Page 27 of Ashley
Chapter 7
"You should have worn a coat," James sighed disapprovingly.
Ashley looked away from the window she'd been staring at, the window that was lit up like the fourth of July, the window that belonged to her apartment. The apartment she'd just left with James in tow like some kind of bodyguard.
She blinked at him in confusion. "Sorry?"
James sighed and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Thought I was going to be leaving you safe and cozy in your place when I left. S'why I didn't bring my car." He maneuvered them closer to the curb and raised his hand, hailing a cab.
"We can just take the subway?" she offered hopefully. She didn't like the worried look painted over his handsome features, but he waved off the suggestion.
"Closest station is too far. You're not dressed for the walk."
"It's okay, really, I do it all the time," she began to protest, but James gave a disapproving grunt.
"Taking a car, honey," he told her, and a minute later, a cab pulled up beside them. "Easier on me. I won't worry this way."
"Okay." She let him open the door and hand her into the car like she was a delicate thing made of china. James settled beside her in the car and gave his address to the driver, a Brooklyn one that had her raising her eyebrows at him.
"What?" he asked when the car was in motion.
"Never left the borough?"
He shrugged. "Why leave the best?"
"I can see a trend here with your preferences," she teased, leaning into him.
"I like the best life has to offer, so sue me." His hand caught hers, thumb rubbing against the back of it gently before he lifted it to press a kiss against her skin. "You know that means you, right?"
She looked up at him to see he was looking at her, the passing street lights illuminating his handsome profile for a moment before the car was plunged back into darkness. She hadn't missed the soft-eyed look James had trained on her.
"What do you mean?" Her voice was soft, barely audible over the thrum of the car's engine, but he had heard her. She knew it from the way his hand tightened on her.
He pressed another kiss to her hand and then leaned close to her, his breath warm and fanning across her neck and ear as he whispered to her, "I mean you, little girl. You're the best life has to offer."
She shifted in her seat and dropped her eyes to her lap. It was hard to look James in the eye when he was talking to her like this. Another street light flashed, revealing how closely the big man had curled his body around hers, and Ashley whimpered at the sight of his thighs pressed flush to hers. It made her think of what might have happened if they hadn't been interrupted, if her roommates hadn't burst in like a tornado.
Her breath caught in her throat when James reached for her, his fingers gentle on her chin as he tipped her head back to look up at him. His touch was feather light, a sharp contrast to the brute strength she'd seen him use on Xander. She should be frightened of being alone with a man capable of what he'd done, but she wasn't. Instead, she moved closer to him, her lips parting when he ducked his head and moved forward to capture them in a searing kiss.
This man was dangerous. She knew that. And somehow, with his hands gentle on her and his mouth taking hers, Ashley had never felt more safe in her whole life. He touched her like she was made of glass, whispering sweet words to her in the back of taxi, and all of it served to stoke the embers of what had almost been in her bedroom. By the time they arrived at his apartment building, Ashley was a quivering ball of want.
"Are you okay?" he asked when she exited the taxi on shaky legs.
She managed a nod, just a quick jerk of her head. "Yes, I'm fine," she lied because she felt like she was on fire. Her clothes were constricting and her skin was too sensitive for anything but the feel of James' hands on her. God, she wanted him to touch her.
"Liar." He smirked at her and slipped an arm around her waist, letting her lean into him as they walked into the lobby of his building. It was a tasteful building that had been painstakingly restored to its former art deco glory. Marble floors polished to a high finish caught her eye, but she had little time to take in the interior of the building because James was impatiently whisking her through the lobby and lifting a hand in hasty greeting to the security guard on duty. In no time at all, they were enclosed in an elevator with a couple of strangers and speeding on their way to his apartment. When it dinged for the 10th floor, he led her forward, hand on the small of her back and out of the elevator.
"Second door on the right, honey," he murmured, brushing the top of her ear and making her shiver as she came to stand in front of the door he indicated. He shifted her bag to his other shoulder and unlocked the door, holding it open for her to enter the darkened apartment. She walked into the apartment, unsure of what to do, when he flipped on the lights and followed her.
"Your place is nice," she told him, toeing off her shoes and glancing around the space. It was simply furnished, but she could tell that everything was quality. It even matched, unlike her mismatched and second hand furnished apartment, the furniture all part of a set that showcased black oak and plush grey upholstery. Windows lined the front of the living room, letting in moonlight, and she walked forward, feet soundless on the soft, cream carpet. She turned, peeking into what looked like a small kitchen and dining room. A hallway off to the right most likely led toward the bedroom, and she found herself leaning that way rather than investigating the kitchen space. The walls were bare, which confused her, and she paused in her journey to the possible bedroom. Turning back toward the living and dining rooms, she noted that there was nothing to indicate a personality. The space was clean, well appointed, but lacked personality or warmth.
Her brow furrowed in confusion at the spartan aesthetics of his apartment. "How long have you lived here?" she asked, turning back to face him. This time, it was James' turn to blink at her.
"What?" he asked, scrubbing a hand across his face.
"Your apartment. How long have you lived here?" She flicked a finger around the room, and when he gave her a confused look, she said, "You don't have a lot of decorations. It's not homey."
He cracked a wry smile at her. "That's because I'm not a very homey person."
