I grab hold of it. “No way. I’m wet and cold and have all kinds of lady parts that aren’t acting very ladylike.” Not only is my shirt getting increasingly tight, but when I put on white shorts this morning I wasn’t planning on taking a swim in them.
He rolls his beautiful blond head back and laughs out loud. “It’s okay for you to check out my man parts but I can’t see yours?”
“My parts are more . . . sacred.”
“That they are. But you’ll dry off faster without the towel.” He peels the towel off my shoulder and lets it fall to the side. “I promise. I won’t check out your—okay, I lied. I just checked them out.”
My arms jerks up and hit him in the arm. “You’re such a fool.”
“Watch it, woman. You have a serious hook. Nice to see that hand of yours is still useful for something.”
I look down at my hand and notice it didn’t hurt. That doesn’t mean it will ever heal. It just means it may not be as fragile as I have been treating it.
Asher leans down and grabs my injured hand in his, rubbing his fingers along the scar. “I’d like to know more about the accident.”
“I’d like to know more about your grandfather,” I counter.
His brows curve in. “There isn’t much to tell. He’s dead.”
“When did he die?”
“Last summer. He had a massive heart attack. Died before I made it to the hospital.”
His voice void of the emotion one would expect to bear when losing a loved one. Even though he seems to have no feeling toward the man, it still seems important to share my condolences.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
The jaw on his chiseled face tightens as he works out a thought in his head. Asher closes his eyes tight and holds it for a few beats. A heavy sigh releases and when those eyes open, they’re honey.
“Are you for real, Emma Paige? Can I trust you? I’ve searched for a reason to believe otherwise. I’ve done my research, and I can’t find anything that leads me to believe you aren’t anything but perfect.”
A red flag goes up in my head. He did research on me? What kind of research? I know in the age of Facebook and Google, you can pretty much find out anything about anyone, but I’ve never done that. Never needed to. And in this case, I didn’t even have an urge to.
But with the red flag is a white flag waiving so dramatically my body does a double take as I try to contain my excitement.
This man thinks I’m perfect. Yes, me. The broken mess with a broken hand and a broken dream and a broken soul.
I lean up on my knees. “If you knew the half of it you wouldn’t think I’m perfect. You want to know if I’m real? Well, I needyouto tell me something real. And don’t say that you’re impulsive and you’re drawn to me. Because right now I can’t believe how someone as amazing as you is here with me. It doesn’t make sense and it makes me feel so insecure you won’t believe.”
Asher rises to his knees as well and meets me eye to eye. “I makeyoufeel insecure?”
I nod my head slowly. He looks to the side, clenching his jaw. I think he’s going to tell me he wants to head back but he opens his mouth and says, “My mother’s name was Juliette Asher and my father was Alejandro Gutierrez. I haven’t said those names out loud in twenty-two years.”
My mouth falls open slightly. I haven’t said Luke’s name in six months but I’d hope twenty-years from now I’d be able to tell stories about him.
Asher looks back to me and continues. “My father was a mechanic with no family to speak of or two cents to rub together. Not to mention Latin, something my Scottish grandfather would never have allowed. But my mom, she was in love with my dad. She gave up her family and everything that came along with it. We lived in a poor section of Pittsburgh while my parents tried to figure out how to make ends meet. My mother was educated, but she didn’t know how to do anything other than play music. She was bred to be a rich man’s wife, not a money-maker.
“And my dad, he was a hardworking man. He had a criminal record so work was hard to come by. We didn’t have much, but I never went without.”
Asher’s hand takes mine and skims over the scar again, keeping his focus on the imperfection while he tells his story.
“When they died, I didn’t have any other family. My grandfather took me in under one condition: I was never to speak of my parents again. It was the first time I ever met him. He didn’t show love the way my parents did. I learned early on that if I pleased him, his pride in me was as good as love. I let him breed me into who he was. Work consumed me. Family was not an option. According to him, who can have one when they are going to leave you anyway.”
My own jaw tightens as I try to control the burn in my throat that comes before a good cry. I breathe in calming breaths. “Asher, you know that’s not true. Family is what you lean on when times get hard. I know you don’t remember that but your parents seemed like the kind of people who would be there for you no matter what.”
His cheeks hollow. With a deep rumble, he lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “I know. I just have a hard time remembering sometimes.”
Is that what he’s doing out here? Working for Devon? Trying to figure out who he is?
