chapter TWENTY-FOUR
My taxi pulls up to the curb of my Mott Street apartment.
The night was long and my feet are hurting.
After my speech, we enjoyed a delicious dinner and, then we danced until the event was over.
I decided dancing with Crystal and Lisa was the best way to keep from having to answer their questions about Asher.
Asher—who, by the way, never came back. I saw Frank looking for him a few times, and I can’t deny I glanced around, but to no avail. He did what he does best. He left.
I pay the cabbie and get out of the car. I see the familiar figure of a man, huddled in the doorway, and I worry about poor Mattie, who must be freezing in the early December chill. It isn’t as cold as some of my Ohio nights, but it’s not the kind you want to be locked out of your apartment on.
But when he raises his head, I see it is not who I thought it was.
Asher stands up, brushing the gravel off his pant legs. He is still wearing his tuxedo. His bow tie is undone and hanging around his neck. Other than that, he still looks as perfect as he did when I last saw him a few hours ago.
I stop in my place by the curb and approach him tentatively. “What are you doing here?”
Asher’s eyes are sullen and leaden with emotion. He takes a deep breath and when he lets it out I start to hold my own. “My name is Alexander Gutierrez. My mother was Juliette Asher and my father was John Gutierrez—”
“You don’t have to—”
“No, Emma, I do. You asked for something real.” He holds out his hands to the side, open as in offering. “This is me. This is real.”
“Okay.” I pull my coat in, protecting myself from the evening chill. “Go on.”
Asher takes a beat to start, as if the weight of his words are hard to lift off his tongue. His red-rimmed eyes look deep into mine, and I know what he is about to say is going to be potent with meaning.
“When I was ten years old, my parents took me to a hockey game. The roads were a mess. We had no business being out that night, but they wanted to take me for my birthday. It was the first game I’d ever been to.
It was also my last. Our car rolled off an embankment.
My parents, they were both crushed in the impact.
We were in the middle of nowhere, and we didn’t have cell phones. There was no one to call for help.
My hand rises to my mouth as I let out a gasp. I don’t say a word, though. I let him speak.
“I watched my parents die in that car. My father died first. My mother tried to fight, but she eventually lost. I sat in the back seat for five hours, staring at them, hoping they’d wake up, but they never did.”
Asher takes a step toward me, his eyes wide and red, the beautiful gold gone.
In its place is sheer sorrow. “My grandfather hated my father. When I came to live with him, he told me I was no longer my father’s son.
I was an Asher now. He didn’t even call me by my first name because it was my father’s name as well.
Instead, he called me Sunny. Said it was my hair. ”
I can imagine Asher as a towheaded little boy. Although the images on my head are one of a carefree child, not someone who lost the love of his parents and was shipped off to live with his tyrant of a grandfather he’d never met.
“Edward Asher was a good man. He didn’t know love, but he knew how to teach.
He trained me to lead. And I have. I am the CEO of Asher Industries, a business he built from the ground up.
A legacy he left me when he died last year.
I spent the better part of this year traveling around Europe trying to find a place to bury him.
When I did, I came home and took over the life I was groomed to live.
“I play the cello and the piano. My mother taught lessons out of our home.
She was classically trained before she gave it all up to live with the man she loved.
A poor man, but a good man. The reason music is so important to me, the reason the school is the only thing in this world I am proud of is because it is my one connection to them.
“I’ve broken two bones in my life, I hate pickles, and I think soup is completely overrated.
I prefer movies to television, Thai is my favorite kind of takeout, I’d rather go to a museum than a ball game, and I only read autobiographies.
I don’t know how to do laundry, but I can make a great spaghetti Bolognese. ”
Asher takes another step closer to me, his breath smokes out in the cold. I look up at him and take in the honesty of his words and actions.
“I have been in love twice in my life. Once to a girl who loved me for all the wrong reasons. Another to someone I loved for all the wrong reasons.”
My eyes well up with tears and I swallow them back, taking deep breaths to keep my emotions at bay. He takes one final step closer to me, his body pressed up against mine. His arms lay outside my arms, holding me gently yet with purpose.
“Right now I am falling for a woman who seized my soul with the play of a piano and arrested my heart with a walk until dawn. And she made me fall for her with the words of lyrics we may not have written, but they’re still ours.
” His voice is low and breathy. “Do you remember what you said right before I kissed you the first time?”
I think back to the day, but I can’t recall. I look up at him for the answer.
“You said no one knew what it was like to lose everything, to have it all ripped out from beneath you.” Asher’s body comes dangerously close to mine, too close because I can feel the pain of his words radiating off his body.
“I know, Emma. I know what that’s like. That is why I had to kiss you, and I have wanted to kiss you every day since.
Hell, my lips haven’t touched another since because I can only think of you. ”
“I find that hard to believe—”
“Believe it.”
Asher rests his palms on my head as his ice-cold fingers lace through my hair. My cheeks burn at his touch and my heart sears with his words.
“The me you saw in Capri, that was the real me. You’re the first person in twenty years to call me by my name, my real name. I gave myself up to you a long time ago.
“I want to be with you for all the right reasons, Emma. And despite all the wrong reasons there are for you to be with me, I’m asking you to. This is me. This is real.”
Tears pool down my cheeks and I smile at the words he is saying. There are more reasons why I should stay away from him than there are reasons I should be with him. He is broken and scared, but he is real and absolutely perfect.
With reckless abandon, I lean into his touch and kiss him with every ounce of love and passion I have in my body.
His cold lips give way to his warm mouth, and I sink into his heat.
My hands wrap around his body and pull him in tight as his tongue skims mine and his lips grab hold of my own, desperate with need.
Our mouths move as one, kissing and licking.
The cold air is no longer an issue, as our bodies are hot from arousal.
I whirl us around toward the front door of the building.
Our bodies still connected, he tightens his hold on my face, refusing to break the connection.
I remove my hands from him to rustle through my bag, searching for my keys.
I give up for a second when his kiss gets impossibly deep, which then reminds me why I so desperately want to take this party of two inside.
Keys in hand, I reach over and blindly navigate the metal into the lock and open the door.
Asher spins us around and uses his back to push open the door and pulls me into the hallway.
When we are inside, he slams my body up against the wall.
He releases the buttons to open my coat and weaving his arms around my waist, pulls my body up against his.
When his groin connects with mine I gasp and start fumbling for the keys again.
I release my mouth from his kiss and look down at the keys to find the one that will unlock my front door. My arm has to bend at an awkward angel as I try to unlock it. When he begins to gently suck on my neck I almost drop the key ring.
Finally, the key is in the lock and we hear the telltale click.
“Thank, Christ. I need you inside . . . now.” His words are hot and harsh on my neck.
Asher kicks the front door closed and pushes my coat off my shoulders. His hands lace through my hair again as I back up and guide him toward the couch.
I pull back from Asher, and look back into those golden eyes. His fingers are frozen to the touch. Taking his two hands in my own, I lift them to my lips and gently blow hot breaths onto them to warm them. His breath hitches with each blow, so I do it a few more times for good measure.
When I am sure his fingers are nice and warm, I lift my hands up to touch him in a way I’ve been dying to for months. My palms skim over his strong, broad shoulders, passing over the blades along with the tuxedo jacket. I watch it fall to the floor.
With sultry fingers, I unbutton his shirt. With each one that comes undone, a hint of the velvety, bronzed skin of his taut stomach peeks out; I have to lean forward and run my tongue over it. Delicious.
Asher hisses as my palms join my tongue and his shirt, too, makes its way to the floor. Next, I unbutton the top button of his pants and slowly lower the zipper.
My heart is beating fast, and my core begins to throb. I know how powerful it feels to have him inside me and I am thirsty for that feeling again.
My hand skims the elastic of his boxer briefs and his stomach pulls in at the touch. Thick, hard want is pushing through the fabric of his pants so I do what I can to relieve it.
I reach in and grab him.
“Baby, that feels so good. You, touching me . . . it’s .
. . everything.” His are words breathy and filled with immediate need.
I pump my hand up and down the hard shaft and let my thumb roll over the sensitive tip.
My mouth finds his again, our kisses hot and wet.
He pulls me in and holds me tight as I continue to touch and caress him.
Asher’s hands reach around the back of my dress and slowly pull down the zipper. When it hits my lower back, the dress opens up and starts to fall down my body, pooling at my ankles. Standing in a strapless bra and nothing else, I lean closer and let his shaft touch the burning skin of my belly.
“No underwear?” he murmurs in between kisses.
“Panty lines.”
“Lucky boy,” he says with a laugh and it reminds me of a time he said it before when we were on a speedboat in Capri. He flicks the clasp of my strapless bra leaving me completely naked and positively burning with lust and need to have him deep inside me.
Pushing him back onto the chesterfield, I stand above him, looking down at the man who knows my sins and my faults, yet wants to be with me just as I am.
His body takes over most of the sofa, with his muscular thighs parted and his beautiful chest rising and falling in anticipation.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his wallet, takes out a gold packet and places it on the cushion beside him.
He then raises his hips and strips down.
He is marvelous, magnificent really, and straining for me.
Asher takes my hand and guides me over him so I am straddling him with my knees on each side of his hips. He opens the foil packet and I watch as he unravels it down, over his thick, hard shaft.
When he is fully protected, his hands find their rightful place, on each side of my face; his so full of lust, of love, it takes my breath away.
“This is it for me. No more running.” His thumb skims over my lip and traces the outline of my mouth. His eyes glaze over. “I need to know you’re in this with me.”
My lips purse and kiss his finger as it passes over my pout. I grab hold of his hand and kiss the inside of his palm and then pull it down into my chest over my heart.
“I’m here. I’m always here. I never left.”
Our mouths find each other again, and I raise my body over his. My fingers splay through the hairs of his chest and my head falls into the curve of his right hand. Asher’s left hand drifts down my neck and gently caresses my back.
Our lips break apart as I slowly lower myself over Asher. We take a moment to adjust to the incredible feeling of, once again, being buried deep inside each other. I love the stretch and pull as my body welcomes him.
I gasp when he hits the most pleasurable spot of my being.
Those strong hands find a place on each side of my waist and guide my body up and down in a powerful rhythm. With each pulse, he pushes up on his hips, allowing my throbbing core to rub against him.
We move as one but with each wave of pleasure I find my back arching further away from him, my hair falling down my spine and my breathing louder, my moans deeper.
Asher leans forward and takes a nipple in his mouth. He nips and pulls, tugs and sucks on my breasts. I am near convulsing as he moves to the other and bites down, hard.
I lean forward and take his mouth in mine, massaging my tongue against his. Sweat trickles on the skin of my back as I work his body harder and faster.
Our arms hold tight onto one another and our kisses are deeper. Our bodies are so tightly drawn together I hope they never separate. I feel the buildup inside my body. If I stop I may lose it so I continue to pump and grind and build and burn until I explode.
Heaven and hell and everything in between open up as I writhe around him, coming hard and breathless. I don’t stop moving, trying to make this ride last forever.
“That’s my beautiful girl. Come for me, baby. Stay with me. Say you’re mine.”
Through heavy breaths and hooded eyes, I continue to move against him and utter the words against his lips, “I’m yours.”
He breathes out a cry and I know it’s his turn so I ride him gently to the end and let him find his release.
Our arms still around each other, our lips still attached, we breathe in each other’s air, coming down from our erotic experience.
Looking into his eyes, I see my beautiful Asher. My sweet Alexander. The man I fell down the rabbit hole for.
He leans back to look at me. His mouth curls up and he smiles so big and bright—that gorgeous illuminated smile I missed so much is back.
“I need you, Emma.”
“I’m yours.”
With my words, he leans forward and kisses me again and I hope he never, ever stops.