Bliss (22 page)

She flushed at the compliment and immediately tried to deflect it. “And here I thought omelets were the one food every man knew how to make. Isn't it, like, in the guy handbook that you're supposed to be able to make morning-after eggs?”

“I would hate to fail you so egg-regiously on so important an occasion as the morning after,” Asher said with a grin at his own pun.

Sera looked down, more flustered by the thought of a “morning after” with Asher than amused at his wordplay. To him, it might just be light banter, but to her… well,
hell.
She could feel herself falling for this delightful, inscrutable man in a way she simply couldn't afford to allow… but couldn't seem to prevent either. All she could think was that the morning after with Asher would be… glorious.

Maybe for
most
women, Sera,
she told herself flatly.
For you, it would be an exercise in humiliation. You'd have to sneak out like some college kid doing the walk of shame after you disappointed him in the sack the way you surely would. Remember how Blake used to look at you after sex? Like he'd just been forced to ingest Starbucks instead of his usual Jamaican Blue Mountain? You can't forget that, or you're in for a world of hurt. Don't ruin things here the way you did back home.

“Shall we eat?” she said, rather too abruptly. Sera practically snatched the plates from Asher and set them down on the table. She was relieved to discover she hadn't lost her touch—and if Asher's happy moans were any indication, he thought the same, wolfing the simple omelet down with alacrity. In fact, he looked so mournfully at his empty plate when he finished that she ended up making him a second helping. It did her heart good to watch him gobble her cooking. She so rarely had the opportunity to cook for just one person—and never for a person as fascinating as Asher. At least in this, Sera knew she shined.

“I could make dessert,” she offered. “I thought I saw some stuff in your fridge that might make a nice crème caramel. Or I could whip up some cookies…”

Asher shook his head, placing a hand lightly over hers when she made to rise from the table. She couldn't help noticing the fine shape of that hand—long, lean fingers and raw knuckles, calluses and faint scars. A man's hand. And it lay over hers on the table where he and his wife had shared so many meals. Sera gulped.

“You're not here to work, Bliss,” Asher said. “You're my guest, and it is I who should be serving you. But since I am, as we have seen, a disaster in the kitchen, I'm afraid we'll have to forgo the sweets.” He flashed a grin. “I can, however, offer you some rather decent coffee—I promise you, my coffee is far better than my cuisine.” He rose lithely to his feet, headed for the percolator, giving her a questioning look over his shoulder. “Will you have a cup?”

“Yes, please,” Sera said gratefully. “I'd love some.”

“Since I am
sans
sofa at present, let's take our coffee outside,” he suggested when the pot had brewed and he'd put their plates in the sink (not before running a finger along his to catch the last savory lick). “It should be warm enough if I bring a blanket, and the stars look to be fierce tonight. There's no better way to enjoy after-dinner coffee in New Mexico.”

Sera felt a little faint, thinking of sharing a blanket with that much manly goodness. Was it her imagination, or was Asher inventing reasons for her not to leave? She couldn't quite read him, but she was getting the definite sense that he wanted her to stay… almost as if he had something he wanted to say to her. Even as her sober instincts were screaming caution, some part of her—the part that had recently purchased a two-ton truck, probably—was telling her to let this play out. Something big was in the wind. “I can only stay for a little while,” she hedged. “Then I really should be heading home. Pauline will worry.”
Like hell,
she thought privately.
If I come home too early,
then
she'll worry—that I'm not getting laid.

Asher turned toward what Sera figured was his bedroom. “I'll just go grab a blanket then, if you'll carry the coffees?” Was it her imagination, or did he seem a tad edgy, too? He was back, carrying a fluffy white comforter under one arm, before Sera could consider the ramifications of that question too closely.

Sascha and Silver preceded them out, tails wagging as they disappeared into the gloom. True night had fallen while they ate their simple meal, Sera saw. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a two-person glider tucked away at the back of the patio. She saw two side tables, one on either end of the glider, and carefully set their coffee cups down. Gingerly, Sera set herself down on the padded cushion, as far toward her end as she could manage. She didn't want to presume anything. Silver pawed at her leg through her jeans, whining until she helped him up into her lap. The puppy provided a welcome distraction, and Sera petted his soft fur gratefully until he grumbled with pleasure and rolled himself into a contented ball, tiny head resting on comically big paws.

Asher folded himself down next to her with seemingly no thought for her personal space, his big, loose-limbed frame warming the length of hers even before he spread the puffy down coverlet over both their laps (and Silver, who had instantly fallen asleep on Sera's). Sascha rounded out the tableau by flopping down on the bricks at her master's feet, her thick coat providing all the warmth she needed to combat the October chill.

This must be what family feels like,
Sera marveled. She hadn't truly had one since her parents had died, so many years ago. Pauline had done her best, and her best was damn good, but Sera had always felt something was missing. A wholeness, a sense of completion. Now, her heart felt full, though her belly felt like a meadow full of butterflies had taken up residence. Alarmed at the fanciful direction her thoughts were taking, she took a sip of the coffee Asher had made, breathing steam out into the brisk night air. He was right—the coffee was delicious. And as promised, the stars were shining fiercely in the achingly clear sky, blazing down like pinpoints of celestial mystery. But Sera barely saw them. There was a terrestrial mystery stealing all of her attention. A mystery she desperately wanted to solve.

Who was Asher Wolf, deep down at the heart of him? Was he someone who could…

Who could
what,
Sera?
her inner voice asked caustically.
Overlook your shortcomings? Love you?

“It's definitely cold tonight,” Sera remarked, plucking at the blanket to cover herself a bit more. “Wonder if we'll have snow in time for Halloween next week.” She winced, embarrassed at being reduced to talking about the weather. Asher smiled gently, as if he sensed her discomfort, and tucked the blanket more securely around both of them. He left one arm across the back of the glider after he finished, nearly touching her shoulders but not quite. With his other hand, he placed his own coffee down on his side table after a single sip. Inside the cozy down nest, heat began to blossom, suffusing Sera and evidently overwhelming Silver, who burrowed his way out of the covers until he plopped out at her feet. Yawning, he trundled over to curl up next to his mother.

Asher set the glider going with a push of one foot.

Sera finished her coffee in three quick gulps, setting the mug down rather too hard on her own side table. “Sorry.” She winced at the clatter.

“It's all right, Bliss,” he said. “I'm nervous, too.”

“That's the second time you've said that tonight,” Sera blurted out. “What do
you
have to be nervous about?”

He slanted her a sidelong look, those green eyes of his almost black in the darkness. He ran a hand through his short hair, then laid it back across the glider, this time touching her shoulders—deliberately, she thought.

“Bliss,” he said gently. “Do you know you are the first woman I've invited to my home here in Santa Fe? Since I moved here four years ago—since my life fell apart back in Tel Aviv—I've been content to move slowly, collecting myself, letting this place heal me and my needs make themselves known to me in their own time. At first, I simply needed everything to be different, to remind me of nothing from the past, so I built myself a new business, honed a craft I'd only ever practiced as a hobby before. Nothing truly touched me, except my memories—both good and bad. I drifted in this beautiful dream of a city. For a long time, it was enough, and eventually my heart became quiet. But now those needs… they're awakening.” He leaned closer, impressing her with his earnestness. “What I mean to say, Bliss, is that
you
are awakening them.”

Sera's heart was suddenly thrumming like a hummingbird's wings. She sensed he was about to open up in a big way, and that perhaps he'd spent a lot more of his time focused on her than she'd ever imagined. Could she handle what he had to say? His hand was gently stroking her hair, toying with the lock at the front that never behaved itself, fingers skimming her cheek. Sera trembled, hardly daring to breathe.

Asher spoke softly, but with conviction. “What I'm talking about, Bliss, is the need to know another person… to hear her, and understand what drives her. The need to see her grow and challenge herself—even if it is sometimes in ways that make her uncomfortable.”

For an unhappy moment, Sera wondered if he were just speaking generically, but what he said next dispelled any question—Asher meant
her.

“I need to watch her dance with abandon when she thinks she's alone—and to hold her close while we dance together under the Fiesta lights. To watch her blush—far too often—at every little thing.” He smiled, stroking Sera's cheek as if to note how flushed it was even now. “To watch how she gives love to those who are important to her, and witness her kindness when she offers others a new start. To see her smile”—he traced her lips with one featherlight finger—“and to know that, just maybe, I had something to do with that smile…”

Sera trembled, and tears threatened to overflow her lashes.

“Asher…”

“I find myself with the most powerful need to taste the confections that come from her kitchen, and to see her master a monstrously big truck. And most of all, I have the need to do
this…
”

This time, the kiss was
not
on her forehead.

It captured her lips, hot and urgent, but what it stole was Sera's soul. The feeling was like a sob, a deep, ache-from-the-bottom-of-your-guts sob, only it was good, so good, both desire and admiration intermingled. The desire was for his body—
and how
—but the admiration was for his
personhood,
in some intangible way.

She couldn't help but respond. Overwhelmed, afraid, and dizzily flattered, Sera once again felt her wits skip town under the influence of Asher's kiss. But for once in her life, her body seemed to know just how to respond. As their lips and tongues tasted and tested one another in the cold, clear night, she was overcome by the essence of Asher. It was all-encompassing. Like a drug, like the drink she'd given up, she longed for more of this man. He was so immensely promising, so tempting in the most primitive way…

Never in her life had Sera felt such a surge of straight-up passion. It flooded her loins and quickened her breath until she was dizzy with it. All she could think was
more. Give me more, and more, and more again.
She moaned, and his mouth took hers more deeply. She tasted coffee, fresh and deep, and man… and longing. Unbelievable longing, both hers and his.

It was that longing that stopped her.

Sera ripped herself from Asher's embrace, leaping to her feet and nearly tripping over the comforter in her haste to get away. Silver yipped sleepily as she lunged over him and Sascha, scrambling to achieve some distance.

“Bliss, what's the matter?” Asher rose to his feet in a hurry, but Sera waved him away.

“You don't know what you're saying, Asher,” she warned. “You don't know me.”

“I know enough—” be began.

“You
don't
know enough, Asher. You don't know the first thing about me. If you did, you wouldn't be kissing me right now.” She drew in a sharp breath and wiped her lips, as if she could erase the feel of him so easily. “Truth is, Ash, I've been a first-class mess for most of my life, and I'm only just starting to sort myself out now. I'm an alcoholic; a failure in my career. Back in New York, my very name is a joke in some circles.” Sera's voice broke, and tears began to fall in hot streams down her cheeks. “I'm glad you're getting over whatever it was that hurt you, Asher. You deserve all those things that you want—that you
need
from a woman. Most of all, you deserve happiness. You're an amazing man. But I'm
not
an amazing woman—not yet. I'm still trying to get my shit straightened out, and I'm so far from where I want to be that some days I can't even see the goalposts. And there are
some
things”—
like my problems in the bedroom
—“that I'm probably
never
going to overcome. You won't find what you need with me, much as I wish I were all those things you think you see right now. I wouldn't bring you happiness, Asher—I'd only fail you, and humiliate myself in the process. So let's just nip this thing in the bud, okay?”

Sera didn't wait to see whether Asher agreed. She ran for her truck and hauled ass out of there, leaving a trail of smashed lavender and sage in her wake.

And one very disappointed Israeli.

Y
ou two should fuck,” Pauline announced.

For emphasis, she stuck her spade in the pile of freshly turned earth she was fertilizing, propped her elbow on the handle, and gazed at her niece and her guest with a beatific smile that encompassed them both.

“Whaaaaat?”
Sera squealed.
Oh no, you did
not
just say that out loud… right there in front of Asher!
She cringed behind the flower bed she was, with no great conviction, attempting to weed.

“You know. Bone. Bang. Bump uglies. Make the beast with two backs. Shag each other silly. That whole thing.” Pauline waved the spade back and forth between Sera and Asher, then made an obscene, impossible-to-mistake finger gesture.

Serafina didn't know whether to throw up or die.
Oh, my God.
A third option—blushing herself into a coma—appeared to be her body's instinctive answer to the conundrum.

She'd begged Pauline not to ask Asher over. Barely two days had passed since their disastrous dinner at his house… two days during which she'd dodged his calls and stayed away from the
placita,
claiming she had to meet with restaurant suppliers (which was true) and didn't have time to drop by the store (which was not). She wasn't ready to deal with her landlord yet—if she ever would be after his romantic revelation and her cowardly absconding act.

Pauline, however, wasn't concerned with Sera's finer feelings, as today's awkward get-together proved. She'd asked some rather pointed questions of her niece when Sera had arrived home the other night, tear-streaked and still visibly trembling. Sera, having no intention of telling her aunt what had happened, had merely assured her that Asher had done nothing wrong, and that Pauline could put away the ball-skinning knife. When Sera proved stubborn in her silence, Pauline had turned crafty, inviting the Israeli over to help bed down her garden for winter. Never mind that Hortencia had volunteered for the job (she was no slouch with a spade, and had been tending her own gardens for fifty years); no one would do for Pauline's little patch of earth but her favorite foliage whisperer.

Sera didn't know what to make of Asher's apparent eagerness to take up that invitation. He'd arrived mere hours after Pauline's call, with mulch and gardening tools in the back of his meticulously maintained Land Rover. Sera had planned to invent an errand and escape before he got there, but Pauline had foiled her—she'd told her niece Asher was coming at two, but asked Asher to show up at
one.

So now the three of them were gathered in the little adobe-walled garden behind Pauline's house; Sera wondering if she could successfully disappear down a gopher hole, Asher looking impossibly manly with a rake in one hand and his leather hat shading his eyes as he surveyed the little plot of land, and Pauline sitting on a stump, wearing a set of Hortencia's knitted leg warmers (and a pair of arm warmers as well) along with her faded “Professors Do It in the Classroom” sweatshirt and a much-patched calf-length denim skirt. It was a bit of a Mexican standoff, Sera thought—Asher at one point of the triangle, Sera and Pauline staking out the other two, as if none of them quite trusted what the others might get up to.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Pauline could be trusted to thoroughly embarrass her niece.

Sera shot her aunt a fulminating glare. “Aunt Pauline, I swear I will never forgive you if you don't shut your trap,” she growled. “I'm really sorry, Ash,” she muttered, barely able to look at him where he stood beside a pile of pungent compost, clad in ancient jeans and a soft heather-green V-neck that complemented his eyes absurdly well.

But Asher seemed okay with it. “It's all right, Bliss.” He turned to her aunt. “Miss Pauline,” he said gently, “I think that's something the two of us can sort out on our own. We're grown-ups. And besides, I think your niece appreciates a bit of delicacy in these matters, if I'm not mistaken.”

My hero.

Sera shot him the most grateful look of her life. Still, her blush, if anything, only intensified… because he hadn't denied the possibility of them “bumping uglies.” But incredible as it was that Asher really, sincerely seemed interested in her, she couldn't risk their budding friendship—or her delicate, still-healing self-esteem—on a fling that was destined to end badly. Facing him day after day at the
placita
once he learned how lacking she was as a woman… Sera shuddered at the thought.
Oh, Ash. Don't you understand, I'm no good for you?
She thought she'd made that sad fact abundantly clear the other night.
How many shrubs must a girl slay before a guy gets the hint?
She still owed him a lavender bush. Now, if she could only convince her aunt to let it alone, she could go be miserable and unfulfilled in peace.

“Yes,
please,
Aunt Pauline,” she gritted out. “A modicum of delicacy would be nice.”

“Harrumph,” Pauline harrumphed. “Well, I'm just concerned for your health. It's not good for you to go as long as you have without a nice, thorough climax, kiddo. And I suspect it's been awhile for you, too, handsome.” She jerked her head toward Asher, who shifted his weight and tried to look as though people commented on his climactic status every day.

Unexpected tears flooded Serafina's eyes. Maybe it was her aunt's well-intentioned humiliation, or perhaps it was the certainty that she'd never know what it was like to “shag” a guy like Asher senseless, but suddenly she couldn't stand to stay in that garden another second. “Excuse me,” she said in a small, choked voice, rising from the flower bed and bolting for the house.

Asher caught up to her in the kitchen. Sera was scrubbing blindly at the dirt under her nails, shoulders stiff, water running full blast. But she sensed him coming anyway. Lately, she'd had Asher-radar so acute she felt like she could pinpoint his location with GPS accuracy, any time of the day.

He put his scarred jeweler's hands exactly where the tension resided, where her shoulders met her neck, kneading with a gentleness that only made her want to cry more. Sera shrugged away, refusing to look at him.

“She means well, Bliss.”

“Stop calling me that,” she mumbled.

“What, ‘Bliss'? But why?”

“Because I don't know the meaning of the word!”
she wailed, half-angry, half-despairing. She flung herself around, grabbing a dishtowel and wringing it between her hands as if it were her aunt's meddling neck.

Asher didn't understand. “Of course you do,” he chided. His hand rose to push back the errant lock of hair that teased her cheek, then fell away as she flinched from the gesture. He'd removed his hat and left it on the tile-topped island in the center of the kitchen. Sera could see the faint indentation the band had left along his hairline, and she had the absurd urge to smooth it. His long, lean frame edged closer, subtly crowding Sera against the counter by the sink as he took the towel from her hands and set it aside. “You're here, aren't you?” he pointed out. “Pursuing your dreams. Opening that bakery is all about bliss. One taste of your confections, and that's all a man needs to know about satisfaction…”

For some reason, his kindness set off her anger. “
Satisfaction?
Ha! You don't get it, Asher Wolf,” she interrupted. “Just like
I
don't get it. There's no such thing as satisfaction with me. You wanna know why? Because
I can't have an orgasm.
”

“You can't…” Asher looked disbelieving. Or perhaps aghast was more like it.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Serafina had totally lost her cool. And though she knew she was dooming any chance of ever hooking up with this delectable guy, she plowed on. It felt good to get the source of her shame off her chest. Liberating. “That's right. I'm goddamn frigid. Never had a climax. Don't know what all the fuss is about. My hoo-ha is
broken,
get it?”

Asher appeared to be mouthing the word “hoo-ha” to himself. Perhaps they didn't have it in Hebrew.

“You know, my vagi—”

“Yes, I
get
it, Serafina,” he said quellingly. “I simply don't believe it.”

And with one whirlwind swoop, he grabbed her up and set her bodily on the counter. His body followed hers, lean hips crowding into the space between her jeans-clad legs, one arm clasping her back to hold her steady and keep her as close as two people could get. Sera could hear the furious beating of his heart—or was she feeling it? She smelled again that wonderful Asher smell—earth and fire, pure intensity. His breath was hot against her face, a vein pulsing in his neck where she could almost reach it with her lips. His eyes, green lightened almost to gold now with emotion, searched her startled gray ones.

Searching for what?

Permission? If so, he had it. Sera couldn't deny him, even if she must ultimately disappoint him. Her lips opened, trembling, but she couldn't seem to speak.

Still he sensed the moment she surrendered, and he took full advantage of it.

The hand Asher buried in her hair was gentle. The kiss he slanted across her mouth was anything but.

Oh, fu…

And suddenly, Sera was someone else: a sexually charged woman in the arms of a man so hot he seemed to singe her straight through her clothes. She was not awkward. Not a failure. Not
frigid.
Asher wouldn't allow it. In his grip she was bliss, indeed; swept with sensation that left no room for second thoughts, hang-ups, or hesitation. His knowing hands guided her, molded her body to his. His stubble scraped her cheeks, her ear, her throat, while his lips, tongue, and teeth branded her skin with delicious sensation. Sera found herself clutching him to her, vaguely aware of the cool tiles against her backside, the cabinet behind her shoulders, a patch of sunlight illuminating the gold in his hair. Her hands, used to kneading malleable dough, found his shoulders and their unyielding musculature, reveling in his heat, his solidity. He'd yanked her forward so the apex of her thighs was pressed directly against the heat of his loins.
Wow,
she thought faintly. When Asher went from cool, debonair landlord to passionate lover, he really didn't hold back. As a man, he was gentle; full of humor and wit and a kindness that wouldn't quit.

As a lover, he was a hurricane.

No second-guessing, no insecurity. Asher was all primal male, demanding and eliciting a feminine response from Sera she hadn't known she was capable of. With quick, expert strokes of his tongue, he claimed her mouth. With firm, possessive sweeps of his hands, he delineated her curves, bringing her nerve endings to life like Times Square lights. When he molded the contours of her breast, even through her bra and shirt, Sera felt the streak of sensation zinging directly to her core. And when he pressed against her
there,
her mind froze.

She wasn't thinking about Blake, or her failures in his bed. Sera wasn't thinking,
period.
Her body had taken on a life of its own under Asher's expert tutelage. And right there in her aunt's cozy kitchen, she was galloping rapidly, heedlessly toward that moment she'd dreamed of, and believed was beyond her reach…

Until Asher pulled back on the reins.

“Bliss.”

It took Sera a moment to register that he'd pushed back from her. Was, in fact, holding her at arms' length. Her body missed the heat of his, as if he'd stolen her clothing on a cold winter night. Her brain couldn't comprehend why he was over
there,
when her need was
here.
She reached for him, but he caught her hand in both of his and kissed it gently.

“Bliss,” he said again.

Her eyes began to focus, and she noticed his had returned to their normal moss green, though his chest was still rising and falling fast with his labored breathing. “Um, yeah?” she said a bit dreamily. She brought his fingers to her mouth and began nibbling one, running her tongue along its length in a way that was both wanton and totally unlike her.

Asher snatched it back, gasping slightly. “Bliss… we have to stop.”

“We do?” she asked foggily.

“Yes,” he said, and Sera got the gratifying impression that he'd rather have said no. He made a gesture of frustration, pleading for her understanding, then stretched out his hand to stroke her cheek. “Beautiful Bliss, you deserve more than this. Your satisfaction is something I want to give you with every fiber of my body. But not”—he gestured about the kitchen, and they could both hear, outside, the sound of Pauline singing off-key as she bashed about in her garden—“like this. Not for your first time.”

“It's not my first time,” Sera objected, reaching for him again.
What a time to play gentleman,
her aching body groaned. “I'm a grown woman, Ash, and I've got plenty of experience.”

Asher took her cheek in one callused hand, drew close, and kissed her with heat tempered by gentlemanly consideration. His lips left hers reluctantly. “Neither of us have
this
experience,” he contradicted. “And I want us to experience each other properly, so you'll understand how much this means to me, and so that I may have the honor of showing you just how
satisfying
I find you.”

Sera let him go. The fire he'd ignited was cooling, her thoughts coalescing once more.

“So what are you saying?” she asked.

Asher ran his hand through his hair in that agitated way she was beginning to love. “What I'm saying is this: You are the most passionate woman I have ever met, Serafina Wilde. You're fiery, you're gutsy, and you're more alive inside than most women even dream of being. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I don't know who has convinced you otherwise, but we are going to sort this out, you and I. When I return, I intend to take you out on a real date—a proper, old-fashioned date—and then…” He paused. “Then we'll see where the night takes us. Do you understand?”