12 Scarlett #2
I freeze and my breath catches. His grip loosens instantly like he didn’t mean to pull me that close but neither of us steps away.
The room suddenly feels too quiet. His eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time since I met him, Asher looks uncertain.
Not weak. Not nervous. Tempted. That realization sends heat rushing through every inch of me.
“Asher,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens hard.
“You need to stop looking at me like that.” My pulse jumps wildly.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t realize what you’re doing to me.” The words hit me like a physical blow.
Across the room, Harper suddenly says loudly:
“Oh my God.”
Roman immediately answers, “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying the tension in this room could power a small city.”
“I give it ten minutes before somebody gets pinned against a wall for noneducational purposes.” Declan says from against the wall.
Asher never takes his eyes off me.
“Out,” he says flatly.
Declan grins wider. “Worth it.”
Roman physically drags Harper toward the opposite side of the room while she whispers aggressive commentary the entire way.
The second they’re distracted; silence settles between us again. Asher finally releases my wrist slowly, but his hand lingers.
“You should keep practicing,” he says quietly, his voice sounds strained now.
I tilt my head slightly. “You nervous, Asher?”
A humorless laugh leaves him. “You should really stop testing me, Scarlett.”
“Why?”
His eyes darken.
Because one day,” he says softly, “I’m not going to pass, and I may not even care who is in the room.”
By the time training finally ends, every muscle in my body burns and sweat clings to the back of my neck while my lungs struggle to keep up after the last round of drills Roman forced Harper and me through.
Harper collapsed dramatically onto one of the mats ten minutes ago claiming she deserved financial compensation for emotional damage.
Roman told her she was dramatic. She informed him she was “athletically misunderstood.”
Asher barely reacted to any of it. Mostly because the entire last hour felt charged with something sexual every time he looked at me.
Every correction became too close. Every touch lasted a second too long.
Every glance felt like a warning neither of us knew how to stop, and somehow it only got worse after everyone else noticed.
“Upstairs,” Roman says. “Dinner’s probably done.”
The smell hits us halfway up the stairs. Garlic bread and creamy alfredo sauce. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud the second we walk into the kitchen.
“I’m starving,” I mutter.
Roman pulls the baking dish from the oven while Harper starts grabbing plates from the cabinet.
Asher moves beside me silently, reaching over my head for glasses.
His chest brushes lightly against my shoulder in the process.
Completely unnecessary, but completely intentional.
I look up automatically. Big mistake. His eyes drop to mine instantly and heat curls low in my stomach.
“You gonna keep staring at me like that?” he asks quietly.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“How much longer you plan on pretending you don’t like it.”
Before he can answer, the security system near the hallway beeps softly.
Every man in the room reacts instantly. Declan’s hand moves toward his weapon.
Roman sets the dish down immediately. Asher steps slightly in front of me without even thinking.
The front door opens a second later. Zariah walks in carrying a black duffel bag over one shoulder.
“Well,” she says dryly while shrugging out of her leather jacket, “either I interrupted family dinner or foreplay.”
Harper chokes on her water and Declan starts laughing immediately. I nearly drop the stack of silverware in my hands. Asher looks entirely unimpressed.
“Timing,” he says flatly.
“Terrible,” Zariah agrees.
She tosses her keys onto the counter before grabbing a plate like she’s been here a hundred times already.
Long dark hair falls over one shoulder as she casually serves herself stuffed shells and garlic bread.
Meanwhile I’m still staring. Mostly because this is not what I expected from some elite undercover operative risking her life inside a trafficking network. She notices immediately.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re just…” I trail off.
“Here?” she offers while taking a seat at the island.
“A little too calm for someone secretly infiltrating criminals.”
Zariah smirks faintly. “Occupational hazard.”
I hesitate before finally asking the question sitting heavy in my chest.
“Is it safe for you to be here?” The room quiets slightly. Zariah sets her fork down.
“I took precautions.”
Asher finally relaxes enough to move away from the doorway, though not by much. Zariah leans back slightly in her chair.
“I keep an apartment downtown,” she explains. “Underground parking garage. Cameras everywhere. I park there first every time.”
Declan nods once.
“I go upstairs to the apartment, stay long enough to establish routine movement, leave lights on, sometimes turn the shower on.” She shrugs casually. “Then I take the stairwell down three floors, exit through maintenance access, and swap vehicles in another garage two blocks over.”
Harper blinks.
“That’s… actually kind of insanely brilliant.”
“It’s survival,” Zariah says simply.
Something about the way she says it makes Asher glance toward me briefly. Like he’s silently reinforcing everything they drilled into us downstairs. Roman slides plates across the island toward everyone.
“So?” Declan asks while sitting down. “What happened today?”
Zariah lets out a long breath before taking a bite of food. Then she laughs once. Not humorously. More like exhaustion.
“Celeste happened.” My stomach tightens immediately and Asher’s entire posture changes beside me.
“What did she do?” Zariah shakes her head slowly.
“She’s spiraling. At the dinner party, security protocols increased halfway through the night. Additional guards. Restricted movement between wings. Checkpoints added at interior hallways.”
Roman frowns. “That’s unusual.”