Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (27 page)

“What is it?” he asked, bending at the knee to look her in the eye.

Seemed she had no control over her expressions either, so she buried her face in his slick shoulder. Strong arms held her as the shower covered them in a warm, soothing spray, big hands ran up and down her back until the water started to cool. He dried her, stroking the thick towel over her with thorough attentiveness, and then helped her dress in his button-up shirt and old sweatpants. He threw on a T-shirt and cotton shorts before guiding her into the kitchen.

“Okay?” Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he placed a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah. Just… You know.” A shake of her head dropped her hair over her face to hide any telltale expression that would give away the depth of her emotion. “I’m happy.”

“Good.” His slow, sensuous smile reeked of approval. “Now, something to eat. I need to feed you to keep your strength up. I’ve got plans for the afternoon.”

A laugh escaped when he lifted his eyebrows villainously. “Then I definitely need something to give me strength. You’ve wiped me out.”

“You can stay?” he asked, suddenly serious. “You want to stay today?”

Her stupid heart leapt at the hopeful note in his voice. “I do. I have about a million things I need to catch up on, but… I do. I’d like to stay.”

“Good,” he said again, a wealth of satisfaction filling his voice and smile. He kissed the top of her head before stepping away and rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see what I’ve got in the fridge. Breakfast? Lunch?”

“Coffee, for sure. And then whatever you have. I’m not picky.”

He prepared an elaborate brunch with copious amounts of coffee, and then set her up on a lounge chair out on the back deck overlooking an expanse of green lawn and the lake. After tucking a thick, soft blanket around her, he left her dozing in the sun with a glass of orange juice on the table at her side. Definitely pampered and cherished. One thing Ash Beaulieu knew was how to take care of a woman in every sense of the word. She fell asleep, body and mind heavy with thoughts of him.

When she woke, the position of the sun indicated mid-afternoon. She stretched languidly, grimacing at the ache, burn, and pull of muscles not used to the strenuous, pleasurable exertion she’d put them through. Yawning widely, she hugged her arms around herself before rising to go look for Ash.

She found him in one of the other guest bedrooms he’d retrofitted into a home gym. Clad in the pair of thin cotton shorts and nothing else, sweat-slicked muscles on display, he did pull-ups on a bar suspended in the doorway of the walk-in closet. Emma drank in the masculine spectacle as he dropped to the floor and picked up a towel draped over a weight bench, watching her with a slight quirk of his mouth.

“Good nap?” His deep voice curled around her like smoke.

She nodded and straddled the bench, aware she was naked underneath his shirt and sweats. Bright blue eyes roved over her and darkened as she crossed her arms under her breasts.

“I don’t know whether to be appreciative or insulted.” She pulled on the lapels of the shirt to make sure she was covered and nothing peeked out of any embarrassing gaps.

He cocked a brow, either in response to her words or her efforts.

“I mean, here you are working out, and it’s all I can do to stumble around and find the next place to curl up and sleep.”

His slow smile heated her from toes to the apex of her thighs, spreading into her chest and throat. She took the opportunity to examine him in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, as she’d been unable to see as clearly as she would have liked the night before. A shiver thrilled down her spine at the memory of how he’d felt under her hands, on her skin, and inside her. The towel he held around his neck dropped, and his arms relaxed at his sides so she could look her fill.

A smattering of small, round scars fanned across his chest and shoulders, interspersed with thin white lines. Hair slightly darker than on his head spread across his pectorals and narrowed in a wonderfully masculine path down to his navel, then thickened and disappeared into the elastic waist of his shorts. A long scar ran from his sternum down the midline of his chest to hook around his bellybutton, and his hand moved to touch the bottom curve of the mark before dropping next to his thigh. She’d felt the raised welt under her fingers and tongue the night before, but the reality… So scary and brutal in the light of day.

“Splenectomy,” he murmured. “Doc had to do some digging around once they got in. Looking for shrapnel and other bleeding.”

Her gaze fell to the thick, ugly ridge on his thigh next to his relaxed fingers.

“Doctors didn’t think I’d ever be able to walk without a limp, let alone run again,” he said in the same low tone. “Been times over the past seventeen months I thought they might be right, but…the leg really only bothers me when I’m tired or push myself too hard. Or when the weather’s cold or damp, for some reason. And even that’s getting better.”

Her gaze held steady when she rose from the weight bench and refused to let her sorrow show. He wouldn’t welcome pity, probably didn’t need sympathy, but her heart ached all the same. She stopped in front of him, and he stood motionless, his expression defiant and wary. Emma bent, keeping her eyes on her face to watch his lids flutter shut as she pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to the scar running down his belly and skimmed the thick line with her fingertips. She hated the ugly mark on his beautiful skin but thanked the stars the surgery had saved his life. When she stood, his face went hard with intent. An incredulous and disbelieving laugh burst from her as she took a step back.

“Oh, no. You couldn’t possibly. You can’t have even a drop of moisture left in your body after last night. I don’t have any strength. And I’m sore. Really sore. No.”

“I’ve been drinking a lot of fluids while you were resting. Recharging. And oh, yes. I really can.”

She laughed again and backed away until she came up against the wall. He trapped her with his body, one arm going around her waist and pulling her to him, proving that oh, yes. He really could.

“You can’t touch me like that, kiss me like that, and not expect a reaction, beautiful. Expect me to not want you.”

“I’m so sore. I can’t. We can’t. Ash, no.”

She shrieked when he yanked on her sweatpants and dropped to his knees to wrestle them off. He covered her belly and thighs with hot, wet kisses, and she couldn’t deny being both impressed and thrilled—she was no lightweight—when he lifted and carried her through the family room toward his bedroom with seemingly little effort.

“I have lube,” he offered, and she slapped at him half-heartedly until he dropped her to her feet. “Warming, cooling, sensitizing, you name it. Whatever you want. Whatever it takes.”

“You’re such a pig.” She smiled despite herself, relaxing and giving in to the pleasure of his touch.

“Oink, oink.”

Laughter caught in her chest as she surrendered. Reaching up for a kiss, her lips tingled against the scruff on his jaw when he lifted his chin. Her teeth scraped along his Adam’s apple instead, and she delighted in his shiver of reaction as she licked her way down his throat to the hard ridge of his pecs. Fingers curling around her hipbones, he spun her around, and she grabbed the back of the sofa to keep her balance. He lifted the hem of the shirt to expose her ass and palmed the curves appreciatively, slipping dexterous fingers down until they tickled sensitive folds.

“Not going to make it to the bedroom,” he murmured. “How badly do you need that lube?”

He grunted at how wet she was, how ready. When he settled purposefully behind her, she tightened her hold the upholstered back of the sofa to keep her balance.

“Oh, God. Ash. Condom.”

“Fuck.” His head dropped onto her back before he slapped the bare cheek of her ass. She jumped, mouth dropping open, but then heard his voice low and commanding in her ear. “Don’t move. Not one muscle, do you hear?”

She nodded, took a deep, careful breath, and held perfectly still as he jogged across the room, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He returned almost instantly, skidding on the smooth wood floor as he dropped his shorts, kicked them off, and tripped over them before he could get free. She would have smiled had she been capable.

“Oh, God. Oh, good.” He slowed when he saw she hadn’t moved and was still bent over the sofa waiting for him. “Absolutely fucking stunning.”

“Come on.” She wagged her hips, and he groaned.

Foil ripped and then he nudged between her thighs. He spread her knees a little more, and she felt the cool, slick slide of lube. She laughed out loud.
Considerate, selfish bastard
.

He took her against the back of the sofa and then later that evening on the cold, smooth surface of the granite countertop in the kitchen. Playing her body like the virtuoso he was, the best part came when he let her play in return. When he relaxed and let his guard down, she discovered a wicked sense of humor, a sharp wit and quick intellect that left her just as thrilled as his remarkable body and fallen angel’s face. He fed her a cold dinner of cheese, fruit, and meats paired with a perfectly chilled bottle of white wine. The food and drink were cool, but his eyes flared hot as he watched her take the food from his fingertips.

“I’ve never had a woman spend the night here,” he murmured, kissing the wine from her lips.

“Never? Really?”

“No. Not overnight. Not while my parents lived here. Their house, after all. None of my youthful indiscretions.” He lifted his brows and gave a wicked smile. “And, in the spirit of honesty, I was fairly indiscriminate in my youth.”

She snorted. Like he was an old man now. “Define ‘fairly.’ ”

He set the stack of cracker, cheese and apple slice on the plate and took her hand, solemnity replacing the humor in his expression. “I’ve been with a lot of women, Emma, but—”

“Of course you have.” She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

His eyes narrowed and head tipped. “Of course I have?”

“Well, look at you.” She waved her free hand at him lounging on the sofa next to her, feeding her treats from the plate on the coffee table. “Of course you’ve been with other women. You’re gorgeous, Ash. Sexy as hell, too.”

“Well, um, thanks?”

“No, thank you.” She grinned and settled into the cushions. “Go on. You’ve been with other women, but…?”

He studied her face and then shook his head. “But then I met Liz, and she was it for me. No more women while I was with her. Wasn’t sure other women existed, to be honest, until after. And then after—after the explosion, a long time passed before any part of me could move without a whole lot of pain, even that very important part. But when I could… More women. But that stopped real quick. Wasn’t the same, and they didn’t do anything for me. Not like Liz.”

He paused, and she took a slow breath so he wouldn’t notice, her earlier flippancy gone. She didn’t like hearing about other women all of a sudden She didn’t like hearing about him being in pain.

“But you do, Emma. You do something for me.” He popped the cracker and cheese in her mouth before she could say anything. “I just thought you should know.”

After her belly was full, the photographs on the bookshelves once again caught her attention. He talked to her about his parents, both their lives and deaths, about his friends, too. Andy and Lisa, his childhood friends, and
Daniel, who had been killed in the explosion along with Liz. She envied him those relationships, even as she recognized his losses.

After any lingering effect of the alcohol had worn off, he drove her back to the city. A comfortable, sated silence filled the car, and he held her hand as he walked her to the door.

“I am a law enforcement agent, you know,” she protested, but her smile spoiled the effect when he feigned surprise. “And an expert in kickboxing. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not that. I know better than most, considering how you tried to take me out when we first met.”

She sighed with mock frustration. “Are you never going to let me live that down?”

“Nope. I like that memory. So fierce and brilliant.” He paused in the hall as she unlocked the door. “I know you can handle yourself. This is more about respect. My mama taught me better than to dump a lady outside her door with nothing more than a kiss and a wave.”

“I’ll take that kiss,” she hinted, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket.

He braced a hand against the doorframe behind her, leaned in and dipped his head. Her lips actually trembled as he got closer, the wet heat of his breath warming them before he touched the corner and drifted along her cheek. He lingered at the hollow of her ear, his teeth scraping on the tendon in her neck. She shivered and gripped his arms, tried to pull him closer to get his mouth on hers.

“Emma.” His voice rumbled in her ear. “Emmaline.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

He lifted and shook his head. “Can’t. If I come in, I won’t leave. We both have to work tomorrow. And you’re sore, remember?”

He touched her lightly, low on her stomach, and she tingled when intimate muscles clenched at the contact. How she could still respond to him after the debauchery of the day? Oh, but she did.

“You’re sore, too.” Please let the words be true. Pride demanded she not be the only one suffering from their excess.