I blink awake to sunlight and the scent of Asher, a heady combination that has me caving to the heaviness in my limbs, and the call of more slumber. I shut my eyes again and snuggle deeper into the luxurious sheets and comfortable mattress and Asher except—wait. I open my eyes again. Where is Asher? I roll over and my hand hits a piece of paper. I grab it and read: Downstairs, drinking coffee and working. Your shopping bags are all in the bathroom.
I glance at the clock and read: one twenty-five. My eyes go wide and I jolt to a sitting position. I slept until one twenty-five? No wonder I have to pee so badly. I throw off the covers and dash across the room to the bathroom, where I first answer nature’s call, and wash up. My bags are on the counter and I open them and dig out a toothbrush and toothpaste, and quickly brush my teeth. I open a drawer to find a brush that I use to untangle the mess on my head. I set it back in the drawer, and stare down at Asher’s razor and various aftershave products, the intimacy of being here, in his bathroom, replaying his words in my head: Don’t get close to anyone. Don’t bring women here. Not to my home. Not to my bedroom. Ever. I tell women up front. I fuck. I don’t fall in love.
He doesn’t bring women here, but I’m here. He doesn’t fuck women that he considers his duty. He doesn’t fall in love. I need to make sure I don’t foolishly fall without him. I pat my cheeks, trying to keep myself firmly planted in that reality. Images of the prior night start running through my head, and working against that goal: the passion. The deep connection I share with this man, which is terrifying and wonderful, all at once. Falling asleep in his arms had been—oh God. I grab the sink. I said Devin’s name. I thought we’d be together when we woke up, we’d talk about him and what to do next. What if he’s already talking to other people about this? We’ll all end up dead.
I turn to the door and Asher is standing there, fully dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt that contrast the bright colors of his tattoos, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His blond hair tied at his nape. His green eyes simmer with heat and the intimacy of the night before, while a cup steams in his hand. “Caffeine?” he asks, lifting the cup slightly.
I have a moment that is an out of body kind of experience. I flash back to a similar moment with Devin standing at the bathroom door. He’d been equally as good looking, Mr. Tall, Dark and Debonair, in a tailored suit and tie. But he wasn’t holding coffee. He was holding a jewelry box because that was how he apologized for his verbal bashings. This time, I was a broken woman who couldn’t even bear a child. Thanks to me, he would have no heir to his throne.
“Sierra?”
I blink Asher back into view, and I’m taken aback by how certain I am that yes, he could kill, he has killed, and yet he is gentle, good. He is all man in ways Devin will never be. I cross the small space between us and stop in front of him, my body warming with the heat of our connection, the smoldering embers in the depths of his green eyes. “I’d love some caffeine,” I say, accepting the cup, the brush of our hands electric, and I am suddenly aware of my missing underwear, and him saying: “I want you naked in every possible way.”
I’m there, I think. I’ve been there with him since the moment I met him.
I glance down at the cream-colored liquid in the cup, and then at him, the sexy one-day shadow on his jaw conjuring some rather naughty thoughts, but I still manage to say, “What is this exactly?”
“Cream with a little coffee. I like it as sweet as I can get it.”
“And here I thought you’d want it so strong it grew hair on your chest.”
“Then it might grow hair on your chest, too,” he says.
I smile at his never-ending wit, and take a sip that proves to be a sweet, yummy flavor. “Is that caramel?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “I have a thing for caramel.” He takes the cup from me and sets it on the counter before pulling me close. “And for you, Sierra.”
There is something in his voice or maybe it’s his eyes, a kind of possessiveness, or anger, or both really, that tell a story that I understand. “You were awake. You heard.”
“Devin Marks,” he confirms, his voice hardening on the name. “I heard his name, loud and clear, sweetheart.”
My heart starts to race and I grab his arms. “Please tell me that you haven’t told anyone.”
“I told you I wouldn’t. I haven’t.”
“You also said you were going after him no matter what.”
“Yes, I did. I am.”
“He’s—”
“I know who, and what he is.” He moves on. “Do you like pancakes?”
“We aren’t talking about pancakes.”
“Yes. We are. Because Devin Marks doesn’t get to fuck up one more moment of your life, including breakfast.” He sets me away from him and starts to leave, but then pauses. “I had Kara do some shopping for you. The new bags are in the closet. Claim whatever spot you want to hang your things up, and a drawer or two or whatever you need.” This time he leaves and after a brief stunned moment of processing, I race after him.
“Asher, wait,” I call out, catching up with him at the top of the stairs, while he is a few steps down.
He turns to look at me. “Would you rather have waffles? An omelet? A hamburger? I love a good hamburger.”
“I can’t accept whatever is in those shopping bags,” I say. “I appreciate you doing this, but I can’t accept.”
“Nothing in those bags fit me and I don’t think either of us wants to see me in pink lingerie.”
I’m too resistant to the way money and gifts can change us, to laugh. “I don’t need gifts from you.”
He walks up the stairs and stands in front of me, but he doesn’t touch me. “What do you need from me, Sierra?”
“More than I should.”
“And yet, I’d define it as not enough.” His hand settles on my hip and he pulls me to him. “Nothing with you seems to be enough. He doesn’t get to make you live like you’ve been living. I won’t let that happen. That’s not how I’m wired, but I don’t expect anything in return.”
“I can’t take and give nothing in return.”
“Eat pancakes with me. That sounds pretty damn good to me, but then so does going back into the bedroom and getting naked. In which case, we’ll be forced to eat Funyuns and drink beer.”
I laugh. He always makes me laugh. “Funyuns and beer?”
“That’s about all I have in the house. We have to go shopping.” He turns me to face the door. “Take that pretty little ass into the bedroom before I take that pretty little ass back to bed.” He smacks my ass and I yelp and head into the bedroom, laughing, something I’d almost forgotten how to do before meeting him, even before leaving The Beast. I told myself that was about the killers I investigated, the horrors I studied, but that was my mind game that I used to justify everything with Devin.
I walk back into the bathroom, and more than a little eager to find out just what Kara picked out for me, I head to the back of the bathroom and flip on the closet light. I step inside the large walk-in space, my gaze captured by the rows of clothes lining the walls that seem to divide out pieces of Asher’s life. The left side is suits, which are clearly expensive, with a row of drawers that separate them from blue military fatigues. The right wall is all jeans, T-shirts, jackets. There are so many dimensions to this man, so many complexities that I want to understand and know.
My rules are broken. I’m here. I’ve involved him. I’ve not only looked him in the eyes, I could get lost in those eyes and forget why I’m supposed to be a loner for the rest of my life. My gaze lowers to the center of the room to count at least a half-dozen bags, a Victoria’s Secret logo on one of them. I sit down on the bench and start looking through each of them. There is so much here. Make up. Jeans. Shirts. Dresses. Shoes. Boots. Bras. Panties. Even a flat iron and a curling iron. There is easily two thousand dollars in purchases here. Guilt stabs at me as I think of my first reaction to his generosity, my push back, that was all about Devin, and his gifted manipulation, not Asher. Asher didn’t do this to control me or to own me any more than he was when he changed my lock and bought me pepper spray, then taught me how to use it. I know this. Any other thought back there on the stairs was unfair to him. I need to say that to him. I will say that to him.
He didn’t just buy me clothes though, he invited me to claim part of his closet. What this tells me is that he’s also invited me into his life, while I’ve invited him into a war, without that being my intent. But he’s in it now. He’s not walking away from it, I know that, too He needs to know how dirty this gets, how deep it runs, how possible it is that someone in the Walker operation could be on Team Beast.
And I know what I have to do to make that happen.