Authors: Laurie London
At Asher’s direction, she drove the car around the side of a large, nondescript metal building. Several nice motorcycles—Harleys, she thought—were parked near the back entrance next to a tricked-out black muscle car, an old Honda sedan, and a dented Dodge Charger. At the loading dock on the far end, a forklift was unloading a pallet of boxes from a large container truck. She could hear the
beep beep beep
through the rolled-up windows.
They must do a lot of business to have a night crew, she thought, yawning.
Given that it was after three in the morning, the events of the day had finally caught up to her. She couldn’t wait to tumble into bed, but that was another hour away still. Asher was going to see if one of the guys here could take her to a nearby motel. It’d be much simpler if she healed him the rest of the way, then he could take her himself. She tried telling him that using her Talent on him earlier had taken much less out of her than normal, but he wouldn’t have it.
“This place must do a lot of business to run a twenty-four-hour shop.”
Asher nodded. “Yeah, Rand does pretty well.”
A man came through the unmarked steel door with a bag of trash. He stared at them, an unwelcoming scowl plastered to his face, as he tossed the bag into the green Dumpster. Without an acknowledgement, he turned and re-entered the building.
“Is that him?” she asked warily.
“Who?”
“Rand.”
Asher shook his head. “No, that’s his cousin James.”
“Is he the one you think will give me a ride?” She certainly hoped not—she hated grumpy people—but she wanted to know now in order to get into the right frame of mind. If so, she’d listen to music and tune him out completely.
“Him?” His laugh was harsh and humorless. “I wouldn’t let him near you.”
Let
him? A little thrill ran unbidden down her spine. As a rule, she didn’t like domineering and controlling men. And yet, although she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she liked the idea that Asher was looking out for her.
“You wouldn’t? Why not?”
“Hell, no. He’s a scary sonofabitch.”
That piqued her interest. It wasn’t that she was necessarily curious about James, but she wanted to know why Asher felt that way about the guy. One’s weaknesses and fears often told you more about a person than their strengths.
“The army fucked with his head. I don’t trust him around you.”
There was that protectiveness again. She exhaled slowly to keep this man from getting a hold on her.
“What did they do him?” Had Vince been screwed up like this, too? Could that be why they hadn’t heard from him? No. She quickly shut down that glimmer of home. They hadn’t heard from him because he was most likely dead.
Asher pressed his lips into a hard line. “Won’t talk about it and we don’t ask. Just stay clear of him.” He groaned as he reached for the door handle.
“Here,” she said, climbing out of the car, “let me help you with that.” She jogged around to the passenger side. Half expecting him to decline any aid, she was pleasantly surprised when he let her help him. She could easily push some of her healing energy into him right now, but since he’d refused earlier, she didn’t want to force it on him without his permission.
“Holy Fates,” he grumbled. “Is every muscle tied to my ribs?”
“Not every muscle.” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized how suggestive that sounded, and her cheeks heated. She tried her best to cover up the gaffe. “Remember that old song?” She hummed a few bars, then glanced up to get his reaction. He had a strange, almost confused expression. “What? I take it you’ve never heard it before.”
“Can’t say that I have.” He shut the car door behind him.
“The point is that everything in our bodies is connected. Broken ribs are really painful, but if you’d let me heal you further—”
“No,” he growled.
“Why not? Back in the city you were going to force me to heal you. Why have you suddenly changed your mind?”
With his good hand, he reached out and lifted her chin, and whatever she was going to say slipped from her mind.
Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat, and her vision narrowed until it was only the two of them in the entire world. She was ready to throw out her self-imposed moratorium on bad boys and let him kiss the hell out of her.
But instead of a smoldering expression, heavy with promise, Asher just looked pissed. Almost dangerous. Eyes blazing with anger, nostrils slightly flared, he glared at her. “I don’t want this, Olivia.”
What was he talking about? Her healing him? She wouldn’t bring it up again, if it bothered him so much. “Want what?” she asked, just to make sure that was what he meant.
“You.” His hard gaze darted to her mouth.
“Me?” That little thrill shot through her again, and this time it was accompanied by a warm, tingling sensation between her legs.
Then his fingers were in her hair, pulling her head back. A tiny sound escaped her throat as his mouth came down over hers.
Asher overpowered all her senses. Every single one. All she could breathe and taste and feel was him. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and her mouth parted. As he plunged inside, his good hand slipped down to the small of her back, then lower still to cup her ass. She responded by arching her hips closer and wrapping her arms around his neck, careful of his injuries. He groaned in response—or it could’ve been the pain—and kissed her harder.
With her defenses lowered, her healing energy trickled into him. She attempted to put up her mental barriers again, but with this close, intimate contact, it was hard to stem the flow completely. She could sense that his cracked ribs were knitting back together. “Asher, I—”
“I
can’t
want you,” he said, interrupting her, his lips skimming the sensitive skin along her jaw. Goosebumps sprang up all over her arms and legs in response and she forgot that she was healing him. “You’re not my type. Not even close.”
He’d already told her he’d been at the club with a few women, including Monique, so she knew his type. Tall, voluptuous, flashy, and very beautiful. And he was right. She was none of those things.
“And you’re not mine, either.”
At least the type she needed: a calm, stable man with an even temper and a predictable future. Being from the other side of an Iron Portal, Asher was about as far from that description as any man could be. But did that matter right now?
Hardly.
Her fingers threaded into his hair as her mouth found his again. She pushed her tongue past his lips, her turn to explore him. That caused a rumble to vibrate in his chest. He tasted like vanilla and mint and he smelled like soot and ash. One hundred and ten percent male.
“That’s good,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts, his voice as rough as the gravel beneath their feet. “But I want you to stay with me. Just for tonight.”
Her heart pounded. “Stay with you? Here?”
He trailed a string of kisses along her breastbone, just above the neckline of her dress, and his hair tickled her nose and chin. “The apartment isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and no one will bother us. Besides, it’s too late for you to go anywhere else tonight.”
It was a tempting proposition—he was so damned hot. If she stayed with him tonight, maybe she could get this bad boy out of her system and move on. And he did have a point. It was late. Or early, rather. It made sense for her to stay the night and deal with getting home in the morning.
“I want you with me to get Conry,” he said, sensing that she was caving. His hand was at her breast now, his thumb caressing her pebble-hard nipple beneath layers of fabric. “And then I’ll take you home myself.”
He drew her earlobe between his teeth and nipped at the delicate skin. Hardly able to think straight anymore, she sucked in a ragged breath. The last of her common sense was evaporating, but she gave one last try. “Unless you let me heal you, you really should go straight to sleep.”
“Trust me, Olivia,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, his tone seductively mesmerizing. “Not every part of me was hurt. The most important parts are still fully functioning.”
“But—”
“Let’s worry about everything else in the morning.”
* * *
Being injured did have its advantages. Especially when a gorgeous nurse was involved.
Except for the delivery at the far end of the garage that James was dealing with, Reckless had been quiet when they walked through the offices and up the metal stairs to the small suite of rooms that were always ready for him. Asher planned to waste no time getting down to business, but Olivia headed straight to the adjoining bathroom, where he heard the toilet flush, then water running in the tub.
“I’m getting a bath started for you,” she called.
After the night he’d had, he had to admit that a soak in a tub did sound pretty damn good. He entered the bathroom, stripped off his shirt, and tossed it in the corner.
Olivia made a little noise of surprise at the sound and spun around. “I didn’t hear you…come in.” Her gaze dropped to his bare chest then went lower, and the tip of her tongue darted out. “I thought a hot soak in the tub might feel good, with all your aches and pains.”
Leaning against the bathroom counter, he absently twisted his pinkie ring as she filled the tub. God, he loved indoor plumbing. They didn’t have running water on the other side of the portal, so he never took it for granted over here.
The hem of her wispy dress brushed against the backs of her bare thighs, daring him to keep looking. His erection grew as he thought about those smooth, toned legs wrapped around his waist. Noticing a tiny mole on the inside of her left knee, he made a vow to kiss it the first chance he got.
She reached for her bag and fished out a small glass bottle. Unscrewing the lid, she poured a few drops of a thick amber-colored liquid under the running faucet.
“Do you always carry bubble bath with you?” he asked.
“It’s not bubble bath.” She swirled a hand in the water to mix it.
“Then what is it?” The lavender-and-rosemary scent reminded him of the healing ointments and tinctures sold in the open-air markets back home.
“It’s an organic body oil that my mother makes. My skin gets dry in the winter and this really helps. It’s got soothing and healing properties, too. I thought it might be good on all your cuts and scrapes.” She reached for his good hand, removed his ring and leather bracelets, then rubbed the warm oil from the water into his skin. As he imagined her applying that kind of attention and friction to his cock, he grew even harder. And when she started massaging his palm with both of her thumbs, he closed his eyes and thought he surely had to be in heaven.
He groaned with pleasure. “Holy Fates, woman. That feels so good.”
“And a soak will feel even better.” She released his hand and turned off the faucet. “Do you need help getting undressed the rest of the way?”
He blinked. “I…uh…”
“Of course you do,” she said, as if she had been arguing with herself. “How can you do that with a broken collarbone?”
Before he could protest or warn her that he wasn’t wearing underwear, she began to unbutton his jeans. Call him an ass, but once she got started, he didn’t want her to stop, even though he could manage it himself. Wisps of messy hair hung in her eyes and there was the tip of that tongue again as she struggled with the second button.
“There,” she said. “Got it.”
He started to tell her thanks, that he could take it from here, but she hooked her thumbs under the waistband and slipped the jeans down over his hips.
Just like that, his erection sprang free.
And because she’d been bent over him, it was only inches from her face.
“Oh!” she cried, rocking backward. Somehow, she lost her balance, and before he knew what had happened, she was on her knees in front of him, lips parted, staring right at his cock.
* * *
Olivia was no prude and had her share of lovers, but she’d never been with a man who looked like this. Fully clothed, Asher was gorgeous. But naked and aroused, the man was utterly beautiful.
His thick erection jutted toward her, a tiny bead of semen glistening on the end. She had the sudden urge to sweep her tongue over that broad, smooth tip. His pubic hair was trimmed short and above it, golden skin stretched tightly over washboard abs. Well-defined V-line muscles curved over his hips, drawing the eye downward. As if a woman would need directions to find what was below. If all male models looked like Asher, digital airbrush experts and photomanipulators would be out of work.