1. It’s Not Love. It’s Hormones.
Chapter 1
It’s Not Love. It’s Hormones.
Ori
F ucking men.
At this moment, that derisive thought is aimed solely at my infuriatingly attractive, tattooed neighbor.
A neighbor who a week ago promised me dinner—and dessert—but has yet to deliver on either.
I get it, or at least the rational side of my brain does.
Ash is busy with business, and keeping his clientele happy at Black Lotus keeps the lights on in his upscale tattoo parlor. Plus, these aren’t just any clients.
How do I know? Ash told me earlier today when he begged off our plans yet again. These women are not random inked hotties, desperate for some face time with Sparkwood’s resident bad boy.
They’re scouts for a major magazine.
Major, as in life-changing .
Ash needs to take this meeting, so our dinner date needs to simmer on the back burner while I stew next door.
The worst part? I hate being this way. I’m not the woman who gets all tangled up in fuzzy feelings because a man delivers an over-the-top orgasm—or several.
I’m the chick who plays it cool. No man gets under my skin, making me all hot and bothered.
No man until Asher Hammond, that is.
He’s the first man I can’t get out of my brain, and apparently, can’t get back into bed.
Unacceptable.
Oriana Thorne does not go down like this.
Fine, I’m being a bit dramatic. It’s only been ten days since Ash and I hooked up for a second time, right before he jetted off to Vegas for a tattoo convention. From the photos I saw online, there was a whole lot of partying and a crap ton of eligible females. Talk about some low-hanging fruit. The men of Black Lotus had a never ending buffet of beauties surrounding them.
In. Every. Photograph.
Do I want to know how many of them Ash bedded during those five days? No, because where that tattooed god is concerned, ignorance is bliss.
So, when Ash got home four days ago, I was champing at the bit to go out on a real live date. He seemed happy to see me, even brought me back a special edition copy of Jane Eyre with a custom drawn cover—all because he knows it’s my favorite book. Then he informed me he was crazy busy playing catch-up, but we would have dinner together the following day.
That day came and went, along with a few others, and here we are.
I need a damn lobotomy.
I should be doing a million things, but here I am, leaning on the bookstore counter and straining to glimpse this evening’s entertainment like some love-starved voyeur.
Am I in love with Ash? No, with a capital N. But I am in like. Big time like. Those very fuzzy feelings I swore I would never catch around him? I have them bad.
And that isn’t good. Especially not with a man like Asher Hammond.
Too bad my heart doesn’t care what my brain thinks about the subject.
A flurry of movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I swing my gaze to watch as three women, clad in little more than lingerie, approach the entrance to Black Lotus.
They must be the magazine scouts, and of course, they have to be hot as hell. They each possess an edgy appeal, but one is obviously the leader. Her skin is decorated with colorful ink, and her hair is styled into a long, vibrant purple mohawk. On me, that hairstyle would look ridiculous. On her, it’s stunning—and I silently curse her and her future offspring under my breath.
See? This is why the idea of love with a man like Asher Hammond is not a good look for me. I apparently descend into madness—with little hope of escape.
There you go again with the L word.
I pause, realizing I’ve used the word love and Ash in conjunction one too many times for it to be a coincidence.
No, no, no. Get a grip, Oriana. Right now. You will not fall in love with a man incapable of the emotion.
Nope, I don’t believe me, either.
From my perch behind the bookstore counter, I watch Ash saunter to the entrance of Black Lotus to greet the women, his sex-on-a-stick smirk at the ready.
When you’ve got it, flaunt it, and Asher Hammond has it all in spades.
I hate him for always looking so damn sexy, even though he’s nothing like my usual type. Seems my hormones don’t give a flying fig if I normally gravitate toward businessmen.
Ash is ruggedly handsome with permanent artwork covering every inch of his skin, all highlighting his muscular frame—and don’t even get me started on his chiseled features or the way his neatly trimmed beard feels oh-so-damn-good against my skin. And his piercings? Damn, they take the pleasure to a whole new level.
But he’s more than just wildly attractive. He’s smart and pensive, with a quick wit and a reading habit that puts mine to shame. He’s also the most talented lay I’ve ever had, and trust me, he’s had some competition.
Sunday school teacher, I am not, but my reputation pales compared to Asher Hammond’s.
Every woman Ash wants, he gets. That’s not some egotistical aside that he spouts for effect. It’s a fact. Just ask the women of Sparkwood—the man is a legend.
If I were smart, I would forget this cockamamie idea of dating Asher Hammond and focus on easier prey. I’ve had more than my share of requests for dates, but I’ve turned them all down.
I don’t date for sport. In truth, I don’t date. Who has the time? My bookstore, One More Page , keeps me hopping and now I’ve added a fixer-upper mansion to my to-do list—just for kicks.
Plus, I have a vibrator. A damn good one, too.
Not Asher Hammond good, though.
No one, and I mean no one, is that good.
That’s the crux of my issue—he checks all the boxes. Everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, lover, life partner … dare I say, husband, he possesses, with one tiny flaw.
He doesn’t believe in love or romance. Just ask him and he’ll tell you all about it.
See? I should run for the hills and chalk up our two nights together to one too many whiskeys and one too few beds.
That’s what a smart woman would do.
That’s what I should do, but my brain cells have flitted away into the ether and it’s all Ash’s fault.
Like I said, fucking men.
A peal of laughter, tinged with one too many cocktails, sounds from next door, pulling me from my self-imposed torment. I shift my attention back to Ash and his female companions, still lingering by the tattoo parlor door. As if on cue, the leader of the lingerie pack tosses her head back with a gleeful giggle, her hand resting on Ash’s biceps.
He obviously told her something wildly witty and funny.
Of course he did.
With a grunt more feral than I’d like, I shove my jealousy back in its emotional cage. Time to focus on anything other than Asher Hammond—like my business, my new house, or reclaiming my sanity.
Twisting my long hair into a makeshift bun, I secure it with a pencil jabbed into the center.
Who cares what I look like? There’s no one here to impress besides Mina, and she wouldn’t give a crap if I wore a burlap sack to work.
A rap at the bookstore window grabs my attention. Jerking my head up, I meet Ash’s wide-eyed gaze as he stands in the adjoining hallway, his menage flanking him like sentries.
Subtle, ladies.
But Ash isn’t paying them any mind. He’s too busy eye fucking me, or at least visually devouring the parts of me not hidden behind a wooden counter.
Peering down at my shirt, I realize what’s caught the man’s attention. Seems somewhere between inventorying paperbacks and restocking the coffee bar, a few buttons on my blouse popped open, offering quite a view of my lacy black bra.
Totally unintentional move, although I’m certainly enjoying Ash’s reaction.
Ash bites his lower lip and offers me an appreciative nod. Then his sultry green-eyed-gaze travels back up the length of my torso while his fingers grasp his shirt lapels in a non-verbal cue.
How cute. He’s trying to preserve my modesty.
But modesty isn’t earning me drool worthy stares—my breasts are. Plus, there’s no one else here except his friends , and judging by their current attire—or lack thereof—they’ve clearly modeled their fair share of undergarments.
So, true to form, I opt to push Ash’s buttons, which is fast becoming one of my favorite pastimes.
I yank the pencil from my hair and let the dark waves tumble over my shoulders before leaning on the counter and mashing my tits together.
Ash’s eyes widen, flitting between the amused smirk dancing on my lips and my ample cleavage while I turn my focus to the packing list in front of me.
Your move, Asher Hammond.
I expect an exasperated shake of his head or even a snort of laughter at my inherent stubbornness.
I get neither.
When I glance up a few moments later, Ash is gone from the window, and the women are disappearing through Black Lotus’s front door.
Not the reaction I expected.
With a huff, I twirl on my heel and freeze in my tracks.
Ash stands not a foot away from me and, judging by the smoldering expression on his face, I know just what he’s thinking.
Time to feign innocent indifference—an infuriating and highly effective technique with men like Ash. “May I help you?”
Ash closes the distance between us, trapping me between the heavy oak counter and his muscled torso. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I bite my lip for effect, even pushing my glasses up my nose as I work the sexy librarian angle.
He slides his hands up my rib cage to cup my breasts, his thumbs dusting across my nipples. “These beauties are mine. For my eyes only.”
“Says who?”
Any woman who claims she hates a man with a jealous streak is lying. I’m not talking about a full-on smack down for disobedience—I’d never tolerate an ounce of that shit—but seeing the muscle in Ash’s jaw tighten at the thought of me sharing my lady parts with someone else is downright satisfying.
Not quite 'rolling in the sack with Ash' satisfying, but it’s close, and getting a rise out of the man who claims to be immune to jealousy? Pure satisfaction, even if my wardrobe malfunction was totally innocent.
“Don’t play with me, Ori,” Ash warns, leaning in to glide his tongue along my throat. “I’ll take you over my knee right here.”
Walking my fingers along the firm column of his chest, I release a husky chuckle. “A delicious offer, but that would mean abandoning your guests for the evening because I won’t settle for some quick fix. I’m craving an all nighter. So, I suppose playtime will have to wait … until you find ample free time.”
He wraps his hands around my hips, hauling me flush against his erection. “Stick around tonight. My meeting shouldn’t take too long and then I’m all yours.”
“Tempting, Asher Hammond. Very tempting.”
And it is tempting to cave to his demands and sit around whilst he entertains next door—though I shudder to think what his form of entertainment might involve with those sexy bitches.
Let’s be real: I knew Ash’s reputation long before we indulged in the horizontal mambo, and I dove in anyway. I’d be downright foolish to believe he’d hang up his playboy hat simply because of two fabulous nights with me.
I may be a romantic, but I’m also a realist. Still, a simple agreement to Ash’s request is far too easy. Time to make him sweat a bit.
Besides, he owes me after canceling dinner and wrecking my plans numerous times.
“Is that a yes?” Ash presses, his fingers caressing my sides.
“Guess you’ll find out when you’re finished. After all, I have other ways to spend an evening that doesn’t involve waiting around for you.”
Ash groans, but I catch him biting back a grin. “Woman, what am I going to do with you?”
It’s one of his favorite lines where I’m concerned, but I consider it a term of endearment. Plus, he’s not wrong in his assessment. Stubbornness runs through my veins.
“Nothing good ever came easy.”
“Not true,” he murmurs, capturing me in a fierce kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. “I make you come really easy. Again, and again.”
With every word, I fall deeper under Ash’s spell. By the end, my entire body quivers from his touch.
Tilting my chin up, Ash forces me to meet his gaze. “Stick around tonight.”
Then he’s gone, his boots echoing across the wood floor as he returns to Black Lotus —to the trio of women waiting for him. Important women, wanting to discuss life-altering ideas. All while dressed in lingerie.
My little green monster is on a rampage tonight.
“Little predate action?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at Mina’s voice over my shoulder. Spinning on my heel, I feel the flush rise to my cheeks as I re-button my blouse. “Not hardly.”
“Sure looked that way.”
“That would require us to actually go on a date.”
Mina furrows her brow and shoots me a confused look before handing me a cup of coffee. “I thought you two were having dinner tonight.”
Huffing out a noisy breath, I roll my shoulders back a few times. “So did I, but Ash canceled earlier today.”
“Again?”
See? It’s not just me. Ash’s behavior is suspect, at best.
Still, being the cool and collected woman I am—at least on the outside—I opt to play it off.
No. Big. Deal.
Will Mina see through my facade? Without a doubt, but I’m going down with the ship on this one.
“It’s a work thing. A few scouts from some magazine wanted to interview Ash for an upcoming issue.”
“But you don’t buy that reason.” For someone so young, Mina certainly knows how to cut through the bullshit.
“You didn’t see the way they looked at him … or the way he ate up every second.” Scrubbing my face with my hands, I release a loud groan. “This is a bad idea. I should shelve any plans with Asher Hammond and return to my previously scheduled life.”
“The life before the local tattoo god took up residence in your heart?”
“Sure isn’t taking up residence in my bed,” I mutter. “And don’t let Ash hear you mention his name alongside the words love, heart, or happily ever after. You’ll send him hurtling for the nearest exit.”
Mina offers me a casual shrug as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “Maybe it’s totally innocent, Ori, and those women aren’t into Ash. People do have other reasons to visit Black Lotus besides drooling over the owner. You know, like getting pierced or tattooed.”
I should fire my friend. It would be easier than enduring any more of this conversation. Figures Mina would throw logic into my emotional free fall.
But logic is not my strong suit when it comes to Ash. Mostly because I’ve let the man into my heart, and now, all bets are off.
And it’s silly. Absolutely, ridiculously silly.
Ash and I spent one scorching night together, where we moved from enemies to friends to lovers at warp speed. Then we toyed with each other for the next week until he stormed into my bookshop to claim he doesn’t want to like me.
But he does.
He really, really does.
After a second night with the man, one that blew past all previously held expectations, he asked me out to dinner, despite telling me during the course of our lust-filled frolics that he doesn’t date.
As in ever. Love and romance are not on the menu for Asher Hammond.
So, when he asked me, I knew it meant something.
Until it didn’t.
And here we are.
“What do those women have that you don’t, Ori? Not a damn thing.” Mina waves her hand in the direction of Black Lotus.
“Not true,” I grumble, gulping down a mouthful of coffee. “They have at least two cup sizes on me.”
“Your boobs are fantastic, and you know it.”
She’s not lying. At the risk of sounding like a pompous ass, I have amazing tits. They’re perky and just the right size. Plus, judging by his earlier reaction, Ash seems equally enamored.
Even if it’s been ten days since he spent any time with them. Not that I’m counting.
“They also have about thirty more tattoos than me.”
Mina considers my statement. “Do you have any ink?”
I shake my head before guzzling down the last of my coffee. “That’s weird, right? Here I am, tattoo free and pining after a tattoo artist. We don’t match.”
“Opposites attract,” Mina reminds me in a sing-song voice, no doubt trying to lighten the mood.
But do they? Can two people with nothing in common, save for amazing sex, actually build something when one half of the duo has zero interest in said project?
I rest my chin on my palm and release a huff. “Maybe he isn’t that good in bed. Might have been a fluke.”
Mina snorts and shakes her head, knowing full well my statement is crap. “Every time?”
See? Mina has never slept with Ash, nor has she shown a speck of interest in the man, but even she knows he’s the most talented lover on the market. Word travels fast when you’re a legend.
And Asher Hammond is the king of legends. He’s perfect and perfectly unattainable. For some ridiculous reason, that combo is catnip to women.
Trust me, I know.
Lowering my head to the counter, I release a low groan. “I don’t want to like him, Mina.”
I shock myself with the veracity of my words, although I know each and every one is true.
Liking Asher Hammond is akin to dancing too close to the sun. I’m guaranteed to burn alive.
“But you do, and he likes you.”
“Does he, though?”
Mina nods, shooting me a wink. “Deep down, he’s always had a thing for you. That, no doubt, scares the shit out of a man like Ash. You always had a thing for him, too.”
I bark out a laugh at her statement. “Not true. Not even remotely, in the smallest increment, true.”
“You know you’re lying.”
“Did I think the man was good looking? Of course, but that’s hardly newsworthy. I also thought he was pugnacious and pedantic, with an ego bigger than his biceps.”
Another snort rises from Mina’s chest. “He should put that on his business cards.”
Trust me, I had many thoughts about Asher Hammond before our truce, but none of them involved him as a potential mate.
Mostly, they centered on his revolving door of women, with a seemingly new one every night.
Each of his conquests seemed so enamored with him as they batted their lashes and hung on his every word, all while hoping they would be the one to change his mind about love.
None of them even chinked his armor. Instead, he moved down the line to the next willing recipient with nary a thought to the pile of wounded hearts he left behind.
How do I know? He’s honest about that facet of his personality, too.
Ash’s beliefs are built on a foundation of heartbreak and jaded emotions, and it will take more than a talented tongue or hour-long blowjob to sway his opinion.
It will take a woman who’s strong in her own right. Stubborn, like him, but able to turn him on his head and keep him guessing.
I thought I might be up for the job. Hell, even as a sort of experiment to test the limits of our neighborhood demigod.
Now, I’m not so sure.
The worst part? Asher Hammond is a nice guy, so long as you don’t dare to fall in love with him. But if, or should I say when, you do, remember he warned you against such foolish notions.
“You know the real difference between you and those women?”
Once again, Mina’s voice cuts into my internal monologue, but she’s a welcome reprieve. My mind has dark corridors and rabbit trails, and when given free rein, there’s no telling what stories I might concoct in my head.
“I told you already,” I reply. “Two cup sizes, several dozen tattoos, and at least a few glasses of wine by now.”
Mina slings her bag over her shoulder before turning toward the door. “It has nothing to do with tits or tattoos. All those women ask Ash out, but he asked you . That never happens.”
“I asked him first, remember? He turned me down.”
Mina shakes her head and wraps the scarf around her neck. “Fine. But then he asked you to hang out a few times, and you shot him down—or conveniently had plans with another man.”
“A happily married man who has zero interest in me,” I remind her.
She shrugs, pulling her keys from her bag. “Ash didn’t know that, though, and it bothered the hell out of him. I’m telling you, Ori, you’re not like those other women. See you tomorrow.”
I marinate on Mina’s words as I watch my friend stroll to her car, barely managing to stay upright on a slick spot caused by the falling snow.
We got snow on Long Island, too, but this is insanity. Every day it’s either snowing or forecast to start within twelve hours. Such is the life in the mountains of New York.
Still, it makes for a beautiful landscape, and it is almost Christmas.
Shit! Christmas.
With all my afternoon musings over one tatted hottie, I forgot to finish preparations for Santa’s visit to the bookstore.
I threw out the idea on a lark at a town council meeting, unsure if the residents would be interested.
Newsflash: they were.
We have over fifty children descending on One More Page in two days, and this store needs to look like a winter wonderland.
Since Mina has vacated the premises, it looks like I’m Santa’s sole elf.
At least it will keep my mind off Asher Hammond and his platonic playthings next door.
An hour later, I’ve finished Santa’s workshop, but Ash is no further from my brain.
I’m also still chewing on Mina’s words about how I’m different from all those other women, although I call bullshit on that statement.
But the one overriding thought? I’m ready to eat the ornaments on the artificial tree to ward off the gnawing in my stomach.
A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s way past dinnertime, which means Ash’s time to get his happy ass over here is also up.
Apparently, he’s having far too much fun with his ladies to wrap things up in a timely fashion, and I’m not sitting here all night like some besotted fan.
On to plan B.
I grab my phone and dial the local pizza place. My original idea? A cheesy Stromboli jam-packed with enough pepperoni to choke a horse.
But halfway through my order, a better idea hits me.
Ash wants me to hang around?
Fine, but there’s a ticking clock for that request and if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t make me wait.
I stroll next door and shoot Braden a smile when he glances up from his desk. “Hey Braden, where’s the man of the hour? Still entertaining?”
Yes, I’m testing the waters.
Sue me.
A grin splits Braden’s face at my question. He looks just like his brother, but Braden and Ash are so different when it comes to their ideas on love.
Ash hates the concept.
Braden is open to the idea.
Neither one starves for female affection.
Such are the trials and tribulations of the Hammond men.
Braden jerks his thumb over his shoulder, toward the back of the parlor. “Come to rescue him?”
“Something like that.”
Totally false bravado, but I need all the help I can get right now, and Braden is too much of a gentleman to call me out on it.
With a sigh, I toss my hair over my shoulder and follow the sound of laughter to the back seating area, earning a surprised look from Ash when he catches sight of me.
“Hey, Ori.”
“Hey yourself.” I nod at each of the women, but my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. How can it when it’s one hundred percent fake?
At least they’re all dressed and sitting an appropriate distance from my man.
My man? What the hell is wrong with you, Ori?
Love. Do. Not. Recommend.
Terrible for the psyche.
Before my brain can pick apart my latest thoughts involving the L word, I plow ahead. The sooner I state my case and leave, the better.
The rest is up to Ash.
“It’s late and I’m starving. I ordered a pizza from that place you like, and it will be here in thirty minutes. After that, both me and said pizza will be downstairs and I hate dining alone. I’m sure you’ll be finished with your interview by then.”
A scoff flies from one woman’s mouth, but I pay her no mind.
Am I being forward? Damn straight, but like Mina reminded me, I have something they don’t. Ash asked me out, not the other way around.
Plus, he admitted to having a mad crush on me after we slept together.
Sometimes, it pays to take chances. If it works, I have a dinner date. If it doesn’t, then my love experiment, as it were, is finished and I’ll wave the white flag of surrender.
Either way, it’s an answer.
“I figured we would grab a drink,” the woman with the purple mohawk protests, shooting me a side-eye as she slides the tiniest bit closer to Ash’s side.
But Ash never wavers his gaze from me as a smile breaks across his face. I remember that dimpled smirk from our nights together, offered up right before he buried himself inside me and took us on the ride of our lives.
No doubt he’s recalling the same memory, if the raw hunger in his face is anything to go by.
Sorry ladies, even if your tits are two sizes larger than mine, Ash’s focus is singular—and it’s on me.
Time to play this one to my full advantage.
“I’ll be downstairs. Don’t keep me waiting.”
With that, I strut away, ensuring I toss in an extra hip shake for effect. Hey, my tits aren’t my only asset, and Ash has a real fondness for my peach.
Let’s hope it’s enough to make him send those women packing.