Beneath the Surface (22 page)

His brow arched in surprise and then another look came over his face that she couldn’t interpret. It probably wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting her to give, but it was the truth.

“What?” she asked, feeling a little self-conscious for her honesty.

“I’m really sorry I had to be your first.”

An unexpected bubble of laughter burst from her throat and she slapped her hand over her mouth to cut it off. It felt so odd, maybe even inappropriate, considering their situation. But it also felt good, like a pressure valve inside her had released.

Asher’s joining chuckle helped loosen some of the tension inside her. “There are a lot of firsts I could give you that would be a hell of a lot better than this experience is going to be.”

“I bet there are . . .” Another chorus of laughter escaped her. “Spencer never did anything like this for me, so even if it’s terrible, it’s still going to be amazing.”

Asher stopped cutting the potatoes and stood there watching her for a moment.

“What?” she asked, starting to feel self-conscious under the scrutiny of his stare.

“Do you do that often? Compare me to your ex?”

She shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. It was something she’d found herself doing a lot lately. She didn’t really know why, except maybe because Spencer was the first man she’d ever loved, so he subconsciously became the bar by which she measured all other men. And she was quickly discovering she’d wasted the last two years of her life heartbroken over a man that didn’t even come close to measuring up against the one standing across the table from her right now.

“It’s not much of a contest,” she replied softly.

Asher’s brows pulled tight. “I’m not sure how I should take that. You’re either paying me a compliment, or insulting the hell out of me.” Then under his breath he grumbled, “I never know where I stand with you.”

How would he react if she told him the truth? That she was falling in love with him? Would he even believe her? She wasn’t sure she had the courage to speak those words again, even if they might be true. Loving someone in secret was way safer than telling them how you felt and opening yourself up to rejection. Instead, she opted for the safe answer.

“Asher, I think you know there isn’t a man in the world that could compare to you. Have you seen you? You’re a gorgeous man. And not only that, but you’re saving my life. For crying out loud, you’re even cooking for me.”

Asher set the knife down and exhaled a sigh that sounded a lot like frustration. Planting his palms on the table, he leaned closer. “It’s not your gratitude I’m after, Quinn. Why can’t you understand that?” His voice was a husky caress that woke the butterflies in her stomach.

“Then what do you want from me?” She sounded a little breathless, which wasn’t surprising because her heart was hammering inside her chest so hard she couldn’t breathe.

He studied her for a moment longer without answering. Everywhere his eyes touched, her flesh heated. Never in her life had she experienced this kind of visceral response to a man. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, because whatever this was, it was beyond her control.

“I want you to admit that last night wasn’t a mistake.”

Was he serious? He didn’t realize what he was asking of her. Why did it matter so much to him, anyway? Stubbornly, she dug her heels in. “I can’t do that. But I can’t promise you I wouldn’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“Careful, Quinn,” he warned. “I’m not a man that you should be toying with. This isn’t a game.”

Then what was this to him? Did she want to know? Could she handle the truth? After a moment, she answered him with more unguarded honesty than she’d shared with anyone in a long time. “Asher, I’m scared.”

He gave her an odd look that bordered on frustration. “Quinn, I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”

“No, you don’t get it, Asher. Who’s going to protect me from you?”

He dropped into the chair across from her, looking . . . defeated. Snagging the vodka on the table, he forwent the glass and tipped the bottle back. She tried not to notice the strong, corded muscles of his neck working the liquor down his throat. Setting the bottle down with a loud
thunk
, he pinned her with a determined stare. “I would never hurt you, Quinn.”

“Maybe not physically . . .”

“What the hell happened to you? What could that bastard possibly have done to take a woman any man would be lucky to have and so utterly break her?”

It wasn’t easy for her to talk about, but there was something about Asher, about this moment, that made her want to open up to him. She wanted him to understand her, to see the woman behind the prickly image she projected, because that wasn’t her . . . not anymore. And fortunately for her, she’d had just enough liquid courage to give her confidence a much-needed boost. “There’s not that much to tell, really. I met a man and we fell in love. He promised me the world, and naïvely I believed he would deliver it. He was very rich, but that didn’t matter to me—I didn’t care about his money. His family didn’t feel the same way. When they found out that he proposed to me, they threatened to cut him off if he went through with it. Bottom line, he cared more about his bank account than he did me. He made his choice. It wasn’t me. End of story.”

Quinn added another splash of vodka to her iced tea and took a healthy swallow. Asher watched her, his face void of all emotion except for that little muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw.

“He left you?” Asher asked when she didn’t continue. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Despite the years that had passed, it was still painful to talk about, but the memories were more like phantom pains now than true loss. Huh . . . was that because sitting here with Asher made it impossible to regret anyone else? When she thought she’d lost him over that cliff, the heartache she’d felt was far more devastating than anything she’d gone through in the last two years.

“You loved him a lot.”

It was more a statement of fact than a question, and yet she still found herself nodding. “I did. He broke my heart and it devastated me to the point that I swore I’d never put myself in a position to let that happen again. The sad thing is, I honestly believe that he loved me too, just not enough to fight for me.”

Asher reached across the table and took her hand in both of his, giving it a comforting squeeze. Without a flicker of hesitation he looked her in the eyes, and what she saw in his made her chest tighten uncomfortably.

“I will always fight for you, Quinn. No matter what . . .”

And she knew, without a doubt, that he would. Asher was a man who was fiercely loyal. But she wanted more than just his protection, she wanted his heart. Quinn cursed herself for being too big of a coward to tell him that.

CHAPTER

27

I
gotta say, for a guy that professes not to be able to cook, this is delicious.”

Asher’s brow rose in wry amusement as he watched Quinn across the table and chuffed a masculine grunt. “You must be drunk.”

She laughed. “I am not. This is really good.” Quinn forked some vegetables from her tinfoil pouch and chewed thoughtfully. “You know, you’re nothing like you pretend to be. Why did you let me think you were such an asshole at Violet’s wedding?”

He shrugged, tipping back his beer. “Why did you let me think you were such a shrew? Perhaps you and I aren’t so different after all. I don’t like letting people in any more than you do.”

“Why not?”

A simple question with a very complicated answer. “Over the years, I’ve buried too many people I cared about. After a while, it’s easier to just keep everyone at a distance.”

Saying nothing, she studied him until he became uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of her stare. He was afraid if she looked too close, she wouldn’t like what she saw. Clearing his throat, he set his fork on his empty plate and went to rise. Quinn’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“No, let me. You cooked. It’s only fair I clean up.” She stood and took both their plates, carrying them to the sink. Her back was to him as she grabbed the dish soap and began filling one side with hot water. Her hair was pulled up, giving him the opportunity to admire the long delicate column of her neck. As she worked, he’d occasionally get brief glimpses of the mark he’d left there last night as the ends of her pale hair flirted with her shoulders. His hands ached to twist into all that silk . . .

She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, and with that thought, the uncomfortable fullness in his chest returned. It seemed to be a constant presence whenever he was around her. The desire to be close to her, the instinct to protect her, and the need to be buried deep inside her were a heady combination, making it difficult to remain seated.

“It makes me nervous when you stare,” she commented into the sink, not bothering to turn and confirm he was checking her out. She just knew . . .

“Why is that?”

She shrugged.

“I have a dishwasher, you know,” he told her, changing the subject. Quinn wasn’t a woman who seemed to put a lot of emphasis on her looks. She was surprisingly shy, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t totally fucking adorable.

“That’s all right. It’ll only take a few minutes to get these washed up. I don’t mind.”

Asher stood and went over to the drawer, pulling out a dish towel. He wasn’t doing himself any favors sitting there gawking at her. His cock was so hard it strained the confines of his jeans. Busying his hands was about the only way he was going to be able to resist keeping them off Quinn. As she rinsed the first plate and set it in the drying rack, she shot him a glance over her shoulder and smiled. The unguarded radiance hit him in the solar plexus like a sucker punch. The effect this woman had on him was unbelievable.

It baffled him that any man could choose wealth over her. She was priceless—in every way—his little diamond in the rough, though admittedly she’d been caked in a lot of coal when he’d met her. But since he’d buffed her, good Lord, could she shine.

Asher grabbed a plate, dried it, and put it away in the cupboard. Stepping close behind her, he reached around her side to grab another. Every time he stepped near her and reached for a dish, her light floral scent teased his nostrils and he found himself drawing in deeper breaths. She tensed as if anticipating his touch, but he was careful to avoid contact. Handling Quinn was like courting a skittish colt—it took time and some finesse.

He’d imprinted enough foals at his dad’s ranch to know the importance of getting them used to your touch, your scent. And he’d certainly imprinted the hell out of Quinn last night. Now, getting her comfortable with him and luring her in—that was going to be the challenge. Making her crave his touch and come to him for it, that’s where the real work began.

And whether Quinn admitted it or not, she wanted him. The energy sparking off her was lighting up his own nerve endings like the Fourth of July. His blood heated in his veins until he was sure they would turn to ash. It was sweet torture, being this close without touching her. But he didn’t dare, for fear that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. Until Quinn came to him, until she was ready to admit her feelings, he wouldn’t take her into his bed again.

But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to press in close and taste the graceful curve of her neck, to nip that reddened spot just below her ear. The sight of his mark on her filled him with possessive satisfaction that sent a wave of hardcore lust rolling through him. His mouth watered at the thought of all the other places he craved to taste her, to leave his mark. His cock twitched in eager agreement, straining against its denim prison.

Fuck, who was imprinting whom here?

Grabbing a handful of silverware, he stepped over to the drawer and dried them with meticulous precision before placing each piece back in its proper tray.

“Did you always want to be a journalist?” he asked, needing to get his thoughts anywhere other than where they’d taken him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her startle from her own thoughts. God help him, he’d never wanted to be clairvoyant more than he did at this moment.

“What? Oh . . . umm . . . no. Journalism is more of a hobby. I never intended it to be my career. I did it as a way to help cover the costs of traveling. I actually have a degree in cultural anthropology.”

She “actually” had a hell of a lot more than that, but he wasn’t going to tell her he knew that. And “degree” wasn’t exactly accurate either. A master’s in cultural anthropology with a minor in English, literature, and writing at twenty-eight was pretty fucking impressive.

“I went to Europe after Spencer and I broke up. Out of country, out of mind, right?” she laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Anyway, I began writing little pieces over there and selling my stories to newspapers and magazines. I discovered I enjoyed living abroad and experiencing different cultures. Violet’s wedding was the first time I’d been back in the States for two years.”

“That’s a long time. You’re not close with your parents? They didn’t mind you traveling alone?”

“We’re not particularly close. Growing up, they were always more concerned with their careers than Violet or me. We were an afterthought to them. I doubt they would have realized I was gone if I hadn’t told them I was going.”

So Quinn had been abandoned by more people than just her ex. No wonder she had trust and attachment issues. “What about your sister, Violet?”

“We were close growing up. She practically raised me. But after she married her first husband, we began to drift apart. He was a dick.”

Asher chuckled. “That’s what I hear.”

“I feel bad about not being there for her through her divorce, though. She needed me and I let her down. That’s a regret I’ve had to learn to live with. I’m glad she met Nikko. He seems like a really great guy.”

“He is. How many years total have you been traveling?”

“A little over two. I studied several languages in college, which made getting around a lot easier. Freelance journalism has been, well, an adventure . . .”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Five, fluently. It’s kinda my hobby. I’m like a savant when it comes to that stuff. How about you? Do you know any other languages?”

“Some German.”

“Really . . . ?” She rinsed a pan and handed it to him. “Haben Sie in Deutschland verbringen viel Zeit?”

“Yeah, not that well . . .”

She laughed and reached into the sink, pulling out the plug before stepping over to him to dry her hands on his towel. “I asked if you spent a lot of time in Germany.”

“Some.” He squatted down and opened the lower cupboard. “There’s a large US medical base in Rheinland.”

She braced her hip against the counter, watching him slide the pan onto the shelf. “Tell me something you know.”

Tipping his head, he looked up at her and said, “Können Sie mir sagen, wo der nächste bar ist?”

Her laughter rang out, light and melodic. It was like an audible caress stroking his cock.

“So you learned the important stuff. I can see how knowing directions to the closest bar would be a necessity.”

He chuckled and rose to his feet, finding her closer than she had been a few moments ago. “Hey, I know more than that. Du bist die schönste Frau, die ich je gesehen habe.”

“Ah . . . so you can flirt in German as well. Why am I not surprised?”

He shrugged. “It’s not flirting if it’s true.” Closing the last bit of distance between them, he reached up and tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “You
are
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

All trace of teasing left his eyes and what she saw in its place sent a rush of heat all the way to her toes. Quinn’s pulse quickened as Asher’s fingertips lightly grazed her cheek. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and tip her face into his hand. Like a moth to flame, she was drawn to this man, helpless to resist the unexplainable pull he had on her. Gone was his cavalier, flirtatious grin. The arrogant mask he so easily wore was replaced with raw, honest need.

“Ich fürchte, ich verliebe mich in dich.” She whispered the confession with no fear he’d understand what she’d said.

He studied her a moment, and she could see his mind working to translate her words. “What did you say?”

Her nerves failed her. She shook her head and took a measured step back. “It doesn’t matter. It’s getting late and I have some work to finish before I go to bed.” Quinn tried to brush past him but he blocked her path. He stepped closer; she moved back. Another step; she countered . . . and so they danced across the kitchen until she found herself connecting with the counter, the rounded granite edge digging into her lower back.

“What did you say?” he pressed, planting his palms on the countertop and caging her in, his eyes searching hers for answers. “What is it that you’re so afraid of?”

So he’d understood that part. His German was better than he’d let on. Asher was close—so close she could feel the heat radiating off his powerful body, smell the spicy, masculine scent of his skin, and see the colorful pattern of his eyes that were so beautiful she could get lost in them if she wasn’t careful.

Her heart ached, the pain in her chest competing with another ache deep in her core. She’d be a fool to let this man ease either one of them again, because when this was over and he walked away, it was going to break her.

He crowded closer. Her nipples tingled with anticipation as her heart rioted inside her chest. His gaze fell to her lips and she instinctively moistened them with the tip of her tongue. She could feel his breath brush over them—taste the faintest vapor of alcohol.

He was going to kiss her . . . and if he started, she’d never want him to stop. Her mind raced to give him the one answer that would free her from his cage. “I said I’m afraid you’re going to break my heart . . .” It was the closet she would come to confessing the truth. Ducking under his arm, she raced for the stairs before she did or said anything else she would regret.

She was nearly to the top of the stairs when she heard Asher’s growled curse echo through the main floor. A loud thud sent a tremor through the upper level that she felt beneath her feet as she raced into the bedroom and shut herself behind the door. Pressing her back against the cool, hard panel, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.

She needed to go to bed—go to bed and forget what just almost happened. Quinn pushed away from the door, grabbed one of Asher’s T-shirts from his top drawer, and began to undress. Her clothes were already packed and downstairs by the door. She left her shirt and pants on the floor in a pile and reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. Her breasts were still heavy from arousal, nipples tight, peaks sensitive. She was just pulling the soft cotton over her head when the bedroom door flew open, slamming against the wall.

Quinn let out a startled yelp and then took one apprehensive step back into the center of the room. Asher’s brows were drawn tight, his jaw clenched, and those eyes were throwing off sparks she could feel burning her all the way across the room. His breaths were coming so fast, his wide, muscular shoulders heaved with the effort. He looked seriously pissed off and hotter than hell.

“That is
not
what you said, Quinn.”

His voice was barely more than a growl—deep, throaty, and like sandpaper against skin that already felt too tight for her body.

“How do you know?”

“Google Translate . . .” He reached behind his head and yanked off his T-shirt, dropping it on the floor as he prowled toward her. Quinn’s breath caught in her lungs at the display of all that smooth, sculpted muscle. Excitement warred with panic as he advanced with the determined grace of a predator cornering its prey. “You’re afraid you’re falling in love with me. Are you serious?”

He didn’t sound pleased.

“
That’s
how you decide to tell me something like that?”