He touched the tattoo of her on his chest, grateful she was with him. He needed to let her loose soon, but honestly he hated whenever they were apart. There was such comfort from having her with him . . .
It was selfish, but he couldn't help himself.
Gripping the strap of his backpack, he continued up the stairs, to his room. Like the rest of the house, it was small and cozy. The curtains and comforter were beige with pink flowers.
Someone had come in and turned the sheets down for him. He didn't know why, but it made him feel welcome.
He set his backpack down and reached for an acoustic guitar that was set in a rocking chair. He felt a presence behind him. Turning, he saw Tory in the doorway, watching him.
"Do you play?" he asked.
"I torture it from time to time. What about you?"
"I do sometimes."
"You any good?"
"I do all right."
She entered the room with a small stack of towels and washcloths that she set on the dresser. "The bathroom's across the hall. You need anything else?"
You to touch me like I matter . . . He shook his head at the forbidden thought. "I'm a man of few needs."
She sighed. "I've noticed that about you."
Before Ash could stop himself, he took a step closer to her. Close enough that he could smell the precious scent of Tory mixed with peaches from her shampoo. He savored it. Just as he savored the sight of those inquisitive brown eyes that questioned everything about him.
Gods, how he wanted a piece of this woman . . .
Tory couldn't breathe as Ash stood so near her, she could feel his body heat. He was so incredibly sexy. So beautiful.
He's going to kiss you . . .
She could already taste those masculine lips. Feel his arms around her.
But that wasn't reality. The moment he would have touched her skin, she leapt away. "All righty then. I'll just leave you alone."
Ash wanted to whimper as she shot out of the room so fast she left a vapor trail. How could she not want him? All his life he'd been fighting people off. Fending away unwanted gropes and touches. Now he finally found someone he wanted to touch him and she treated him like a leper.
What the hell was this?
Aggravated, he raked his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. It was going to be a long night with her sleeping so close to him and yet so far away.
Too early the next morning, Tory was awake and still bleary-eyed as she staggered downstairs to her kitchen. The moment she entered the room, she froze in her tracks.
Ash was there. Dressed only in jeans, he stood with his back to her.
Holy saints! The expanse of flawless tawny skin was more than a mere mortal woman could see and not salivate over. Wide muscled shoulders tapered down to narrow hips and a perfectly formed butt. His hair still mussed from sleep, he popped the top off a beer.
Tory made a sound of disgust over his actions. "You have got to be kidding me."
He turned and what little sanity she had fled. Yes, he still had those annoying sunglasses on, but the top button of his jeans hadn't been fastened. They rode low on his hips, and the dark trail of hair that ran south of his navel was slightly thicker at the opening.
He was commando . . .
And that long, hard body was made for sin. Really, no man should look like that and definitely not one who was standing in her kitchen . . . In her bed was another story. Man, how she wanted to take a bite out of him.
"Is something wrong?" he asked innocently.
It took her three heartbeats before she could remember her objection to his near naked state. "You're drinking a beer first thing in the morning. What kind of alcoholic are you?"
He flashed a taunting grin at her before he took a deep swig. "I'm not an alcoholic."
Yeah, right. "That's what they all say. At least put something on your stomach before you drink that."
His features hardened. "I don't need a mother, Tory."
She didn't believe that for one minute. Angry at what he was doing, she tried to take the bottle from him, but he refused to let her.
She glared at him. "You need someone to take care of you. Jeez! How can you do this to yourself?"
"It's just a beer."
"And hell is just a sauna." She went to the fridge and grabbed eggs and some cheese. "Sit down and I'll make you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"And I'm about to be wielding a frying pan and a knife so if you know what's good for you, you'll stop arguing with me and sit down."
"I don't eat breakfast," he mumbled under his breath as he moved out of her way.
"I really don't care," she mocked in a sing-song voice that was as close to his thick accent as she could manage.
He moved to the other side of her breakfast counter. "You are so bossy."
"Yes I am. Now sit."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Put a shirt on like a civilized human. Do you know how unsanitary it is to be in a kitchen with no shirt?"
Ash laughed even though he wanted to strangle her. She had to be the only person he'd ever met who wanted him to wear more clothing. He started to get up, but she made a squeal of disapproval.
"What now?" he asked, truly baffled by her mood swings.
She pointed threateningly at him with her knife. "Don't you dare move until after I see you eat something."
He let out a frustrated breath. "You told me to go put on a shirt."
"Since when do you listen to a single thing I say? Never. I know what you're planning to do. You'll go upstairs and not come back. So sit."
He held his hands up in surrender while he watched her crack open two eggs and put them in a bowl so that she could beat them with a fervor that would have scared him if he wasn't a god with protective powers. "You're not a morning person, are you?"
She put a handful of cheese on top of them. "No and I haven't had my caffeine IV either which means it would be wise of you to humor me."
Ash hid his smile. Why did she amuse him so? He didn't understand it and unless he wanted to tell her the truth about what he really fed on, he had no choice except to sit here while she made him an omelette, bacon and toast.
She plopped the plate down in front of him. "Fie!"-Eat in Greek.
He stared at the delicious smelling food as buried emotions surged. You want to eat, whore? Please me . . .
In the back of his mind, he saw himself in Estes's office, on his knees on the floor, naked and chained to the desk while his uncle read late into the evening. Starving because he'd been allowed nothing to eat all day while he'd worked until he was bleeding and sore from it to make his uncle rich, Ash had stared at the bowl of dried sugared figs Estes had left in front of him. His stomach cramped from hunger, his mouth had watered for a single taste. For over an hour he'd stared at the food, biting his lips in desperate agony. Convinced Estes was so engrossed in his reading that he wouldn't see him, Ash had reached for one.
He could still feel the sting of that vicious slap. See the anger in Estes's eyes as he snatched at his hair and held Ash at his feet. "Did I give you permission to eat, whore? You don't ever take from me without earning . . ."
Even Artemis withheld her blood from him in an effort to control him. If he didn't please her, he starved. More than that were the memories of being force-fed by his father's guards. Shovel it down his throat. Hold his mouth and nose shut until he swallows. And when he'd choked on what they were brutally pouring into his mouth, they'd punched and slapped him, too.