“I know you said the guest list at this party would be high-profile, but I didn’t think it would be that high-profile,” I tell Asher.
He gives me a puzzled look. “You mean I didn’t tell you that this was a birthday party Lloyd Finley was throwing for his father, Marcus Finley, and that he’d invited all of his former peers and protégés.”
“You know you didn’t.”
“And yet you still handled them all excellently,” Asher tells me with another smile that makes my knees weak. “I was right to bring you along.”
I take another sip of champagne as I fight off another blush. Why is he being so nice all of a sudden?
No. Not all of a sudden. He’s been perfectly nice to me all evening. Nicer than Mr. Darcy. Maybe that’s why I had no objections to following him here. Maybe I’m actually hoping he’ll kiss me next. He’s been so nice to me that I wouldn’t mind.
“By the way,” Asher says. “You’re right.”
My eyebrows furrow. “About what?”
“A mother’s love is not something I’m overly familiar with. She died when I was ten. And before that, she was sick for a long time. I barely saw her.”
Shit. I suddenly feel like punching myself in the gut.
“But I’d like to think that hasn’t made me a monster.”
I set down my glass. “Of course it hasn’t.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? But you said—”
“I’m so sorry about what I said,” I tell Asher with all the sincerity I can muster. “Especially what I said about your mother. That was a mean and careless remark and I take it back. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and takes my hand in his. “I forgive you.”
I let out a breath of relief.
“At least, I will if you tell me one thing,” he says.
“What?”
“You said I affirmed your belief that there were no decent men in the world. Who put that belief in your head? Who broke your heart? First boyfriend?”
“Dad,” I answer truthfully. “He broke my mom’s heart, and after that everything else just… broke too.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know why I told him that. I’ve never told anyone about that since high school. Now that he’s fallen silent, I regret it. The last thing I want is his pity. I fearfully glance at him, only to find none of that in his eyes.
“You want to know a secret?” he asks.
“What?”
“My dad’s not the best either. And I’m definitely not his favorite. Either Ethan or Ryker is. But hey, we can’t let our parents’ behavior or decisions dictate who we are or how we want to live, right?”
I smile. Now I really want that kiss. In fact, if he doesn’t make a move soon, I might just go ahead and give him one.
I turn my body so that I’m right in front of him. Then I stroke his hand.
“So I’m forgiven?”
Asher nods. “Yes.”
He places his hand on my cheek and leans forward. I close my eyes. A moment later, his lips press against mine. I kiss him back.
He strokes my cheek and my shoulder as his mouth crushes mine. Heat trickles down my spine and floods my chest. I can’t breathe.
He pulls away and I finally get a gulp of air, but my throat tightens as I meet his gaze. Smoldering. Stirring. Excitement simmers in my veins.
He kisses me again. And again. And again. I clutch the front of his jacket and try to keep up, try to breathe in between. He traps my lower lip. My heart skips a beat. Then he wraps an arm around me and pushes his tongue past my lips. When it brushes against my own tongue, my mouth catches fire. My knees tremble.
Each time his tongue rubs against mine, I feel like melting. And I want to. I want Asher to mold my body into a shape meant just for him. I want it to meld with his.
I want him. So much so the desire throbs in my breasts and between my legs. When Asher’s hand cups my breast through my dress, I don’t protest. When his other hand climbs up my thigh beneath my skirt, I start to give in.
But the voice inside my head shouts.
Stop! Don’t do this, Violet! Think.
The moment I start to, the haze in my mind dissipates. The heat beneath my skin evaporates. I realize I don’t want this. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
I grab Asher’s wrist to stop his hand before his fingers reach my underwear. I pull my mouth away and step back.
Asher looks dismayed, confused. I draw a deep breath.
“We should stop… for now.”
For a moment more, his eyebrows remain furrowed. Then he scratches the back of his head and nods.
“Okay.”
Is it? He looks agitated, frustrated, defeated. I feel a pang of guilt.
I reach for his hand to extend some comfort but he steps away.