Chapter 4 #3
“Right?” He grins, genuine this time. “The locals eat that shit up though. Won't even say his full name during storm season.”
I trace the mountain's silhouette through the window again. Dark. Brooding. Unforgiving.
“Why do I get Mount Crow?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “Why not Grim with all its fancy tech and engineering?”
Asher moves back to the sofa. When he settles into the cushions, his eyes find mine and hold.
“Because it's probably protecting you.”
The words hang between us, weighted with meaning I don't want to unpack.
“You should write a book.” I gesture at him with a dusty photo I've pulled from the box. “Submit it to my publishing company. You've got the imagination for it.”
His grin fades until he stares at me, trying to decode something written in a language he doesn't speak.
“Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than before. “Maybe.”
I should look away, go back to the box, say something stupid about the house or the weather or anything else. But I don't.
Can't.
There's something happening in the space between us, something that has nothing to do with mountains or legends or—
My phone buzzes against the coffee table, shattering whatever that was.
Status update required.
The text glares up at me. As always, impeccable timing. I flip the phone face-down, but Asher's already noticed the shift in my posture.
“Work?”
“Something like that.” I turn back to the box, pulling out more photos. Most are landscape shots of the island, but a few show people. The woman from the portrait downstairs appears in several, always smiling that sharp smile.
“Who is she?” Asher leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“No idea.” I flip it over. “Distant aunt? Third cousin twice removed?” I toss the photo back into the box. “Family tree’s got more dead branches than a winter storm.”
Not a lie. I have no idea who this woman is or why her estate ended up in my name. Leon handled the paperwork, said it was clean, but nothing in my world is ever clean.
“Mysterious inheritance from a mysterious relative on a mysterious island.” Asher sets his empty glass on the side table. “You sure you're not in a horror movie?”
“If I am, you're the first to die. The hot friend always goes first.”
“Hot?” He grins, but there's an edge to it. “Admitting you'd fuck me?”
I keep my expression neutral despite the heat crawling up my neck. “I have eyes, Asher. Doesn't mean I'm interested.”
“Hmmm…”
He stands, closing the distance between us in two strides. My body tenses, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in as he towers over me.
“You sure about that?”
My pulse stutters. He's so close the air thickens with his cologne, a sharp scent tangled with the winter chill still clinging to his clothes. I hate how my body reacts—the quickening breath, the flush spreading across my skin.
“Positive.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, a small victory.
His hand finds the back of the couch, caging me in without touching. The leather creaks under his grip.
“Care to test that theory?” His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there.
“Uh, no.” I roll my eyes, resting back against the couch and blinking lazily up at him. Playing bored when my heart hammers against my ribs.
His nose grazes mine. “Liar.”
The word hangs between us, hot against my lips.
He's right, of course.
“I'm married,” I say instead, as if that’ll put a block between the chemistry that never seems to die between us.
“To a man who sleeps in a different room.” His other hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw without making contact. “To a man who doesn't see what I see when I look at you.”
I hold my breath. “And what's that?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked and worshipped at the same time.”
My heart flat lines. He did not just say that!
His smirk cuts the tension in the air, but it's the first time I've seen even a smudge of something else. “I'm playing, Ivy. I'm not gonna try fuck you.”
I release a steady exhale, cussing at myself for being so easily bent. Asher is playful, and funny, and hot, sure. Do we have a connection? Undeniably, but that doesn’t mean I can act on it.
Ever. For so many reasons.
He settles beside me, close enough that our thighs brush, sending heat hotter than the flames that lick shadows over the walls.
Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows. There must be a storm rolling in.
“Tell me about Mount Crow,” I say, because I need words between us. Need something to break through this energy.
“What do you want to know?” He says, finger tapping against his thigh.
“Why do you ride it if it's so dangerous?” I ask, turning into him.
He's quiet for a long moment, before finally answering. “Because the danger's the point. When you're up there, fighting to stay alive, fighting the mountain… nothing else matters. No expectations. No legacy to live up to. It’s just you and the snow and the possibility you might not make it down.”
My brow arches. “Sounds like a death wish.”
“Maybe.” He turns, finally looking at me. “Or maybe it's the only time I feel alive.”
Understanding settles deep. We’re more alike than I can ever admit to him.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it's a call.
“I should—”
“Ivy.” The way he says my name stops me cold. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has ever had the power to stop me the way my name on his lips just did.
He continues. “Whatever you're running from, whoever you're hiding from… you don't have to do it alone.”
If only he realized what I was hiding. Who I am.
My heart rattles against my ribs. “Everyone's alone, Ash. Some of us just hide it better.”
His jaw flexes, his eyes a thunderstorm of ice. “That's the most fucked-up thing you've said yet.”
I shrug. “Reality usually is.”
His fingers find my hair, threading through the strands with a tenderness that catches me off guard. “Not all of it.”
I snort, curling my legs beneath my ass. “Prove it.”
“You're here.” His thumb skims the curve of my ear, and my skin prickles. “With me. Right now. That's not sad—that's fucking perfect.”
My phone blares again, the screen flashing Blocked. Only one person calls this way.
“I have to take it.” I pull back and instantly hate how obvious his absence is. “Work shit.”
“At this time?” He challenges.
“Deadlines don't sleep,” I say lightly, but the lie tastes bitter. Before him, I never cared. Lying was a language I was fluent in, but with him, right now, it feels strangely foreign.
I'm in the kitchen when his voice stops me, low and rough.
“Ivy.”
I pause, glancing back. He hasn't moved from the couch, the firelight carving shadows into his face—sharp cheekbones, the stubborn set of his mouth as he scrolls through his phone.
“Yeah?” I whisper, because in this moment, he can’t see the vulnerability that’s scratching at the surface.
Without looking up, he murmurs, “don't take all night.”
I step into the shadows of the kitchen and answer the call. “This better be worth my time.”
“Three hours.” Emeric's voice cuts through the line. “Three hours since you landed and not a single update.”
“I was busy,” I say, eying the large mountain in front of me.
“I heard.”
I blank through the conversation, before his words come back through.
“Remember who you are. Check in with me tomorrow.”
The call ends and I stand there, phone growing cold in my hand, staring at my reflection in the dark window. Behind me, I can hear the fire crackling, hear Asher moving around in the living room.
I should leave. Pack up, go back to Chicago, put distance between us before this gets worse. Before I do something unforgivable.
But when I turn around, Asher's standing in the archway.
“Bad news?” He asks, tilting his head.
“Work.” I force a smile. “You know how it is.”
“No.” He says quietly. “I don't think I do.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen. There's a question in his eyes, one I can't answer. Won't answer.
“Asher—”
I shouldn't. Every instinct screams at me to walk away, to build the walls higher, to remember what I am. What I'm here to do.
Instead, I cross the kitchen toward him.
He doesn't move, causing me to brush past him to get through. The contact sends electricity down my spine.
He must turn, because his voice carries. “I have questions.”
“About?” I ask innocently.
“You.” He says, following me through to the living room. “Who are you?”
My composure is fixed in place. “You know who I am.”
“Do I?” He moves closer. “Because sometimes I look at you and I see someone else entirely.”
Why are you so intuitive?
“Maybe that's projection.” I cluck my tongue. “Maybe you see what you want to see.”
“Maybe.” Another step. I don’t like this… “Or maybe you're the best liar I've ever met.”
My heart flat lines. He's too close to the truth. Too close to me.
“Everyone lies, Asher.” I brush him off with a shrug.
“Not like you.” His hand comes up, hovering near my face without touching. “You lie the way you breathe. Like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
“That's—”
“True.” He finishes. “It's true and we both know it.”
Tension cracks between us like a whip. He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
He flashes me with a grin, the kind I’m beginning to rely on. This can't happen. We have to stay on the lines of friends or I risk everything.
Goddamn, Asher.
He should have stayed behind.