Page 67 of Asher

Within seconds, the bomb blew, but its energy exploded upward, not outward. Must’ve been another improvised explosive. The walls of that ugly-as-sin hippie van contained most of the blast. Windows blew, sure. Asher held tight to Marlowe as the heatwave and shattered glass roared over them. She clung to him sobbing and careful of his injury. God, he loved this woman.

But it was Heston crouching over them both. His back was to the van, shielding them like the armor-plated guardian angel he was. Asher was beginning to wonder if Heston wasn’t just that.

At last, crap stopped falling out of the sky and it was safe to get up, but Asher stayed where he was. Marlowe’s shaking hands were cradling his weary head. She was crying and talking to him. Carefully, Asher kissed the woman he adored, breathing in her fear and relief, a heady cocktail after nearly losing her. Collapsing against her soft, sweet body, he buried his face in the secret cleft between her shoulder and neck, and he let go.

The bad guys were dead.

Marlowe was finally safe.

About damned time.

Chapter Thirty-Six

She closed her eyes and held Asher. Afraid Heston would pry him out of her arms if she relaxed her grip. Just as afraid when Asher came to, he’d leave her. Would blame her. Cast her off like the fool she was. This was her fault. All of it. She’d wanted to believe her mom. The stupid little girl in her that craved Mona’s attention and love just wanted to believe she was lovable. That she wasn’t worthless. Marlowe hadn’t known how bad things were until she’d climbed back into the van after Mona and saw her mother pull a burner phone out of the glove compartment.

“Mom, no. Don’t touch that phone. Put it down.”

“I can’t. Sariah programmed a number for Chuck in this phone. She’s dead, so I can finally call—”

“It’s a trap, Mom. No!”

But Mona kept thumbing that keypad, and Marlowe knew there was no use. Mona wasn’t calling Chuck. She was calling the bomb Sariah had hidden somewhere inside or under the van.

There was no sense arguing or staying. Marlowe bolted out of the van and ran to safety and freedom. She ran to Asher.

Holding him now, feeling his heart beating against hers, she knew his love was real. She didn’t have to earn it. It just was. She didn’t have to figure out how to be more lovable or how to do more. He’d loved her when she’d been a beast, when she’d kicked him, cursed him, and all the times she’d overreacted—over nothing. He hadn’t betrayed her. Hadn’t cursed her. Hadn’t once let her down. Asher believed her and he believed in her. Talk about coming to Jesus. She didn’t deserve Asher. He was too good for her. He shouldn’t have come to her rescue today. She had to let him go.

Panic shivered up her spine. Where would she go if she did? What would she do? Running her fingers up his sweaty neck into his hair, she breathed in the earthy essence of her savior. Her hero. Her lover.

“I love you so much,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m so sorry, but this is all my fault. It’s best if I leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere, woman,” he growled, his good hand behind her neck, pulling her into his mouth. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Three days later…

Marlowe wasn’t herself anymore. She was nicer. At least, she was earnestly trying to be nicer. Slower to anger, too. More thoughtful before she spoke. And she’d turned into a clean freak.

Asher had changed, too. He slept longer and more soundly. He seemed somehow calmer for the reasonable, calm man he already was. Guess that was what ending a couple vicious terrorists did to a man.

Occasionally, Marlowe still panicked for no good reason. Like now. After dashing naked down the hall and hurriedly putting on the clean clothes she’d set out last night, she grabbed a set of sheets from the linen closet and ran back to Asher’s front room and the disaster their lovemaking had turned his too-big-to-hide chaise lounge into. Hurriedly, she helped him settle on the couch while she scrambled to make the chaise lounge presentable. Off went the sheets and mattress pad they’d made love on last night. On went the new.

By then she was sweating and needed another shower.

They really needed to move their amorous activities out of his front room and into his bedroom. Only there was no resisting Asher. All he had to do was look in Marlowe’s direction, and she turned into a smitten ninny. First thing in the morning and last thing at night, he was all she wanted to do. She was making him happy, and he loved her. Despite everything that had happened, he still loved her.

It turned out Asher hadn’t reinjured his shoulder when he’d come to her rescue three days ago, thank heavens. The pins and screws holding his shoulder blade together were still in place. His stitches were, too. Heston took him to The TEAM hospital just to be safe, but after X-rays, Doc Fitz sent Asher home. She’d restricted him to bed rest for the next week, like that was a hardship? Hardly.

Marlowe was good at following rules. She had to be because, officially, she was a caretaker now. So when Asher gave her that sly come-hither glance of his, she went willingly to his side every time. As his caretaker, she took it upon herself to make love to him, carefully and gently and always on top. He was her patient and she was in charge, and making him smile? Best medicine ever.

But right now, her heart thumped like it wanted out of her body. She was that kind of frazzled. What if Maverick and Beau stopped by again? Doc Fitz had a key. Any minute now, any TEAM agent or wife could decide to drop in like they did yesterday and—

“Stop worrying,” Asher teased. He thought this was funny?

“I’m not worried,” she snapped, tucking the final sheet corner in and panting like a runaway horse. Yup. Definitely worried. What would people think if they saw that the chaise lounge wasmessed up again? She had to make everything look presentable, and she had to do it quickly. Before anyone popped in.

Talk about an unexpected surprise. Make that shock. Early yesterday morning, some TEAM agents had come alone, some with their wives, but some came with their entire families. At the end of the day, Marlowe had been emotionally exhausted. While she wouldn’t trade it for anything, she was going to make a better impression today.

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