5. Truth, Consequences, and Whiskey
Chapter 5
Truth, Consequences, and Whiskey
Ori
T he sheen of fear gives way to aggravation as I recognize the burly voice.
Asher Hammond.
With a grunt, I step from my hiding spot, still clinging to the broom. “What do you want?”
“Hello is a customary greeting.”
“Why would I say hello to you?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s polite? Granted, you don’t like saying thank you, either, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You want me to be polite to you ? As I recall, you informed me that your initial impulse was to let me fall off the ladder.”
Ash offers another shrug, the corners of his mouth turning up. No doubt he’s picturing the scene in his head and relishing every second. “But I didn’t, did I? And I recall you were all too happy to cling to me.”
“As opposed to what? Cracking my skull open? What an option, Asher.”
“I know which option you chose.”
This. Fucking. Guy.
A growl rises from my chest, which only serves to amuse him further.
And then he spots my ‘weapon.’
No way he’s going to let this one slip by unmentioned.
Asher crosses his arms over his chest, a smirk coloring his face. It’s the same pose from six months earlier. So glad the man still enjoys making me nuts. “What’s the broom for?”
“Although you likely have a harem of women to perform these rudimentary chores, it’s used for sweeping.”
He moves closer, and I back away.
Now his expression borders on a sneer. “But you’re not sweeping, are you? I think that’s your weapon, sad as it may be. What’s the matter? Are you scared?”
No way will I give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he startled me. Instead, I rise to my full height—still more than a foot shorter than the man—and shoot off a glare. “Of you? Not a chance. Aggravated. Annoyed as hell. Perturbed. Those are far more accurate terms for describing how I feel about you.”
A few seconds tick by, both of us standing our ground, our eyes locked on the other in a fiery battle of wills.
I break first, but only because I really need that glass of wine now. “Why are you down here?”
“It’s my basement, too.”
“Let me guess. You have a secret sex dungeon down here.” And no doubt, Lydia is waiting in the wings, desperate for me to vacate the premises.
Trust me, Lydia, we’re on the same page.
“Why? Are you interested?” Asher runs his hand over his bearded jaw, his movements slow and purposeful, drawing all my attention to his mouth—an action that doesn’t go unnoticed. His lips quirk into a barely there smile, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on me, even if I’d sooner die a fiery death than admit it.
“Not in the slightest.” I shift my weight and avert my gaze to a distant point, determined to maintain an even keel.
I will not allow this ogre to upset me.
Asher shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Trust me, sweetheart. Your frigid ass could use it.”
So much for remaining even keeled.
“Fuck you, Asher.” I spit the words out, an enraged huff escaping my lips. Not my most original comeback, but I worry that using words too big might only confuse the Neanderthal.
He chuckles, a low, gravelly sound rising from his chest. “No thanks. As much as you’d love it, you’re not my type.”
I clench my teeth, wondering why his caustic comment stings. Of course, I’m not his type. I don’t want to be his type.
“Coming from you, that’s a compliment. Guess I’m special, since you’ve fucked everyone else in town.”
Asher throws his head back, a dark laugh biting through his words. “Now you’re jealous.”
God, what I’d give to swing a frying pan at his head right now. That would wipe the smirk off his face.
“What does any woman see in you?” I grit my teeth as the rage bubbles through me.
He leans against the basement wall, that cocky grin playing across his face. I’ve seen it a hundred times before, but he’s never aimed it in my direction. “Same thing you do, sweetheart.”
Screw this crap. I just want to get out of here, go home and have a stiff drink. Forget the wine. My bottle of tequila is seeing some action tonight.
I shove past him and stomp up the stairs, hoping against all odds that, somehow, the door remains unlocked.
With a jiggle of the handle, my worst fears are confirmed.
It’s not.
I pivot on the step. “You have a key to this door?”
Asher moves to the bottom of the stairs, peering up at me. “I do, but it’s in Black Lotus.”
Strike one.
I reach for my mobile phone, groaning when I realize I left it in the bookstore. “Please tell me you have your phone.”
He shakes his head, but I see the amusement dancing across his face. So glad he’s having a good time. Bully for him.
“How do you not have your phone?” I demand.
“You don’t have yours.”
Absolutely not. The man cannot use logic against me. That simply won’t work.
Snapping my fingers, I earn an aggravated look from the tatted behemoth. “Thank God for Lydia, right? She’ll figure out you’re missing and come find you. Problem solved.”
“She’s home.”
Fucking hell.
“Home? What is she doing there? I thought you two had a date—or whatever it is you call it. Your night was just getting started.” I lower my voice in a poor imitation of Asher’s, much to his growing amusement.
“Ended early.”
I should let his comment lie and focus on my escape, but Asher fucking Hammond has trampled my ego one too many times. Screw decorum. “Oh, you finished that quickly, huh? How sad … for Lydia.”
“You wish,” Asher mutters, but I hear him whisper a curse under his breath.
Now, it’s my turn to toss a haughty laugh his way. “Not if you were the last man on earth.”
His gaze catches mine, and I see something flicker in their depths. Maybe I’m getting to him or maybe he’s about to snap and end me. It’s a toss up at this point.
But he drags a hand through his dark hair and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
Much more of this torture and I’ll pitch myself down the stairs. How would Mr. Wonderful talk his way out of that mess?
Opting for safety, I throw up my hands and flop down on the top step. “So, now what? We’re stuck down here?”
Asher places one booted leg on the bottom step as a grin splits his face. “Looks that way. Looks like we’re stuck together until tomorrow morning.”
I rub my forehead, trying to will away the headache brewing in my brain. “Awesome. This is obviously penance for committing terrible crimes in a past life. Well, that settles it.” Pushing myself to standing, I move past him, walking to the far corner of the basement and popping open a wooden box.
Asher tracks my movements from the other side of the basement. “What are you doing now? Looking for a better weapon?”
“Nope. I can always shove that broomstick up your ass. That should shut you up for a while.”
Asher snorts and shakes his head, which is not helping me manage my anger.
Turing to face him, I plant my hands on my hips and shoot him a withering glare. “You find that idea amusing?”
“I do, because you’re this big.” He holds up his hand level to his waist and bites back another laugh. “You’re like a hyperactive chihuahua.”
My only reply to his less-than-original insult is a roll of my eyes, which is apparently enough to bait the man.
“You need a sense of humor. I can’t be the first guy to mention your size,” he says with an offhanded shrug.
“You’re not,” I reply as I dig through the items stashed on the shelf. “Plenty of men have mentioned plenty of things where I’m concerned. Thanks for being just like them.”
“Sweetheart, I’m nothing like any man you’ve ever known, and that kills you.”
I ignore Asher’s barb and focus on something more satisfying—something guaranteed to bring me a sliver of pleasure tonight. My hand closes around the bottle of whiskey, and I smile.
Knew you’d come in handy, beautiful.
Grabbing a spare glass, I carry the bottle to the worn couch and sit down, cross-legged.
Time to ignore the tatted heathen and focus on a cup of liquid heaven.
Asher strolls over to the couch, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stares pointedly at the bottle. “Aren’t you going to share?”
“No.” To drive home my statement, I lift the glass to my lips and feel the sweet burn drift down my throat, my gaze never wavering from his face.
It seems that, despite trading taunts for the past fifteen minutes, my one-word retort is the final straw for Asher’s temper. He throws his hands up, frustration twisting his mouth. “What is your fucking problem? Do you need to get laid or something?”
Bristling at his comment, I take another sip, letting a slow, satisfied hiss escape. “Now, that’s some damn fine whiskey.” I let the words hang, then shift my gaze to Asher, who appears practically apoplectic at my nonchalance. “And to answer your rude inquiry—one, it’s none of your damn business. Two, even if I did, you’d be the last person I’d call. And three, you know what my fucking problem is.”
“Yeah, some imaginary noise complaint on a night when the parlor was closed, along with accusing me of being a horrible person. Not sure how that happened when I hadn’t even said hello to you. Guess you’re the type to judge a book by its cover, huh?”
Jumping to my feet, I march over to him, jabbing my finger into his chest. “How dare you pretend nothing happened that night. I’m not imagining the things that man said to me—or the fact he claimed you told him what type of woman I was. Pretty surprising, considering I’d never even said hello to you.”
Once again, I turn his words against him, but this time, he’s not amused.
“Who are you talking about? Black Lotus was closed. I spoke with Braden and Zane about that night and neither of them was anywhere near here.” Anger creases his face as his voice increases several decibels.
“It wasn’t either of them.”
Asher tugs a hand through his hair, yanking at the dark strands. “Then who? That’s the extent of my staff.”
I glide my hand along the back of my neck, allowing the memory of the man’s ugly sneer to once again flood my brain. “I don’t know his name. He was too busy insulting and threatening me to allow for a proper introduction. He wore some stupid band shirt and had a huge evil clown tattoo on his neck. It extended partway up his face. Totally grotesque.”
In the next instant, the strangest thing happens. The anger in Asher’s face slides away, replaced by a look of realization. “Micah.” He glances away, releasing a frustrated breath through his nose. “I should have known.”
“Should have known what?”
“Micah wasn’t one of my employees, because I fired him earlier that same week. He claimed he lost the key to the shop, and I hadn’t had a chance to change the locks.”
I shrug, trying to deduce Asher’s point. “He broke in?”
“Technically, yes. That’s why he was such a dick to you. He figured you’d tell me, and I’d ream his ass out.”
“Instead, you reamed my ass out.”
He runs a hand over his jaw, a resigned grunt escaping his mouth. “To be fair, you gave as good as you got. What did the man say to you?”
“ Now you want to know?”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I do, actually.”
Although I doubt Asher will give two craps what nasty comments his former employee hurled my way, there’s no harm in giving him the rundown—even if it is six months later.
I return to the couch and take a sip of whiskey, allowing the burn to cool my emotions. “It was late, so I went over to ask him to turn down the music, and he told me where I could shove my request. Then, he told me you had warned him how I was a prissy bitch and if I didn’t march right back to my little store, you would both make me sorry.”
Asher’s eyes widen, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I scoff, tempted to throw the bottle of whiskey at him. “I tried, remember? At which point, you called me several terms of endearment right in front of my patrons.”
“You went off on me in front of my clients, too.”
No way will I last the night without killing this man. “I had a reason.”
“Well, I thought I did, too.”
“You thought wrong.” Then, much to my horror, a tear slides down my cheek. I swipe it away, hoping Asher didn’t see it. That’s all I need—the man thinking I’m a typical weak woman.
But Asher doesn’t laugh or smirk. In a wholly unexpected move, he sits on the couch, pivoting to face me. “I didn’t know he threatened you. Hell, I had no idea he was here that night.”
There’s something so soothing about Asher’s voice now. Only moments earlier, it growled with authority and anger. Now, it’s soft and reassuring, a tone one would use to address a scared animal.
Guess I’m the scared animal in this scenario.
“Now you know.” I take another swallow of whiskey, widening my eyes when he raises a brow. “What? ”
“Can I please have a glass? Like it or not, we’re stuck down here tonight. Might as well make the best of it.”
“I am making the best of it.” Yes, I’m being petulant, but I refuse to share my whiskey without an apology.
Asher releases a noisy sigh, shooting me a side-eye. “Trust me, I’m not happy with Micah and when I see him again, I’ll beat him to a pulp for what he said. No one threatens a woman, especially not one as tiny as you.”
“Didn’t you know? Hyperactive chihuahuas are pretty intimidating when provoked. We’re like rats on speed.”
Ash chuckles, a full grin spreading across his face. “My comment about your size rubbed you the wrong way, didn’t it?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear and avert my gaze. “I’ve heard worse. Way worse.”
He skews his mouth to one side. “If I’m being honest, I think your size is adorable.”
Did the man just compliment me in some odd, offbeat fashion? Has the world tilted on its axis?
I stare at him, my mind struggling to process this surprising new side of Asher Hammond.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I might forget you’re supposed to hate me.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a seriousness beneath it that my body can’t ignore.
A flush climbs my cheeks, a wholly unexpected response to his intense gaze. “You’re a fan of rats on speed? Unusual fetish. And despite my diminutive stature, I can take care of myself.”
I’m not kidding. A woman living alone in the big city needs a few tricks up her sleeve. Hell, a woman living alone anywhere needs to know how to defend herself from undesirables .
“So, I’ve noticed, but I’m still kicking the shit out of Micah. He’s an asshole.”
“I thought that was my title. Or is it the Frost Queen? Wait, I’m the prissy bitch. Hard to keep up with your handbook of nicknames for me.”
Asher presses his lips together, but I see the remorse coloring his features. First time I’ve witnessed that expression on his face. “I’m really not a bad guy. Ask anyone in town. I’m pretty well-liked across the board.”
“Uh-huh. Is that an apology I’m hearing? No whiskey until you admit I’m not the harpy you thought I was.” Swirling the alcohol in my glass, I study his face, searching for signs he’s messing with me. But his green-gold gaze holds mine, with no hint of deceit.
“I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance to explain—fully—what happened that night, because no one should ever speak to you the way Micah did. Or the way I did, for that matter.”
“I’ll consider your request.”
“One more thing. Ever heard the saying that things stop growing when they’re perfect? You just got there sooner than most women.” Asher waves his hand, gesturing along my form.
No, I’m not imagining it. He actually did compliment me.
Yes, the man has ulterior motives, but this is a side of Asher Hammond I have no idea how to handle.
“Damn, you really want a drink, don’t you?” Despite the harshness of my words, I bite back a smile—a smile that Asher catches and returns.
“Desperate times.”
With a fake glower, I grab the bottle and pour him a glass. “Thank you for saving me earlier. I was really scared when that rung broke.”
“I really wasn’t going to let you fall.” Asher accepts the glass of whiskey, but to my surprise, he sets it aside, extending his hand. “Can we start over? Properly this time? I’m Asher Hammond, but only you and my mother call me by my full name. And then, only when I’m in a crap ton of trouble. To everyone else, I’m Ash, the owner of Black Lotus and the micro farm on the edge of town. Contrary to previously held notions, I’m neither a heathen nor a hoodlum.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, wondering if I should cave or cling to resentment. Truth be told, I’m a total softie and hate holding grudges—even when they’re deserved.
After my father abandoned my mother and me, I spent far too many years clinging to anger and resentment. I learned the hard way there’s no point in staying angry. You only hurt yourself that way.
With a sly grin, I shake his hand, his skin warm against mine. “Nice to meet you. Officially, this time.”
“Now, it’s your turn. That’s how introductions work.”
“You don’t say.” I grab a throw pillow and rest it on my lap. Hey, if Asher—I mean, Ash—turns back into a pumpkin, I can always make good on my broomstick threat. “I’m Oriana Thorne, owner of One More Page. Terrible with heights and broken ladders, but usually fearless beyond that. Quite a mouth on me, as you’ve already seen.”
“Most definitely,” Ash murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips.
There’s something tantalizing about the growly edge of his voice, the way it rolls over me, much like the feelings that rolled over me when he held me on the ladder .
I shift slightly, determined not to let Ash get under my skin. No, he does that with all the other women in town, and I will not be another tally mark in his black book.
“I also recently acquired a grand and slightly rundown manor house at auction. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision that’s left me questioning my sanity. Oh, and everyone calls me Ori, unless they’re you. Then it’s Ms. Ice Queen.”
“Your mouth never stops, does it?”
“Sometimes, when I’m otherwise occupied.”
Shit, I realize how that sounds. Did I mean it like that? And did I mean for him to interpret it as a subtle innuendo?
Ash’s brows raise and he nods his head slightly before reaching for his glass to take a swallow. “This is good whiskey.”
Seems he isn’t going to mention my quip, which is just as well.
“I have good taste.”
“You do.” He shifts in his seat, tossing his booted legs on the wobbly coffee table. “Tell me about this house you bought. Are you talking about the old Dean estate?”
“That’s the one. It needs a ton of work, and I am not at all talented in that arena.”
“Maybe you could scare it into submission with your temper.” I shoot him a scowl, earning a chuckle in response. “I’m glad you bought the place. When it went up for auction, I was afraid some real estate developer would scoop it up, raze the house and split up the land.”
“They might have had the right idea, honestly. The to-do list seems endless.”
He leans forward, stroking his beard. “I can help you with the renovations.”
“You’re a carpenter, too? ”
He dusts his fingers on his shirt, puffing out his chest. “I’ve got skills.”
I sputter my whiskey at his brazen comment. “All sorts, I’m sure.”
“I’m not denying it.”
I roll my eyes, choking back a laugh. “Neither are most of the women in this town.”
Hey, if he’s taking the conversation down this path, I’ll go along for the ride.
“What exactly have you heard about me? Actually, hold that thought.”
Without waiting for my reply, Ash disappears to the far side of the basement, returning moments later with some pretzels and fruit. “I put a small fridge in earlier this year, and I always keep some food down here. Never thought I’d need it for an impromptu sleepover, but here we are.”
“Look at you. Prepared for every situation.”
“Like I said, I’ve got skills.”
I’m sure you have many.
Leaning back against the couch, I let my gaze wander over Ash— really look at him for the first time since my arrival, and I understand Mina’s fixation. The man is beautiful. He could be a model with his finely chiseled face and piercing eyes. Then, there’s his body—no clothes in the world could hide the bulging muscles, all covered in colorful ink designs.
Totally not my type, but I see why women swoon over him.
“What really happened to your date? I can’t imagine you end most evenings before eight o’clock.”
Ash shrugs. “I called it off early. Had other things to do. ”
“Things or people?” I tease, the warmth of the whiskey loosening my tongue.
Ash sputters his drink, then returns my cheeky grin. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble, sweetheart.”
“Define trouble. I might just enjoy it.”
Of course I’m pushing his buttons. Turns out, it’s way more fun than I realized.
“I guarantee we would.”
No, that wasn’t a Freudian slip. Ash meant it exactly like that.
I have to hand it to him. The man is smooth when he turns on the charm.
Back to small talk, even if our other conversation is far more fun.
I take another sip of my drink. “I’m sorry your date was a disappointment. Do you have many of those?”
“Dates or disappointments?”
“I already know the answer to the first one. Everyone around here does.”
“Now, you have to tell me what you’ve heard about me.”
“Ash, you must know what the women say.”
“I want to know what you’ve heard,” he presses, shooting me a wink.
Tucking my legs under me, I take another sip of whiskey as the relaxation flows through me. Seems the weight of my long-standing gripe with Ash bothered me more than I realized. Now that it’s in the past, I feel lighter.
“I’m not the only one with monikers. You have quite the handful of nicknames, too.”
“Such as? ”
I tap my finger against my chin, recalling all the rumors about Ash and his legendary prowess. Trust me, there have been a ton. “Lady killer, heartbreaker, king of the one-night stands. Shall I continue?”
I expect a knowing smirk, but Ash’s eyes darken as his foot taps out an erratic rhythm against the floor. “Damn. I’m sorry I asked.”
“Ash, people love you here in Sparkwood—ladies and men alike.” I shrug, topping off his glass in a show of solidarity. “When it comes to you and me, it’s safe to say we were both wrong about each other.”
The smile returns to his face as he snaps his fingers. “Let’s make it right. How about a game of truth or consequences? Great way to get to know each other.”
“How about no?”
“Come on, Ori. We’re here all night. What else are we going to do? Unless … you have a better idea?” Again, his gaze sweeps over me, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
I know that look. I’ve seen the man use it countless times on countless women.
It never fails to charm them right out of their pants.
I realize Ash is getting off on his flirtatious banter, no doubt certain he’s getting to me. What he fails to understand is that, despite my bookworm appearance, I don’t actually have a corkscrew wedged up my bum.
Just because I don’t fall into bed with scads of men doesn’t mean I’m incapable of having fun.
I love having a good time, especially when it involves messing with men whose egos and biceps are the size of tree trunks.
Surprise, surprise, Ash possesses both .
Time to turn Mr. Asher Hammond on his head, something I doubt many women have attempted.
Gliding my fingers along his biceps, I release a low purr. “I have tons of ideas, Ash. Question is, which one should I play with first?”
Shock passes across Ash’s features at my come-hither approach, but he recovers quickly, that half-smirk decorating his mouth. “Tons, huh? Ori, this is an entirely new side of you.”
“Ash, you don’t know any side of me.”
This time, his face remains impassive, but a flame sparks in his eyes. Seems I am getting to the man.
See? Way too much fun. Men who never have to work for a woman’s attention don’t know what to do when they’re denied what they believe is a God-given right.
Asher Hammond is gorgeous, successful and, if the word on the street is to be believed, a king between the sheets.
But none of those characteristics will make me drop my knickers.
For me, sex is more than a physical act. It’s a connection. If he doesn’t stir something in me, he’s not getting in me.
Still, this is a fun way to pass the evening, and he is some fine eye candy.
Ash leans against the sofa, resting his head in his hand. “Yet.”
I scrunch my nose, shooting him a curious look. “What?”
“You claimed I don’t know any side of you, Ori. I issued a qualifier. I may not know you yet , but that is about to change, love.”