by Nichole Rose
As soon as Kennedy hears her, she catapults off the bed, staring at me with wide eyes. "Caroline's home," she whisper-hisses.
"I hear that."
"You're so spoiled," Caroline says.
"I'm pretty sure you spoiled him, princess," a man chuckles, his voice soft.
Kennedy's eyes get even wider.
I think she'd hide me in her closet if she thought I'd fit, but we're not hiding. Not from her sister or anyone else. If anyone doesn't like us being together, tough shit. I'd fight every demon in hell to keep her. I'll fight her family too if I have to do it.
"Come on," I murmur, running my hand down her back in a soothing gesture. "Let's go say hi to your sister, angel."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
She exhales a deep breath and then nods.
"He didn't know that when you…" Caroline trails off as Kennedy peeks her head out into the living room.
I step up behind my girl and wrap an arm around her waist, reminding her that I'm right here with her. She doesn't need me to speak up for her though. She's capable of doing that all by herself. Doesn't mean I won't be having words with King, but still. This is her show. I'm here for her to lean on. My strength is hers if she needs it. I know how anxious she is about the rift between her and her sister, and how much she distrusts King.
Caroline stares at me with wide eyes. She's as short as my girl with some of the same facial features. Her eyes are red and puffy as if she's been crying. The man standing at her side is damn near the same size I am…not what I expected from a writer. Then again, I didn't expect them to look like Kennedy either.
"Um, hi," Kennedy whispers, her face bright red.
"Hi," Caroline whispers back, staring at Kennedy like she's shocked.
Shit. She probably is. Kennedy looks freshly fucked. Her hair is messy, her dress is wrinkled. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. From what Kennedy has told me, she's never dated before me. Guess Caroline is surprised to find me half-dressed and her sister looking thoroughly ravished.
Shock turns to surprise and then to mischief in Caroline's eyes as she looks from me to her sister again. She giggles.
"We weren't having sex!" Kennedy blurts out, her eyes wide.
"Making love," I growl. When I get inside her, we won't be fucking. It won't be casual or meaningless. When I get inside her, it'll be because she loves me as much as I do her. When that happens? I'm claiming her permanently.
"I had sex," Caroline whispers to her sister.
Jesus Christ.
"Made love," King corrects her.
Kennedy and Caroline stare at each other for another minute and then they both start giggling. The sweet sound relaxes me. If they're laughing together, they're going to be okay. And if my girl is good, I'm golden.
"Can we talk?" they both say at the same time.
Caroline looks at King. "Would you mind waiting?"
"Of course not," he says, his expression soft when he looks at her. "Go talk to your sister, sweet baby."
"Asher, you can wait with him," Kennedy says, wiggling out of my arms to face me. Her eyes narrow on me, her little chin coming up in a move I'm coming to recognize…one that gets my dick hard. "After you put a shirt on."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, grinning at her. I love when she demands what she wants like a dainty little queen. She doesn't ask politely, and she isn't timid. I think she knows I'm hers to command.
"Hi, Asher. I'm Caroline." Caroline waves at me.
"Hey. I've heard a lot about you." I get why she and Kennedy are so close. They're both sweet. They're both innocent. I narrow my eyes on King. "You must be King."
"I am," he says, holding my gaze.
I recognize the look in his eye, the glittering possessiveness, the warning. We stare at each other for a long, tense moment, both feeling the other out. He'll fight for Caroline as hard as I'll fight for Kennedy. He may be a dick, but he cares about her. Which means he'll keep his word to Kennedy. That's good enough for now.
I give him a nod, which he returns.
"Go talk to your sister, princess," he murmurs to Caroline, pressing a kiss to her temple.
I duck back into Kennedy's room to grab my shirt. Once I've got it over my arms, I head back out of the room. Kennedy's still hovering in the doorway.
"Go talk, baby," I murmur, buttoning my shirt. I stop to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She's so goddamn beautiful. Jesus. Every time I look at her, I find some new feature to love. "We'll be cool."
"You better be," she warns me, making me smile like a crazy person. Half a second later, she grabs Caroline by the arm and practically drags her into Caroline's room.
Their dog hops up from the couch to follow after them. He doesn't even look in my direction and he's definitely not a little purse dog, which is a relief. He's a Rottweiler. He looks like he needs to go on a diet.
The door slams behind Kennedy and her sister.
"You going to be a problem?" I ask King, not wasting time or beating around the bush.
"I love her sister and I want what's best for her," he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I fucked up and made mistakes. I'm trying to fix it. You want to dislike me for being a prick, I won't blame you. But not in front of the girls. It'll make them both unhappy."
"Agreed." I finish buttoning up my shirt, studying him. He's not what I expected. "Kennedy is mine to protect. You don't cross that line again, we're cool. But hurt her again, and I'm going to be the biggest problem you've ever had."
"Fair enough," he says and then frowns. "For what it's worth, I think she's the most gifted student I've ever taught. She sees the world differently than most people do."
"She doesn't trust you," I say, giving it to him straight. "She wants to believe that you mean well because that's the kind of person she is, but she doesn't like you much right now."
He grimaces. "I know. Can't say I blame her for that."
"You think she can win this Braxton thing?" I ask him.
"Without a doubt." He meets my gaze, letting me read the sincerity in his eyes. "She has a hell of a career in front of her. I believe I can help her if she'll let me."
"She wants to go to Columbia."
Surprise flares in his eyes.
"You think she has a shot?"
"If she wins the Braxton Prize, she can go anywhere she wants. Every school in the country and a few in Europe will fling their doors open wide for her." He purses his lips, cocking his head to the side. "You going to be willing to let her go?"
Alone? Fuck no. But I won't be the thing that holds her back. If she needs to go, she's going. I know a thing or two about talent and creativity. I knew early on that I wanted my art on living canvas. I got my dream. I won't ever try to stop Kennedy from reaching hers. But that doesn't mean she has to go alone.
"I'll support her no matter what she decides," I murmur to King instead of telling him what's brewing in my mind. "She's too talented for me to hold her back."
"Yeah, she is," King agrees quietly, as if he speaks from experience. I'm guessing Caroline isn't lacking talent either. She and Kennedy are going to conquer every corner of the world. And King and I? Well, we're the lucky motherfuckers who get to watch it happen.
Chapter Seven
Kennedy
"Wow," I whisper, staring around Asher's shop early the next morning. The place is incredible. The floors are matte black and feel almost like rubber beneath my feet. The walls are white with little alcoves cut out like windows. In each cut out space, the back is painted black. Framed artwork hangs in the center, with lights to illuminate it, almost as if this were an art gallery. The front counter is black and has Crimson Ink written across the front of it in a gorgeous script.
Black fixtures hang from the ceiling on thick chains, illuminating each of the four workspaces. They're all neat and tidy, with a counter, a desk, and a tattoo chair at each. The name of each artist is scripted over the workspaces, identifying which artist works there.
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"Where do you work?" I ask, turning to look up at Asher. His name isn't on any of them.
He grins at me and holds his hand out for me to take.
I do, of course. I think I'd follow him anywhere if he asked me to do it.
He was right about talking to Caroline. She confessed that she kept the secret because she was afraid to disappoint me…as if I could ever be disappointed in her for falling in love. We talked and we cried. It felt good to get it all out there.
Afterward, all four of us hung out for a little while. It was…good. Interesting. It's easy to see how much she and Jared love each other. I think Asher likes Jared.
Caroline told me that he wrote my recommendation three weeks ago, which makes me feel a lot better. He didn't do it because of Caroline but because he really does feel badly about how impossible he's been. He really does think I'm talented. That's pretty high praise coming from someone like him.
After Asher left last night, I stayed up writing. I thought I already knew what I wanted to submit for consideration, but I changed my mind. The piece I wrote last night…I think it's the most honest thing I've ever written before.
It's about Asher and the way he makes me feel. I thought I knew what love was. I've read about it for so long. I've written about it. I've watched it play out in front of me a hundred times. But yesterday, I realized that I knew nothing about love. Holding Asher while he told me about his childhood, the parts of his story he immortalized in his skin…nothing prepared me for how that felt. He's Jane Eyre in the flesh, still so infinitely capable and worthy of love despite everything.
He's been through so much in his life. But he's still standing. He never gave up. He never followed the path his mom took. He made a life and a name for himself, fought for every single thing he's got. And still, he's not bitter or angry or hateful. He's beautiful.
He is love…bright and shining and so damn beautiful.
And even though I've never done anything to make me worthy of such an incredible gift, he chose me anyway. He loves me anyway. I see it in his eyes, feel it when it touches or kisses me. His heart is mine. I'll never, ever do anything to break it.
Even if that means finishing school here in Nashville instead of at Columbia.
People might think I'm foolish for giving up a chance at Columbia for a man, but those people are wrong. Staying with Asher wouldn't be a sacrifice. Loving this man and letting him love me would be the greatest adventure of my life.
The thought of giving up Columbia is still scary though. I've never wanted anything more than I wanted to write. But now, with Asher, I want something with a desperation that eclipses even that lifelong goal. It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
We cross through his studio and into a grotto I didn't notice earlier. I thought it was just part of the back wall, but it's not. It's a deep recess, hiding a door on the left. Asher pulls it open, revealing another room.
"Oh my gosh," I gasp, staring in shock. This room is easily the same size as the front room and just as elegant. But the floor back here is painted to look like a bridge leading over a pit of fire. A giant hand reaches out of it. The detailing is so vivid it almost looks real. The ceiling is painted too. Storm clouds roil overhead in a riot of bright colors. A hand reaches down from above, seeming as lifelike as the one below. It's heaven and hell, both grasping for the souls who find themselves here, inking parts of their stories into their skin.
"Asher, this is amazing," I whisper, turning to gape at him. "Did you do this?"
"I sketched it out," he says. "A local artist took over from there and brought it to life for me. I wanted this place to be something everyone remembered."
"It's amazing. Truly." I step further into the room, staring all around. Unlike the main room, this one seems more private and intimate. There are three work areas instead of four, and each is situated behind floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
"The walls are smart glass," he explains. "When we're working on a private piece or our clients just want a little privacy, we can hit a switch and it darkens the glass so no one can see inside." He takes my hand again, leading me through the room to the very back stall. "This is where I work, angel baby."
All of the stalls are roomy, but his is a little bigger than the others. Like them, it's freakishly neat. His art hangs in alcoves like those out front. I move closer so I can see it. The first piece is a filigree dragon breathing fire. It's so detailed and ornate. The second is a lion. Each piece of him is stacked atop the other like a three-dimensional puzzle made from scales and fur, adorned with small jewels and embellished with mythological symbols. It's as beautiful as the dragon.
I tilt my head to the side when I see the third. It's a little boy standing in the street, his hand extended, reaching for the wispy figure at his side. Compared to the other two, it's almost plain. The emotion it contains saves it from simplicity. There's so much yearning in it, so much longing. It's also considerably older than the other two. The paper it's drawn on is creased.
"I drew that when I was eleven," he murmurs, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around me. I lean back against the hard wall of his chest, letting him hold me. "After I got myself kicked out of the best foster home I'd ever been in."
I turn my head to look at him. He's staring at the artwork, but he doesn't seem sad. His gray eyes are clear, his expression soft.
"Didn't really know what it meant at the time, but I realized while drawing it that I just wanted what other kids wanted. Love, stability, someone who wanted to keep me no matter what. But I was my own worst enemy back then, angel baby. A bad ass little kid with a chip on his shoulder." The corner of his lip lifts in a sardonic smile.
"Asher?" I turn around in his arms, sliding mine around his waist. "I want to keep you."
"Yeah?"
I nod, tilting my head back to look at him. "I'm afraid though."
"Of what?" He cups my cheek in his palm, rubbing circles into my neck with his thumb.
"I don't know," I whisper. "I've always had a plan for my life. I always wanted to write more than anything. But when I'm with you, I want something else even more. It's scary how much I want this."
"Can I tell you something?" he asks, resting his forehead against mine.
"Anything."
"You're allowed to be afraid," he whispers. "But you need to remember one thing for me."
"What one thing?"
"I love you."
"Asher."
"It's true. I love you." He gives me a crooked smile that I feel all the way to my soul. "And I was kind of hoping that you wouldn't choose between me and your dreams."
I blink at him.
"You can have both, Kennedy. If you want to go to New York, we'll go to New York."
"But…"
He places his finger over my lips, silencing me. "My shop is here, but it doesn't have to be only here. I have the capital to open another shop, angel baby. Crimson Ink isn't tied to this building. It can be bigger than that. Or I could guest in someone else's shop. I've been asked before, but never had a need to be anywhere else."
"You would do that for me?" I stare at him in shock.
"Your dreams are important to you, which means they're important to me too," he says. "I love you, angel baby. I'll go anywhere, build a thousand shops if that's what I need to do. Whatever you want."
He means that. I see the truth written all over his face. He'd really go with me, start all over somewhere else. Not because he doesn't think I can take care of myself or because he thinks I'm weak. But because that's how much he believes in me. That's how much he loves me.
"Asher," I sob, flinging myself back into his arms. "I love you too. So much."
"Damn right you do, angel." He chuckles and swings me up into his arms. His mouth comes down on mine, his kiss hard and deep, full of emotion. It's as fierce as he is, and somehow just as beautiful. He squeezes my ass in his hands as he possesses my mouth, taking it as if he owns it. I think he might.
I
moan his name, tugging at his t-shirt.
"Wait. Baby, wait."
"I don't want to wait!" I cry, frustrated that he's trying to slow me down when I need him naked right now. Everything I feel for him is building inside, creating a pressure that has me feeling like I'm going to explode apart at the seams. It's frighteningly powerful.
"I have something for you." He turns and plants my butt in his tattoo chair, gently prying my hands off his body. When I huff at him, he just chuckles. "Settle down or I'll be spanking you before I get inside you."
"Asher!" I moan. Why does the thought of him spanking me turn me on so much?
"Jesus Christ." He tips my head up, scrutinizing my expression. "I think you want me to spank you, don't you, angel baby?"
"No," I lie and then I bite my lip. "Maybe."
Heat flares in his eyes. He closes them and inhales a deep breath before taking a step away from me. "You could tempt a saint right down from heaven, Kennedy."
"Then I guess it's a good thing you aren't a saint, huh?" I sass.
"A damn good thing," he says, his voice a low growl that grinds against my womb. "Because I'm going to sin like a motherfucker when I get you naked, angel baby. You've had me ready to snap for days now. I can't wait to show you how many ways I can make you scream my name."
I clench my legs together at his threat and moan.
He smirks at me and then turns toward the desk against the far wall. The drawer slides open and he pulls out a sketchbook before carrying it over to me. He starts to hand it to me and then hesitates.
"It's just an idea. If you don't want to do it, you don't have to do it. I won't ever make you do something you don't want to do, all right?"
He sounds nervous. Or worried maybe.
"Show me," I demand, rabidly curious to see what has him worked up.
"You gave me the idea," he says and then flips the book around, setting it in my lap. "I drew it when I left last night."
I glance down at the book and then gasp. It's a quote from Jane Eyre, written in elegant script beneath a crown that rests askew on a book. I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart. The whole thing is only a couple of inches tall, but it's beautiful. I tell him as much.