Return of the bad boy, p.29
Return of the Bad Boy, page 29
“You’ll be fine,” Faith said, stepping closer.
“It’s just like riding a bike.” Charlie huddled in, too, unintentionally making Gloria feel caged in. “And in a few months, or maybe a year”—she tipped her chin at Sofie, who was holding on to Donovan while a guest admired her wedding ring—“that’ll be you and Asher.”
Time stopped.
Gloria’s eyes went to Asher in his tux.
“Mmm-hmm,” Faith agreed. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then…well, you know how it goes.”
Love. Marriage.
Baby.
God.
A baby.
Gloria made a great lay, and as she was learning, a decent girlfriend, but a wife? Or a…
“Mom!” Lyon shouted, and Gloria nearly leapt out of her skin.
“Yes, my son,” Charlie answered formally.
“Can I stay with Derek tonight?”
“That sounds like a question for your dad,” she answered.
“He told me to ask you!” Lyon argued, mouth twisted into a frown of disgust.
“I’ll be back,” Gloria said to her friends. She made sure to slap a big smile on her face and pray they didn’t see how she was really feeling. Half mortified, halfway to an anxiety attack.
Her fear of permanence and future and the idea of being a—gulp—mom all came to a head in an instant. Everyone around her had accepted this was a logical next step, but what if Gloria didn’t know how to take that step? She had no idea what it was like to stick by someone. Everyone sticking by her made her realize how bad she was at returning the favor. She was better at walking away. Walking was easy. Walking was less painful.
Walking was what she was good at.
“Whiskey,” she ordered from a bartender who looked to be about twelve years old.
“Shot or rocks?”
“Shot,” she told him, biting her tongue so she didn’t order a double. She needed to calm down, not start dancing on the tables. And she needed to think through the rather rash decision she’d made this morning.
This morning when Brice McGuire called her cell phone.
“Good morning, Heels,” he’d said when she answered. She knew what he wanted. He wanted her answer about Chicago. And he didn’t hesitate to let her know if she didn’t accept, he would begin the hunt for her replacement.
Gloria, feeling smug, hadn’t hesitated when she turned him down. The prospect of Chicago had dangled in front of her, tempting, for several weeks. In a way, Chicago had become her escape hatch. If she couldn’t hack the Cove and Asher and life in general, she had options.
But then last night, Asher had kissed her in the bar in front of all their friends, and afterward, those same friends rallied around her on her grandmother’s couch with hugs and laughter and for the first time in her life, she no longer felt like having a plan B.
The Cove had finally opened its arms, and her three girlfriends who lived here and had hunks of their own had opened theirs. And Asher not only loved her, but also needed her. And he was staying.
Gloria was home.
At least that’s where her head was this morning. But she hadn’t looked farther into the future than a few days…a few months. Now that she’d sealed her escape hatch, she felt…trapped.
The kid put the shot glass on the bar top. Gloria fished a dollar out of her clutch, plunked it in his tip jar, and threw the liquor back in one burning swallow.
“Hey, now it’s a party,” Asher approached, hands in his pants pockets. Then he caught her expression, which must have been dismayed because next, his smile fell. He pulled a hand from his pocket to touch her lower back. “Sarge, you okay?”
“Brice called,” she blurted.
Asher’s face scrunched.
“He offered me Chicago.”
Asher’s eyes went to the empty shot glass, then back to her.
“I told him no,” she said, tucking her clutch under her arm.
“Good.” He still looked confused and it was no wonder. She wasn’t making much sense. “I want you here. With us.”
Us.
God. She could puke. She blinked a few times, feeling the burn of tears again—but this time not because she was emotional over the wedding. No, this time, it was because she was overwhelmed by how many things—how many people—she would need to make room for in her life. Gloria could barely handle herself. This was not good.
She sucked in a breath. “Can we leave?” They drove together. She knew that’d been a mistake. Now she was stranded.
Asher’s eyebrows dropped so low, his eyes were barely visible through narrowed lashes. He girded his anger with a deep breath and tipped his head toward the side yard. “Over there.”
“No,” she said, then pointed to the valet waiting nearby. “Over there.”
“Sarge.”
“Asher.”
He crowded her, putting his lips on her ear. “I will absolutely throw you over my shoulder in front of every one of these people.”
“You would not,” she breathed, angry and slightly exhilarated at the thought—a reaction that confused her as much as everything else about how she reacted to him.
His warm palm splayed over her hip. “Try me,” he said into her ear, then drew away to peg her with a scarily serious glare.
She decided not to try him. Her dress was really short.
Turning, she made her way around the side of the mansion, through the yard, and across the cobblestone. On the other side of the garage, a huge oak tree offered privacy and shade.
“Let’s hear it,” Asher said, calmly advancing, hands in his pockets.
“Hear what? I’m just ready to go.”
“That’s one.”
“One what?” She was fuming now.
“One slap on the ass for every lie you tell me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t threaten me, Asher Knight. I—”
“Now that I have you good and pissed off, care to tell me what you’re running from?”
“I’m not running!”
“Two.” The rage was gone…or maybe it’d transferred to her. He looked completely collected and in control of his faculties.
A low growl left her throat. Asher wasn’t wavering, and he wasn’t his happy, easy, jokey self. He was thoroughly serious.
“Our friends were married today, Glo.”
“I know that,” she mumbled, resisting the urge to grind the tip of her shoe into the grass. Was he trying to point out she was being selfish?
“Their reception is going on as we speak. I’m taking the mic in a few minutes to sing ‘Unchained.’”
Of course he was. Asher would trot out any act his friends asked, because that’s the kind of guy he was. Bad boy. Good man.
“I only have a few minutes, so you cooperating instead of being a pain in the ass would be helpful,” he said.
“I’m not a pain in the ass!”
“Three.” He let loose a weary smile. “Sarge. Out with it.”
She swallowed, feeling overwhelmed and too warm, even standing in the shade of the tree, a breeze blowing. She adjusted the clutch under her arm, fiddled with the rings on her fingers, and decided how best to tell him how full her head was. How full her heart was. How everyone and everything lining up was beginning to feel like she was smothering beneath a ten-ton mattress.
Instead, she blurted, “I can’t do this.”
His head jerked like he’d been slapped. “What this?”
“This this.” She lifted her arms and dropped them helplessly. “Us, Ash. My God! Sofie and her stupid fresh-start candles.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Now he looked angry. Earlier when they were dancing and Gloria explained what the symbolism was for, he looked happy. Which was the point. Asher needed to be happy. What if she couldn’t make him happy?
“I don’t know what I’m doing! I see everyone settling down, pairing up. Having”—she swallowed thickly and eked out the word—“families. I’m going to fail but this time it won’t just be me in the wreckage. I can handle being in the wreckage. I’ve put myself together more times than I can count.” She swallowed past another thick ball of emotion. “I won’t take you down with me, Asher. I won’t take Hawk down with me. Trust me, you don’t want to risk—”
He cut her off with a kiss. His lips were so gentle, her eyes closed. He held his mouth over hers for a few lingering seconds and then pulled away. “Is there a time you’re ever not in your head, Sarge?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“By my count”—he lifted his knuckles to her cheek—“You’re up to eight.”
Chapter 26
She was scared. He could see the fear on her face, broadcast from the worried sea of blue in her eyes. He could see it in her goddamn body language. Gloria stood, knees pressed together, shoulders under her ears. Like if she let go of the control strung through her body like cables, she’d collapse.
His girl.
She wasn’t in full-on meltdown mode, but she was close. He wasn’t going to let her get away with this, not any of it.
“I screwed up,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted into her black bangs.
“When I met you, I thought for sure you and I were gonna burn hot and heavy a few times and then fizzle out.”
The first time he’d laid eyes on the curvy, modern-day pinup girl, his cock had stood on end. When she’d put that soft palm in his and introduced herself, he’d sent Evan a sideways glance that asked, How have you not begged this one to go to bed with you yet?
“I knew your type,” he continued. “Businesswoman looking for a tumble with a guy she didn’t have to commit to. I figured you were off a bad relationship or a marriage. Needed a rebound. I knew you didn’t have kids, which also made you perfect for me.”
He had her attention. Blue eyes held his and he just kept right on going.
“You liked me. Stroked my ego and stroked my cock and sucked it, too, and all of that worked for me.” Once he’d dug beneath the outer layer of Gloria, he learned there was a whole lot more to her than he’d assumed. Smart. Sassy. Shrewd. And just a little broken. Then she’d shown her vulnerability dressed up like haughty anger, and he’d let her scare him off.
“I screwed up,” he repeated, “when I let you go. You came at me with all this sass and the sharpest, barbed accusations I’ve ever heard, and I didn’t fight for you. I thought to myself, ‘Who needs the trouble?’ Because I’ve long been a big proponent of easy.”
Sadness crept in as the fear crept out. That was it. Her biggest fear. That she was too much trouble for anyone to love. He’d learned that about her and had baited her to this very point.
“Sarge, I love that you don’t give me easy. I can be lazy. I can be careless. I can be self-focused. You force me to be other things. You force me to care too much about everything. About everyone. You challenge me and you don’t even mean to. I didn’t feel bad about taking a groupie backstage between sets until I met you. Then I only thought of you and what I was missing—what you gave me when we were together. What you gave me, baby…I can’t get that anywhere else.”
Her eyes were trained on his, and she was struck completely dumb by his speech. And he still had more to say. He stepped closer and brushed her smooth, porcelain cheek with his knuckles.
“No one makes me want like I want when I’m with you. You make me crazy in the best way possible. Never planned on getting married or settling down. When I was hit with the news about Hawk, the first thing I thought after the initial shock of having a kid wore off was that I’d lose you. I knew it’d hurt too much for you to have to see him knowing that Jordan and I made him. And I also knew I wouldn’t walk out on my son. That I had to make up for lost time and that I had a long road ahead. That put me at your mercy. The big test of keeping you or not was outta my hands. You’d either stay with me in spite of how hurt you were, or you’d bail.”
“A test I just failed,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Nine,” he whispered back, then smiled. “I underestimated you yet again. Should’ve known you were tough enough to handle Hawk. To handle Jordan. Hell, you showed up and put a dent in her ass the second you thought she was doing us wrong.”
A tiny smile tipped the corners of her lips. She was trying.
“You won’t take me down, Sarge. You’re too busy standing up for me.” He moved his palm to the side of her neck, sliding his hand through her hair and pressing his fingertips into her nape. “You have changed my entire world, do you know that? And I get that you’re scared. Hell, I’m scared. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been a dad. I’ve never tried to have a relationship that was remotely normal. And you…Your mom bailed, your grandma died, and you’re so terrified to trust anyone—to trust yourself, that you figure you should get out while the gettin’s good. And the shit of it is, every foster family, every guy you’ve pulled this crap on in the past, has let you go.” He nodded and added on another painful truth, “Me included.”
Her delicate throat worked as she swallowed. He ran his fingers down to her necklace—a thin gold chain with a heart on the end. Then along the low-cut neck of her fire-engine-red dress. He loved her in red.
He just loved her, period.
“I’m not letting you go again,” he said.
“You can’t know I won’t screw everything up.”
He wedged two fingers into her cleavage, grabbed hold of the center of her bra, and dragged her close.
“I know,” he said. His lips were almost touching hers and he smelled the slightest hint of whiskey on her breath.
“I can’t know that,” she whispered.
“You have to try.” Before he could breach the minute distance between them and kiss her, Connor’s voice came from behind him.
“Ash! You’re on, man!”
He held a thumb overhead to let Connor know he heard him.
“Time to play famous, Sarge,” he told her, leaving her tempting mouth in favor of stepping back. He extracted his fingers from her dress without sliding to the left or right to tweak a nipple, and for that show of self-control, he deserved a medal. “Do me a favor.”
“What?” She adjusted her low neckline, then tucked her purse beneath her arm.
“Love me.”
Her lips dropped open with a sharp intake of breath.
He took another step back. Toward the stage, toward their friends. Toward their future, if she chose to accept it.
“That’s it,” he said. “Everything will work out, but you have to commit to that one thing.”
He turned and walked away when what he wanted to do was grab her hand and drag her with him. But Gloria didn’t need to be dragged. He may be good at pushing her, but if they were going to make this work, the next step she took would have to be toward him.
* * *
Asher tuned his guitar, pausing to grin and say, “Dodgy F,” into the microphone. The slightly boozed up crowd snickered.
Gloria stood among them, equally rapt with the man onstage. The man who had made the simplest of requests. Love me. She watched him walk away from her, from the lawn to the cobblestone, until he vanished around the back of the house.
And then she followed.
Chairs were scattered on the patio and now people sat, cocktails in hand. The sun had just tucked behind the trees and bulbs on strings were laced overhead, giving the entire outside patio a relaxed feel. Almost everyone who attended the wedding had stayed to hear Asher, her included.
Asher Knight: resident rock god, children’s book author, and man who had just committed to never leave her. She didn’t know what to do with that. What to do with him. Yet here she was.
“Ah, there we go,” he said when the chord struck true. A few soft chuckles sounded from the crowd. Asher, the entertainer.
He turned to the jazz band behind him and gave a few instructions and then started to play “Unchained.”
A hush fell over the crowd as his voice cut in—perfect and soothing. Rasping and rough. He was a star, and he was meant to be one. Gloria had felt that same charge of charisma the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
I knew your type. Businesswoman looking for a tumble with a guy she didn’t have to commit to.
He was half correct. She hadn’t been looking for a tumble with a client, but when she’d laid eyes on Asher, her rules fell away. The rest of the world fell away.
He sang the line about being connected. Feeling rejected.
A lump formed in her throat.
I didn’t fight for you.
She didn’t fight for him either. He was right about everything he said about her. She’d accused him and made things hard.
I’m not letting you go again.
He was right about the fear that had carved a hole in her heart, too. The plain fact of the matter was that no one had fought for her. Until now. Asher had made one simple request.
Love me.
She’d never had anyone ask her to love them. She’d been told “I love you” before from guys wanting something or thinking that those three words would soften her. When Asher had admitted he loved her, he didn’t ask her to say it back.
He didn’t even say it today during his big speech.
He’d simply asked her to love him.
The thing about it was, she did love him. She’d loved him for a really long time and was only now just admitting it to herself. And she loved Hawk. She loved Asher’s mother, too, and guessed after she got to know his dad better, she’d love him, as well. She’d caved the other night when her girlfriends from the Cove wrapped her in their arms. She loved every last one of them.
“You’re still here.”
Donovan, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, leaned a shoulder against the wall of his mansion. Yeah, that tux hadn’t lasted long. His eyes were on Asher but sifted down to hers in a way that she felt dwarfed. Well, more dwarfed. The man was damn near six-and-a-half feet tall.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she quipped.
A small grunt that could have been a laugh followed the murmured, “You’re braver than me. I’m a runner.”
Gloria turned to face him, gesturing to the gold band on his ring finger. “You didn’t get very far.”
