Chapter 30
thirty
ASHER
As soon as we arrive at the restaurant, the ma?tre d’ greets us and escorts us to our rooftop table, tucked in the far corner of the terrace beneath a canopy of glowing lanterns and trailing ivy.
It’s private and quiet, with a view of the river, and I wonder how many strings my PA had to pull to make this happen.
He pulls out Francie’s chair, next to the heater that’s needed for an October night. Despite the warmth radiating from it, Francie shivers and I immediately shrug off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.
It’s a shame to block the view of that red dress, but at least she doesn’t protest. I’m way too tired and wrung out for arguments. I just want a nice evening with my girl.
“What does groveling mean?” I ask her.
She blinks. “You don’t know?”
“In your book,” I clarify. “You said you were writing a groveling scene. What is that?”
“Oh.” Her face lights up, like I’ve hit on her favorite subject. “It’s when the guy messes up big time and has to win the heroine back. But she’s tough and won’t take his shit, so he has to work over time.”
I frown, not getting it. “And you like that?” I ask, remembering how Autumn squealed when Francie mentioned it. “Why?”
She leans in, resting her elbows on the table as her fingers toy with the stem of her water glass.
“Because it’s satisfying,” she says with a grin.
“You’ve got this big powerful guy who usually controls everything.
Life, business, even the heroine’s emotions.
And suddenly he’s flat on his back. Figuratively.
Or sometimes literally. He’s bleeding for her.
Begging for her forgiveness. And finally he realizes that love means vulnerability. ”
I frown, taking her words in. “So you want your heroes… bloody?”
That makes her laugh out loud. “I want them to be humble. And honest. Maybe a little desperate.” Her eyes twinkle and I realize that this was a mistake. We should be at home, at my house. Fuck, I’d be humble for her.
Just before I made her scream my name.
“It’s not about punishing them,” she murmurs softly. “It’s about showing the heroine she’s worth fighting for.”
I trace my thumb across my jaw, thoughtful. “Doesn’t she know that already?”
She shrugs. “I guess we all like to be reminded.”
“I’m happy to take you home and remind you right now.”
“Why?” she asks me. “Do you need to grovel about something?”
I lift a brow, taking in her glowing complexion. Trying to ignore the fact that I can’t be away from her for a day without missing her.
“The night is still young,” I tell her and she laughs again.
I feel it in my chest. The easy comfort between us. The soft edges of something real taking shape. Today has been the biggest shit show of my life, yet somehow, she makes everything better.
The waiter arrives with some wine, and we let the conversation drift. She tells me about her plans to visit Misty Lakes, the estate her family owns in Virginia, where she’ll come clean to her brothers about her writing.
I tell her about the time I lost a bet with Hudson and had to swim naked in the Atlantic in the middle of December.
“In December?” she winces. “How did I never hear about this?”
“It was before you and Autumn met.” I lift a brow. “And no man wants to recount the time his balls shriveled up so far they reached his sternum.” I blanch at the memory. Fuck, it was cold. “I swear I got hypothermia.”
She tips her head, clearly amused. “Was this before or after you became obsessed with security and control?”
I meet her warm gaze. “Before. It’s one of the formative disasters that turned me into the well-adjusted person I am today.”
Her mouth twitches. I reach out to touch it with my thumb, dragging it along her bottom lip. The tension that’s been coiled in my chest all day loosens.
“That explains the helicopter safety texts,” she murmurs.
“I just needed to see you. And I needed you safe.” And yeah, I feel a little sheepish because this woman doesn’t need me to take care of her. She’s fully capable of doing it herself.
Truth is, I like doing it. I like the dynamic. I have a knight-in-shining armor complex and I have no idea how to suppress it.
“And here I am.” She lifts my hand to her mouth, kissing my palm. It sends a shot of desire right through me. “But I wouldn’t say I’m safe.” She tips her head to the side, like she’s studying me. “By the way, the naked swimming thing would have been a great grovel.”
I chuckle. “Feel free to use my humiliation as fodder for your books.”
“I’m already using your psychic sex. What’s a little ball shrivel between friends?”
I capture her hand. “We’re not just friends. We already established this.” I run my thumb along the delicate skin on her wrist and her breath catches. Just the smallest hitch.
It’s enough to tell me she hears the truth behind my words. That this isn’t just friends fucking.
It’s something else. Something more. I may not be able to say the words yet, but I know what I feel.
When our food arrives – scallops for her, a rare steak for me – we fall into a low, easy murmur of conversation that only happens when everything fits.
I find myself watching her instead of eating, soaking in the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, how she wrinkles her nose when she tells me a secret.
How I’m falling for this woman, hook, line, and sinker.
And then I feel it. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.
A moment later, a shadow shifts in the corner of my vision.
“Asher.”
The voice is low. There’s an edge to it that pulls at my chest despite the owner of the words.
Francie turns her head to look at the woman standing next to her, staring at her like she’s my mistress and I’m a cheater.
“Annalise,” I say. Fuck. Just when I thought today was getting better.
She looks at Francie expectantly, as though she’s waiting for me to introduce them. But before I can say anything, Francie lifts her hand.
“Hi,” she says, smiling. “I’m Francie.”
Annalise blinks, disarmed. “So you’re the latest then?”
Francie doesn’t miss a beat. “The latest what?”
Annalise opens her mouth to reply, but thinks better of it and closes it again. And I’m reminded of just how much I like Francie Salinger. I squeeze her hand tightly.
Annalise runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “How are you?” she asks me.
“I’m fine.” My voice is tight. “And you?”
She inhales softly. “Nathan hasn’t been well,” she says. “The doctors think it could be serious.”
I swallow hard at the mention of my ex-business partner. Not that I’m surprised he’s unwell. You can only snort so much coke before it messes up everything in your life.
Francie looks from me to Annalise, like she’s working out who Annalise is. Her hand squeezes mine and damn it feels good.
“He overdosed a week ago. He’s in the hospital in Aruba.” Annalise looks at me like it’s my fault. “He’s only just regained consciousness.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Not because I feel sorry for him. Nathan Vale knew exactly what kind of game he was playing when he tried to gut our company from the inside. But because it means something else.
If he’s been unconscious for a week, he’s definitely not behind the breach. And there goes my last hope that it isn’t somebody I trust.
“I hope he recovers,” I say, because it’s the right thing. But I don’t miss the way Francie’s thumb strokes gently along the side of my hand.
Like she knows I need her.
Seeing the way I don’t let her hand go, Annalise nods tightly. Christ, I don’t want to hurt the woman, even though she gave Nathan information on me. Information that helped him nearly steal the company from me. But I need her gone.
“Have a good evening,” I tell her. It’s a dismissal.
She’s not stupid, she gets that. With one more sweeping look, she gazes at Francie with equal parts curiosity and disdain, then turns on her heel and disappears back behind the huge pots of trees that are artfully laid out to give each table some privacy.
Once I know she’s gone, I let out a low breath and rake my free hand through my hair.
For a second neither of us says anything. Then we both talk at once.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
“She’s something.” Francie lifts a brow. But there’s no edge to her words. Just warmth. “She’s the sister of your ex business partner, right?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And you two had a thing?” Her eyes lock on mine. She’s not stupid, she can pick up cues. But I still hate that my sordid past and my perfect present are clashing.
There’s a tightness in my chest as I nod. “We dated for a while. Before Nathan screwed me over.”
“And then?”
“I found out she’d been reading my emails while I was asleep,” I tell her. “Is this the part where I need to grovel?” Because no woman wants to come face to face with their date’s ex. Especially not when she’s flown in to spend time with him.
But, because she’s Francie, she blows me away.
“You don’t need to grovel about having a past, Asher.” Her eyes meet mine, her gaze unwavering. “I care about you,” she adds, her voice soft. “Whatever drama came before me, it’s not going to scare me off.” She wrinkles her nose. “Even if she did have the perfect shoes.”
My lips twitch, remembering the flats I insisted Francie wear.
“I like yours better.”
We both know I’m not talking about the shoes. But her words land squarely in my chest, hitting deeper than they should. I don’t deserve her. But I’m keeping her anyway.
She tips her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “You’re looking at me funny.”
My brow knits. “Funny how?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Like you’re trying to figure me out.”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’ll be annoyed if I cancel dinner and haul you back to my place,” I murmur.”
She grins, slow and wicked. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Our eyes lock. That slow burn between us flares like a flame to dry leaves. The restaurant around us fades to a blur. All I see is her.
“Want to get out of here?” I put it into words. My intentions very clear.
She doesn’t even hesitate. Just folds her napkin and puts it on the table. “So much.”
The waiter appears. “Just the check,” I tell him.
“Can’t we tempt you with dessert?” he asks, looking at our half-eaten plates.
I glance at Francie. Her eyes are still on mine, her cheeks flushed, lips parted like she’s already imagining what comes next.
“I’ve got dessert covered,” I say roughly. Francie’s lips twitch like she can read my mind.
The waiter blinks then nods and disappears, returning only moments later with the check.
I don’t want to wait for him to run my credit card, so I throw a bunch of fifties on the table and reach for her hand.
And as we walk away from the heater into the cool Manhattan night, she leans against me, her hair tickling my face.
“Just so you know, I really wanted dessert.”
My lips curl as I lean in close, brushing my mouth against the shell of her ear.
“You’re getting it,” I murmur. “At least three times.”
She lets out a laugh that makes my whole damn body tighten. And as the driver pulls up and I lead her to my car, I know exactly how this evening is going to end.
Not with groveling.
But with me showing her how I really feel. Even if I can’t say it yet.
FRANCIE
“Asher…”
My voice is breathless and ragged, like the sound is being pulled from somewhere deep inside of me. My back arches off the sheets as he thrusts again, slow, but unrelenting. The drag of his body inside mine is stealing every coherent thought from my head.
I don’t care that his ex turned up at our first date. Or that I’ll be facing my family with the truth very soon. I don’t even care that I’m going to have to tell Autumn the truth when she’s back.
All I can think about is that he’s holding me like I’m a goddess. He’s under my skin, etched into the softest parts of me.
He shifts slightly, the angle changing, but he’s still holding me like I’m something precious. My own hands scramble for purchase on his damp back, my nails grazing his skin. He kisses me. My mouth, my jaw, the slope of my neck. Like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the menu.
He slides back against me, sending a shot of pleasure through my body.
“I can feel you everywhere,” I whisper, because it’s true.
His lips brush my ear. “That’s the point.”
And when he slides his fingers between us, finding my achiest place, every cell inside of me cries out in response.
My legs tremble around his hips as he moves again, deep and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
His fingers don’t rush, they just stroke and circle, coaxing me higher until I’m so close I can’t breathe.
But he doesn’t let me go there. Not yet.
Instead, he slows.
His forehead presses to mine, and I open my eyes to find him staring down at me. Those inky blue irises, so sharp and clear, feel like they’re looking straight into my soul.
“You’re killing me,” I whisper.
His mouth curves. But it’s not playful. It’s reverent.
“No,” he murmurs. “I’m loving you.”
The words hit like a blow to my chest. I don’t know if he means it. If he even realizes he’s said it. But my heart clenches so tight I can barely speak.
“Asher.” It’s a murmur. But I need to say it out loud, to make sure this is real.
He kisses me again. Slower this time. Tenderly. Like the kind of kiss you give somebody you don’t want to lose.
He starts to move again. Slow at first, like he’s savoring every second. The rhythm builds gradually, the way a song does when it’s about to hit that perfect, devastating note. My hips lift to meet his, greedy for every inch, every stroke.
And when his thumb brushes over my clit again, I shatter.
It’s not a quiet, gentle kind of orgasm. It’s a full-body unraveling. A cry rips from my throat as he drives me straight into oblivion. My hands cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring me to this world.
Maybe he is.
Because even as I’m falling apart he’s still here. His voice in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am. How perfect.
I’m still tightening around him as he groans.
“Francie. I can’t. Fuck, I’m so close.”
I cup his face, needing him to join me. “Let go,” I manage to whisper.
And he does.
With a final thrust he buries his face in my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. He comes in thick, long, aching bursts, spilling deep inside of me.
We lie there tangled. Our hearts racing, our bodies slick with sweat. Aftershocks rush through me, making him groan every time I contract.
His voice is hot against my ear. “You’re mine,” he tells me.
It isn’t quite him declaring himself. But it’s close. And he’s right. I am his. I’ve been his for a long time. And I’m not sure I know how to be anything else.