Maggie couldn’t relax, and it had nothing to do with the tense political thriller they’d settled on watching. They’d relegated Jackson to the floor—sort of, his big head was draped over Asher’s knee—which gave them the couch to themselves. That could have meant freedom to spread out, except her body seemed to want to be plastered against flannel-and-denim-covered muscles.
She’d given in, tucking herself into his side.
Her heart raced from the closeness. She watched him from the corner of her eye. Light from the action on the screen flashed, casting the angles of his face in colors. They’d discarded their shared popcorn bowl a while ago. He had one hand on the dog’s head, and one on her. Arm looped around her back, he drew lazy circles in the hair at her nape. That was partly jacking up her pulse, too. His fingers felt too, too good on her neck. She wanted his hands everywhere, spreading that talent to other, more intimate places.
She shut down the thought before her libido took off down that rabbit trail. She took as deep a breath as she could without him noticing. Because as much as he seemed into snuggling, he was remarkably composed. Not sending off any “I could seriously rip your clothes off” signals. Maybe he wasn’t ready for that. And she did not need to make a fool of herself by suggesting they try Shirtless Saturday and being rebuffed.
No matter how curious she was to feel his hard muscles under her fingers without his long-sleeved T-shirt in the way.
But with the T-shirt there? That might be okay.
As the on-screen, gun-toting detective wound her way through a Manhattan back alley, Maggie settled her hand below Asher’s rib cage. The warmth of the cotton seeped into her skin, promising so much more heat underneath. She splayed her fingers, taking in the ridges of muscle as best she could without full-on groping him.
“Oh, hey!” he exclaimed. She almost pulled her hand back, but then he lifted his chin at the screen, where the detective emerged from the alley and jostled through a crowd in pursuit of her suspect. “I lived not far from that street during my starving-musician days.”
“Yeah? I haven’t been to New York since I was a teenager.”
He shot her a puzzled look. “Doesn’t your sister live there?”
“Yeah...” A lie—I don’t like traveling—sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t voice it. No matter how much the truth hurt. “She’s never invited me.”
A disapproving whistle ruffled her hair as he kissed the top of her head. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, the Reid penchant for distance runs strong in that one.”
And in me.
He was kind enough not to call her on her hypocrisy. “No desire to break the cycle?”
Okay, so maybe he was calling her on it a little bit. He hadn’t specified her sister in that challenge. So it was probably directed her way, too.
“Years ago, maybe. But a person gets tired of being turned away after a while. It’s easier not to push. Chalk it up to a Stella problem, not a me problem.” It hurt less to believe Stella was just afraid to connect after Ryan Rafferty’s rejection, that there wasn’t something fundamentally unlovable about Maggie. Desperation too readily revealed the truth—Maggie cared more than Stella did.
And Maggie would have been blind not to see that some of the fault didn’t lie inside herself. Had it just been her parents who deserted her, it would be one thing. But Stella, too... And then Jeff.
Asher’s thumb drew lazy zigzags along the first few vertebrae of her back. “Sounds like your sister’s dealing with some rejection issues.”
“One could say.” She waited for what she thought was an inevitable “and so are you,” but it never came.
He just sighed and kissed her forehead. “And it’s a shame it’s gotten in the way of you seeing New York as an adult. You have some catching up to do.”
She let her hand slide a little lower, a subtle exploration of his six-pack. “Where should I start?”
“With food. I could give you a food tour around all the boroughs that would last for months.” His voice lowered. “Unless you were referring to starting something with your hand there. In that case, higher, lower, stay where you are—I’m up for whatever.”
The sexy growl of his voice hooked her core and pulled her in until there was no possible way she could scramble back. Physically, or situationally—he’d thrown that out there, and it couldn’t be erased.
Nor did she want it to be.
“That sounds like way more fun than spending the night talking about my messed-up family.”
“I’m happy to show you that I think you’re pretty damn awesome.” His smile faltered. “But something tells me it would be good for you to open up, Maggie.”
Open up.
Yeah, not happening. She’d already said too much. “Something tells me it would be better not to talk.”
His brows knitted. “You just want to finish the movie?”
“Nope.” She kissed him. Salt lingered on his lips from the popcorn. He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, and cola sweetness flooded her tongue. His beard rasped against her chin, and her belly heated.
A cold nose pressed to her cheek.
“Hey!” She nudged the dog’s face away. “This doesn’t involve you.”
Jackson grumbled and sat back down on the floor with a thunk.
Asher chuckled. His fingers explored her back, playing an irregular pattern of whorls and strokes over her sweater and tank top. “And here I accepted your invitation thinking it would be a rare night with no kids interrupting.”
She shook her head. “Dogs are the worst. They have no shame. And given the layout of my house—” she motioned a hand toward the archway that connected the living room to the dining area and kitchen “—I can’t exactly close the door on him. Though I could put him in the bedroom.”
“You could...” Tracing one of her collarbones with a thumb, he studied her, gaze darkening. He dipped in to kiss her again, soft nips that trailed from her lips along her jaw.
She gripped his hard biceps and let her head fall back. “Or we could go to the bedroom.”
“Could we now,” he said, the words a growl. His lips on her neck, the rasp of his beard on her tender skin, hinted he’d be good with her suggestion.
Being honest about physical need was way easier than having her emotions exposed. She’d pick stripping off clothes to stripping off her protective layers any day. Desire simmered in her veins, dancing along her limbs, pushing her to start with his shirt. Provided that’s what he wanted. With his mouth busy kissing her shoulder, she couldn’t see his expression to decipher his feelings on the matter.
“If you’re up for it,” she said casually, running a palm along the firm muscles of his back, walking his T-shirt up with her fingers until the hem bunched in her hand and her fingertips found warm, smooth skin. His muscles twitched under her touch.
He splayed his own hands on her waist and lifted his head. A mix of desire and caution swirled behind his glasses. “I am, but this is a bit odd for me, Maggie. I’m not ending your average dry spell.”
She cupped his cheek. She’d been so focused on guarding her own space that she hadn’t considered how much of a shift this would be for him. “Is it weird? Being with someone new? Rather... Being with a woman?”
A corner of his lips curved up. “Not in a bad way. Feels pretty damn good. Probably why I’m nervous. Because I know I’m into you—and I’m good with that—but you don’t share those feelings. Not beyond sleeping together, anyway.”
Nerves lodged in her throat. That was the problem with this man. Yeah, he turned her on in all the ways. Him shelving books was single-handedly the sexiest thing she’d witnessed in years. And she was desperate to see him with a guitar in his hands. To hear that low voice run up and down some melodic, mellow lyrics as his fingers coaxed out some acoustic magic. But he was so much more than the physical. His ability to make her laugh, his tenderness with his daughter and Jackson, his commitment to life—he could steal her heart if she let him.
Or maybe he’d manage to capture it anyway, even if she didn’t want him to.
He watched her, seeming to know she was mulling things over and patiently giving her the time to do that. He stroked a hand along her knee.
“If I don’t want anything beyond having my way with you tonight, is that okay?”
His hand paused in its idle path. He rubbed his other palm over his lips. “Normally, I’d say no. I’ve never been one for casual sex. But maybe that’s what I need. A training wheels situation.” He winced. “Not that a bike analogy is flattering at all—”
She cut him off by fixing her mouth to his. Swiveling on the couch, keeping her close with a hand at her nape and one at her waist, he landed on his back. She sprawled on his front, fingers buried in his soft hair. The new angle made her feel everything all at once. The warmth of his body, stretched under hers. Her breasts pressed against his sculpted chest, nipples straining to be freed from the four infernal layers of fabric preventing them from rubbing against his skin. Arousal pooled between her thighs, teased and encouraged by the hard swell of him behind the fly of his pants.
Letting her legs fall to the sides, straddling him, she rocked, centering herself over that tempting ridge.
“Training wheels are okay, then,” he murmured in her ear, his breath coming in quick bursts.
They worked for her, too. Maybe he’d be a safe place to test getting a little closer to someone. “They’re just fine.”
Canine complaints filled her ear as two giant paws landed on the couch next to Asher’s head.
She sat up, still straddling Asher’s strong hips, and glared at the dog. “You are a menace.”
Jackson cocked his head and warbled.
Asher laughed and strong-armed his pet back to the floor. “About that bedroom?”
“Down the hall.”
Jackson tried to follow as they made their way from the living room, but Maggie made him stay put with a firm command and a hand signal. With her other hand, she pulled Asher toward her room. Her ranch-style house wasn’t overly large. Two bedrooms took up the back half. Hers was decently spacious, and had a set of patio doors that opened to the backyard. She could see having a lazy morning with Asher on her Adirondack chairs.
If he wanted to stay over.
Did he?
She’d leave that question for later. For now, she had more important things to take care of.
Pulling him into her room, she motioned around with her free hand at the king-size bed made with a plush duvet, and the rest of the shabby chic furniture. His head turned slowly as he examined the space with the intent of a university professor conducting a sociological experiment.
“Asher,” she complained, tugging him toward the bed. “You’re not here to memorize my interior design skills.”
“Except I kind of am.” He stepped into her space, all heat and solidity and good man scents. “I want to know more about you, Maggie. I’m excited to take you over to that big-ass bed of yours and discover if your skin is as soft as your sweater is, but figuring out what makes you tick is important, too.”
Her heart skipped. Half excitement, half panic. She did a quick glance around the room—was there anything he could learn about her here that she didn’t want exposed? She’d had guys over before, but none of them had been observant like Asher. They’d been here for one thing, and that’s all she’d wanted to give them. But if someone was actually looking... Would he notice how she had pictures of her siblings and grandparents, but not her parents, scattered along her dresser? Was her simple decor the same as a neon emotionally stunted sign?
Something close to shame percolated in her stomach, and she dropped her forehead to his chest.
“Stop worrying,” he murmured. His finger pressed against her jaw, directing her gaze back to his. “I’m not going to ask anything of you that you don’t want to give.”
“We can just enjoy tonight?” She stroked his abs, sliding her hands down past his waist and hooking her thumbs under the hem of his T-shirt. The fabric came off too darn easily. Or maybe that was Asher lifting his arms to help, and then tossing the garment in an unceremonious pile over by the rag rug in front of her dresser. His wide chest, exposed and delicious looking right at eye level, teased her senses. She smiled at him and pressed an openmouthed kiss to one of his pecs.
He mumbled his approval before clearing his throat. “Yeah, we can. We will.”
Spreading his hands wide on her hips, he backed her against the bed and lifted her onto the high mattress, stepping between her legs. One big hand cupped her bottom, pulling her snug to his front.
Even through clothes, the contact seared. She whimpered and tilted her hips, trying to get closer. “It’s too much and not enough all at the same time.”
A breath shuddered from his lips and he bent his head to kiss her neck. “I know.”
She let her cardigan fall from her shoulders, tilting her head to give him better access to the sensitive skin under her ear. Needing something to do with her hands, she unbuckled his belt and fumbled to unbutton his jeans. But her fingers refused to work properly. She shivered as his facial hair teased her flesh. “Your beard gets an A-plus.”
His lips curved against her skin in what felt like amusement. “You’re the first to give it a grade.”
“I can’t be the first to appreciate it, though.”
He lifted his head. A visible, naked vulnerability tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I grew it after Alex died. He wasn’t much for the mountain man look.”
“Oh. I’m...” Sorry wasn’t the right word. She never wanted him to hold back from talking about Alex. But she hadn’t meant her offhand comment to bring up something painful right as he was enjoying himself. “I didn’t mean—that is, we don’t have to—unless you want to.”
“We don’t have to what?”
“Talk about your past,” she said.
“But it’s all tied together, my history and my present,” he said, kissing her softly with his hands cradling the sides of her face, fingers just dipping into her hair. Which had to be a mess by now, what with him touching it. Hopefully he liked untamed curls. She had more than her fair share.
She glided her palms down his back, testing the ridges of muscles. Sweet glory, he knew what to do with his mouth. She linked her ankles around his hips and held on for the ride.
After a minute, he drew away and smiled sheepishly. “I want this to be spectacular, but I’m a little out of practice. With anyone for more than a couple of years, because sex wasn’t on the table once Alex got sicker. And yeah, pleasure is pleasure and intent matters more than gender, but my last girlfriend was in high school. Which—just tell me what you like, okay?”
“I will.” Nerves danced in her belly. “As long as you do the same. I want to be enough for you.”
“Of course. And you already are.” Fingertips glided along her jaw, leaving a trail of sensation she’d much rather be experiencing between her thighs.
“I—I’m wearing too many clothes,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “Back up, Maggie.”
She froze. “Uh, you want to slow down? Or go back to talking about—”
“No, I want you to physically back up. I’d toss you onto the mattress myself, but I’m not much for manhandling my partners. Casual is one thing, careless is another.”
She scooted against the pillows and studied him, the hot glint in his eye, the nervous tilt to his mouth. She’d take him at his word that he wanted this, and his agreement that it wouldn’t be serious gave her the freedom not to worry about getting attached. But she still needed to be mindful that his first time being intimate with someone after a life-shattering loss was something to cherish. “I think there’s room for careful in casual.”
He smiled, slow and satisfied. The mattress creaked as he climbed onto the bed and stretched out his long, muscular frame.
“How does vanilla work for you? For now, anyway?” he asked, palming her belly over her shirt.
She rolled into him, hooking a leg over his hips, desperate for more of the exquisite friction that had held so many promises. “Yeah, I can go for that.” So long as it involved cozying up on top of her feather bed and pressing her body into his.
His heartbeat thudded against her breasts. Or maybe that was hers?
No, it was both. Almost in rhythm with each other.
The near synchronization jarred her, making her breath catch.
“You okay?” His thumb toyed with her lower lip.
“Yeah, sure.” Except she needed to speed this up something fierce. To break away from the soft and emotional, get back to that casual intent they’d set when they were out in the living room and didn’t have their hearts echoing each other... Grabbing the hem of her tank top, she stripped it off and pitched it onto the floor. Her pants were next. Then she reached around to remove her bra.
Asher caught her hand before she could reach back and unclasp the garment. “Hey. Let me do that. In a second, though.” Slightly slower than she had, he shucked his jeans and socks. Dark hair dusted his legs, and she stroked one of his calves with the sole of her foot.
He traced the top of her bra with a fingertip. A quick circle, and his palm caressed her breast. And his mouth was on her nipple, laving it through the fabric. Need speared her core.
She arched into him. “Ohhh...”
“You like that?”
“Love it.”
“Excellent.” He kissed his way across to the other side, and she gripped his thick hair, moaning as he pleasured her other breast. “I’ve been aching to do this.” His breath was hot against the wet fabric. “This, too...” His hand played a sweet, torturous trail down her stomach.
“Mmm, I like where you’re going,” she murmured, tugging on his hair until he brought his lips to hers again. But as his fingers found purchase, slipping inside her panties, she forgot how to kiss. Moaning, though... That happened. Loudly. As did pressing into his hand, a silent plea for more.
If she was going to get out of this without getting dangerously close to attachment, she needed to take charge.
She nudged him onto his back and climbed on top. Oh, yeah. This was so much better without two pairs of jeans muting the heat, the sensation. Nothing emotional. Pure arousal.
Slipping off his glasses, she laid them on the nightstand. His pupils were wide, his chest rising and falling in a quick rhythm. She braced her hands on his pecs and rocked her hips.
His eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted. A low murmur of pleasure rumbled from his chest. Gentle fingers slid her bra straps over her shoulders and he pushed the cups down, coaxing the fabric away from her tender flesh with both hands. Only when he had her squirming from the caresses of his palms did he unfasten her bra, freeing her arms. His thumbs brushed her nipples and she fell against him, mouthing his neck and digging her fingers into his hair.
“One down, one to go,” he said teasingly, hooking the edge of her panties and sliding them down an inch. He pushed them to the side and teased her center.
“Mmm, they need to go completely.” How the words got out coherently when his fingers were strumming some sort of magic, she didn’t know. Limbs heavy and body aching to have all of him, she somehow managed to lift up enough to get the offending cotton off.
“Take mine off, too.” A playful smile softened the command.
Dishing him some serious bedroom eyes, she eased the material down. His length sprang against his belly and she licked the tip.
His head fell back on the pillow and he swore.
She explored him with her tongue and lips, circling his base with her fingers as she savored the tastes of salt and man.
“Maggie,” he choked out, “I love that, but I can’t... Not right now...”
“Too much?”
“Too good.”
With one last, light press of her mouth to his hot skin, she withdrew and reached into the drawer of her nightstand to get a condom. “I have an IUD,” she said, “but we should use this, too.”
“Of course.”
The second she had him sheathed, his gaze darkened. He flipped her onto her back. Covering her, devouring her mouth.
Overwhelming her with his hands and his chest hair scraping against her nipples and muttering some sort of sweet nonsense, the praise and adoration of a lover...
She gripped his hips, a silent suggestion he get on with things. But he was still kissing her with maddening slowness. Wonderful, yes, but the peak was so close, and she wanted to get there, to fall over the cliff. Just for a moment.
Taking him in hand, she guided him toward her. “Asher, please.”
His mouth curved. Oh, he knew what she was begging for. It was obvious he was anticipating it, too. But he was way too content to torture her in the process.
He slid inside her, just an inch or two. Hot and deliciously teasing. She tried to thrust, but he held his hand to her hip to stop her from taking him in further.
“Please, this?” he asked, voice rough and hitching with desire.
“Uh, yeah.” She pressed her hips into his grip, needing all of him, needing the fullness. The ache in her core was unbearable. Clutching his broad shoulders, she squeezed her inner muscles.
Groaning, he thrust to the hilt, pausing. His eyes closed and his face slackened with pleasure. “Maggie. Honey, you’re... This...” He cursed, low reverence in such a crude word. “Perfection.”
“You, too.”
His deliberate, unhurried pace obliterated her senses and she lost herself in the movement, in his touch. In savoring the bliss on his beautiful face, the near gratitude.
He kissed her tenderly, tongue matching the rhythm of his strokes. And she kissed him back, trying desperately to feel everything outside without feeling anything inside. Without giving in to the temptation to surrender. How he managed to both soothe and arouse with every rocking, forward drive, she had no idea.
“I need more,” she said.
“How?”
“Faster.”
“No, love. That’s the easy way out. Just let go. Ride it out with me.”
“But—”
He snapped his hips harder, cutting off her protest with a wave of pleasure. She was so close, but he clearly needed the sensual pace. And as much as speeding up seemed smarter, safer, how could she resist this? How could she not reach for every scrap of intimacy he was offering? The anxious knot in her chest dissolved and warmth rushed in, building to a breaking point—
One last thrust, and she shattered. A sob escaped her lips and she clung to him, tumbling through the wash of release.
And he followed her, his face buried against her neck, muffling his nonsensical shout.
She splayed her hands on his back. Sweat dampened his skin. Or maybe that was hers, her palms. Heck, her arms and chest and legs.
Lifting his head, he brushed his lips under her ear. “See? Worth going slow.”
It was. A sated joy weighted her limbs, and she couldn’t hold back a smile. But it was about more than peaking together. It was the safety of his embrace. His solidity, his openness...
All things she could get used to.
Could love.
But she couldn’t let herself feel that way.
“Give me a sec,” he murmured before withdrawing gently and heading to her en suite bathroom.
Her body chilled. The vulnerability of being alone and naked swept over her, almost as powerful as the orgasm she’d had. She scrambled under the covers. Maybe the layer of feathers and cotton would be enough of a barrier, enough protection.
He strolled back into the room, still naked and as gorgeous as any man she’d ever seen like this. An almost sheepish smile tilted his lips. He motioned to the duvet. “May I?”
She nodded and pulled them back, inviting him into her bed. And, let’s face it, into whatever comes next.
Because what they’d just shared—that hadn’t felt like an end.
This had “beginning” written all over it.
A few hours later Asher woke with Maggie somehow lying sprawled across his chest as well as half the bed. Good thing she had a king mattress.
He smiled to himself. This was comfortable: both the mattress, and the woman he was sharing it with. A warm, irresistible cocoon. Given he wasn’t due to pick Ruth up from her sleepover until mid-morning, he was tempted to go shut the lights off—they’d managed to pass out with them on—and stay. Damn, Maggie would look good sleepy and languid, lit up by early sunshine.
She probably wouldn’t want that, though. He suspected she hadn’t anticipated “sleeping together” would literally mean sleeping together. He gave her back a quick stroke, inhaling the berry-sweet scent of her curls, which tumbled over her face and tickled his neck. The alarm clock on her bedside table shone 2:14 in bold, digital blue. He really wanted to stay burrowed under the covers, to better learn the weight of her limbs. But waking up to doubt and awkwardness? Not worth the risk. Better to disappoint her by leaving than by sticking around.
“Maggie?” He shifted out from under her, kissing her forehead as he settled her on one of the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. “I should scoot.”
“Mmkay,” she murmured. One of her brown eyes opened a crack. “You, uh... You could...” She woke up all the way, eyes widening. “Right. Leaving. Not staying. Good call.”
He kissed her again before dragging his butt out of bed and putting his clothes back on. She sat up, holding the covers over her naked torso. Her teeth pulled at one side of her lower lip. Concern marked her brows.
“Everything all right?” He put his socks on, studying her.
“Yeah.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Do you want to go out for coffee this week? Or lunch?”
He could hear that the invitation came through gritted teeth, but he got the sense it was her forcing herself to push past her own limitations, not extending it out of a sense of obligation. He mentally scanned his schedule. He was running some of his cultural programming in the afternoons, but that was during his usual hours. Parenting, however, was a total buzzkill when it came to free time. “I have my lunch hours. Other than that, I’m in dad mode every day. Ruth is going to have to put up with doing her homework at the training facility for a few nights so I can get the cabinets done.”
And as much as he liked seeing Ruth hero-worship Maggie, he didn’t want to introduce Maggie as more than a friend right now. Not until he got a better handle on where this was going and what Maggie wanted. But how to bring that up? There wasn’t really a way. Not without freaking Maggie out with words like “commitment” and “step-parent”.
Maggie seemed as lost in thought as he was, staring at a point off to his right. After a few seconds, she fixed him with a determined gaze. “I’ll come by on Monday at lunch, then.”
Excellent. Sure, he’d spend all of tomorrow and Monday morning wondering about her endgame. But future plans were better than her throwing up more walls any day.