Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

I had a hard time keeping the annoyed snap out of my tone at her misassumption. “That is
so
not it at all.”

She continued as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “You don’t trust me, yet you give me the code to your apartment and spend a shitload of money on me. I’m so confused I wonder if I just smacked my head really hard in the accident and am still unconscious in the ditch and playing out a fantasy in my head.”

I sighed again and took Aria’s hands in my own, shushing her to stop her rambling. “Alright, a few things. First, I don’t think you’re a gold digger. Put that out of your head right now, and don’t say it again.”

She blinked, and the wind blew her blue bangs back from her eyes, which flashed at my insistence. “Or else what?”

I stammered.
Or else nothing, because I’ll do everything you ask, anything you want, as long as you don’t leave me.
“Or else I won’t make you come again at breakfast.”

She sucked in a breath and ducked her head, embarrassed again but with the flush of arousal warming the skin of her neck. I kissed her there, the taste punching me in my painful, perma-bonered groin.

“Second, I
do
want to have sex with you. I’m just not ready yet. I don’t want to explain it, or rationalize it, or plan it out . . . I just want to
do
this. For once in my life, I want to enjoy a beautiful woman before I
enjoy
her. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. This doesn’t make any sense.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Call it a sudden development of a fetish. I want to wait with you because waiting is
hard.
Resisting you is hard. And resisting pleasure, while bestowing pleasure on you as often as I can, is a turn on. When we do have sex, I will enjoy it to a level I don’t think you can imagine. And I want to make sure that before I enjoy you to that degree, you’ve enjoyed me every bit as much in advance. Does that make more sense?”

“No.” Her pouty glare was adorable, her stubbornness endearing me to her even more than before. Then she softened. “And yes. I get it in concept but not in practice.”

I grinned and smoothed her creased eyebrow again. “Then just trust the concept, and let me try to put it into practice, okay? The girlfriend thing is new to me. Let me try it out a bit slower than I’ve moved with the . . . flings.”

Aria sighed and nodded, glaring at me. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. But so help me, Asher, I may just jump on and rape you in your sleep at some point. Your dick’s been hard since I first poured you coffee.”

I grinned, thrilled that no detail of my attraction escaped her. “Rape me at your own risk,” I warned her, darkening my eyes with sincerity.

“Consider your words under advisement.” She smirked, sliding into the Lamborghini.

I sank into the seat after her. She chewed her fingernail, looking out the window at the little, colorful strip of Two Harbors shops. My phone vibrated.

Tapping it to life, my glee at the newfound relationship melted. It was Gypsy, replying to the text I sent her from the bathroom at home, before I hopped into the shower and drank in the aura of Aria, alive and in ecstasy.

Aria Hyacinthe is a go. Easy concealment. Give me an hour’s notice before heading to the cabin.

I swallowed hard and darkened the screen, tucking it into my cargo pants. I smiled at Aria to cover my sudden conflict of interest and started the Lamborghini, then tore south on the scenic highway to bring her back to safer ground.

You’ll love the cabin, Aria . . . And after you’re dead, I’ll hate the place more than I hate the demon that I am, the incubus that demands your life.

I dropped Aria off at the Teacup, realizing I was almost late for my one-thirty training appointment. I sped back to my house and opened the gym, changing into my gray boxing shorts and nothing else. I turned on an overhead fan and powered up the equipment, then started my own warm-up, jogging the circuit around the room.

The door chimed as it opened and I turned, expecting to greet my cousin, one of my few clients. A light sweat had already broken out over my shoulders and chest, dampening my hair. But through the door strolled Gypsy, with Jim and John just on the other side, lingering with menacing nonchalance. My sister wore a stunning black pinstriped suit with sleek slacks underneath and a look of determination on her face. I frowned and approached her. She spared not a second for greetings.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What? Samuel will be here any minute.”

Gypsy flipped her wrist in dismissal. “Glenda rescheduled him for two-thirty. But speaking of Glenda . . . would you mind telling me why you dropped five thousand dollars at Chiffon today?”

I bit my lip and wondered if I should lie, but I knew Gypsy would see straight through any lie I conjured. “I took Aria shopping.”

“You took Aria shopping,” she repeated, unsurprised and sarcastic. “You took her to my personal shopping assistant at my preferred store and dropped five thousand dollars on her.”

I grabbed a towel from the rack beside the workout area entrance. “Gyp, it’s not unusual for a wealthy man to spend a chunk of green on a lady he’s trying to woo.” I slung the towel over my shoulders.

Gypsy planted her hands on her slender hips. “No, it’s not.” She sighed. “But Asher, you can’t get attached to this one. You can’t get attached to any of them. You know this. Why are you being so stupid? Your indiscretion alone could cost me a hell of a lot, and if you suffer in the aftermath too because you got attached . . . what am I supposed to do about that?”

Her words halted me. She was right. She was always right. I was being a complete fucking moron, and she put words to that before I even confessed how attached I already . . .
oh, no. Shit, no.

“I’ll be fine, Gyp,” I tried to cover my sudden panic. “I don’t know why it’s different this time. I just want her to have some happiness first. You know?”

My sister stepped toward me and looked up into my eyes. “Asher, do you remember your first?”

I flinched as though she’d slapped me across the face. Did I remember my first victim? The girlfriend I loved for a year before I killed her?
Jesus, Gypsy!

“Yeah, Gypsy,” I whispered of the memories that tormented me in waking and sleep, the screaming of my conscience behind closed doors. “I remember.”

Her eyes intensified as she peered into mine. And then, much to my surprise, she reached up and ran her palm along my chin, soft skin against stubble; affectionate contact. “I remember it. I remember how scared I was. I thought I would lose you like I lost them.”

I swallowed. Gypsy, scared? The two barely registered as compatible in my mind.

“Asher,” my twin warned, her thumb stroking across my cheek. “You’ve endured so much. I understand a man can only take so much. But don’t do this. Don’t get attached. If you must have Aria, get it over with. Rip off the Band-Aid. You’re dragging out your own torture, and God, Asher, I can’t clean up the pieces again if you collapse beneath it all. I can clean up bodies. That, I’m good at. But you?” She shook her head. “I might be a little odd, but I’m not soulless. I hate to watch my brother suffer. And the longer you postpone the inevitable, the more let down you will be when this doesn’t pan out any better than the others. You’ll be crushed, and I’ll be helpless, as I always am with matters of the heart.”

I realized I was holding my breath and let it out, averting my eyes. Gypsy dropped her hand and stepped back.

“Make it soon. It’s not like I can arrange for grief counseling for something like this. You don’t spend money on women, nor do you let them sleep in your apartment, so this is abnormal for you and troublesome. Get it over with, Asher.”

I nodded, staring at the floor, my hand gripping the dangling edges of the towel around my neck. She watched me for a moment and then turned on her high heels and left, the clacking of her pointed shoes the only sound in the room as she stepped off the gym mats and strode out the lobby doors.

I sank to the floor and balanced myself in a crouch by my fingertips. Gypsy was right on all levels. Sure, I wanted to try charging from Aria during her orgasm and fueling my deadly needs little by little . . . but it was only a matter of time before I needed more and demanded it with fervency beyond my control. Was it foolish to drag this out? Would I feel worse about the kill if it was accidental instead of premeditated?

Yes, I would. Much worse. But the thought of Aria beneath me in all of her naked, tattooed beauty, dead and cold was horrid. I couldn’t imagine her cheeks refusing to flush when I cursed in public and embarrassed her. I couldn’t imagine her eyes stuck open with death, her lashes unable to bat past that lacy blue. I couldn’t imagine kissing her cheek and pleading my sorrow, begging for forgiveness that would never come as I withdrew from the girl I barely knew, cared for with all of my being and fucked to death.

I could imagine, vividly, the enthusiastic trust in her eyes when I told her I was ready to give myself to her. I could imagine the joy of mutual orgasm and the honesty in her irises as I connected with her fully. And then I would kill her whether I wanted to or not.

None of it was fair, to any of us, but especially not to her. And I couldn’t let it happen. But what to do about it? Dump her—break her heart—and forget I ever knew her? Forget I saw even a glimmer of hope that there was another way in this life for me?

Or man up and keep my libido under control, and protect her life like the man I should have been, had my incubus side not destroyed my life forty-three times already?

I rose to my feet and resumed a slow jog around the room. After two laps, I arced suddenly and met the free-standing punching bag, driving my full weight with my fists against it. My triceps burned and my knuckles cracked, staining the black leather with dark red, like wet ink on dry as I pounded it over and over. My urge to penetrate Aria’s perfect body battled with the sorrow in my heart as I fought the bag, wrestling my decision, combating my nature. I hit the bag again and again, my heart pounding as I panted. A growl built between my lips as I punished my fists, and my pace peaked. I slammed my knuckles into the bag, both at once, and snarled as I propelled my weight off of it. I spun away, furious and frustrated, and paced in a small circle around the center of the room, my veins bulging with ire and restraint, my muscles quivering.

I stopped and rested against my knees, bent over, the blood of my knuckles dripping onto the floor. I closed my eyes and worked to slow my breathing.

I can do this,
I chanted to myself.
I have to
. I couldn’t let Aria slip from my grasp without trying. She was my only chance at a life without killing, if I could absorb her aura through her pleasure. I had to try.

And if I failed, and the urge grew too strong, I’d take myself out of the picture before breaking her heart, and let Gypsy explain once I was gone so Aria would be safe. My death would crush my sister. But both of them deserved better than I could give them, if I wasn’t man enough to keep myself under control for Aria’s sake.

I had to try.
If you’re watching me, Dad, don’t let me fail them.

I straightened and hated every inch of my being as I took the towel from my shoulders, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and began cleaning up the blood. For the first time in my adult life, I wished I had Gypsy’s job instead of my own.

I waited outside the door to Asher’s gym. My back was pressed against the wall so he couldn’t see me through the glass as I psyched myself up for this—personal training with the man who was quickly leeching away my self-control with every moment we spent together.

I took a deep breath, tossed the bangs from my face and strode through the door.

He stood in the middle of the pristine, open space—he must
really
like his floor plans without walls—curling his arms up one at a time with a giant dumbbell in each hand. I set my water bottle down just outside the workout mats and stepped in, timid.

“Hi,” he said, his motions fluid.

God, his voice was sexy. Beads of sweat trickled down his chest as he continued to curl his arms in an even rhythm, the bulge of his bicep swelling with each lift. Just the shirtless sight of him ignited my desire, and with his magnetic radiance filling the room, my courage was easy to find. I wanted to be with him as often as I could, watching him in all his elements. In the gym, Asher looked cool, at ease, and confident.