Return of the Bad Boy, page 6
Except for one woman in particular. The one woman he wanted.
Asher hadn’t lied to Evan the day he stood in Library Park and admitted Gloria intimidated him. She was hot as hell, and she was smart. Really smart. After he got a closer look at Gloria Shields, he wondered if maybe, in spite of his vast experience, he’d only been exposed to one kind of girl.
The kind of girl who wanted him for a night or for an hour and then never thought of him again. The kind of girl…like Jordan. Or the kind of girl like the one who slept with Broderick and abandoned her dog, for God’s sake. Who did that? Tank snored lightly, already zonked out. Of course Asher had kept him. Dude had been abandoned once already.
Asher put his empty beer bottle on the deck by his chair, then pulled that same hand down his face in frustration. Jordan was one of those situations he’d replayed and replayed and replayed in his head, as if he could replay it enough to change the outcome. But he couldn’t. She happened and they happened and then Hawk happened. When he’d learned about Hawk, something strange occurred. For the first time in history, he didn’t want to change what happened with Jordan. He didn’t want to alter a single thing because a tear in space and time would mean he’d lose Hawk.
That realization had sent him for a fucking loop.
He’d sat in Pate Mansion and confided in the unofficial fourth musketeer, Connor McClain. Asher and Connor were far from best buds, but Connor was a respectable family guy and Ash trusted him. So, New Year’s Eve, while Gloria was spitting bullets at him from across the room, he told Connor what he’d learned: Asher was going to be a dad.
Then he’d vowed to get Gloria back, no matter what.
Now that Evan had gone all Man on the Mountain on him, Asher was considering what he pointed out. If he wanted to surround himself with all the things he wanted, wasn’t Gloria one of those things?
Of course she was.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him and a second later, a square glass of whiskey appeared in front of his face. The hand was a woman’s, and if not for the sparkling wedding band on her left ring finger, he may have thought for a second Gloria had brought him the drink.
No such luck.
“Thanks, Charlie.” He accepted the glass and she took Evan’s Adirondack chair, propping her feet onto the railing like he had, only in her case, she held her skirt to her legs. “Feel free to flash me. You know I don’t mind.”
Blond and beautiful, Charlie grinned. There was a palpable happiness to her lately and Asher loved seeing it. She was a great mom, and from the smile on Evan’s face, Asher knew she was a great wife as well.
“How is the house coming along?” she asked. She and Evan had stopped by to see it the day he moved in, which was close to a month ago now.
“Good. Tank’s right at home.”
She reached over to pet the dog. The pooch got more play than anyone. “Have you seen Hawk much?”
“Not a lot. A few drive-by visits.” He looked down at the dock and lake beyond. He missed his boy. Wanted to be way more present than Jordan and her mother were allowing.
“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” she said. She meant it. He could see it in her genuine smile.
“Wish Sarge would have said that,” he blurted.
Shit. Whiskey made him honest. Too honest.
“Well, she’s not the kind to wear her heart on her sleeve,” Charlie said with a small laugh. “I can relate.”
“Ace, you’re cellophane.” He sipped his drink. “Your heart is in full view.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t allow myself to want good things for a very long time.” Her smile turned sad but recovered almost instantly. “Gloria is a tough cookie. But she’s your cookie.”
He sipped his whiskey again and didn’t answer. Charlie poked his arm and he looked over at her.
“It’s your job to get her to crumble.”
“This is some metaphor.”
Charlie bit her lip like she was deciding whether or not to say more. Then she did. “She told me something the night she found Jordan at your cabin.”
He may have slept with Jordan in the past, but he didn’t sleep with her that night. The one time he did had been pre-Gloria. What he remembered about the night Charlie had brought up was waking to a knock and climbing out of bed to find Jordan closing the front door and Gloria peeling out of the driveway. The rest was history. Regret coated him, but the regret had nothing to do with Jordan. What he regretted was not running after Gloria, bringing her back into his rental, and keeping her there until she believed him.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” he grumbled, throwing back the rest of his drink in one burning swallow.
“She told me that night she’d given Evan bad advice. She told him I needed space, then she said girls like us don’t need space. We need caveman-dragged by the hair.”
“Caveman-dragged.” If he tried to pull that shit, he could go ahead and sacrifice his balls to Gloria, too.
“That’s what she said.”
“What do you mean girls like you?” Far as he could see, girls like Charlie were the kind you grabbed and held on to with both hands. Evan saw that. So did his son, Lyon. The boy didn’t waste time adopting her as a second mom. Smart kid.
“Gloria and I have family…issues.” Charlie held his gaze. “We were both abandoned by our families in different ways, but it leaves a mark. Those are the people who are supposed to stick with you, you know?”
He did know. His family was supportive and loved him.
“So because we don’t have that security, we need to be pursued. Pursued hard.”
“You saying I haven’t been trying?”
“Have you?” She stood from the chair. “And this other agent guy? Sounds like he started the race without you.” Asher didn’t have to wonder how she knew about Brice. Gloria probably told her. Those two had become close. “Better catch up.”
“Caveman.” He cast her a wry glance.
“Yeah. Show her who’s boss.” Charlie squeezed his shoulder and then let go. “She can handle it.”
The back door opened and Gloria and Evan came out, arguing over who had more ice cream in their bowl. Charlie commented about how she was getting herself a bowl bigger than both of them and then they’d really have something to bitch about.
Ash watched the interaction with a smile, but his mind was on what Charlie had said—and how right she was.
Gloria could handle him. Hell, she had handled him. He’d pushed her instead of giving her space last year at the toy drive. And look what happened. He got her into bed that night and experienced the sex—the connection—of his life.
Getting Gloria back was as easy and as difficult as setting his sights on her and running at her with everything he had. That’s how he’d launched Knight Time. Not because he gave it a rest or a break, but because he dogged that goal until it had nowhere else to hide.
Shit.
He’d let Glo run him off.
“Sounds like he started the race without you. Better catch up.”
He frowned.
Gloria harbored an attraction to him rivaled only by his attraction to her, so he’d have no problem reeling her in. But getting her into his bed was one thing.
Getting her to stay was another.
* * *
Gloria had long prided herself on her strength.
Born of Marlene and Steven Shields thirty-five years ago, it wasn’t as if she’d had much choice in the matter. Her parents were raging alcoholics who had graduated to drug abuse before Gloria could walk. By the time she turned sixteen, the state, after repeat visits to their humble home, finally took her away.
Used to a house littered with needles, spoons, and unsavory visitors, Gloria was almost more terrified of suburbia. The glossy-magazine-picture life—manicured flowerbeds, hedges, fenced yards, and minivans in every driveway—was as foreign and unwelcome as she’d expected.
In a lot of ways, foster care was worse than living with her parents.
At her house she could come and go as she pleased. She’d been a little adult since age eleven or twelve, so her new “parents” making rules for her seemed more like a play for power than any real concern for Gloria’s well-being. One by one, her foster homes gave up on her. They cited to the counselors that Gloria was difficult. Controlling. Unappreciative.
In their defense, they weren’t wrong. It hurt, but she didn’t absorb it. Nothing could rival being abandoned by the people who made her and should have loved her unconditionally.
“Have the changes to me as soon as you can, Cindy. Okay, thanks so much.” She ended the call with the editor and slunk down into her office chair. It’d taken everything she had, but she’d secured her author a bump in advance and negotiated a book-signing tour on the publisher’s dime. She sent a text to her client Millie Long, cookbook author and altogether kick-ass mother of three, that read, We did it, babe. Have a cocktail.
Then she dropped her phone and smiled, her smile fading the moment her e-mail binged, begging for her attention. If she started answering them, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
She pushed away from the desk and rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara, then stood to stretch. The door to her office opened and in walked the potential answer to her problems.
“Brice,” she said, and with no small measure of shock.
She’d thought about what he’d promised at brunch. Double the income, a shared office…They could hire additional assistants to go through the submissions. She would have help navigating her treacherous e-mail inbox…
“I thought you were only staying one night,” she said, caution outlining her tone.
From behind his back, Brice pulled out a bouquet of red gerbera daisies matching the shirt he was wearing. “I didn’t want to go back to Chicago and leave such a hot deal on the table.” He offered the bouquet. “I’m talking about you.”
“I assumed.” She accepted the flowers.
“Plus, one of my bands is in town for the Lakeside Dreaming party and I thought I’d be supportive and get completely wasted with them tonight.”
Brice was wearing a pair of fitted tan shorts and boat shoes with a red collared golf shirt, and Gloria had to give it to him, he did look more laid-back than when he was in his slacks and button-down. And the tattoo on his arm peeking out from below the sleeve did make him look like he could handle things if they got wild.
“Well, have a good time,” she told him.
“I plan on it. Because you’re coming with me.”
“I’m sorry to say I have about nineteen hours of work to do and only three hours before my eyeballs give out.”
“You can’t work all the time, Heels.”
“What?”
“Your new nickname. You’re always in heels.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“It sounded cute when I was on my way over here.” He smiled in an endearing way. “I’ll keep working on the nickname thing.”
But she already had a nickname. Sarge. Asher gave it to her back when she first signed him, and that nickname, said in Asher’s scratchy, sometimes tender voice, was the only nickname she wanted.
Even though she told Brice, “You do that.”
Because as things stood, she and Asher had separate lives. Well, as separate as they could have as a client with a house in town who shared cookouts with their many mutual friends.
Sigh.
“Look at you,” Brice said. “Dressed for a rock concert already.”
“A bonus of working for myself.” She propped a hand on her black leather mini. “I can wear whatever I want.” She’d paired the skirt with a sequin-studded hot-pink T-shirt sliced up the sides to reveal her toned tummy. Hey, she’d worked hard on her flat stomach. No sense in hiding it all the time.
“Trust me, Glo. If you worked with me, I wouldn’t have you change a thing.” His eyes cut down her body, and to her surprise, his appraisal didn’t feel the least bit gross. Instead, his attention was…genuine. And sort of flattering.
“I sincerely have so much to do…” So much she didn’t want to do.
“I know.” He took her hand and drew her out from behind the desk. “Shut it all down, sweetheart. Come party with me.”
Because his offer was tempting, if not a little charming, and she really did have a lot to celebrate considering her recent win for Millie, Gloria decided to give herself the treat and unplug early.
“Let me get my purse.”
* * *
The big bash was outside of Evergreen Cove, the massive designated lawn area packed thanks in part to ideal weather. The night was clear, with a light, warm breeze fluttering through the trees, and the setting sun made the water glitter like someone had thrown diamonds onto the lake’s surface.
Gloria changed her outfit in spite of Brice insisting she was already dressed for a concert. She’d asked him to wait outside her apartment while she’d run inside and traded her skirt and heels for a pair of short shorts and flip-flops.
“I take it back. Maybe you do belong here,” he’d joked when she came outside to join him.
The band was good, but the drinks were better. By the time she’d had three whiskey sours, she was relaxed and her work problems felt miles away. They’d be there in the morning, but she would deal with tomorrow when it came. Right now was about being in the moment.
She was swaying to the music—the band was covering an old Aerosmith song—when Brice palmed her hip and pulled her close. She smiled up at him. He was cute. In a professional/businessy sort of way. Then she frowned at the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. That part wasn’t cute. It was hot.
She edged away, but he tightened his hold on her. “Dance with me, Gloria.”
Well. Why not? She finished her drink and tossed the cup onto the grass alongside about eleven million other cups, then looped her arms around his neck and moved to the soft beat. He had rhythm, and she tried not to be impressed by his hips and the way they moved in sync with hers.
It’d been a long time since she’d been out without an agenda. Whenever she’d dated before, she’d spent most of the evening trying to anticipate what her date might do next, and further anticipate if she would turn him down or accept. She tried to decide if Brice would attempt to kiss her at the end of the night, and guessed he would, and decided to oblige him. Harmless kisses between potential business partners.
Hmm. That might be the whiskey talking…
“You made it!” Brice called out, making her jump.
Her eyes snapped open and she was released from Brice’s hold so quickly, she had to adjust her weight to keep from toppling over. She pushed her hair out of her face to say, Thanks a lot for the warning, but found herself faced with Asher and, next to him, Evan.
“I was hoping you’d come out.” Brice clapped Asher’s shoulder. “Wasn’t sure if you’d get the invite in time.” The band’s set ended and the crowd cheered. Brice paused in his greeting to Asher to whistle through his teeth. Gloria joined him, clapping halfheartedly, still perturbed that Brice’s priority and attention had refocused on Asher.
“Looks like I’m too late,” Ash said, his eyes boring into hers.
“Nah. They’ll take thirty minutes and come back out. You’re just in time to hear the last set,” Brice said, oblivious to the silent conversation happening in his midst.
“Might be right on time,” Evan said, hiking one eyebrow high enough to scold her.
Gloria wrinkled her nose. Whatever. She didn’t owe either of her clients an explanation for what she did off the clock.
“Drinks on me,” Brice said. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll come with,” Evan offered. “Glo?”
“Whiskey sour.”
“Just whiskey,” Asher corrected. “I’ll have the same.”
She nodded at Evan, and he and Brice made their way through the crowd—which hadn’t thinned even a little despite the band leaving the stage—and walked in the direction of the bar. Gloria figured they’d get back about the time the band took the stage again, which left her with Asher in the interim.
“I didn’t realize you were invited,” she said over the melee.
“I see that.” The corners of his mouth turned down.
“Why did he invite you?” she asked, curious.
“He wants me,” Asher said, a bored expression on his face.
“No. He wants me.” She pressed her fingers into her chest.
Asher leaned closer to speak to her and it took everything in her not to back away a step. Him close had a way of messing with her equilibrium…even more than the whiskey.
“I meant he wants to sign the band, Sarge. He’s probably buttering you up to get to me.”
“What?” she asked, slightly offended. “How egotistical are you?”
“I’m not being egotistical,” he said. “That’s a fact. And you’re welcome.”
Oh, he was too much. “I’m welcome?”
“Yeah. Now that I’m here, you won’t have to touch him. He won’t get within three feet of you.” Stubble lined his jaw, fire burned in his eyes, and he stood close enough that his body heat blanketed her. “Promise.”
“Listen, Asher”—she cleared her throat and tore her eyes away from his biceps, which were absolutely delicious and testing the limits of his T-shirt in the most distracting way possible—“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”
“No, you listen.” He palmed her hip much like Brice had earlier, but unlike Brice, when Asher touched her, her nipples perked up and every inch of her grew warm. Asher’s nearness, one hand gripping her firmly as he looked down at her with dark hunger in his eyes, was so hot she couldn’t think.
The crowd milling around them were having loud, drunken conversations, so he lowered his face to her ear to speak.
“I’m coming for you, Sarge.” His hand moved from her hip to her lower back, his fingers splaying wide and slipping beneath the material of her shirt. “Bet you’ve never had anyone come for you, have you?” His nose moved along her ear, warm breath tickling her skin. “Bet you were a rebellious teen with a nose ring and a bad attitude and all you wanted was to feel good.”
