Page 103 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
They could have gotten inside.
Sitting up abruptly, I tug the bedsheet with me, covering my chest.
“Can you lock it, please? Now.”
At my stern tone, Asher glances up from wiping over his heavy balls, confusion contorting his face.
“Sure. Is there something wrong?”
“I just don’t like leaving the house unlocked. Ever. Underanycircumstances.”
“O…kay.” He eyes me warily, bending down to pick up the discarded pillow on the floor, tossing it back on the bed next to me before making his way across the room to lock my window. “It’s riskier having me sneak out your bedroom door,” he states, putting the latch in place.
Still propped up in my bed, I watch him saunter back over, slipping in next to me.
“Why are you getting into my bed?”
“To sleep.” He bites back a grin as he shuffles down under the blankets.
“Asher, you can’t sleep in here. Not when the twins are right upstairs.”
Fluffing the pillow under his head, he puts his hand between his head and the pillow before getting comfy.
“I can’t sleep without you. I tried. It’s impossible.”
I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t take the seriousness from his expression.
If I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that I find it harder to sleep without him, too, but I keep that to myself. Words like that won’t help the situation we’re in.
No longer willing to wait for me to settle into the bed properly, Asher reaches out and tugs me down, settling me up against his chest, my head slotting into the crook of his neck.
A sigh escapes me as I inhale his spicy scent, and I give in, relaxing against him.
“Make sure you leave my room early. I can’t have the twins?—”
“Springing us?” he cuts me off. “Yeah, I know. I don’t want that to happen either. I just… need you.”
Shit. I need him too.
I don’t say the words, but I squeeze him a little tighter, letting him know that I understand.
With him here in bed with me, I fall quickly into a peaceful bliss, wrapped in Asher’s embrace. It’s like my soul knows it’s safe. Knows this is right. It wants to be here, pulled by the invisible thread that feels unbreakable. Like it’s as strong as my need to breathe.
I wake early on Saturday morning, still nestled against Asher, although he’s now on his back. As I blink the sleep from my eyes, I watch him, so peaceful, his dark lashes a thick fan as they rest lifelessly above his cheekbones.
The more time I spend with Asher, the more I no longer see the boy he once was. There’s a hardness to him that came about in his early teens, and it never left. Now, as an adult, the hardness makes him look lethal. I can imagine when he walks into a room, most people would be intimidated by his demeanour.
Maybe I should be intimidated too, yet it’s part of what draws me to him.
He’s the opposite of Alexander, who’s a mummy’s boy, through and through. He likes collared shirts and knitted vests, and shoes so shiny you can see your reflection in them.
Asher Scott is nothing like my ex-husband.
He has hard defined lines, walks with a deadly confidence, and honestly could walk around in black jeans slung low on his hips and nothing else, and it would be completely acceptable.
Because who would dare question him?
Maybe I should tell him about the hit on me. Tell him about my stalkers. Maybe someone like Asher can handle that craziness.
