“I haven’t seen Zeke either, which worries me and makes me wonder if we are too late.”
“Too late for what?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. I wish I knew,” he spins me again and my eyes land on his father and mother, who have stone cold expressions on their face as they talk to someone in the far corner. “I see your parents,” I say and Asher tenses, his hand gripping mine harder than before.
“I know, I saw them right as we walked in. I’m keeping an eye on them. They aren’t talking to anyone I know, but that means nothing when it comes to my father.”
I keep an eye on his dad and watch as he shakes the man’s hand before walking away with his wife on his arm, starting to go near my dad. “He is moving on to my dad.”
“Now that is something I need to know, thanks, baby,” Asher gives me another kiss on the cheek, and I nearly melt into a puddle when the song comes to an end. Everyone claps around us, but the applause fade into the distance when our eyes lock.
The world fades away, my hands heat, and I want to reach into my chest and hand him my heart, begging him to take care of it.
“You’re beautiful, Heather Thomas,” he says, darting his eyes back and forth between mine.
“So are you, Ryan Sinclair.”
He swings me up and against his chest, stealing my breath, and my hair flies over my shoulders. I notice his eyes close and his nostrils flare. “What?”
“You smell so good, like rain falling into the ocean.” His hand cups my jaw, his thumb grazing over the high points of my cheeks. “I could get lost in you and I wouldn’t care to ever be found.”
No wonder women dropped their panties for him left and right. We don’t stand a chance when it comes to a man like Asher. He says all the right words with big emotions. How can I not fall for him when he practically speaks poetry? A soothing balm to my scarred heart.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I tease, but a part of me is curious.
He hums, then scoffs a laugh. “I’ve never said any of those words before and I have never told a woman that I’ve loved her. Only you.” The moment is ruined when he glances around, searching for someone. “Where? Are you sure?”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Fuck,” Asher curses softly and yanks the earpiece out of his ear. “Richard isn’t here, and neither is Zeke.”
“Were they ever here?”
“No, which means we don’t know where Zeke is, and we don’t know what Richard is planning. We are fucked.”
“There is one man that might know something,” I whisper, taking his hand in mine as I drag him toward the bar, passing ice fountains and fake laughter.
“Who?”
“Your father. He seems to be in the middle of it all and I feel someone watching me. It doesn’t make me feel warm and cozy either.” I lean against the bar and take off my mask. “Champagne, please,” I tell the bartender, who is mildly attractive with dark hair, broad shoulders, and a nose that’s been broken one too many times.
“Whiskey, neat, please.” Asher says pretending to look around, interested in the scenery. “He really is watching you. I don’t like that.” He stares at the man who he has to call his dad and I can’t help but wonder what he is thinking, but he isn’t voicing them out loud.
“One champagne. One whiskey neat.” The bartender sets our drinks on the table in front of us.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the sleek flute in my hand and sipping. The bubbles burn my nose and make my eyes water at the initial contact, but it passes quickly.
Asher down his fast and slams it on the table. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I’m not done with my drink.”
“Bartender,” Asher lifts his hand and the man with the crooked nose comes running. “Deliver a bottle of everything to the penthouse suite on the top floor.”
“Everything, sir?”
“Did I stutter?” Asher states, handing over a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Right away, sir.”