Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (11 page)

“I was wondering…” She toyed with the straw wrapper on the table and kept her eyes focused on her fingers. “It’s none of my business, but something’s been… Well, I want to ask you about something I heard.”

Ashe settled back in his chair. “Sure.”

“A couple of weeks ago, I saw you at the bar with Rico.” She glanced up but quickly looked away. “About a week after we first met at Gina’s house. Someone said something, and I’ve been wondering about it.”

“Okay.” He’d just bet someone said something.

She huffed a frustrated breath. “Look, some of the girls were talking, and they said you never left a bar by yourself. You know, alone? And I was wondering… How can that be? I mean, never? You never leave a bar by yourself? Go home alone?”

Not what he’d expected her to ask. He’d been prepared with a smooth answer about what he did for a living, why he hung out with Rico and his gang, but had to switch gears. “Well, that’s not entirely true.”

“It isn’t?” She risked another embarrassed glance at him, mixed with hopefulness, and he rubbed his lower lip to hide a smile.

“No. That would take superhuman abilities, and I’m not quite there yet,” he teased. “I’ve taken some girls home. Okay, maybe more than some. But most of those, I’ve
only
taken home.”

She arched a dubious brow, and he chuckled.

“People like to talk, to brag. Some people like to let them. It serves my purpose to let them.”

“So, you’re telling me you only take them home, shake their hand goodnight, and head off to bed alone like a good little boy?” She couldn’t keep a straight face, and neither could he.

“No, not all the time. But more often than people think, that’s for sure. Look.” He sat forward and took her hand, forcing her to drop the mutilated wrapper. “I’m no saint. Don’t claim to be. Don’t want to be. But I’m telling you the truth when I say my reputation is wishful thinking on a lot of people’s part, especially most of those women. I’ll tell you this, Liz. I’m going home alone, unless I’m with you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

He held her gaze when she took a sharp breath.

“Why?” she breathed.

His stupid heart turned over at the sight of her honestly baffled expression, her blue eyes wide and guileless. His fingers tangled with hers before he brought them to his lips for a lingering kiss, sucking briefly on one knuckle.

“Because I like you. Haven’t been interested in anyone else since I met you.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t happen to me. That’s never happened to me, but I like it. Like the way you make me feel. I like thinking about you. Like seeing you. Can I see you, Liz? Just you?”

“Just me?” she squeaked.

“Just you,” he affirmed, leaning across the table. “Just me and you. Is that okay?”

She nodded frantically, unable to speak.

“Is this okay?” He brought his mouth closer.

She nodded again, and he breathed a sound of approval before he kissed her.

Not nearly enough.

Liz echoed the noise rumbling from his chest, but hers filled with disappointment when he eased away. He smiled and licked his lips, and she just about melted into a puddle before glancing at the other patrons of the restaurant. At least he had enough awareness of their surroundings to stop. He’d tasted so good, and he’d felt even better. She wanted more. She wanted to jump him. The brief taste, the hint of what he could do with a kiss, oh, she ached. She barely restrained herself from leaping across the table and kissing him until she was satisfied.

Which would be never.

The waitress gave her an envious once-over as she served their food. “You weren’t kidding when you say you like it hot. Enjoy!”

Liz grimaced, but Ash’s booted foot and long length of calf pressed along her much shorter leg under the table. She laughed instead—she did like things hot. He sat so close she could see the striations in his beautiful eyes and the glint of stubble growing on his cheeks and chin as he sent her a slow smile. The corners of his mouth quirked even higher as she stared, highlighting the sharp blades of his cheekbones and the dimple in his chin. How could she not gawk, when he sat there oozing testosterone and sex appeal? No red-blooded woman could resist him, especially when he focused attention on her.

After he paid the bill, she tried to come up with an excuse not to go home and end their night—until he walked her back to his motorcycle. Getting on his bike with her arms and legs wrapped around his big, solid body sounded like a fair trade. Reality was even better when he helped her into his jacket and straightened the collar before pushing up the much-too-long sleeves.

“Won’t you be cold?” She clutched the leather in a death grip. The T-shirt he wore wouldn’t be much protection against the cool night air.

“Nah. I’ll be fine.”

Oh, he was fine, all right. The cotton clung to the intriguing swells of his pecs and upper chest, stretched over the bulge of biceps in his arms. No way she’d give the jacket back, not even if he begged. Well, maybe if he begged. She’d probably give him just about anything if he did that, whether she intended to or not.

He slung a leg over the motorcycle, and she took the few precious seconds when he turned his back to inhale the rich scent of the leather jacket and the more intoxicating fragrance that clung to the lining. She rested against his back once she was secure, and she told herself the helmet kept her from placing her cheek fully on him, so it wasn’t weird. Her hands linked around his narrow waist, and she could feel him moving, breathing, through his thin T-shirt. The bike rumbled, he held solid in front of her, and she fell hard.

She clung when they pulled up to Gina’s small house and the ride ended, even though she was stiff and sore from the unaccustomed position on the bike. Ash dismounted with easy grace, lifted the helmet from her head, and offered her a hand to ease her to the ground.

“You okay?” He gripped her arm and brought her against his hip to steady her
when she wobbled.

She should tell him no. Maybe he’d pull her closer, but instead, something much worse came out of her mouth. “I’m not used to having that between my legs.”

Because she was slightly off-balance, she held out her hand, which of course landed square on his butt. And that made her words all that much better. Or worse. She didn’t know. Oh, God.

He jumped and barked out a surprised laugh. “My mind is spinning with ways we can get you used to it, beautiful.”

“The bike. I meant the bike.” Her cheeks heated to scalding as he chuckled.

“Same goes.”

Liz turned toward the front door, aware he was right behind her as she climbed the short steps to the porch. Her legs still wobbled, and not only because of the motorcycle ride. She was no match for him. She had some experience with men—she was no bashful virgin—but he knew more about playing that game than she would ever learn in her lifetime. The evidence was in his bold gaze, the confident smile, the set of his wide, muscular shoulders and the assurance in his stance. The practiced and focused attention he paid to her was designed to elicit one response—her agreement to anything he asked. Swallowing to moisten her suddenly dry throat, she concentrated on digging her keys out of her bag and refused to gawk at his long, lean, muscular body showcased in thin white cotton and old frayed denim.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” He stomped on the rickety boards of the porch.

“Sh.” Liz glanced at Gina’s car parked at the side of the house. The last thing she wanted was Gina and her attitude ruining her great night. “I don’t want her to hear us.”

“You’ll just have to be quiet, then.”

He stepped close and did it slowly, so she felt every inch of where they touched, starting at long length of thigh, stomach, and then chest. Sinking against her breasts, he flattened them with delicious, deliberate pressure. Her bag hit the ground with a
thunk
, and when she lifted her head, his sinfully full mouth was only a whisper from hers. Liz raised her chin the slightest bit to touch, to brush her mouth across his, but he shifted to withhold the contact she craved. His mouth curved, so close, and she exhaled a long huff of frustration. Hands tightened on her arms to hold her still as he placed the lightest breath of a touch to her lips. He kept the contact barely there until all she could think about was
more, harder, please
.

When his mouth settled over hers, it was with purpose. No more teasing, no more nebulous touches. He demanded and took, using tongue and teeth—lots of tongue. Wet, invasive, and wonderful. He surrounded her, gathered her close until she felt him everywhere. She wanted more, always more, and stood on her tiptoes, nails digging into his hard biceps as she sighed into his mouth.

He gave everything when he kissed, just as she suspected, with devastating effect. Lips, teeth, and tongue came into play, of course, but nose and chin nudged, trailed, sought. He used cheeks and even his damn eyelashes, brushing them along her skin in a whisper of sensation that shivered and prickled her skin. He sank into each kiss and relished giving as much as he took, which made him lethal.

Liz died gratefully in his touch.

Eventually, she became aware of him murmuring her name. Eyes fluttered open, and she focused on his mouth to reach for another kiss.

“Liz,” he repeated with one last, brief touch of lips. “We’re going to get caught making out on your front porch.”

“I like making out with you,” she admitted, and he groaned.

“Go out with me again. Tomorrow. Dinner. Please?” The tip of his tongue touched the center of her lower lip. So not fair.

“Yes. As long as there’s more making out.”

He leveled her with a hot stare and brought his finger up to trace her damp lower lip. “Sweetheart, I’ll give you all the making out you can handle and then some.”

“P-Promise?” She tried for a saucy lift of her brow, but her trembling voice gave her away.

The faint sound of rustling cloth and slight cooling of air signaled the parting of the leather jacket he’d wrapped around her earlier. She thought he’d be cold without it, but his skin fairly burned where she touched his arms and skimmed across his T-shirt-covered chest. His warmth suddenly, shockingly, spread as his long-fingered hand cupped her breast, and she sucked in a breath. One stroke, two, across her hardened nipple and she strained toward his touch, on edge, trembling gleefully in anticipation as his other hand trailed down her ribs, over her stomach, and into the waistband of her jeans. The button and zipper loosened, and oh, yes, please, his hand there, where she was damp and throbbing.

Would spreading her knees give him better access? Her jeans wouldn’t drop like she wanted them to if her knees were spread. She whimpered with the dilemma, but his fingers slid between her legs despite the lack of space.

His mouth on hers, his hand covering her breast, his fingers playing her body—teasing, stroking, playing, plunging—all had her exploding within mortifyingly short seconds. Detonating in his arms, she clung to him as he encouraged and relished her response with even deeper kisses. His strength freed her to fully enjoy every unbelievable sensation he wrought, draped over him like some sort of needy, starving blanket. He didn’t seem to care, so she decided not to, either. He felt too damn good.

Ash held her until she could stand on her own, rocking gently and placing a few last caresses to her mouth. “I’ve got to go.”

“No.” Her hands tightened on his arms. “I want more.”

Not what she meant to say. She wanted to do the same to him and for him, with him. Drag him inside and straight to her bedroom, but he didn’t give her the chance. Grabbing her close, he crushed her mouth, nipping when she tried to respond in kind. Liz surrendered with a gasp, the sound smothered by his tongue going deep before he stepped away.

“See you tomorrow.” His hands ran from her shoulders to wrists in a long, warm caress before he turned and jogged down the stairs to his bike.

Liz collapsed against the door of the house, watching his very, very nice ass as he left. Suddenly remembering that she’d wanted to reciprocate, she jumped to her feet and started after him. Her palms itched to hold what she was sure would be every mind-boggling inch. She wanted to taste, feel him shudder with pleasure, but the roar of the engine and wink of taillight told her she was too late.