"Did he hurt you?"
Asher Rockwell.
The smell of his cologne is an immediate comfort. Manly and fresh. I open my mouth, but words escape me as I get a good look at him. His jaw is clenched, his face hard. Nothing like the gregarious Asher I've always known, and yet I immediately feel safe in this presence.
Asher and Donovan have been friends since grade school, and he was a permanent fixture in my life for years. Fun, flirty, blond-haired, blue-eyed Asher made the never-ending parties bearable, especially when Donovan inevitably slipped off to fuck one of my "friends" in the bathroom or a coat closet. I was convinced my husband had a list of every woman I came in contact with, and he was picking them off one-by-one so that I would always feel totally alone. Donovan didn't know that Asher was my salvation, however. A respite which ended the second I filed for divorce. I haven't heard from him in two years.
"Did he hurt you?" Asher repeats when I don't respond, and I swallow hard.
"No."
His blue eyes lock with mine and the familiar throbbing starts in my core. I'm not ashamed to admit that fantasies of Asher got me through many a cold night during my sexless marriage. But he's Donovan's friend, and I am done with that life.
"Emma, good to see you!"
I turn, managing a smile despite the shitstorm evening from which I'm trying to escape as West Billings takes my hand in his.
"Hello, West," I say, glad to see a familiar face that doesn't send me into a panic. West is one of the few people in Donovan's social circle who was genuinely kind. Both he and Asher maintained my faith in humanity when I was surrounded by nothing but rotten-to-the-core men and women for years.
"Happy Valentine's Day," West says, handing me a rose that seems to materialize out of thin air and I smile again.
"Thank you." I glance at Asher, who looks like he wants to murder West for some reason. I've always wondered why Asher is so loyal to Donovan. Especially when my ex-husband couldn't care less and wouldn’t return the favor.
"Well, I'm off to pick up my beautiful wife." West shrugs on his coat.
"Say hi to Bailey for me, please."
"Will do. Although, you should text her and say hi yourself." West's comment is loaded with a history that I do not want to unpack tonight, so I nod my head slightly in response. West pats Asher on the back before exiting the bar. And then I'm sucked back into the heady vortex of Asher Rockwell standing before me. His eyes make a slow perusal of my body and instead of shrinking in on myself, I stand up straighter, hoping he enjoys the view.
I can't help but notice the bulge pressing against the front of his pants, and a small shiver runs through my body at the prospect that I might have had something to do with that. I glance up to find Asher staring at me, well aware of where my thoughts – and eyes – are occupied. I bite my lip. Asher eyes me hungrily and takes a step closer. I lean toward him, knowing it would be insane to touch him, especially in public with my drunk ex nearby, and yet wanting to be closer to him all the same. But then Donovan's slurred bark for another drink cuts through the din of the bar, and a bucket of cold water brings me back to startling reality.
"I have to go." I shove the rose from West into Asher's hand and dart around him out the door.
I take a large gulp of cold night air, savoring my freedom and then shake my head in frustration.
"On Valentine's Day, Em - of all days." I roll my eyes, chiding myself for leaving my apartment at all tonight. My cheeks heat as a passerby gives me a strange look for talking to myself.
I look around and realize the odds of getting a cab or ride share tonight are slim to none, even if I decided to splurge after the expensive cocktail that I didn't even get to finish.
Pity parties are so much more fun with ice cream and cozy pajamas.
Resolute with this new plan, I pull my coat tight to ward off the cold and try to figure out the quickest way to the subway. As I take a step to the right, the deep voice straight from my steamiest fantasies startles me almost as much as the words themselves:
"I'm taking you home."
Chapter three
Asher
Henry, my driver, expertly navigates the busy streets of the city as Emma sits next to me.
"I would turn here." Emma's gaze darts to me before swiveling to Henry, and then back to the window when the street passes by. Her brow furrows in confusion and she opens her mouth to say something, but then she closes it again and scoots back against the soft leather of the seat.
"Or, here. This street will get there." She points as an alternative route comes up a few minutes later, watching out the window silently when we pass it once again. She turns to me with a huff, sucking in a sharp breath as we lock eyes.
I haven't stopped staring at her since she got in my car. The scent of her perfume is everything I remember, slightly floral and citrus. It reminds me of vacations as a kid. I'm overcome with the need to touch her, but I can't.
Emma has always been gorgeous, but now, her body is plush, boasting mouth-watering curves that have my cock hardening uncomfortably in my pants. It's like she's unlocked a new level of vivaciousness. Emma is bubbly and warm, with a smile that has always made me long for a different life. Long for her.
