Page 49 of From Asher, With Love

FIFTEEN

CHARLEIGH

My eyes snap open at the shrill sound of the incessant beeping coming from the kitchen. I shoot straight up and gasp, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. I must have only been out long enough for the water in my kettle to boil since it’s still beeping. Standing from the couch, I look out the sliding door to my patio. Water is pounding against my balcony. It’s started raining, the clouds blanketing the sky with a deep gray. Perfect time for tea, anyway.

Once in the kitchen, I reach for the small wooden cup of honey I have sitting on the counter and swirl some of the golden liquid into my tea using the dipper.

My heart shudders, and a chill slithers down the back of my neck when I hear my doorbell ring several times in succession. The dinging sound is quickly followed by heavy knocks reverberating off my wooden door.

I drop the honey stick and stare at my front door. Waiting for what, I don’t know. No one ever knocks on my door or comes over.

Then the pounding continues, its incessant knocking echoing off the walls inside my living room.

“I’m coming!” I shout, hoping it will stop whoever is at my door from knocking more.

It doesn’t. The pounding continues, even up to the point of me unlocking my door and opening it.

Asher stands on the other side, his fist raised in the air. My mouth falls open at the sight of him, every inch soaking wet. His white button-down shirt is nearly translucent, clinging to his tan skin. It’s wrapped around the muscles of his arms and chest, contracting with every heavy breath he draws in. Water drips from his hair, the ends mussed and resting against his forehead.

My gaze lowers to his mouth, a single drop of rain falling from his bottom lip.

“Asher.” I manage to croak out his name, leaning forward and peering down the hall before looking back at him. “What are you doing here?”

“One week. One week, and you…” He breathes out but doesn’t move, clenching his fists at his sides, jaw clenched tightly.

When my eyes catch his, I notice they’re burning with fire.

“You,” he says again. This time, he runs his hand down his face, attempting to wipe it dry, but it’s impossible with how wet he is. He presses his mouth together, grinding his jaw once more. The muscles there tick, then he quickly pushes past me, stepping into my apartment without having been invited in.

Stunned, I watch him pace back and forth in the space between my living room and kitchen. He has one hand planted on his hip, while the other is gripping the back of his head as he keeps his head down. He watches his feet leaving wet footprints on my carpet.

I close the door behind me and cross my arms over my chest. “By all means…” I stand, flabbergasted. “Make yourself at home.”

Asher spins around, cutting me a sharp glare.

“You don’t have anything to say?” His eyebrows create a hard line above his golden eyes. My breath hitches in my throat, and I hiccup. Not because it’s finally occurring to me why he’s barging into my apartment after apparently racing here in this rainstorm, but because his eyes are giving me an all too familiar feeling. The one that makes my heart skip like I’m seventeen again. Like that first time he looked at me while standing in the middle of my street. The gold flecks in his eyes are just as bright like they’re on fire.

I weave my arms across my chest, not wanting Asher to catch on to the way I’m suddenly willing to overlook his tantrum just because my entire body is reacting to him.

His chest continues to rise and fall, still trying to catch his breath, water dripping from the stubble on his chin.

“No,” I say as evenly as possible. “I think my text said everything that needed to be said.”

His nostrils flare before he closes the space between us. In what would normally take ten steps, he meets me in five. Towering over me has him invading every one of my senses. He smells like fresh rain, the heat practically steaming off his body, warming mine. I step back until I’m flush against the front door. Square shoulders and hardened muscle.

Asher presses his hands against the door, caging me in. His eyes meet mine, the flames of gold flickering in them.

“I would disagree,” he growls, the heat radiating from his skin.

I narrow my eyes, defiant to my core. I shove the instinct inside the walls of my chest to stand on my toes and press my lips to his. My body aches to touch his, but I refuse to reward him when he’s acting like an ass.

“Too bad,” I tell him, and I duck out from under his arm and make my way back into the kitchen.

I’m humming with nerves. I need to dosomething. I spot mycup of tea still sitting on the counter. The honey dipper didn’t quite make it back into the cup. A line of the sticky, amber liquid drips from the side of my mug down to the puddle of honey pooled under the dipper resting on the marble surface. I open the drawer for a spoon but quickly shut it at the first glance of Asher’s note. I slam the drawer with more force than intended, smashing the ends of my pointer and middle finger.

“Ow, fuck!” I yell, jerking my hand back. I hiss, looking down at the now-red-tinted tips of my fingers. I shake my hand in air as if it will magically make the pain disappear, but Asher’s hand wraps around my wrist, stopping it mid-air.

I try to pull myself away, but he resists, yanking me closer. My body slams into his still-wet chest. The shirt is clinging to his muscles like second skin. I watch in amazed silence as he holds my hand delicately in his large ones, rotating it to examine the damage I’ve inflicted on myself.

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