Page 49 of Asher

Marlowe watched the back-and-forth between this husband and wife. Didn’t matter if they agreed or not, she wasn’t leaving. To make her point, she dropped the bed’s side rail and climbed up beside Asher. It took her a minute. He had no idea she was there, but just being with him settled her nerves. Smoothing a hand over his forehead she whispered, “I’m here. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m here and I’m staying.”

“Mark, would you please bring a recliner in for Marlowe?” Libby asked.

No sooner said than done. Mark wheeled in an extra-large recliner. Libby covered it with bedding, then left bottled water and snacks on the table beside it. Along with the remote and a phone and other stuff Marlowe didn’t need, because she wasn’t moving one inch away from Asher.

Before they left, she asked, “Who takes care of your kids when you’re both gone? I mean, you’re both so busy.”

Mark grinned. “TEAM wives cover for each other.”

“It’s none of my business.” Marlowe paused. “But do you all have playrooms like Kelsey and Alex?”

“You bet,” Mark answered. “In our line of work, it’s a given.”

“That’s the first thing Alex did for us when we moved farther inland. He insisted. He takes care of his people,” Libby added.

“Time to go.” Mark handed Marlowe another cell phone. “My number’s already programmed. You need anything, hit one. Someone will come running.”

She set it on the nightstand. “I will. Thanks.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

His nose twitched. An exquisitely fresh scent, one Asher remembered, filtered through the air around him, filling him with peace. With comfort. Tension he hadn’t realized he harbored evaporated. The muscles in his neck and shoulders went slack against the pillow. His lungs expanded as his sniper instincts flared outward, into the universe, searching for the woman who owned that scent. Wanting her more than she wanted him, possibly, but searching nonetheless. And hoping.

“Marlowe,” he whispered to the dark.

No response. Asher tugged the cannula out of his nose and inhaled with purpose, breathing in that telltale scent again. Marlowewasthere. His soul knew it. His heart declared it.Please don’t be a ghost or a dream. Be real this time. Most of all, be here because you want to be here.

He faded in and out of consciousness, fighting the drugs in his system. Pain meds. Powerful antibiotics. Muscle relaxers. Sleep aids. They all took a toll on a body and they weakened his drive.

He felt it then. The slightest touch, a timid feminine hand slipping beneath his gown, coming to rest on his belly, just below his ribcage. Had to be Marlowe. Afraid he’d frighten her if he moved too fast, he held his breath and prayed this was real. That she wasn’t a dream. Asher didn’t understand why or how and he didn’t try to. Only knew she was the one. Somehow, they’d connected in the chaos of that despicable cave, and he wasn’t letting her go.

That little hand settled, her fingers splayed and trembling. Desperation swept away his resolve to go slow. Asher clapped his good hand over hers, desperately needing this contact.

As if Marlowe heard his deepest desire, she moved closer and closer until, at last, he lifted his uninjured arm high enough to clear her head and draw her against his side, where she belonged. At last,thank you God,he had her. His eyes watered at the intense emotions storming him. Shewasreal and shewasthere. She had come for him.

“I had to see you for myself,” she whispered. “You’re so hurt.”

Asher pressed his mouth to her forehead. “You should see the other guy,” he murmured, striving to be funny. Mostly to keep from crying out loud. This was a huge step from where they’d been just days ago.

When hot tears trickled between them, he knew he had to acknowledge her worry. “Hey, don’t cry, honey. I’m a little dinged up, but I’ll heal. I always do. You’ll see.”

“You’re darned right I’ll see. I’m not leaving until you can leave with me.”

How well he understood that feeling. The need to comfort and protect had never been stronger than on that flight outof Afghanistan with Marlowe, then again on the flight from Germany. They’d been running for their lives, but Asher had only been running for Marlowe’s life. Not his. Each desperate leg of that journey back to America had been fraught with danger and fear. Danger from Jamah’s ruthless machinations. Paralyzing fear that Marlowe might die in transit. That Asher would lose her before he’d actually, truly saved her.

“You’re shaking,” she told him. Like he didn’t know? Pressing the full length of her warm body against him, she carefully slipped an arm across his chest. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” she asked, as she snuggled—Marlowe actually snuggled—closer.

Satisfaction? No. Pure, sweet contentment. That was the sensation swarming Asher’s storehouse of masculine resolve. Melting it away like butter. Making him weak and needy and—hers. It was humbling to be on the receiving end, but with Marlowe, Asher let his defenses down and slowly captured the woman of his dreams.

The effort sapped what little energy he had, but at last, he had what he needed. Turning his head to bury his nose in her beanie, he felt prickly hair instead of cotton. “You lost your beanie?” he asked, fading fast.

Marlowe shook her head. “No, I’ve been staying at Kelsey’s with Judy, Libby, China, and Persia, and they, umm, helped me fix my hair, and Judy gave me a headband, and umm…”

Asher faded blissfully away on the lullaby of Marlowe’s soft storytelling of girlfriends and hugs, of giving and receiving. Mostly of being safe—afraid for him, but safe. Of Alex, Harley, Maverick, and Walker. Something about pregnancy. Walter and Darling. Whisper and that scallywag Smoke. Asher got lostwondering who was pregnant and which darling? The little gold pup or Harley’s favorite tease—Marlowe.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Marlowe knew the moment Asher fell back asleep. A deep sigh breathed out of him and his entire body went slack. He stopped talking. His voice was so hoarse, she’d had trouble understanding him, so she didn’t mind.

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