Asher (Inked Brotherhood 1)

“You seemed to know what you were doing.”

He shifts from foot to foot and runs his fingers through his hair; it’s grown into dark, wild waves. “My dad taught me.”

I shiver. His dad. Of course. So much I don’t know about Ash. I haven’t cared beyond the fact his dad walked away from the accident with barely a scratch, free to live his life, while my dad died, and I was in the hospital for a long time. Had to have surgery for internal bleeding. I took quite a pummeling in the car as...

“You okay?” Ash steps closer, lifting a hand to my face. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m immobilized by the gesture, breathless. When his fingertips touch my cheek, warm and rough, I can’t help but move toward him.

And then the pain hits, my ankle gives out, and I’m falling.

Right into his arms. He catches me, swearing softly under his breath, and lifts me, gripping me under my knees and back, swinging me up.

Whoa. He holds me to his chest, against the steady beat of his heart, the solid muscles of his arms tight around me. It feels so good. So safe and warm. God, he’s so strong and I can’t believe how much that affects me.

I want to fight the attraction, the need. Wrap myself in my anger, demand an explanation for the cold shoulder he gave me back then. Keep away from him.

But our faces are close, closer than they’ve ever been since that kiss lifetimes ago. I want him to catch me, I realize, have wanted it since then.

His gaze is intense. His breath feathers on my lips, smelling of mint. Before I know it, I have my hand on the back of his head, my fingers buried in the silky hair there. I tug lightly and he groans, clutching me harder, bending his head closer to mine.

He wants to kiss me, I’m sure of it, and I’m dying for a taste of his lips. My mind is blank, no sound but the desire thrumming in my veins.

I want him. I’ve fought it for so long and now, with his citrusy scent around me, his arms, his gaze, I stop denying it. Tess was right. It was him all along.

But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he turns his face away and whispers, “I’ll take you home.”

Chapter Four

Asher

I can’t believe I’m holding Audrey in my arms. When I saw her being manhandled by those guys, fury consumed me like a white-hot flame.

My heart is still racing. I want to run after those fuckers and punch them until my arm is sore. But holding Audrey close, making sure she’s okay is more important. I want to keep her safe forever.

Then we reach the bus stop and she wiggles out of my arms. The dream shatters.

Just as well. Stupid, impossible dream anyway.

But I’m still floating on a damn cloud when the bus arrives. She let me carry her, her body soft and warm against me, and the look on her face wasn’t one of hatred and contempt. Those freckles on her nose that always drive me crazy, the pulse in her throat... The way she felt against me, her face so close to mine—I want her to the point of pain, but it’s worth it.

I can’t help how happy I feel. It’s been a good couple of weeks. I have a steady job, I’m taking evenin

g classes to get my GED, and Dad’s been trying to lay off the booze. He’s kind to me when he’s sober. More like the man he used to be.

All in all, life’s good right now and I don’t want to jinx it. Christmas is right around the corner and it might be a good one for a change.

Since Mom got sick and big bro Tyler ditched the family, then Mom passed away and left me alone to deal with Dad’s violent moods, I learned to get any moment of peace I can and be grateful.

I help Audrey into the bus, my arm around her slim waist, and inhale the apple scent of her wavy red hair. I’m getting so damn turned on just from touching her and being around her, well... I’ll be the one having trouble walking soon.

We sit side by side, our thighs pressed together. She holds her bag in her lap and stares outside at the shifting lights of the streets we pass. I take the opportunity to study her pixie nose, her small mouth, the fine arch of her brows, and the swell of her breasts.

She hasn’t buttoned up her coat since the attack at the campus, and the thought of those guys touching her makes me see red again. I clench my fists against my legs, feeling a sting for the first time. The knuckles of my right hand are busted and bleeding. I must’ve hit the guy’s teeth when I punched him. I’ve nothing to wrap my hand with, so I just go back to studying her, to take my mind off it.

I find her gaze locked on my hand, wide and horrified. “You’re hurt.”

I want to laugh at that, because to me that’s nothing compared to what “hurt” really means. But I don’t. She knows what pain feels like. I know she was badly hurt in the accident, that her clothes hide scars I’ve never seen. Scars I want to see and map with my hands and my mouth.