Chapter 13
Five days of being back home in his own space and Gavin still hesitated when opening the door. His mind wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but his heart knew. He missed Asha.
After ten years of constant travel, of shifting rentals, high-rise penthouses and five-star hotels, he’d put down roots in one of those Northern Virginia developments where every home cost more than a small country.
It was a designer’s wet dream: gray brick, black steel, glass so thick it didn’t rattle even in a hurricane.
The landscaping was surgical, every blade of grass imported, every shrub trimmed within a millimeter of its life.
The driveway was wide enough for two full-sized trucks and a guest, but most nights it was just his SUV and the echoing silence surrounding him.
He sat in the SUV for a while, engine running, hands tight around the wheel.
The sun was down, but the streetlights cast a false daylight over the lawn, making the whole thing look like a real estate listing.
There was a light on in the foyer. He remembered flipping the switch before he left, but now it felt foreign.
His phone sat on the seat next to him, face up, notification screen empty. He resisted the urge to check it again, then killed the ignition and sat in the sudden quiet. He counted to ten, then opened the door and stepped out, locking it with a dry beep that was the only sound on the block.
The air was heavy with spring humidity, magnolia and wet pavement. He walked slow up the path, his shoes scuffing the stone. His bag was heavy on his shoulder, loaded down with three days of crisis management paperwork and proposals from his team.
The porch was wide and wrapped around the house, all pale wood and white columns, custom-ordered from South Carolina.
He had a set of teak chairs up there, the kind meant for bourbon and the slow drift of conversation.
He never sat in them. The front door was smart-locked, unlocked as he got within range.
He let the bag slide off his shoulder and reached for the handle.
Something stopped him.
A presence, not a sound. Like the hair standing up on the back of his neck, only deeper, in the bones. He looked to his right. There, in the shadowed half of the porch, sat a figure in one of the teak chairs. Boots on the railing, hands folded in her lap.
Asha. She was here.
She didn’t move, not at first. Just stared at him, face unreadable except for the way her mouth almost smiled. She looked like she’d been there for hours—maybe days, if you counted the time he’d spent wanting this moment and dreading it in equal measure.
For a full thirty seconds, neither of them spoke.
He was afraid to move. Afraid that if he blinked, she would dissolve right in front of his eyes like she did every morning when he woke up from his dreams.
Then she spoke, voice cutting the quiet like a razor: “Hey handsome. You gonna just stand there, or you gonna invite me in?”
His chest hurt. He tried for words, but all that came out was a strangled noise.
She lowered her boots to the porch and stood. She was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. In this light, she looked younger than he remembered, more dangerous, and more beautiful than ever. She didn’t cross the distance. She waited, arms folded.
The words were almost stuck in his throat. “How did you—”
“Miss Bee and Andy,” she said. “Please don’t blame them. I asked. They seemed to be expecting it.”
He almost laughed but didn’t want to give away that he had already told them if she asked for any information on him to give it to her without hesitation.
Instead, he closed the gap in three long strides, leaving the bag and his doubts behind.
He stopped a foot in front of her, searching for a sign she was real.
She met his eyes, and for the first time since Silver Creek, he felt like he could breathe.
“It took me a while to get here. I had to figure some shit out. But, Gavin, you should know. You’re worth the risk. I want this chance with you. For us.”
That was all it took.
He reached for her, not gentle, not asking.
His hands found her shoulders, then her face.
She went to him, arms wrapping his neck, the force of it almost enough to knock him off balance.
They crashed into each other, her mouth finding his, her body pressed flush against his, the porch column taking the rest of the impact.
He kissed her like he was dying of thirst and she was the only thing that would save him.
Her boots thudded as she leaned into him, fingers digging into his back, the press of her body immediate and hungry.
He let her in, let her take whatever she wanted.
His hands roamed, mapping the planes of her face, the muscle at her jaw, the soft line of her neck.
He wanted to ask if she was staying, but the words were too slow and the need too sharp.
She bit his lip, then pulled back just enough to breathe. They both stood there, panting, faces inches apart.
“You’re here,” he said again, as if his brain was still catching up with what his eyes were seeing.
She nodded, her lips swollen, eyes dark. “Yeah. I’m here. Are you happy?”
“More than you’ll ever fucking know.” He pressed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes, and breathed her in.
She leaned back, a smile lifting her lips. “You gonna invite me in, or you planning on making out on the porch all night?”
He grinned, the expression strange and unfamiliar on his own face. “Depends. I like the porch.”
She snorted, then kissed him again, slower this time. “Open the damn door, Gavin. Let me see this mini-mansion you have here. I still can’t believe this is your home. At the ranch, you seemed as if you were always meant to be on a ranch.”
The house was dark except for the foyer light.
She walked in first, boots echoing on the hardwood, hands in her pockets.
He followed, both of their bag forgotten outside.
He watched her take it in. The sterile perfection of the entryway, the tall ceilings, the line of sight straight to the glass doors at the back of the house.
She wandered to the living room, ran her hand over the surface of the coffee table, then dropped onto the couch like she owned it.
He watched her, unsure of what to do with his hands now that they weren’t on her. He flexed them, useless, then jammed them in his pockets.
She looked up. “You look like you haven’t slept since I left.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I haven’t.”
She patted the cushion next to her. “Come. Sit next to me.”
He did, the space between them too small for anything but the truth.
“I tried to stay away. I really did.” Asha had taken a couple days to really think about what she was doing. Showing up at a man’s house unannounced wasn’t her style.
“You didn’t have to. You never have to hold yourself back from coming to me. Hell, I was on the verge of hunting you down and kidnapping you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such an ass sometimes.” But she smiled, and the whole world felt lighter.
He reached for her hand and grabbed it in his. “You want a drink?”
She shook her head. “Not right now. What I need is for you to take me upstairs.”
He swallowed. “Oh, sweetheart. Your wish is my command.”
He led her up the floating staircase, the oak treads barely squeaking under their weight.
The primary bedroom was at the end of a wide hall, bigger than any room he’d ever needed on his own.
He watched her take in the space, the way her eyes lingered on the framed photos—his family, his dog from his childhood, and one shot of him on horseback in South Dakota.
She stepped out of her boots, peeled off her t-shirt, and removed her jeans. Standing in front of him in only her bra and panties, she looked at him, daring him to make the next move.
He closed the gap, hands finding her waist, pulling her close.
She reached up, drew him down, kissed him hard.
He shivered at the touch, at the simple reality of her.
She unbuttoned his shirt with quick, sharp motions.
Her hands were cool and sure, tracing the lines of his chest, the old burn scar at his side, the notch of his collarbone.
He let her lead, let her dictate the pace.
She shoved him back onto the bed, and he landed with a laugh.
She crawled over him, straddled his hips, then kissed down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Her hair fell around his face, curtaining out the world.
She took her time, mapping every inch of skin, every scar.
When she reached his belt, she tugged it loose, then paused. “Last chance to back out,” she said, but her eyes said otherwise.
He shook his head, fingers threading into her hair. “That’ll never fucking happen. You’re here now and I don’t ever plan to let you go.”
She finished undressing him, her hands making quick work of his clothes. When they were both naked, she settled over him, her body hot and solid and absolutely real.
They didn’t rush. Every touch was deliberate, every breath shared. He kissed her shoulder, her throat, her lips. She shivered at the contact, the way he lingered on her old wounds instead of skirting around them. She bit his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, then kissed it better.
He was inside her in one smooth motion, the perfect fit.
It felt like coming home after a lifetime away.
She moved slowly at first, rolling her hips, letting him feel every inch.
His hands gripped her waist, her thighs, her ass, any part of her he could reach.
She braced herself on his chest, nails digging in, eyes locked on his.
The look in her eyes was equal parts hunger and relief.