Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
MERCURY
His lips are on my skin.
My eyes flutter open to find Asher kissing a path down my neck, gently tugging at the strap of my tank top. The light is dim through the drawn curtains, but I can still make out the cocky grin spreading across his face as he looks up at me.
“Good morning,” he says.
Have I mentioned that he moved back to the bed?
Ever since our rather heated discussion about my virginity—and the confirmation that he’d be taking it from me—our sleeping arrangement has returned to normal.
I was kind of hoping that would mean we’d start in on the sexy time right away, but up until last night, it had been business as usual—me waking up attached to him koala bear style.
Today is no different. Well, the morning cuddles aren’t. The kissing, however, is very new. “Good morning.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to wake you up exactly like this?” He pulls my tank top down, exposing the swell of my breast. I hold my breath in anticipation. “How often I’ve jerked off in the shower because of the things I’ve wanted to do to you?”
He brushes his thumb over my nipple, still hidden beneath a layer of cotton. My back arches, and I whimper as he rubs slow circles and then gives it a tiny pinch that I swear I feel all the way down to my core.
“Do you want me to show you what I fantasized about?”
“Y-yes.”
A wolfish grin spreads across his face. “You don’t sound so sure.”
He’s always trying to get me to be more confident. From others, it would be annoying, but with him, it’s kind of hot. I like the challenge. “Show me,” I say with more conviction.
“It will be my fucking pleasure.”
His large hand covers my breast, squeezing and teasing it as he leans down to capture my lips.
This kiss isn’t like anything I’ve experienced before.
He usually starts slow and gentle, as if he’s warming me up to the idea.
But this kiss is brutal and passionate right from the start.
I moan into his mouth as his tongue caresses mine.
Then his hand slowly moves down the front of my body, sliding under my sleep shorts to that spot between my legs that’s aching for his touch.
“Already so wet for me,” he says into my ear. I shudder involuntarily as his fingers brush my clit. “Did you like it when it was practically dripping down my fingers and I licked it off?”
“Yes,” I answer, surprised by how unembarrassed I am to admit it.
By the cocky smile on his face, he is too.
“I’m dying to taste you again. Will you let me?”
“God yes.”
He chuckles at my enthusiasm. “I’m going to need to get you a bit more naked. Is that okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
He slides my tank top up, presses a kiss on my belly, then my hip, as he curls his fingers around the waistband of my shorts and tugs.
My whole body vibrates with anticipation.
And then the door to our suite flies open.
“My lady! I would not advise—”
“Have you two seen this morning’s—oh!”
Asher barely manages to pull the covers up in time to cover me, but it’s clear enough what his mother has just interrupted, and she abruptly turns around. She doesn’t apologize or flee the suite in embarrassment, however. She just waits impatiently for us to make ourselves presentable.
Asher sighs as I try to adjust my tank top and find the hoodie I tore off in the middle of the night because I was too hot.
“Mother, I do believe I warned you what could happen if you walked in on us unannounced again, yes?”
“It’s nearly seven in the morning!”
“Your point?”
“My point is that this couldn’t wait.”
I very much doubt that, and from the look on Asher’s face, I think he does too. “What couldn’t?”
She peeks over her shoulder and, seeing Asher and me sitting up in bed, both clothed and not pawing at each other, she turns around. It’s barely sunrise, and the woman is already dressed head-to-toe in Chanel, with perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup.
I pull the covers up a little higher.
“Would one of you like to explain exactly what happened at last night’s film premiere?”
Asher and I turn to one another, and although I’m sure we both know what she’s talking about, Asher responds with a mischievous grin, “It was a very eventful night. Care to be more specific?”
His hand squeezes my upper thigh under the covers, and even though she has no idea what he’s referring to, my traitorous face still turns red.
She folds her arms across her chest and sighs impatiently at her son. “Did you threaten Graham Sinclair?”
“No.”
“The morning papers say otherwise, Asher.” She pins him with a pointed glare. “There are pictures of the two of you in what appears to be a heated argument—one where you end up manhandling him at his own premiere. So tell me, how’s that not a threat?”
“I asked him to apologize,” he simply says.
“You…” She scoffs, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You asked him to apologize? For what? What could possibly be so important that you needed Graham Sinclair to apologize for—”
“He insulted Mercury.”
Her eyes widen, and her demeanor shifts instantly. “What do you mean? What did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter what he said—”
“He insinuated that our relationship was fake and asked when we might end it so he could ‘get it line,’” I say. I know Asher thinks he’s protecting me by censoring Graham’s words in front of his mother, but it only lessens the severity of his actions.
And I won’t let the asshole get off that easy because I know what he said to me was probably only the tip of the iceberg compared with what he’s done to others.
Theodora’s eyes dart from me to her son, then she gives a firm nod and says, “I’ll be sure to let Connor know. Now, as for—”
The door bursts open again, and before Asher can groan about privacy and respect, Mac walks in and immediately marches up to the countess. He says something to her in an urgent, hushed tone, and I watch her eyes go wide, then lock onto Asher.
“Your father collapsed on his morning walk,” she says. “He’s been rushed to the hospital.”
ASHER
My father’s cancer diagnosis has not yet been made public. As far as everyone knows, he is in perfect health, and I am just the scandalized son of an earl who’s finally returned home in hopes of repairing his image.
Much to my surprise, my mother even suggested I hold off on announcing my retirement from the band, out of fear that it might spark speculation that my father’s health was in jeopardy.
I told her she was being paranoid, reminding her again that we were not (technically) royal. No one is that invested in the life of a single earl, but then she reminded me how often my face appears on the front page of the paper, and so she ignored me and sent the request to Lance anyway.
So as far as anyone knows, Manic at Midnight is still alive and well.
If they only knew…
Mercury and I have been sitting in the tiny A&E waiting area for over an hour when my mum finally appears, a cloud of flustered annoyance.
I’ve got a ball cap and glasses on, a shitty attempt to hide my appearance, while Mercury is dressed down in a hoodie and jeans with her hair tucked under a borrowed cap of mine.
So far, it seems to be working. Either that, or no one expects Asher Knight to show up at a rural hospital in the middle of Scotland.
Either way, I don’t care.
All my thoughts are on the frail man somewhere in this hospital, and the fate that awaits me if he doesn’t walk out of here.
The countess barrels toward us, her heels clicking on the floor as she barks into the phone, then tosses it into her purse without saying goodbye. “He’s stable for now, but they’re running tests. Come,” she commands, gesturing sharply. “We’re moving to the relatives’ room.”
She doesn’t bother waiting. She just storms off again, and we’re expected to follow. Neither of us minds, however, if it means getting us out of this depressing waiting room.
The relatives’ room, however, isn’t any better.
The moment we step inside, a heavy, somber feeling hangs in the air.
Several people glance up as we enter, many with red, blotchy faces or wads of tissues in their hands.
But none of them even seems to notice us.
I let out a quick sigh of relief, which quickly turns to guilt when I realize these people are so overwhelmed with grief and anguish over their loved ones that they don’t seem to notice anything else around them.
Meanwhile, my father could be dying somewhere down the hall, and my biggest concern is being recognized. I swallow the lump of anxiety that’s been lodged in my throat ever since Mac made his appearance in our suite this morning.
“Do they know what happened?” I ask as we find a quiet spot in the back corner. My mother takes a seat opposite us. At least the chairs are an upgrade from the creaky metal ones in A&E.
“No,” she answers, crossing her arms. “But I told him he needed to quit those walks. I knew it was too strenuous and—” Her voice cuts out, a rare moment of insecurity bleeding through.
It’s so startling, I’m at a loss for what to do. Growing up, this woman rarely showed emotion unless it was disappointment or anger. She’s not the type to get choked up on Christmas morning or become teary-eyed at a wedding. She’s made of sterner stuff, or so she claims.
Mercury, however, stands up, takes the seat right next to her, and pulls her into a tight hug.
I almost lunge forward to intervene before my mother lashes out or I don’t know—screams?
But then the craziest thing happens. My mother’s rigid posture loosens just a bit, her arms slowly lift from where they’re pinned to her sides, and suddenly she’s hugging Mercury back.
Just when I think she can’t get any more amazing, she goes and does something like this.
The two women embrace for a moment longer until my mother pulls back, giving Mercury a gentle pat on the shoulder and a genuine look of gratitude.