Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Asher leaned against the bedroom door, his breath ragged.
He’d kissed her. He’d given in to his desire, he’d let himself be carried away. He’d kissed her.
It was worse than that, though.
That one kiss had shattered every wall he’d built. It was life-altering, the kind of kiss that made him wonder if losing his job might be worth it if he could just kiss her one more time.
His pulse hammered. She’d tasted of apples and blueberries and something uniquely her. And he was sure, no matter how much time passed, he’d never forget that flavor.
What am I doing?
He raked a hand through his hair, tugging hard as if the pain could pull him back to reality.
He needed to move. He needed the gym, his punching bag—a way to release this tension.
Push-ups. That would help. On the floor at the end of his bed, he started. Up and down. Focus on the carpet. Focus on the burn.
Anything to replace the memory of her.
He couldn’t return to his fantasies about Cici, that she was his, that she loved him.
She’d shown her true colors way back in high school.
Even if she’d changed, even if that kiss hinted at something more, did he really want to reignite a flame he’d spent years smothering?
He’d been a stupid kid with a crush, dreaming of her, only to have those dreams squashed under her careless laughter.
He wasn’t going back there.
And he wasn’t about to destroy his future for her.
That moment back in high school, that moment when she’d laughed at him, had changed his life.
Despite his parents’ financial troubles, Asher had come to believe he could achieve all his dreams. He knew he’d be valedictorian, since he was at the top of their class.
He’d been offered scholarships. When his parents had warned him about the risk of college—how he might not be able to handle it, how he might flunk out or lose his scholarship—he’d assured them he could handle it.
Like most people his age, he’d been young and cocky. And like most people his age, he’d gotten knocked down a few pegs.
In his case, Cici had done the knocking.
After that day, he’d changed his plans. He hadn’t wanted to stay in Maine, where all his scholarship offers had come from. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with Shadow Cove or the kids he went to high school with. He’d wanted to leave it all behind.
Mostly, he’d wanted to leave his humiliation behind.
Not that he regretted the decision. The Navy had been good to him.
The Teams had been good to him. But he did sometimes wonder what life would’ve been like if he’d gone on to the University of Maine and majored in economics like he’d planned.
Or finance. Back then, he’d dreamed of political office.
His fallback plan had been to become a financial planner or a stockbroker.
Those dreams had crumbled, along with his self-respect, the day Cici had laughed at him.
She’d changed the trajectory of his life. And yeah, he’d let her. He should’ve gotten over it. He could’ve faced the humiliation and gone to college.
He wasn’t blaming her. He’d had to own his fears—of failure, mostly—fears he could kick himself for now.
At the same time, he wasn’t going to let her screw up his life again.
When he delivered her safely home and got paid, he’d have the down payment for his condo. He’d buy it, then leverage it to buy a real piece of property—land and a single-family home, a place that was his alone. A place nobody could take away from him.
He was going to build a foundation, the kind of stability he’d never had growing up. Someday, God willing, he’d have a family, and when he did, they’d never wonder where their next meal was coming from.
Never.
He was going to have the kind of stability Cici’d had all her life—with zero effort on her part.
Not that he was bitter. He knew who he was and what he wanted. He’d envisioned a future, and Cici wasn’t in the picture.
She was attractive, sure, with those intelligent eyes and her quick humor, but she was shallow. Even now, where he’d built a life that revolved around protecting people, she’d built a life that revolved around jewelry.
See? Shallow.
Except, was she?
He flipped to his back for sit-ups, wishing he were at the gym where he could get a real workout.
Her family mattered to her. Forbes, who wasn’t even a part of her family yet, mattered enough to her that she guarded his necklace like Asher guarded her, as if it were precious. And not because of its value but because it was an heirloom.
Justice mattered to her. She wanted the people who’d been party to the Ballentine murders to pay for their crimes.
Maybe she wasn’t totally shallow. Maybe she had a few values he could respect.
And she wasn’t bitter or cold. She wasn’t the self-absorbed snob he’d painted her to be. She was kind—too kind, refusing to report him even when he’d crossed every professional line.
Ugh.
Those thoughts weren’t helping at all.
Asher needed security, something solid he could build for himself.
Cici was nothing but a distraction.
By the time he finished his punish myself workout routine, he needed another shower. Which was probably a good idea, anyway. A nice cold shower should shock the woman out of his head.
Clean, in fresh clothes, and eager to get moving, he messaged Garrison—the guy who’d delivered them to this house the night before—who responded with a message that he was on his way with wheels. Asher prayed for something discreet, not that he’d bet on it, not with their luck.
A few minutes later, an engine rumbled outside.
Asher grabbed his pack and opened the bedroom door, finding his T-shirt and boxers folded neatly on the floor in the hallway.
Nothing sexy about that, except he’d never get the image of Cici wearing them out of his mind.
Cursing the woman, he shoved the clothes into his pack and strode to the living room.
Cici stood by the back door, gazing at the lake. Her hair was brushed, her clothes from the day before hanging off her. She was beautiful, as always, but certainly not at ease. Her arms were crossed, her shoulders tense.
“Time to go.” He was careful to keep his voice even.
She turned, her expression icy. “I’ll sit in the backseat, since we’re not friends. Isn’t that what a client would do?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He moved to the window. Maybe she should sit in the backseat. The more space between them, the better.
He expected to see two cars, one for them, one to transport whoever dropped it off. Maybe a car and a truck. A truck and an SUV.
Any combination would have worked.
But what rolled into view was Chief Thomas’s pickup with a motorcycle in the bed.
Unless Garrison and Thomas, who’d climbed out and were moving to roll it down a plank to the ground, planned to ride the bike home—and he highly doubted the chief was about to hand over his sixty-thousand-dollar truck—the bike was for them.
Which meant Cici wouldn’t be in the backseat.
She’d be right behind him, arms around his waist, body pressed against his for miles and hours.
Exactly the last thing he needed. He needed distance—professional distance, not to mention actual, physical distance. He did not need her warmth seeping into him all the way to Shadow Cove.
“Seriously?” Cici’s voice cut through his thoughts as she joined him at the window. “A dirt bike?”
“Not…technically.” It had lights and a license plate, but it was hardly larger than a dirt bike, and the mud caked on the sides told him it could handle off-roading. “You’ll have to hold on tight.”
Her eyes narrowed. Then, one eyebrow ticked up. He could swear he heard her thoughts.
I can handle it if you can.
She grabbed her purse and marched outside.
Asher followed, her coldness hitting hard. He hated that he’d hurt her. He really hated that she thought he still wasn’t over what she did to him in high school.
Fine. Maybe he wasn’t. But this wasn’t about that. This was about the job, about keeping his life on track. Still, her frostiness felt like a wall he didn’t know how to scale.
He wanted a wall between them, though. It was safer this way, even if it hurt.
“Good morning,” she called as if all were right with the world.
They reached the bike, and Asher got a better look. It was…old. Wide wheels told him it was probably mostly used for off-roading. It would go fast enough.
Helmets hung from each handlebar.
Garrison handed him the keys. “Stick to back roads or trails if you want to avoid civilization.”
“Thanks.” Asher shook the older man’s hand. “I’ll get this back to you.”
“Not a problem. It’s my son’s, but he hardly ever uses it.” Garrison flicked some dirt off the back. “Or cleans it, obviously.”
Beside him, Chief Thomas said, “We’ll worry about getting it back when you two are safe. I’ll let Bartlett know you’re on the road.” His gaze rose to the sky, where puffy clouds rolled overhead.
“That’d be great. Thanks.” Asher shook the chief’s hand as well.
Cici thanked them both and put on the smaller of the helmets.
After he shoved her purse under the seat and fastened his pack to the back, he swung a leg over the seat and strapped on the second helmet.
She climbed on behind him.
“Try not to fall off,” he snapped.
Her arms circled his waist, but her grip was loose, barely there—like she couldn’t stand touching him. It was a stark contrast to the heat of their kiss. He didn’t like it, at all. Even if it was better this way.
He fired up the engine, the roar drowning out his thoughts.
Get her to Shadow Cove, he told himself. Then walk away.
But deep down, he knew that kiss had shifted something, and there was no outrunning it.
The motorcycle’s engine growled beneath Asher as he guided it along the winding backroads of New Hampshire, hugging the Maine state line.
They’d ridden in silence, the roar of the bike and the whipping wind making conversation impossible. The morning sunshine had faded, replaced by a heavy blanket of gray clouds.