Asher (Ashes & Embers Book 6)

by Carian Cole

  Smiling, I skate my fingernails over his scalp. “A few times a week. I like watching you sing and perform in front of all those people. You look so wild and confident.”

  His face lights up. “You really like watching me now?”

  The time when I didn’t feel comfortable about him as my husband or him being a rock star seems like eons ago.

  “That.” I peek at him. “And…I don’t even know how to say this…” My cheeks heat up with shyness. “You’re just…”

  God. How do I even describe how he makes me feel? I’m still overwhelmed with the unexpected attraction I have to him.

  His lips morph into that slow, impish grin that turns my insides completely upside down. “C’mon, just say it.”

  “You’re just really sexy and sensually captivating.” I try to suppress a silly smile. “And I love your voice, the way you kinda growl…and when you sing the softer love songs, there’s just so much emotion in your voice and in your eyes. It gives me chills.” I take a breath, getting lost in the way he’s looking at me right now, like he wants to gobble me up. “I get the butterfly thing now. I totally understand it. Every time I look at you, my insides go nuts.”

  “You can look at me all you want.” His voice takes on his deep, sensual tone as he leans up on his arms and lowers his face to mine. “I’m all yours.”

  His lips are warm and full on mine, and his words are making my heart pound with love for him.

  I’m all yours.

  Little by little, the dreamlike haze I’ve been in since I came out of the coma has been fading. Reality has been gradually taking over.

  This man is my husband. Mine.

  This house, this life, is mine.

  These cozy nights spent cuddling on the couch are mine.

  He caresses my cheek, slides his thumb across my lips. “Every single love song? I sang for you.” Pure want and love darken his eyes as he watches his finger move across my lips. “I’ve written ten songs since you came back. All about you, how you make me feel.” His voice shakes and rasps with emotion. “How I’ve fallen in love with you all over again.”

  I slide my hands over his shoulders and link them behind his neck. I’m barely able to breathe as I stare up into his eyes.

  “Have you?” I whisper.

  “I have.”

  Asher has this ability to whisk me away. He’s like a magic carpet, carrying us away to a place where only we exist. Nothing else matters. Not the past, not the future, not our tragedies. Just now and us.

  That’s the only place I want to be.

  We fall into another long, slow, breathy kiss. I move my hands down his spine, tugging the fabric of his thin, white T-shirt up. It’s a hint he takes, sitting up to quickly pull his shirt off. Way back in the beginning, I thought the cinch I felt in my chest and stomach every time I saw him shirtless—all muscles and dark art—was fear or distaste, but I soon learned those feelings were anything but.

  I’ve been wanting him—really wanting him—ever since that night two weeks ago when we almost made love. We’ve fooled around a few times since then, but we never go too far. We agreed to take things slowly until I see my doctor and get the go-ahead that everything is okay with me physically down there. Asher’s kept to his side of that and always stops himself. Guides us back to kissing and snuggling, which I love. But I want all of him, in every way. I’m afraid of what this missing piece, this little hole, will do to our marriage. I want to make sure he’s happy in every way.

  My little friend, the journal, has told me Asher likes to be kissed all over. Likes his hair tugged. Likes to be scratched. Likes to get a little wild.

  I break away from his kiss, and he hovers above me, an arm on either side of me, breathing heavily. Squeezing his shoulders, I pull him down and kiss the center of his chest. His heart beats against my lips, and I want to stay there forever, breathing his cologne, kissing his heart. Languidly, I drag my mouth away, skimming across the metal ring through his nipple.

  Goose bumps rise on his skin when I scoot my body down beneath him, licking and kissing my way down the trail of soft, dark hair to his stomach. Cradling the back of my head in his hand, he holds me to him as I lightly rake my nails down either side of his taut rib cage. The faint moans that rumble in his throat make my thighs ache to be wrapped tightly around him.

  The waistband of his jeans is soft and frayed when I hook my fingers around the fabric and undo the button, then slowly drag his zipper down. The soft growl he lets out when I wrap my fingers around his rock-hard cock makes my heart flutter wildly. My breath catches at the length and width of him, the searing hotness of him throbbing against my palm. I stroke him slowly, pushing his jeans and boxers farther down.

  “Em…” he groans, pulling me up and capturing my lips with his. My hair catches on one of his metal biker rings as he moves his hand toward the base of my skull.

  Reaching up, I grab his hand, turning my head to the side.

  He quickly pulls his head back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I whisper. “My head—”

  “Your head?” His eyes widen, and he moves back even farther, pulling his hand back, unknowingly ripping a few strands of my hair out with it.

  “Ow—”

  “What happened?” His eyes are suddenly wild, darting around my face, insane with worry. “Does your head hurt?”

  “Ash, my hair got stuck in your ring.” I grab his hand and show him the long strands of hair still wrapped around the ring. “See? That’s all.”

  He stares at his hand, which is now shaking, as if he’s never seen it before. His chest heaves in and out with erratic breaths.

  Worried at his reaction, I gently close my hand around his. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “It just stung for a few seconds. It’s not your fault.”

  “It is.” His voice is thick with remorse. “I shouldn’t be doing that…touching your head.” He yanks the ring off and shoves it into his front pocket.

  “I’m fine.” I smile up at him. “Really.”

  “Maybe you should sit up. Let me look at your head.”

  I let out a little laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”

  His eyes fixate on me, dazed. Concerned, I wave my hand in front of his face, and he barely blinks. “Asher? Are you okay?”

  He looks so far away, so unfocused, as if he’s slipped into another place. My pulse quickens with worry. “Should I go get Sarah? You’re scaring me.”

  Just as I’m about to scramble from beneath him and get Sarah, he finally snaps out of it, and his eyes return to their usual deep, thoughtful state.

  “No, I’m sorry, baby. I was just worried about you.” He flashes me his gorgeous smile, but I catch the uncertainty in it.

  I breathe out a sigh of relief that I really don’t feel. “I’m okay. Just a few missing hairs.”

  Smiling, I reach for him, eager to get back to where we were, but he grabs my hands, stopping me before I even touch him.

  “Let’s go make some tea, and we’ll pick out a new movie,” he suggests.

  My heart sinks. I love tea and movies, but just a few minutes ago, I had my hand down his pants, and he seemed to like it. During our going slow time, he’s done all the touching. Now, I want to do something for him.

  I lick my lips nervously. “Is something wrong? Do you not want me to touch you?”

  Holding on to my hands, he sits back, pulling me upright with him.

  “Babe, I fuckin’ love when you touch me, but we’re taking things slow, right? Everything’s great—I’m happy. Are you?”

  “Yes. But… Don’t you want more?” I’m okay with going slow. In fact, I appreciate it, since I have no memory of ever having sex.

  According to the journals, we had a very intimate, physical relationship. There are more entries than I can count about how amazing things were. Asher was celibate for close to eight years—by choice. He’s a healthy, very beautiful man inside and out with a ton of sex appeal and thousands of female fa
ns. I may have come out of a coma recently, but I wasn’t born yesterday—he’s got to have the worst case of smurf balls ever at this point.

  “I want you more than anything,” he says as he zips his jeans back up. “But I’m fine with going slow.” He takes a deep breath. “We’re seeing your doctor next week, so we can talk to her about all this then, and make sure it’s okay for us to do more.”

  “Why? Is something wrong with me?” A lead ball of fear sinks down into my stomach. Maybe he knows something I don’t. Perhaps I suffered additional damage from the accident that I’m not aware of.

  “Sweetheart, no.” He pulls me closer to him and rubs my back. The warmth of his hand is comforting. “We just have to make sure it’s safe for us to make love. Find out what’s safe for you. That’s all, I promise.”

  “What do you mean by safe?”

  “Like birth control, for one.”

  “What did we use before?”

  “You were on the pill. There’s new methods now that might be better.”

  “What about condoms?”

  He fingers his beard. “When we used those years ago, you had an allergic reaction from them.”

  “Oh.” It’s slightly embarrassing that he knows more about my own body than I do. I vaguely remember talking to my doctor about sex and birth control right before I came home from the hospital, but I had no interest in sex at the time, so the conversation didn’t go far.

  Things are different now, though. I want to have sex with my husband, and I can’t deny that I’ve been thinking about wanting a baby someday.

  The lead ball sinks even further. “Can I even get pregnant?”

  He looks surprised at the question. “I don’t know, babe. All I wanted was for you to come home and be healthy. I didn’t discuss sex or pregnancy with your doctors. That was the last thing on my mind. I figured we’d cross that bridge when the time was right.”

  “How will we know when the time is right?”

  He grins and leans in for a kiss. “When it’s right, we’ll know. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “What if I want a baby someday?”

  His smile falters, and he chews the inside of his cheek. His mood is bouncing all over the place tonight.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He grabs on to my hand, avoiding my eyes for a few moments, obviously struggling. I brace myself for bad news. More loss. More of my life taken away from me.

  “Em.” His voice is low, almost sad, confirming my fears. “The last conversation we had, right before you fell, was about having a baby.”

  “We wanted to have another baby?”

  “Yes. You wanted to quit the band and have a baby. Like soon. You weren’t enjoying our lifestyle anymore—all the travel, being apart too much, the stress. Just all the shit that comes with it. You wanted us to have a normal, quiet life, spend time together as a family.”

  That’s what I want.

  “What about you? Did you want that too?”

  “Yes. I had a lot of commitments with the band. There was a shit ton going on, literally nonstop. But I wanted to cut back so we could be together more and have a baby. That was what our plan was moving forward.”

  “Then after we talked, I just… fell?”

  He nods.

  “Did we have a fight about it? Was I upset? Is that how I fell?”

  A sick feeling creeps through me as I envision us having an argument on a cliff. Did I run off in anger? Did I freak out and jump? What were we even doing there to begin with?

  I shake my head, dispelling the horrible images from my head, which are ridiculous.

  “God no, not at all. We were happy and excited about starting a new beginning. We wanted to travel, build our dream house, and try to have a baby. You were so young when you had Kenzi, you wanted to experience motherhood as an adult. Without all the stress and fears we went through when we were young.”

  “That’s how I feel now. I want a baby that I remember having, and raising. I want that bond and experience. I want to feel like a family with you. Every time I see Tor and Kenzi with Tia, I want that with you. I wasn’t expecting to feel that way, but I do.”

  His eyes meet mine, and they’re dark and fiery, a melting pot of emotions. “I do too. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. It’s driven me fuckin’ crazy that I didn’t get to give you what you wanted, that we didn’t get the chance to have the new life we wanted to have. I was afraid I’d never get the chance.”

  I chew my lip. “Can we still have that?”

  “Of course we can. Not right away, but we can.” He shoves his hand through his hair. “I think we need more time together, just to get our foundation back, build trust, communicate. Heal. But we’ll get there.”

  “I know we can’t have a baby now—that would be crazy—but I’d like to, when our relationship is stronger, and we know each other better.”

  “That’s what I want, Em. I swear to you, that’s what I want. Things are different now with the band. We don’t tour that much. I’m not afraid to change things like I was when I was younger. I have a lot more time to be home with you and the baby. It’s something we can work toward together and plan. Like we wanted to back then.”

  “And we have family right across the street. Won’t that be nice?” I say hopefully.

  “Yeah, it really will. It’s something I thought about when Kenzi and Tor first started talking about buying that new house. Our baby would be younger than our granddaughter, though.” He lets out a laugh. “But, hey, that’s okay. My sister is Kenzi’s age, and she’s her aunt. It’s no big deal to be weird in this family.”

  “Can we talk to my doctor about it? See if my body can even still get pregnant? I don’t want to get our hopes up—”

  He stops me by kissing me softly. “Let’s talk to the doctor. You’ve got your appointment next week. We’ll find out more then. What’s meant to be, will be. Trust in that.”

  I snuggle up in his arms. “If we did have another baby, I think I want a little boy,” I say dreamily. I can see him in my mind, an adorable little boy with shoulder-length hair, with a smile just like his daddy’s.

  “Me too.”

  “I already have a name picked out. Ransom. I don’t know why, but I love it.”

  He hugs me tight against him. “Ransom Valentine,” he says softly. “He sounds like he’s going to be really cool with a name like that.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “More than you know, babe.” He kisses my cheek. “It’s perfect.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I’ve been cheating a little with the journals, searching the entries for information I want to have, and today I found this:

  Dear Diary,

  Twice a week I walk across the street to Mandy’s house, and we have tea in her kitchen and talk about normal life stuff like cooking, laundry, movies, and makeup. She treats me like I’m just a neighbor, not someone in a band, married to someone famous, and I love that about her.

  Usually, I tag along when she takes her baby to the park. Mandy is only two years younger than me, and she has a baby and is already planning on getting pregnant again soon, and meanwhile, I can’t believe Kenzi is thirteen already. Where did the time go?

  The more time I spend with Mandy, the more I want a life like hers. Her husband is home all the time. Their life seems so calm and like something out of a movie. I would love to have another baby now, so I can join her on our walks to the park and watch our babies grow up together. I’m tired of putting on sexy clothes and getting on stage and dealing with the drama of the other girls in the band. None of them are married, or have kids. To them, it’s just a big party and I’m not in the same place mentally at all.

  I don’t enjoy touring and all the traveling anymore. It used to be exciting, but now it’s just exhausting. I miss Asher when he can’t be home, and I know Kenzi does too. He’s always being pulled in a million different directions. To the studio, to be in music videos
, for promotional appearances and interviews, and charities. Everyone wants a piece of him in some way, and he never says no. He’s so nice and accommodating to everyone and I love that about him, but I miss him.

  I worry about Kenzi too. We should be spending more time together as a family. She’s such a good girl, she never complains or rebels and she gets straight A’s in everything. She’s so sweet and funny. She’ll make such a great big sister. She adores Tor, and she hangs on his every word. He’s so sweet to her, and we’re so grateful he’s always there for her. I think she might have a little crush on him and I hope she doesn’t get her heart broken when she realizes it can never be. Being a young girl is hard. :( Shit, being an older girl is hard.

  Oh, my. This is very telling. And, Jesus, Ember. Your daughter was crushing on an older man right in front of you, and you weren’t even a little bit worried?

  Clutching the diary against my heart, I take a deep breath and thank God that Toren is a decent man.

  If I ever have another child, I promise I will be more aware of what’s going on.

  I shove the journal into my suitcase on the foot of the bed and zip it shut. Asher is taking me to Katherine’s for three days, and I’m excited to visit her and see her bed and breakfast. Teddy is coming with us and has his own duffel bag packed full of toys and food.

  “Look at you, all packed up already.” Asher breezes into the room and throws his iPad and earbuds onto the bed. “Sorry I got stuck on a call.”

  “That’s okay. I would’ve packed for you, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted to bring.”

  “It’ll just take me a few minutes. You want to send Katherine a text and tell her we’ll be leaving in about half an hour?” He disappears into the walk-in closet.

  “I packed my phone already. It’s buried somewhere.” I scratch my head. “Or it might be in with Teddy’s stuff.”

  “Grab my iPad, and use that. Her info is saved in there.”

  “Okay.”

  I bring up Katherine’s information in his contact list and start a text message.

  Me: Hi, it’s me on Asher’s texts. Just wanted to let you know we’re leaving soon.