“My mom’s favorite flowers were orchids, too,” he says quietly, moving my hair again. He twists a strand of it in his fingers, and I’m unsure what I see in his eyes—sadness or a lingering memory.
“What was she like?” I ask, enjoying the closeness.
He smiles. “Kind. She always smelled like lavender. And she sang a lot. All the time, actually. I don’t remember what she sang, but I remember music.”
“Maybe you’ll remember someday.”
Who is this man? Where has he come from? Why, in such a short time, has he made me feel so much? I’m drawn to him, and it’s starting to frighten me.
But something tells me he’s a good man. Something tells me that this isn’t a fleeting feeling for either of us.
He kisses me softly and I cling to him. It’s quick, but enough to remind me how it felt to be entwined with him, and when the kiss ends, he presses his forehead to mine.
“I think I might be in trouble here,” he whispers.
Chapter 9
Asher
“It’s a big world out there, Asher,” Ella says. “A world full of cookies. And you’re not gonna try any of them?”
I drape my arm over the back of her chair and lean close. “Nope.”
“Come on!” she says, bouncing in her seat. “Why?”
I shrug. “There are so many dessert options. Why do I need a cookie? I have cake. Ice cream. Pancakes. Besides, Gable getsweirdabout cookies. It’s a good job I’m not interested in them; he’d kill me if I took any of his.”
She pierces her pasta with her fork. “By looking at Gable, I’d say that isn’t an exaggeration.”
We’re seated outside an Italian restaurant having lunch, our fifth date in eight days, and damn, this woman is charming. I’ve tried to lure the conversations back to Barnaby’s deliveries, tried to gently ask about a hard drive or anything similar, but I fall off track the moment she smiles at me. She’s disarming. Witty. Adorable. So fucking smart.
I’ve talked about my mom more, something I’ve only ever discussed with Gable. I told her how I met Gable, andmy life in and out of the foster homes, the good families and the bad. Although I left out certain things, I found myself unearthing memories and sharing them with this woman I hardly know. There’s something about her presence that’s wildly comfortable, like part of my chest was dislodged until I met her.
And I cannot for the life of me figure out why she has a bounty on her head.
People can hide things. I’ve met the sweetest, most endearing people who run criminal underworlds. But that isn’t Ella. She doesn’t have that edge, that darkness that even the most seasoned criminals can’t hide from me.
I don’t think I can kill her.
It’s easy enough to walk away from a job; the challenge is that someone else will inevitably take it.
I have no idea how I’m going to keep her safe, but I’ll have to come up with something and soon, because the client is getting impatient. I’ve confirmed Barnaby’s death but requested extra time to kill Ella and find the hard drive. It was granted, but judging by the curt message back, they aren’t happy about it.
I need to figure something out, because if I don’t work this right, the client will come for Gable and me—and if it boils down to protecting Ella or my brother, I’ll choose my brother every time.
So, for now, I’ll enjoy my time with her, get the hard drive back, and hopefully an idea will fall into my lap.
I can allow myself a few weeks of Ella Gibson, right?
“You should trymycookies,” she says and freezes, slowly sliding the pasta off her fork and into her mouth. “Not like that.”
I laugh. She does that a lot, says what she thinks is the wrong thing, but it’s cute.
I do really want to try her fucking cookies, though. While she’s cute, she’s also incredibly sexy, too. At the end of every date, she does this adorable thing where she looks up at me and sighs and fuck … how have I resisted her so far?
But the reality is, this could dissolve into a total mess. I can’t sleep with a woman I might have to kill in the end.
… But what if I don’t have to kill her? What if this is all a big misunderstanding, and she never has to even find out what I do?
