She should stop him.
But she never had before. Not the first time, six years ago when they’d had far too much to drink at her birthday party and both claimed it was a terrible idea to add benefits to the friendship, but did it anyway. And not one time since…which was practically whenever he was in town and they were both unattached. Since discovering she had more than friendly feelings for him the year before, she made sure she always was. “Your family would have hunted you down,” she said pressing her body closer to his, squeezing his waist with her thighs. Her body burned for him, and the scent of his aftershave at his neck was intoxicating.
She loved the smell of him—all man, cool, strong, and solid—the way she imagined ice would smell if it had a scent.
“That’s why I have you,” he said, kissing her neck. “You’re supposed to protect me from the crazies when I come home.”
The feel of his warm lips against her cool flesh made her shiver, and she swallowed hard, desperate to keep the mood light. “So, I’m your bodyguard now?”
“Yes. All one hundred and ten pounds of you.” His hands unbuttoned her jeans and a second later his freezing-cold fingers found her warm flesh between her thighs.
She sucked in air. “Cold!” she said trying to yank the hand free.
“Well, warm it up,” he teased, kissing her again as he stroked along her folds, which were dampening quickly from his touch.
She’d never been able to resist Asher. Even before her realization that he was the only man on the planet that she couldn’t live without, her attempts to keep her body from craving his were futile.
Her best friend was freaking hot as hell. A hockey player shaped more like a bodybuilder, with broad shoulders and thick chest and stomach. His six-pack abs were perfectly sculpted from hours on the ice and hitting the gym. His life revolved around hockey and turning his body into the best equipment he had.
And damn, his equipment was unparalleled. She returned the favor of the cold touch, as she slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans.
He didn’t seem to notice or care about the chilling effect as he instantly hardened beneath her hand.
The fact that he always seemed as ready and wanting of her as she was for him still baffled her. Flat-chested and athletically built, she wasn’t exactly a Victoria’s Secret model. At five-foot-nothing and a hundred and fifteen pounds, with short blond hair and average features, she didn’t turn many heads in town. She was a plain Jane, and given the supermodels flinging themselves at the hockey god daily, she was shocked that he could even fake a hard-on for her.
Asher didn’t seem to share her opinion of herself, and his desire and eagerness for her made her feel sexy, despite the reality in the mirror.
“Bedroom?” he asked, the sound coming from deep in his throat as his light blue eyes searched hers. Westmore eyes—all three brothers had them, the only real feature they shared.
She nodded, then, remembering the medical textbooks sprawled across her bed from her late night studying, she shook her head. “Couch.”
He shook his head, biting her bottom lip before saying, “Too small.”
“Table?”
“Too hard.”
“You’re starting to sound like Goldilocks,” she said.
He shrugged, letting his grip on her thighs relax as he lowered himself to his knees. “I can’t wait any longer, floor it is.” He laid her on the soft tan carpet. “I can’t believe you dragged me out to that thing,” he said again. “We could have been doing this all night. Now I have to make up for the missed hours.”
Make up for missed hours. Asher’s appetite for sex was insatiable. Neither of them would be getting any sleep before he went back to Denver for his game the following night. She swallowed hard when his lips found her neck and his hands slid beneath the bottom of her sweater. His fingers inched higher over her stomach to the base of her padded bra. He pulled back slightly and sent her a look she’d seen before.
“Shut up, don’t say it.”
“You’re smoking hot without the padding,” he said anyway, reaching behind her to unclasp the bra, letting his hands roam beneath it. “More than a handful is just a waste.” He flicked his thumbs over the hardened nipples.
Then why was every model and actress on the planet a D cup? She pushed aside her insecurities as his hands massaged her breasts. Who cared? Whether he meant the words or not, what he was doing with those handfuls was making her wet. “Ash…take my clothes off.”
He sat straighter, leaning his weight on his knees on either side of her. “Oh, so now you want sex?” he asked with a grin, sliding her sweater and bra up over her head.
“I always want sex.” With you, she almost had enough courage to add. Instead she sat up and reached for his sweater and T-shirt together, pulling them off quickly.
A sigh actually escaped her.
Asher’s body was perfection. She trailed a hand along the ripped abs, down along the oblique muscles disappearing at the top of his jeans. Her eyes took in the smooth, sculpted, hairless chest and shoulders that she knew by heart. She’d caressed every inch of him so often, she could identify his body in the dark in a room full of muscular men. Yet, each time she saw him naked, he took her breath away. She could appreciate how much work was involved in keeping in top shape and his dedication to his training and health was as much of a turn-on for her as were the droolworthy results.
He was dedicated to his health until it came to his injured leg…but she’d deal with that later. “Why are you so disgustingly perfect?” she asked, kissing his chest.
He laughed. “Jealous of my muscles?” he asked, shoving her gently back onto her back and reaching for the button on her jeans.
No. Jealous of anyone else who ever got to enjoy them. They didn’t fool around when one or both of them were involved with someone else, and while Ash was far from a manwhore, with an appetite for sex like he had, he must be far from celibate.
She pushed the annoying thoughts aside as he unzipped the zipper and she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her jeans. She wiggled the fabric down her legs as he tugged both denim and silk down her thighs together. He suddenly wasn’t wasting any time.
He lowered his own jeans and underwear, and she’d barely gotten a glimpse of his erection before she felt it pressed between her legs.
He groaned as his body made contact with hers and he pushed himself deeper inside, knowing she was ready for him.
They never worried about protection when they were being exclusive to one another and she was on the pill, so they didn’t have to worry about consequences neither was ready for.
She clung to his shoulders as he rocked his hips, moving in and out of her body. She arched her back, bringing them even closer.
It had been months since the last time they were together, when she’d gone to visit him in New Jersey and they hadn’t left his bedroom the entire time. She knew this first time would be hard and fast…and they’d play with one another later. A lot.
She grabbed the back of his head, pulling him down to her. His lips crushed hers and she could barely breathe as the rocking of his hips became faster, more desperate. She felt her desire swell as she hung on to him, her nails biting into the flesh at his shoulders. She could hold him forever and it wouldn’t be long enough.
She tried to push her emotions aside and just enjoy the in and out of his cock, pulsating in her tight folds. Focus on the feel of him pulling out and entering. Every last inch of him, hitting all the right places…over and over.
Her muscles throbbed around him and she clenched them. Asher moaned at the extra sensation of her tightening and releasing, and he broke away, struggling for breath. Smoothing her hair away from her face, he stared into her eyes. “Emma…you’re so fucking incredible,” he said.
I love you.
God! It was on the tip of her tongue, yet refused to be said.
Did he even feel the slightest bit the way she did? Their hips rocked together in a
steady, desperate rhythm. His gaze was locked on hers, and he took her hands and lifted them above her head, interlacing their fingers as he pushed deeper inside of her.
The way he looked at her took her breath away completely and she grasped his hands and pressed her body closer. It had to mean something, this connection that went beyond the physical when he made love to her, the way he took her with such passion and intensity…He had to have feelings for her.
Right?
He quickened his pace, and she felt her body ache for release. “Asher…make me come…” she panted, closing her eyes.
“Open your eyes. Look at me,” he said against her lips, kissing her softly.
She opened them and he pulled back to stare at her once more. Eye contact with him as he gave her such pleasure filled her with a whirlwind of sensations.
“Emma, I…” He started then paused.
Her heart was about to explode. Love, fear, desperation made a tornado around her as she waited for him to continue.
What? Say it, Asher…
He didn’t. Instead, he held her hands even tighter and released a moan as he throbbed inside of her.
She came the moment he did, the intensity of her orgasm overshadowing her disappointment. Releasing her own cry of satisfaction, she forgot all other thoughts as she savored the orgasm rippling through her.
If Asher Westmore could make her feel this incredible when he wasn’t in love with her, he’d unravel her completely if he ever were.
* * *
Asher rested his palms against the bathroom sink and swore under his breath. The sun was about to come up, he had to be back in Denver for practice in five hours, and the pain in his leg was unbearable.
Opening his travel bag on the counter, he rummaged through until he found what he was looking for. Shaking out three prescription painkillers, he tossed them into his mouth, then turning on the tap, he washed them down, just as the sickly tasting powder started to dissolve on his tongue. Wiping his mouth with a towel, he glanced inside the bottle before tucking it away again. Four left. They wouldn’t even get him through the morning and two-hour drive back to Denver. His tolerance to the painkillers had built up so quickly that it was taking triple the dosage these days to get any kind of relief. And he didn’t have time to see a doctor in town. No time and no desire to have rumors spread about a possible injury. The team’s doctors were the only ones he trusted—along with several in Tijuana, Mexico. Unfortunately, the Devils weren’t playing the Kings or the Sharks for several weeks, so a quick trip across the border was out of the question.
Maybe Emma had something.
Opening the medicine cabinet, he scanned the bottles. Nonprescription headache medicine was as strong as it got. Useless on his pain. They’d stopped working for him six months ago.
He closed the door and the click echoed on the bathroom walls. Shit. That would wake the dead.
“You okay?” Emma asked, knocking softly on the semi-closed bathroom door before entering a second later.
He turned, folding the hand towel over the rack. “Yeah. Sorry, I was looking for an aspirin. Headache.” He pulled her into him. He couldn’t be in the same room with her without wanting her body pressed to his. Especially when she looked so damn cute wearing a Devils jersey, her hair wild from their hours of sex, her lips puffy and pink and her cheeks slightly red from stubble burn.
Unfortunately, she was not only cute as hell, but smart and perceptive. “When are you going to come see me about your leg?” she asked, not buying the headache lie. “Some simple exercises and regular therapy…”
“Shhh,” he muttered, burying his face in the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her gingerbread-scented shampoo. She was the only reminder of the holiday season he enjoyed. All of the tacky commercialism annoyed him, and other than spending whatever time he could with his family every year, he avoided all of the usual festivities and preparations.
“Asher, you have to deal with the injury.” She pushed against his chest.
He held her tighter. “Are you wearing underwear?” he asked, sliding a hand under the jersey to discover the answer.
She sighed at his avoidance but then grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What would be the point?”
Lifting her, he placed her onto the counter next to the sink and stood between her knees. Tucking her new shorter blond strands behind her ears, he kissed her. “Great haircut, by the way,” he said, moving away just an inch.
She looked surprised. “You actually noticed?”
He laughed. “I’m not always staring at your ass.”
She smiled. “Just most of the time?”
“Just most of the time.” He kissed her again. This one was long and hard. He could feel himself thicken in his boxer briefs, and the pain in his leg was overshadowed with a different ache. He slid his hands upward on her thin, muscular thighs, digging his fingers into her flesh as they wrapped around to cup her bare ass.
He didn’t need painkillers. He just needed his best friend’s body.
But did he need more than that?
The way she’d looked at him that evening had felt different. She’d acted the same as always, but there seemed to be an underlying tension. She appeared to be searching for something in his kiss, in his eyes, in his arms…And he wasn’t entirely sure she’d find what she was looking for.
He pulled back slightly. “This is still good, right? You and me?”
She frowned. “Having sex?”
He nodded slowly. She said it casually enough. He loved the fact that she never referred to it as making love, instead calling it what it was. Maybe he was reading things wrong.
Or maybe he was the one starting to question the good thing they had. Wondering if it had gone on too long. Wondering if at thirty, he should be looking for something more. Wanting more. From her?
She traced his bottom lip with her finger as she licked her own lips. “The sex is amazing.”
Yes, it was. But…“I just mean, you’re not looking for…more?”
Her expression clouded to something unreadable for a lightning bolt of a second before she said, “Yes, I am looking for more…”
His stomach did an involuntary lurch, and he couldn’t tell if it was a bad lurch or a good lurch.
“…more sex,” she added with a wicked little grin before he had time to decipher the meaning.
Relief…or was it disappointment, flowed through him. Lifting her from the counter, he carried her back to bed. “More sex I can do.”
As for anything else, he wasn’t sure.
Chapter 3
The soft chords of her mother’s guitar woke Emma a few hours later. It felt like only minutes since she’d last closed her eyes, but now the sun was casting its glow across the tan bedsheet draped over her. The vaguely familiar sound of one of her new favorite country songs made her roll to her side to face Asher. He was sitting in her window seat, the guitar on his lap, his gaze somewhere out the window.
The sight alone—him sitting there with nothing on but his jeans, strumming the strings of Clare’s prized possession, a Gibson guitar her mother had owned since she was fifteen—made Emma’s heart race.
And the husky, deep sound of his voice singing the sexy, romantic lyrics to a song he’d teased her about liking the night before made him impossibly irresistible.
Few people knew of his other talent—the ability to play anything just by hearing the song once. But he’d confessed his secret to her the first day they’d met almost ten years ago.
He’d accidentally backed his truck into her snowboard leaning on the side of her tailgate in the local sporting goods store’s parking lot. Seeing who it was, she’d called him a dumb jock under her breath as she’d inspected the board. The Westmore brothers had a reputation in the town as local gods, and it had annoyed her that her equally impressive skills on a snowboard were always overshadowed by the Westmore boys’ accomplishments on ice.
In his flushed, equally annoyed st
ate, he’d used the confession about his guitar skills as a way to try to redeem himself in her eyes and convince her he was much more than everyone in town thought.
It had worked. Without really knowing her, he’d hit a chord with her.
He’d also paid for a replacement board and insisted she owed him at least a coffee for the insult. Coffee had turned into lunch, then a walk in the park, then dinner at Dale’s Pizzeria on Main Street, and eight hours later, she knew enough about him to write a book.
And she’d realized she’d been dead wrong about him being a dumb jock. He’d actually graduated high school head of his class, despite studying while on the road playing Major Junior League hockey, and while hockey was his main focus, he was arguably a better musician. At least at that point in his career.
When the Westmores were hockey-obsessed kids, their mother had insisted that he and his brothers take at least one non-hockey-related extracurricular activity. Ash had picked guitar…and he had to work very little at it to be good.
She smiled now, loving the sight and the sound of the twangy, off-tune instrument.
Her mother would play the same guitar for her and her younger sister, Jess, every night before bed, telling them stories about her year in country heaven, playing the local bars and writing songs for some of Nashville’s finest stars. She’d get a dreamy, far-off look in her eyes whenever she spoke of those days, before she’d met their father, before she’d had them…and Emma had always felt a tug of heartache in her chest that her mother hadn’t realized her dream of becoming a country star back then.
Clare’s encouragement had been part of Emma’s own driving force to succeed, to follow her dreams and not let anything stand in the way. Her mother had pushed her to keep trying, to get back up when she fell, and she’d been so proud of what Emma had accomplished with her snowboarding career.
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