Page 39 of From Asher, With Love

His face falls, and the humor that once lingered in there is gone. “Why would I enjoy watching you suffer, Charleigh?”

I nod silently, realizing the deeper meaning behind my accusation.

When I push through the front door, I hold it open for him, but he doesn’t immediately follow.

“Are you coming in?” I ask.

“Um, yeah.” He blinks, slowly taking one step inside. He only goes as far enough to shut the door behind him., though, as his gaze wanders around my apartment.

My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve thought about Asher over the years, but I never expected to see him standing in my home. Especially not when wearing a designer suit and silky black tie.

There isn’t much to it aside from the essentials: a sofa, a television, a bed, flowers. Flowers in every corner I could fit them.

“I’ll be right back.” I clear my throat and head to my bedroom, where I trade my dress for a blue T-shirt and my favorite pair of black jeans. I throw my long brown hair into a messy bun, then smooth on another coat of lip gloss.

When I walk back out to my living room, I find Asher standing by the mantle above my fireplace. He grabs the picture frame sitting between two bouquets of lilies.

“Is this the same flower?” he asks, studying the pressed mountain laurel beneath the glass. “How?”

The air is knocked from my lungs. I slowly step closer to him, my feet rolling with each step. “No, it isn’t. You know what happened to the original one.”

“The fire.” Those two words fall from his mouth like an echo of a whisper. His voice hangs in the air, heavy and weighted.

“After you left for California, I picked another one, dried it, then decided to frame it.” I move closer to him, taking the frame from his hands. I stare at the flower, counting the differences between this one and the one Asher gave to me the night we’d first slept together. The night everything started to fall apart.

With a shaking hand, I place the frame back on the mantle. When I turn back to look at him, he’s stepped closer to me, taking in my new outfit.

“Are you ready to head back?” he whispers. He’s now standing close enough to lift a hand and touch my face. He could lean forward and kiss me if he wanted.

My cheeks warm and my neck prickles at the thought of his touch, his taste. Admittedly, I want him to make a move. Mostly, I want him to touch me to be sure that what I felt for Asher all those years ago remains—or doesn’t. I can’t decipher my thoughts when he’s standing this close to me. It's as if my mind has been clouded by a thick, dense fog. The uncertainty is both terrifying yet thrilling.

My eyes fall to his mouth, and I instinctively sweep my tongue across my bottom lip. “Yeah.”

“How are your feet feeling?” He somehow steps even closer, the tips of his shoes now touching mine.

I look down at my pair of flats. “Much better.” But I’m forced to look back up at Asher when he hooks two of his fingers under my chin, pulling up to meet his gaze.

“Good.”

He’s leaning down, his lips close enough to kiss mine. His hot breath dances across my mouth, and his eyes scan my face. I inhale, breathing him in. His scent blends with the lilies sitting on my mantle.

“Asher…” I whisper, not sure what his intentions are. It’s been years since I’ve felt him this close, this way. It’s all strange, yet familiar at the same time. I close my eyes and breathe him in, remembering the way his touch used to ignite my skin.

It still has the same power, too, and despite the anger still simmering with the way he left ten years ago, my feelings are too strong to ignore.

Your heart and your mind simply don’t forget being in love.

“Asher,” I start, emotion getting caught in my throat. It’s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to truly remember what the fire took from me, and more importantly, what the fire took from Asher. “I never had the chance to tell you how sorry?—”

His hand moves to the button of my jeans. He runs his thumb over the small metal circle, dipping the tips of his fingers on the inside of the waist of my jeans.

“I’m s—” I try again.

“Don’t.” His voice is strong, vibrating through his fingers. His eyes stay on me with a laser-like focus. He runs his thumb along my bottom lip as if he’s matching what he’s feeling to his memory.

I gasp. This singular touch is enough to throw me over the edge, my hums and shivers tingling their way down the length of my legs. I consider leaning forward and placing my lips against his. I’m nervous about what it would mean if I allowed him to kiss me. I shouldn’t want Asher at all. He hurt me in the worst possible way. It’s taken me ten years to recover from the wounds he inflicted.

Ever since that night I saw him at the bar, he’s been playing the hot-and-cold game with me. There are moments, like the one where he stopped by my shop, that have me reconsidering that Asher might not hate me as much as I believe he does. Then there are moments like this morning, where I know I got under his skin. His harsh, annoyed tone and flexed jaw were enough proof that I bothered him. Despite his constant mood swings, I have an insatiable need to have him closer. I’m ready tofeel him, taste him again. My thighs instinctively tighten at the thought of what it would feel like to have his cock inside me again.

---