What she didn’t see was evidence of Asher.
Fifteen years he’d lived with the old man who’d given him shelter in his home; almost another year of living here without Ned. Yet Asher still hadn’t settled in. He could leave tomorrow and there would be no signs that he’d ever been here at all.
Naomi sipped her tea and drifted into the back wing of the rambling house. This part was an addition, and down the hallway were a couple of spare bedrooms—both unfurnished, as if plans for a growing family or visits from Ned and Ruth’s friends and relatives had never materialized.
Farther down this same hall, she heard a muffled scraping sound coming from the room at the end. The rhythm of the movement was fluid, thoroughly focused.
She paused at the open doorway of what appeared to be a woodworking shop and simply watched Asher work for a moment.
His head was bent down, those silky chocolate-brown waves hanging over his forehead as he painstakingly sanded the edge of an elaborately carved wooden headboard. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of loose, faded jeans.
She stood and stared, mesmerized by the tangle ofdermaglyphsthat traced all over his chest and torso, and down onto his muscled arms. The Breed skin markings were just a shade darker than the rest of him now, but she knew they were a barometer of his emotions. In the short time she’d known him, she had seen them change colors multiple times, usually in fury.
Finally, he glanced up. He scowled, which seemed to be his usual expression whenever she was around. “Is anything wrong?”
“No.” She shrugged, lifting her mug. “I hope you don’t mind that I made some tea.”
“Of course, I don’t mind.” He waited as if expecting her to leave then. Or hoping, maybe.
Naomi stepped into the room, glancing at the collection of pieces stored there. Hand-crafted chairs. Handsome side tables. A pair of bookcases. Even a tall armoire. Plenty of beautiful things to outfit most of the house. And all of it was expertly made, nothing less than a work of art.
She couldn’t resist walking over for a closer look. “These are some amazing pieces. Why did Ned keep them all back here?”
“A few of them are his,” Asher replied, his tone unreadable. “The rest are mine.”
She swung an incredulous look at him. “Yours, as in you made them?”
He gave a vague nod. “Ned taught me the craft, before he lost his sight and the use of his hands. At first, I only helped him finish the things he had to abandon. After a while, I found working with my hands was a good way to occupy my mind, especially when I’m cooped up inside during the daytime.”
She glanced at the headboard with its flourishes and interlocking swirls of inlaid wood. A pattern that was echoed on Asher’s skin. “You’re really good at this. You should move some of these pieces into the other rooms of the house. The side tables would work really great in the living room instead of the old ones in there now. If you want, I could show you how I’d arrange them.”
He was staring at her as if she had just offered to shave his head. “I don’t spend much time in the living room and I have no use for any of these things in here. It’s just Sam and me in the house, and we don’t need much.”
“Have you ever thought of selling what you make, then?” She set her mug on a workbench so she could run her hand over the satiny curve of one of the chairs. “It seems like a shame to let beautiful things gather dust when someone could enjoy them.”
“I have no interest in selling them, either.” He put his sanding block down, aggravated and curt now. His gaze swept her from head to toe, displeasure in his tense expression. “You’re still wearing my shirt. There’s a small laundry room off the kitchen if you want to wash your clothes.”
She offered a smile that went unreturned. “Thanks, I’ll do that. I never could stand the smell of smoke. My mom used to bring it home with her every night she was at the casino with Slater.”
Asher grunted. “As soon as the sun’s down we’ll drive up to the state line for food and supplies. You can pick up some extra clothes too. In the meantime, why don’t you go find something to do. Read one of Ruth’s books, or finish one of Ned’s crosswords.”
“Are you serious?” She folded her arms, frowning as he went back to work on the headboard as if she were already gone. His gruff tone and dismissive attitude chafed the first time she found herself in this house, but being on the receiving end of it now—especially after their kiss—stung her more deeply than she was prepared for. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
He glared up at her. “I can’t do that until I’m sure Slater is dealt with. And more than likely, Cain as well.”
Her mouth flattened tightly, but only in an effort to keep the pain out of her voice. “If I wasn’t worried that I might put Michael or the kids who count on us at risk by going home right now, I’d already be gone.”
She pivoted to walk out, but two paces away from him she stopped. She couldn’t take the emotional confusion, nor the foolishness she felt at having allowed herself to feel something for this man—this cold Breed male—who clearly couldn’t wait to be rid of her from his life.
She swung back around, furious with herself as much as him.
“Why did you kiss me in the truck last night, Asher?”
His face hardened. “Does it matter? It was a mistake. One I won’t let happen again.”
His words made the air in her lungs evaporate, made her stomach feel like a rock inside her. He resumed his sanding as if he had no more to say. As if it were that easy for him to dismiss her, not only from the room but from his thoughts.
“A mistake,” she said, nodding, knowing she should feel the same way about it, but couldn’t. “Did you do it because I was crying? Because you felt sorry for me?” She sucked in a shallow breath, staring at his lowered head and the bulky muscles of his shoulders as he scraped the sanding block over the already smoothed edge of the headboard. “Did you do it out of fucking pity, Asher?”
