Kennedy’s fingers played with the keys dangling from her ignition for several seconds before finally flipping the car off. The engine died. Asher grabbed the handle and opened the door. Reaching across her, he took a few seconds to scratch Max behind the ears, right where he liked.
His throat was in front of her face. Thick, tanned and tempting. Her mouth watered, and she was tired of fighting against what she wanted.
Leaning forward, she placed her lips to his warm skin and enjoyed the way he sucked in a harsh breath. But that was the only reaction he gave her.
His hand found hers, interlacing their fingers together. Applying light pressure, Asher urged her out.
He grabbed Max’s leash and led them both into his home. She’d always known where he lived, but had never been inside. The guys got together regularly, but she’d never been invited over for those male-bonding moments.
Kennedy had expected the place to be...bare. Not necessarily lacking in furnishings, but she’d always assumed Asher was a minimalist, industrial kind of guy.
Instead, his home seemed...lush. The sectional taking up most of the den was a deep, dark brown leather, but it looked so buttery soft. And there was color, a bright green that reminded her of his eyes, dark red with a few splashes of white and tan to lighten things up. There were knickknacks everywhere.
Dropping his hand, she walked across the room to a shelf with a series of unusual objects on display. A green glass frog, a tribal mask, something metal that looked as if it had been blown apart on one end. Pieces of art that had been handcrafted.
“Where did all of these come from?”
He shrugged, coming up beside her, shoving his hands deep inside the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I like to pick up things wherever I go. Reminders of the places I’ve been and the people I’ve met. We were often in small villages or poorer countries. I tried to buy from the local artists whenever I could.”
Kennedy stared at him for several seconds, fighting the urge to kiss him, before turning back to study each item. The craftsmanship in each piece was amazing. It was clear they’d been given a place of honor.
Turning to him, Kennedy said, “Your ex-wife is an idiot.”
Asher blinked and then did it again. There was a part of her that delighted in knocking him a little off-kilter. Although it hardly made up for the fact that she always felt one step behind when he was close.
“Thanks. I think.”
“Trust me, it was a compliment.”
He just shook his head and then spun on his heel, heading for the open kitchen across from the den. She followed, pulling up a stool at the island in the center of the large space.
The dark stone countertops gleamed, along with the stainless appliances. If she couldn’t see the timer on the oven counting down and two pots sitting on the hot stove, she might have assumed the kitchen was spotless because it never got used.
Asher grabbed a bowl, filled it with water and placed it on the floor for Max to drink. He moved through the room, opening drawers and grabbing utensils, handling them with an assurance that only came from experience.
So the man could cook.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
He looked up from stirring something in a skillet that was letting off a heavenly scent of cream and garlic.
He laughed. “You’re good for my ego.”
Kennedy’s mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“Well, you’re going to ruin me for other guys. No one in Seattle will ever be able to live up to the standard you’re setting. I would have been just fine with ordering a pizza or picking up takeout.”
Asher stilled, and Kennedy realized just what she’d said. There was a part of her that waited, for him to make a joke, say she shouldn’t leave, something, anything...
Several seconds ticked past with nothing. Finally, he looked up at her, that wicked grin tugging at his lips, and said, “I have faith the men in Seattle will step up to the plate.”
His words hurt. Much more than she wanted them to, but that was her problem, and she wasn’t going to ruin the time she did have with him by letting the pain rule her.
Turning away, Asher picked up a bottle of cabernet and poured them both a glass. He pulled a salad from the fridge and plated some pasta with a mouth-watering cream sauce. When he opened the oven, the scent of perfectly cooked steak hit her full force, making her stomach rumble loudly.
Asher chuckled.
Sitting at the table a few moments later, Kennedy groaned as she put the first bite into her mouth. He flipped her a cocky grin, so she retaliated by tossing her napkin at his head. “Show-off.”
“Says the girl who sounds like she’s making love to my food.”
She shrugged, too caught up in the wonderful meal to argue with him.
They talked and ate, the evening flowing easily around them. It was unexpected but nice. Seductive.
It almost made her feel as if they were actually dating, and that was dangerous. The thought was too enticing.
Leaning back into his chair, Asher called Max over and shared a couple of bites of steak he’d saved.
“You’re going to spoil him.” She’d meant the words to be light and teasing, but apparently that wasn’t how he took them.
Turning, he pinned her with those dangerous green eyes. “Probably, but I honestly don’t care. I’ve learned life is too short to worry about things like that. You have to take the moments when they’re in front of you, because you might not get another chance.”
For long stretches at a time Kennedy could forget all that this man had seen and experienced. The grief and fear and danger. And then he said something like that, and it all came crashing back.
“I’m so glad you’re out of the SEALs.”
He folded his arms on the table in front of him and leaned closer. “Why?”
“I just...it bothers me, thinking about what you and Jackson and Knox risked every day. How close you guys all came to danger. The burdens you’ll all carry for the rest of your days.”
Kennedy glanced down at the table, the emotions she’d fought so hard while her brother had been gone welling up fresh and real, as if he was still off being a soldier and putting his life on the line.
“I hated it. Knowing each day could mean someone showing up on the front porch to tell us he was gone. And I hated myself for being selfish. I knew what Jackson was doing was important. Brave and honorable.”
“But you couldn’t stop wishing he could be safe.”
“Exactly.”
Asher stood, grasped her hand and pulled her up from the table. Kennedy resisted, feeling fragile and unexpectedly brittle. But he wouldn’t let her go.
“I get it. I lived the same thing until my dad died. And felt guilty as hell for being angry at him when I was younger. I needed someone to blame. My mom was gone, and my grandma hardly spoke of her. But my dad...his memory was a physical presence in my life. He was there, but not. And it was easy to blame him, to feel he’d made a choice that took him away from me and left me alone.”
Kennedy sucked in a harsh breath. Her chest ached, for the boy he’d been and the man he’d grown into.
How could she have worked with Asher for two years and not realized that the cocky exterior hid such a wounded soul?
Going up on her toes, Kennedy pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was soft, soothing. His hands on her shoulders tightened, but before he could deepen the moment, she pulled away.
That wasn’t what the kiss had been for.
And she needed to pull back into herself before she went too far and couldn’t retreat anymore.
Kennedy squirmed in his hold, trying to get free. “Let me get the dishes. You cooked, so it’s the least I can do.”
“Leave them,” he said, holding tight.
Panic bubbled up, sure and perilous. If she let him touch her right now, the last barrier she’d managed to keep in place would crumble away. And she didn’t think she could handle that. She was already
hanging on by a thread.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, burning. Closing them, Kennedy tried to hold the emotions back, but Asher was too damn perceptive.
“Hey,” he whispered, dragging her into the shelter of his body. “He’s safe.”
He thought she was upset over Jackson’s years in the SEALs, and it would be smart if she let him keep that perception. But it wouldn’t be honest, and she didn’t want lies, even of omission, between them.
“That’s not what’s wrong.”
“Then, what?”
She shook her head. “I’m just...feeling overwhelmed, I guess. It’s been a crazy few months, and the next week is going to go so quickly.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, the warmth of his palm cupping the base of her neck. His thumb beneath her chin, Asher applied pressure until she looked up at him.
She’d been avoiding his gaze, but now she couldn’t. He looked the way she felt...somber. And she hated herself a little for ruining the moment.
Asher tugged on her hand, pulling her across the room until they were both settled on the couch. The TV came on, some mindless show neither of them particularly cared about.
He stretched his legs out and positioned Kennedy between his open thighs. She dropped her head back against his chest.
She’d dated, had a few boyfriends over the years. But none of them had ever made her feel this...safe. Accepted. Protected.
A knot twisted in her belly. Why did she have to find this now, when her entire life was about to change?
She’d watched friends—from high school and college—change their dreams and plans because of a man. And she’d always promised herself that was something she’d never do. Any man who wanted her would accept her life the way she lived it.
Maybe, finally, she was beginning to understand.
Because in that moment, if Asher had asked her to stay, she might have agreed.
15
GOD, HOLDING HER like this, snuggled up on the couch watching mindless television, it would be so easy to let Kennedy into his life.
But that wasn’t possible.
When Krista had left, he’d promised himself he’d never open himself to that kind of pain again. But it was entirely possible Kennedy had the ability to hurt him a hell of a lot worse than Krista ever had.
He was in over his head. Walking out of the airport, he’d known he needed to let her go. It was the logical time to end things. And that’s what he’d planned to do.
But when push had come to shove, he hadn’t been able to do it.
His palms had started sweating, and his mind had raced. His heart had pounded, and a sick sludge had churned deep in his belly. Until he’d touched her, and then all those symptoms had disappeared.
Having her here, in his home, felt right.
He wanted Kennedy in his bed. His physical need for her was overwhelming and elemental.
Asher’s fingers played over her body, tripping softly along her skin. There was something powerful about the way she melted against him, trusting him with her body as she relaxed.
Kennedy shivered, his fingers dancing across her skin, slipping inside the neckline of her shirt. She’d worn a pair of tiny white shorts that showed off her tanned legs. And a cotton shirt with a muted floral print and small white buttons up the front.
He paused at the first one, giving her a chance to tell him to stop before he popped it free. Instead, she arched against him, offering up her body for anything he wanted to do.
Making quick work, Asher spread her shirt open, revealing the light pink bra beneath and the silver clasp holding it closed between her breasts.
Her hands settled on the inside of his thighs, and through the fabric of his shorts, her fingernails scraped softly up and down. Twisting, her lips found the underside of his jaw and kissed. Nipped. Sucked.
Asher popped the catch, letting her breasts spill free into his waiting palms. Her nipples were already tight, begging him for attention. Rolling one between his thumb and forefinger, he relished the way her breath caught.
He wanted to go slowly with her, but his hands were already shaking, and he didn’t think he had it in him. Not right now. Maybe later, after that first sharp edge of need had been dulled.
Lifting her high, he placed her feet on the floor and quickly pulled the rest of her clothes off, revealing her luscious body. She stood in front of him, hands braced on his shoulders, and watched him.
Spreading his thighs wide, Asher pulled her into the open V and rained kisses across her skin. She swept her fingers into his hair and tugged, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention.
Dropping his head back, he stared up at her and waited. There was something in the way she watched him, hope, fear and hesitation all mixed together.
He was about to reach for her clothes when she gripped the back of his shirt in her fist and pulled it off over his head. Lifting his hips, he helped her open the front of his shorts and push them out of the way, grabbing a condom out of his wallet before tossing them away.
Her hands trailed across his body, as if she couldn’t stop touching him. As if she’d never get enough. If only that were true. A few short days from now she’d walk away...like every other woman in his life.
Climbing back onto the couch, Kennedy spread her thighs wide, bracketing his hips.
She was soft and fragrant. Warm and welcoming.
The heat of her sex rubbed against his throbbing erection. She was wet, the evidence of her desire leaving him slick.
Sweeping his hands through her hair, Asher pulled it back, wanting to see her face, watch her expression. And there was something there. Something deep inside those whiskey eyes that made his throat tighten and chest ache even as she reached between them, guiding him to the entrance of her body.
Slowly, she sank down, taking him deep. Asher’s eyelids closed, blocking out everything except the pure feel of her.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how perfect you feel,” he growled, his hands on her flexing to bring her closer.
He held them both still for several seconds, simply soaking up their connection. The warmth of her broken, passion-saturated breaths. Her spicy, sweet scent filling him up. He wanted to savor this. Her. Them.
But Kennedy wasn’t content with that. Her hips began to move, and Asher was powerless to fight the friction and rhythm she was creating.
He followed her pace, enjoying the freedom to run his hands across her body, to suck her nipples into his mouth. He could feel her tighten, muscles clamping around him deep inside her body.
They were both panting, quickly reaching the edge of patience, wanting more. Asher’s hands were on her hips, urging her faster, harder. The soft sounds of her whimpers roared through his head. Her body trembled against him. God, he loved it when she trembled with need, searching for the relief only he could give her.
But tonight, he wanted more than an orgasm, no matter how mind-blowing it might be.
“Look at me,” he said.
Kennedy’s eyes popped open, glowing tawny brown, and immediately found his. Chest to chest, so close, there was no avoiding the emotions building between them, right along with the impending orgasm.
There was no hiding. Asher might feel the most vulnerable in his entire life, but in that moment, he wasn’t the only one open and bare.
What he saw in Kennedy’s gaze gave him a burst of hope. She wanted him. Felt something for him, the same deep connection he’d been desperately fighting.
Maybe, maybe...
The thought spiraled away, along with the crash of Kennedy’s release. Her body clamped hard around him. His hips bucked against hers, even as she ground down against him, milking every speck of pleasure from the moment.
Her lips opened, sighed a single word...his name.
The way she looked, lost in ecstasy, his name on her lips...it was too much. His own body shuddered and then exploded, everything spilling out with several deep, hard thrusts that left
him spent.
At some point her fingers had tangled in his hair. Her heated skin pressed against him, but he never wanted her to move.
If he could, Asher would stay in that moment forever.
But reality slowly encroached. Somewhere behind them, Max perked up from his spot on the floor, the tags on his collar jingling an alert that came about thirty seconds too late.
The side door, the one all of his friends used to walk straight into his place, opened and slammed shut.
And a voice rang out, “Hey, man, what’s Kennedy’s car doing in your driveway?”
* * *
OH SHIT.
Kennedy barely had time to react, her brain still cloudy from what she and Asher had just shared. But she didn’t really need to do anything because the minute her brother’s voice sounded, Asher was in motion.
She was off his lap, on her feet, and the shirt he’d been wearing not an hour ago pulled over her head and dangling past her thighs.
Asher was zipping up his shorts when Jackson crossed the threshold into the room and stopped mid-stride.
Her brother’s quick gaze swept across the scene, taking in every little detail that told a story difficult to misinterpret.
A crease wrinkled the spot right between his eyebrows. His words were slow and deliberate when he asked, “What the hell is going on?”
Part of her expected Asher to distance himself, to put as much space between them as humanly possible. Instead, he stepped right up to her, his chest to her back, and wrapped a possessive arm tight around her.
The frown tugging at Jackson’s lips deepened as he rounded the couch. He didn’t stop until he was looming over her, face-to-face with Asher.
“She’s my sister,” he growled.
Asher applied pressure, urging her to the left, out from between the two of them.
“I’m aware of that,” he said, his voice low and even. “But it isn’t what you think.”
“No? So I’m wrong in assuming one of my best friends, a guy I’ve bled with and fought with, just got finished screwing my sister?”
Under Pressure Page 15