Like all the other Melody Knowledge he stashed away like a fucking squirrel hoarding acorns for the winter.
She did it when she was biting back a soft retort, nicer than the rest of them who gave each other shit the majority of the time (though she was getting better at dishing it out). She did it when someone said something funny and she didn’t want to laugh, as though she shouldn’t be sharing her amusement. Or when she wanted the last slice of dessert but didn’t want to be rude and ask for it. She certainly wouldn’t snatch it from the heathens’ jaws his brothers would.
He’d seen that little divot appear in her cheek from up close when she’d stayed at his place.
In his bed.
In his arms.
Not at first. That divot hadn’t immediately reappeared.
But eventually it had, and it had been the beginning of her returning to herself, thinking she shouldn’t be asking for help, asking him for help. Her putting up distance between them, block by block, carefully shutting him out by pretending that she was fine.
No longer sleeping in his arms.
Moving out of his house when he wasn’t there.
Deliberately not touching him when they were hanging with his brothers and their sisters and their friends, even though he’d held her more nights than he could count.
Barely meeting his eyes.
And worst of all—not sleeping.
Which was a thought that pulled his head out of his ass and reminded him of why he was there.
“Come on,” he muttered, not giving into the urge to smooth out the indent in her cheek—though he did give into the urge to touch her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.
Then he started walking, tugging her along behind him.
Toward the bedroom.
“Ash,” she whispered.
He continued on, taking them both down the hall, not stopping until they were at the side of the bed.
“Ash,” she said again.
He dropped his hand to the middle of her chest and pushed, sending her tumbling back onto the mattress. Then hated he’d done it when he watched a blip of fear appear in her eyes.
Ash ignored that blip of fear. He had to or else it would continue to eat him alive, eat her alive.
So, he didn’t hesitate to follow her down, to roll her to the side so he could pull back the blankets. Then he rolled them both the other way, maneuvered them under the blankets, rolled again, reached out and flicked off the light.
“Ash.”
He snagged the TV remote, flicked through the channels until he found a replay of a Gold hockey game. He dropped the remote on the nightstand, did another round of maneuvering—this time wrapping an arm around her middle and tugging her back against his body.
“Ash,” she whispered.
He buried his face in her neck, resisted the urge to press his lips there. “Sleep, sweets.”
Five
Mel
“Sleep, sweets,” he ordered.
Her heart was still pounding in her throat, choking her, reducing her words to one freaking word—and that was his name.
“Ash,” she whispered again.
She should rip herself from his arms, demand he get out of her bed, throw a fit until he gave in and got the heck out of her apartment.
But…
Mel didn’t throw fits.
She didn’t demand.
She quietly held her ground.
She dug her toes in and got it done and—
Not anymore, slithered a silky voice through her mind. That’s not who you are anymore.
Mel clenched her jaw, closed her eyes, ignored the man behind her, and focused on breathing. She was going to get there again, going to find herself again. Already, she was regrowing her spine, rediscovering her voice, her strength. Because she wouldn’t allow herself to be a victim in her own life.
Not ever again.
But…she still didn’t move.
Mostly because his arms around her felt right. Felt…like everything she’d ever wanted in her whole life. And, yeah, not protesting, not moving, not tearing herself from his hold was weak, but…it was three-forty-something in the morning and she’d been woken by a nightmare, and being held against Asher’s big, strong body was just as good as she remembered.
He was hard and strong and shouldn’t be comfortable, but he was. More so than even her expensive pillows and memory foam mattress.
Because he held her.
Like she was important. Like he’d launch himself out of bed in an instant and take on any type of monster—man or beast or supernatural.
Like he’d keep her safe. Just…not her heart.
She sucked in a breath as a bolt of pain shot through her.
He’d never been anything but gentle with her.
Except for the day she’d shot her shot. Then he’d been sharp and cold and—
Stupid.
She’d been so damned stupid. It was just…she’d thought that maybe things could be different, that a man like him might like a woman like her.
Take a chance. Go for what she wanted. Dream that—
I definitely don’t want to go on a date with you.
Definitely.
“Breathe, sweets.”
His voice—past and present—rubbed across her mind like sandpaper.
Her eyes stung. Her lungs burned. Because she’d sucked in air, and she hadn’t let it out and her body needed oxygen to survive and—
“Breathe, sweets,” Ash said again, lightly jostling her.
Her lips parted, air slid out, and then her brain took over, setting her lungs breathing normally, clearing the burn in her chest, the moisture in her eyes, the fog in her brain.
God, she wanted that soft, firm voice to be hers.
Forever.
But…it would never happen.
I definitely don’t want to go on a date with you.
Definitely.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered.
A long pause before his arms tightened. “No.”
Slice.
“But you’re going to sleep, anyway,” he ordered.
She wasn’t. She couldn’t possibly. Not like this. Not with him. Not ever.
And for a long time, she didn’t.
Just stared straight ahead into the dark and listened to the game playing in the background, to his slow and steady breathing.
And eventually, her lids grew heavy, slid closed, and she did.
She fell asleep.
Her phone buzzed, and, like always, she hated her life.
The sun was shining through the windows, through the sheer curtains—left sheer because she was so not a morning person, because she so hated that she had to get up and function before nine in the morning.
Why?
Why?
Groaning, she slapped out a hand, snagged her cell, the long charging cord it was plugged into dragging along her throat as she cracked an eye and jabbed at the screen to turn off her alarm.
“Ugh,” she moaned, not bothering to move the cord.
Death by charger would be better than getting up right then.
But she was awake now.
Sort of.
Or anyway, her alarm had gone off. She’d been hauled unwillingly out of the peaceful oblivion of sleep and wouldn’t be able to slip back off.
Nope.
She’d just lay there and be grumpy that she was awake at this awful hour…of seven thirty.
Gah.