“She still lives there. Weget pictures every now and again. Hang on, I’ll see if I can find one for you.”
I got as far as taking myphone out of my pocket before Ashley yelped and something clattered to thefloor. When I looked up, he was shaking his hand, an angry red burn formingalong the side of his finger.
Without pausing to think, Imoved around the counter in the space of a heartbeat, stepping over the pot lidhe’ddropped and ushering him to the sink.
His whole hand was hot whenI grabbed it, shoving it under the cold water on full blast. Ashley hissed andstruggled against me instinctively, but I held him firmly and kept his handunder the water.
“I know,” I said. “Hurtslike hell, but it’s better than letting it spread.”
It took me a few seconds to realizeI was pressed up against him, pinning him to the counter from behind, holdingonto his wrist.
He’d already calmed down,though, so I didn’t feel like I needed to move away.
He smelledreallygood. Citrus and sea salt, bright and fresh and just a little sweet. It suitedhim.
…whywas I smellinghim? Why was I making mental notes about how he smelled?
What the hell was wrong withme?
“Any better?” I asked,dragging myself back to the real world and away from the possibility of askingAshley what kind of aftershave he used.
“If you wanted to cuddle,”Ashley said. “You could have just asked.”
“Funny.”
I should have known betterthan to think I was going to get away with this. Ashley was a smartass, and hewasn’tafraid of me. That wasgood, and I didn’t want him to be, but itwas coming back to bite me now.
“Bacon’s burning,” Ashleysaid.
“What?”
I sniffed. Smoke?
“Bacon’s burning,” Ashleyrepeated, and this time it got through my thick skull, past the part of mybrain that couldn’t stop thinking about how close we were, how I wasn’t backingaway, how soft his skin felt under my fingers.
“Shit.”
I let go of Ashley’s hand, turningthe burner off and grabbing the handle of the frying pan.
The steel handle.
The steel handle that wasnow hot as hell.
I hissed as it burned myfingers, embarrassment fighting with pain over which was worse.
The pan hit the ground, facedown, spilling charred bacon everywhere. The sound of it rang in my ears,deafening, shock freezing me to the spot.
Something was tugging on myshirt.
Ashley. Ashley was tuggingon my shirt, pulling me over toward the sink. He grabbed my hand with his ownburned one and held them together under the water.
A few heartbeats passed.
Then a chuckle, and a snort,and laughter exploded between us as we took in the lid and the pan on thefloor, a puddle of water and bacon grease starting to mingle, our joined handsunder the cold water.
“If you wanted to hold myhand,” I said. “You could have just asked.”
Ashley laughed again, takinghis hand away and shaking the excess water off it. “Being a smartass usuallycomes back to bite me.” He paused to survey the floor. “But notthisquick.”
