His jaw clenched. Out of everyone, his brother knew how important that milestone meant to him. He also knew that he wasn’t at full capacity, so why choose that game, that moment to deliver the hardest hit of his career?
The sound of Christmas music drifting up the stairs to his room took his mood for an even deeper plunge.
It was November 19.
Being home for the holidays was going to drive him insane.
Glenwood Falls did Christmas in a big way, and he used to love the festivities when he was a kid. But since moving away to live with another hockey family at sixteen, he’d learned to treat holidays and special occasions as just another day. It helped keep any loneliness or longing at bay. His career had come first since the day he’d been drafted, and things like sleigh rides and ice-carving contests had become distant memories. And now he’d be here, surrounded by the festivities, still unable to enjoy them all with his mood like a BB gun taking out each and every last joyous twinkling light.
Hammering outside his bedroom window made him jump.
“Shit!” His teeth clenched as pain shot through his leg from his ankle to his thigh. Sudden movements felt like bones snapping at the knee joint, resulting in radiating pain in the connective muscles and ligaments.
He shut his eyes tight, but it didn’t block the noise or the pain. Rolling carefully, slowly to his side a second later, he saw Jackson’s blue ski jacket pressed against a ladder outside the frosted window. A string of multicolored Christmas lights dangled past him.
Bang, bang, bang went the nail gun. Bang, bang, bang echoed in his throbbing brain. He needed painkillers, but his mother had them on lockdown. Under strict orders from the doctor, she was releasing them every four hours as directed on the bottle, and not a minute earlier.
May as well flush them down the toilet for all the good they were doing anyway.
Jackson’s face appeared in the window, and he waved when he saw Asher staring at him. “Hey, you’re awake,” he yelled through the glass. His breath melted the thin ice on the outside pane. “Come hold the ladder!”
Gesturing with his middle finger, Asher rolled over, intending to show his family he could block out everything they wanted to throw at him. They could fa-la-la their hearts out, but he wouldn’t be swayed into embracing the season and this new shitty situation. He’d stay in his room for the next few days if he had to, and as soon as his leg didn’t feel like hell, he was on the next plane back to New Jersey. Back to his own apartment, where he could wallow in self-pity in peace. Fuck the doctor’s orders—he didn’t need a babysitter or pain meds. He’d man up and deal with this shit on his own, his way, without anyone telling him what to do or expecting him to act or feel a certain way.
Though he wondered if Emma might come along to play nurse. It was the first positive thought he’d had in two days. She was the only one who wouldn’t make him crazy. She was the only one who would truly get what he was feeling.
Funny how now he finally understood how she’d been feeling four years ago when her own life had changed. Of course, his setback wasn’t nearly as crippling as her accident on the ski slope.
Watching her fall, going at breakneck speed, had caused the blood to leave his body. He’d been frozen in fear and helplessness as the ski resort’s medic crew had rushed to her side, where she’d lay motionless near the stunt pipe, and carried her away on a stretcher. Every second until he’d seen her had been torturously slow, and seeing her defeated, terrified tears in the hospital room as the doctor told her the news—broken bones, torn ligaments, and no Olympics—had shattered him as well.
It was the first time in his career that he’d taken time off, to be with her while she recovered. He hadn’t even thought twice about it, and that had terrified him as well. She was the only person who could potentially make him lose focus or change his priorities, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet.
It had been years, and still she was determined not to return to snowboarding. As much as he wanted to believe it was her injuries and fear keeping her off the slopes, he was starting to think she’d really moved on.
And now his recovery was forcing an unwanted extended holiday of his own.
Bang, bang, bang went the god damn hammer…
We wish you a merry freaking Christmas came from the blaring CD player…
Then…raised voices? Arguing downstairs.
Fuck my life!
Tossing the sheets back, he pushed himself up and onto his feet, taking a second to steady himself. Then, grabbing one of the crutches they’d given him in the hospital, he headed downstairs, careful not to fall and break his neck. He hadn’t needed crutches since he was twelve and had broken his ankle in a skateboarding accident. Of course, he’d had them every summer before that, so he was pretty good at using them.
The front door was open and his mother stood on the front step, motioning wildly. “The maple tree is the cut-off line,” she was saying. “We’ve had the same discussion every winter for three years.”
“Right. After the maple tree, not before,” another voice said.
Asher groaned. Mr. Callaway. Emma’s father had moved in next door to the family home after his wife died, and the man and his mother only spoke when there was something to argue about. Three years of constant bickering. Thank God he lived in New Jersey, though he often heard about the arguments from his mother…then got the actual story from Emma.
“What’s going on?” he grumbled as he poked his head outside, leaning his weight on the crutch and shivering as a snowy blast of wind drifted inside. His bare chest and stomach were immediately covered in goose bumps.
“He shoveled too much,” his mother said, pointing to the very straight line where the snow started on their property just a little ways past the maple tree on the lawn.
“Too much?”
“Yes. It’s my responsibility to do that section in front of the tree,” his mother said, pointing to it. “Right to the fire hydrant on the…”
Asher turned and went back inside, closing the door to their argument. They were both ridiculous. He wished Emma could see that, instead of getting so worked up over their silly disagreements. Since her mother’s death and her father moving in next door to Beverly, Emma had taken on the role of referee for all of their senseless bickering. He wondered when she’d realize this small-town life with the normal job, normal lifestyle wasn’t for her and get her ass back to the slopes where she belonged. He knew she still wanted that. Even if she pretended she didn’t.
Turning the music down, but not off completely, because he didn’t want to be next on his mother’s shit list, he went into the kitchen. A plate of food sat covered on the table. Bacon, eggs over easy, four slices of buttered homemade toast, and three sausage links had his mouth watering on sight. One perk of being home was his mother’s cooking. He may be ready to die by the end of his six- to ten-week recovery in his hometown, but it wouldn’t be from starving to death.
He set the crutch against the wall and sat awkwardly, pushing out the chair next to him to prop the leg up. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a leg in a brace, but it was by far the worst. At thirty, his body seemed to be attempting to resist time and failing miserably. Even without the injury, in recent years he’d noticed his muscles seizing more following game nights, and it took more training and working out to maintain his endurance on the ice. He saw the newer, younger players move faster, sleeker, taking hits far better, and it only fueled him to try harder. But at some point, his body would win the battle of wills with his mind…Just not anytime soon.
Folding a piece of bacon in half he shoved it into his mouth as Abby entered the kitchen. “Hey, you’re out of bed,” she said, pleasantly.
He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. Why were they all out of bed? “Morning,” he grumbled, stabbing a piece of egg.
“How’s the leg feeling?” she asked, pouring coffee into Jackson’s travel mug. The Colorado Eagles logo was still visible but fading into the past, like Jackson’s own hockey career.
“Peachy.” Another piece of bacon followed the sour reply.
She sat on the edge of the chair that held his leg and touched the brace.
He shot her a look, but she didn’t appear fazed. “Look, I know this setback must be tough, but you’re with family, it’s the holidays. We’ll all help you get through this, and in a few months, you’ll be back on the ice.”
“Weeks. Not months. And I’m not staying for the holidays,” he said, pushing the plate away. Could he eat in peace? Alone?
His brother’s fiancée’s eyes widened, then she frowned. “Why not?”
“Not feeling festive, I guess.”
“Since when does that matter?” She looked ready to deliver an earful about how he needed family right now and how they all had one another’s back.
He could do without the afternoon special. He didn’t expect anyone to understand what he was going through, but if they could all just leave him alone, that would be fantastic. “Abby, look…”
“No, you look. What happened the other night was crap. Bad timing, probably even bad decision making on Ben’s part…”
His jaw clenched at Ben’s name.
And her perceptive eyes must have caught it. “Ah, so you’re blaming Ben.”
“Can we not talk?” He liked his brother’s fiancée well enough, but she was too meddling and too glass-half-full, too much like his mother. And one of those right now was more than enough.
Abby stood, picking up Jackson’s coffee. “Fine. Just don’t read the paper,” she said, sliding it away as she left the kitchen.
As soon as she was gone, he struggled to reach for it and swore under his breath once he’d flipped to the sports section. The headlining news of the day was all about him.
WESTMORE OUT ONE GAME SHY OF MILESTONE.
One game shy of milestone.
* * *
“You got him a puppy?”
Was her sister losing her mind? Their father was sixty-five years old and having a hard enough time taking care of himself. Their mother had done everything for him over the years. Emma couldn’t remember ever seeing her dad cook a meal or do a load of laundry. In the four years since her death, he’d quickly learned just how much her mother used to do, but he hadn’t picked up the new domestic skills all that fast—in part due to the fact that Jess insisted they pick up right where their mother had left off.
But there was more to it. In recent years her father’s mind didn’t seem as sharp as it once was. Little things, like confusing them with their mother or forgetting where he lived the week before when he’d gone out for a walk, were becoming common. Emma had found him a block away, sitting on a bus shelter bench. She was worried about her father, and she didn’t think more responsibility was the answer.
“He’s all alone here, and I thought it would be nice for him,” Jessica said, carrying the brown cardboard box from the Glenwood Falls Animal Rescue Center up the cleared path toward the house.
“A puppy is a lot of work. Couldn’t you have gotten him a stray adult dog from the pound?” An animal that was big enough to fend for itself.
“This is better. Trust me,” she said in her best younger-but-wiser-sister voice.
“Fine,” Emma mumbled, knowing she’d be the one picking up dog poop from the snow with one of those mechanical grasping things next week. Her sister continued to baby their father, insisting they take turns checking in on him every few days, dropping off premade meals and throwing in a load of laundry, but lately it was Emma running double duty as Jess claimed to be extra busy with work.
Which reminded her…She glanced next door toward the Westmore home as she followed her sister up the steps. She hadn’t seen Asher since she’d watched him crumple on the ice. Jackson and his mother had insisted on picking him up from the hospital in Denver the day before, and she hadn’t felt it her place to step in. After all, she was just a friend. She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” her sister asked, laying the box on the step to unlock the door.
“Nothing.”
Dark, perceptive eyes stared at her beneath a pale pink knitted hat and blond fringed bangs. “That’s right, Asher’s in town.”
Emma nodded, her expression hardening a little. “Which you know full well. Seriously, Jess—did you have to pounce while he was down?” She’d seen her sister’s article in the Glenwood Times about Asher’s untimely injury. She just hoped Asher hadn’t seen it yet.
“It’s my job to report news, Emma. As much as I think it’s insane just how much people around here idolize those guys…” She rolled her eyes. “It was newsworthy.”
“But did you have to make the comment that his career may be over? We both know that’s not true.” She wondered how much of her sister’s article had come from her journalist side and not her anti-Asher personal side.
Jess shrugged. “Could be true. Yours ended after your injury.”
Kick delivered to the gut. “It’s different for Asher. It’s just a torn ACL—he’s only out for six weeks,” she said, knowing she couldn’t be completely honest and tell her sister that it could be longer or about the doctor’s fear that he could be addicted to pain meds. She never knew when things with Jess were off the record. Probably never. She almost felt bad for her sister’s husband. She wondered if he always felt like he had to be on. Jess definitely put people on edge.
The puppy yipped from inside the box. A tiny brown and white paw appeared in one of the side holes.
“Let’s get him inside, so he can begin trashing the place.” Which she’d have to clean up.
But Jess blocked the door when she tried to sidestep her.
“What?”
“Asher’s not staying here for six weeks, right? I mean, he’s going back to New Jersey…to his own home to recover, right?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure how long he plans to stay here, but with the holidays coming, I would think he would be staying for a few weeks at least.” Trying to keep the excitement from her voice about that prospect was nearly impossible. She was devastated for him over the thousandth-game milestone being delayed, but it was just a delay. And while the injury sucked, it was probably the only way Ash would slow down a little, take the needed time off to heal properly. She hadn’t talked to him about it yet, but she hoped he’d let her be his therapist for his recovery. She knew him better than anyone else and would know when to push him and when not to. When to kiss him, when to not to…
“Oh God—you’re hoping to help him recover,” Jess said.
The puppy yipped again. Louder this time.
“I am a therapist, Jess. One of the few in Glenwood Falls. Can we go in now?” She shivered as a gust of blowing snow crossed her boots.
“But you’re leaving.”
She had been, but now she didn’t know if accepting the offer for January enrollment was the right thing. Ash needed her, whether he knew it or not. And her disappointment in having to put her graduate school plans on hold for a while was overshadowed by the opportunity to use this unfortunate turn of events to connect with him. For the first time, he was here for longer than a few fleeting hours. He was laid up, without hockey to distract him, and well, it was getting close to Christmas—a magical time of year. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Of course, she wouldn’t spring her feelings on him just yet, but as he started feeling better…
“You are leaving, right?” Jess asked when she was silent.
“The puppy is probably freezing.” Emma danced from one foot to the other, casting another glance toward Asher’s old bedroom window. Was he awake yet? Was he naked? Her cheeks flushed from more than the cold. She couldn’t wait to check in on her father and then get over there to see him.
Unfortunately, her sister was relentless. “I thought we talked about this.”
Oh, here we go. “No. You talked. I listened.” Then chose to disregard everything her sister had to say on the subject. Just because Jess was married to Mr. Perfection and had three beautiful kids and a great job at the local newspaper didn’t mean she had everything figured out.
Okay, maybe it did, but what Emma wanted out of life was different from what her sister thought was ideal.
That was okay.
“Well, listen harder,” Jess said, turning to face her, still blocking the front door. “You can’t make decisions based on Asher. In fact, you have to stop wasting time with him. Hooking up when you were both professional athletes only focused on having fun was fine.”
“That’s how you saw my career?” Had her sister forgotten how much time and dedication went into making the Olympic team? Fun had often been pushed aside for months at a time while she trained, focused on becoming the best. It still annoyed her that her father and sister had obviously never been able to see that.
“Don’t get defensive. That part of your life is over now, so let’s not argue about something irrelevant.” Jess wrapped her pale pink cashmere scarf closer around her neck as she continued, “All I’m saying is your life is different now. Don’t you want something real?”
What she had with Ash was real. It was also really confusing and complicated and not something she wanted to discuss with her sister.
Again.
“At least tell me you’ve decided to complete the PhD therapy program…even if it’s not this upcoming semester.”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m just not sure the timing will work now.”
“Because of Asher,” Jess said, shaking her head.
Their father appearing in the doorway saved Emma from answering. He was still in his robe and pajama pants, and Emma knew that he’d be in them all day unless he had a reason to leave the house.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
“Why are you two standing out here?” Delaney Callaway asked, shivering as the cold wind blew inside the house. “If you’re discussing putting me in a home just because I fell asleep and burnt my macaroni and cheese last night…”
Unfortunately, the burnt dinner was just the most recent in a long line of reasons why Emma thought a retirement home might be the best thing for him. Unfortunately, the one and only time she’d mentioned it to Jess, her sister had immediately shut the conversation down.
Jess shot her a look now that said This current conversation is not over before picking up the puppy box and turning to their father. “Of course not. In fact, we bought you a surprise.”
We? Oh no. Her sister was not dragging her into this disaster. Her dad would take one look at that puppy and see all the trouble it was going to be.
And then she’d probably get stuck with a new four-legged houseguest.
“A dog?” he asked as they entered. He opened the box and the little brown mixed-breed pup gave a happy yelp. He lifted him out of the box and held him out at arms’ length. His thick eyebrows joined and his lips pursed. He turned the puppy from one side to the other, scrutinizing it as the little thing continued to yelp in defiance of being restrained.
A spirited terror, no doubt. Her sister would never settle for anything else. “It was Jess’s idea,” Emma said quickly as her father continued his evaluation. Any second now, that puppy would be placed back in the box and Emma would be looking for a new pet-friendly place to live.
But then her dad surprised her by smiling. “This is perfect.”
“It is?”
Even Jess was surprised by the reaction. No doubt she’d had the perfect speech prepared to give about why the puppy was a good idea.
Their father grinned as he cuddled the thing to his chest. The puppy’s tail wagged wildly and he licked her father’s scruffy face. “Yes. The little Terror will drive Beverly Westmore nuts.”
Apparently that was a good thing.
* * *
As Asher climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, he heard Emma’s voice downstairs. It was the first sound that hadn’t annoyed him all day. Heading down the hall, he went into his bedroom and closed the door partway. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he slowly put his jeans on, then the leg brace. This thing was a pain in the ass. Six to ten weeks—no freaking way. He’d have this off in two and be back on the ice in four. That morning, upon waking, he’d been depressed and angry still, but now, after coaxing a handful of pain meds from his mother, he was just determined. Determined and hell-bent on recovering as quickly as possible.
That’s where his best friend came in. He was prepared to pay her whatever she needed to clear her patient schedule for the next few weeks to whip him back in shape.
She tapped on the door once before entering. “Hey…oh sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t dressed.” Her gaze landed on his bare chest and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.
“You’ve seen me a lot more naked than this,” he said, standing and reaching for a T-shirt.
“Not in your old bedroom in your mother’s house,” she hissed, checking the hall before moving farther into the room, but still lingering hesitantly near the door.
He laughed. “Why are you so afraid of my mother?”
“She sees and knows everything. And I think she suspects that we are…”
He waited for her to define what they were, but she didn’t.
She shifted feet and subjects. “Anyway, heads up—my dad has a puppy.”
“That will piss Mom off,” he said, wrapping his belt around his waist.
Growing up, they’d all begged for a pet—a dog, especially—but the answer had always been no. His mother claimed it was because their older sister, Becky, was allergic, but Ash called bullshit on that. Becky smothered every four-legged creature she saw in kisses and cuddles. If she were allergic, she’d be dead by now. He knew the real reason was that Beverly knew the boys all had far too much on their plates already with hockey and other extracurricular activities. She would have been the one in charge of taking care of the dog. Four kids was enough.
“That was the point. Partly at least.” Emma sat on the corner of his bed, and he realized it was the first time she’d been in his room.
The first time any girl had been in his old room. When they were growing up, the rules in the Westmore house were few, but his mother was very clear about one: no girls in their rooms. He’d always been too busy to care. Ben had had issues with it and had broken it once. But only once.
“Jess thinks it will be good for Dad to have company. She thinks he’s lonely in the house by himself.”
He couldn’t hide his disdain at the mention of Jessica. Miss Know-It-All was always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. He knew she was the one to encourage Emma to take a longer break from snowboarding than necessary after the accident. It was her idea for Emma to pursue physical therapy and not return to the slopes at all. And he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t the least bit peeved at her article in the Glenwood Times. He would have hoped his own hometown’s paper would have printed a more encouraging article at least. “Doesn’t your sister have her own life to worry about?”
Emma’s face clouded slightly. “No. Hers is perfect already.” She stood and scanned his display case near the window. Hockey trophies and medals covered the dustless shelves. It amazed him how his mother still kept up the room. Unlike Ben, he hadn’t wanted to take the trinkets of all of his former successes with him when he moved out. But unlike Ben, he only had a small bachelor apartment in New Jersey, not a multimillion-dollar home in the city. “It’s so great that your mom keeps your room intact with all your accomplishments displayed like this,” Emma said, picking up his Triple A division win trophy and reading the inscription.
“It’s a little odd, actually. Feels like walking through a time warp.” His mother had dismantled the other boys’ rooms and Becky’s room years ago.
Of course Abby had a theory. She believed it was because Asher was the baby of the family and had left home so young, and he was the only child living too far away to visit often. She might be right, and if it gave his mom comfort to keep the room like this, then that’s all that mattered.
“Where are your things?” he asked. Emma had her share of trophies and medals, yet they weren’t displayed in her apartment. And he couldn’t remember ever seeing them in her family home…the few times he’d been inside.
“In a box in Dad’s attic, I guess.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “They used to be displayed in a cabinet in our living room, but Mom died and the accident happened, then Dad moved. We packed everything up, and keeping them packed up just seemed like the right thing to do. Keep the past in the past,” she said with a sigh, tucking her blond hair behind her ears.
Crossing the room slowly and awkwardly he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her back into him. “That sounded like Jessica speaking,” he whispered against her ear. He suspected boxing up her incredibly impressive past had been her sister’s idea.
He felt her stiffen in his arms. “Jess isn’t always wrong,” she said, her voice sounding strange—faraway, almost.
“She’s not always right, either. Don’t forget that,” he said, kissing her cheek before releasing her. He may be an adult now, but he knew the same rules of the home applied. He was surprised his mother had even sent Emma upstairs to find him. Though he suspected she lurked nearby, ears perked. His hard-on couldn’t go any further…not while he was in his old bedroom. “Now, how much do you make an hour?”
She raised one eyebrow as she turned to face him. “That’s quite rude.”
He laughed. “It was, actually. Sorry. I’m only asking because I’ll double it for your undivided attention for the next few weeks.”
“You’re not ready for therapy yet. The doctor said it would be at least a week or ten days before the swelling…”
He shook his head. “For a normal person, maybe…not me.”
“Right. I forgot you’re superhuman.” Her sarcastic remark made him grin.
“I’m an athlete. We recover faster. You know that.” Which is why it irritated the shit out of him that she hadn’t tried. Sure, her injuries had been so much worse than his, but the woman who gave up on her dream wasn’t the one he’d met years before, and it killed him to see that spark in her going out. He brushed the thought away. She’d made her choice. He would make his. Which was: “I want to start therapy tomorrow and introduce mild exercise in two to three weeks. I read online that that’s okay.” He grabbed a sweater and, balancing on his crutch, righted it and slid it over his head.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, if WebMD says it…”
He reached for his boots. “You’ll have to help me with this part.”
Emma sighed as she knelt on the floor to help with the boot. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to keep the foot elevated.”
“You’re driving me to the pharmacy. I need painkillers that aren’t on lockdown.”
She shot him a look.
“Come on. Not you, too. You know me—I’m not addicted.” He slid his foot into the other boot and tied it himself.
“That’s not what I was thinking. I was wondering if you were paying me to be your therapist or your slave,” she said as she stood.
Despite the pain in his knee and the awkwardness of the high school throwback room, he felt himself start to harden again. He moved toward her and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him. “That depends on what kind of slave we’re talking about.”
She shook her head, but her attempts to push against him were futile. Maybe there were a few pros to staying in Glenwood Falls during his recovery. “No. Not in your old room with your mom downstairs. You know the rules. No girls.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” he said, brushing her short blond hair aside and kissing her neck. She always smelled so good. He loved that she never wore perfume. The flowery scents or powerful vanilla fragrances that so many women wore made him gag. Emma just held the faintest smell of soft, gently scented body wash or moisturizing cream—a light peppermint scent that tempted him.
“That won’t stop your mother from grounding you.” She shoved against his shoulders, but her hundred-pound frame didn’t even budge him. “Ash, seriously…” The note of desperation in her voice only made him harder. He gripped her tiny waist, holding her against his body, running his hands along her sides, upward to graze the sides of her breasts. All the blood rushed to his crotch, and the house rules were the last thing on his mind.
“I’ll be quick,” he whispered against her ear, the thought of taking her right there on his bed making his pulse race. His hands dipped lower to cup her ass, lifting her slightly off the floor. He squeezed the tight, tiny rear end he could stare at for days, and suddenly his teasing her was torturing him.
“You’re supposed to be in pain,” she said, reaching around to remove his hands from her body.
“This will make me feel better.” A lot better. Already he hardly noticed the throbbing leg. He wrapped his arms around her again quickly when she tried to step back and lowered his mouth toward hers.
“Ash. No,” she said firmly, placing a hand over his lips to push his mouth away. “This is not happening. Not right now, anyway,” she said, her gaze looking longingly at his mouth.
He sighed, releasing her. “Fine. For now.”
When he heard the sound of raised voices coming from downstairs, his hard-on immediately vanished.
What now?
Emma’s eyes widened. “Shit. I’m guessing your mom just met Terror.”