Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) (17 page)

“I’m photo documenting the first night you slept with Asher,” Abbi said in a near-whisper.

I turned, beyond thankful to see Asher still asleep. I couldn’t help but smile at how carefree he looked. And hot.

I eased off his side with painful regret. He turned into the cushions. I stood, surprised by how well I’d slept. Doug had fought his demons in his dreams. There wasn’t one night of our marriage when he’d slept as still as Asher had.

I beckoned Abbi to follow me, glad to see she did. I walked to the coffeepot and flipped the switch. One of my rituals was to immediately refill the machine for the next pot. It wasn’t so much for the drink itself—yeah, I needed a shot or two of caffeine most mornings—but I’d always loved the smell, which reminded me of Doug’s parents’ home, one of the few places I’d ever felt safe and accepted. Sadness weighed on me. John had died years ago, before Abbi’s birth, Margaret a few years later.

“You will
not
show those to anyone,” I grumbled.

Abbi smirked, holding her phone tight to her chest.

“Abigail,” I sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on between Asher and me, but you have to understand that the media is interested in what he does. They’ll find any picture you post online. That could mean Asher doesn’t get custody of Mason or that Jessica can screw him over further in the divorce settlement. Don’t be the reason for that. I won’t be able to punish you enough.”

Something I needed to remember myself. He’d just told me he was fighting for Mason. I couldn’t mess that up for him. If that meant denying my growing attraction, then I’d deny. After all these years, I was good at it.

Abbi frowned. “I hadn’t thought about how you two together could hurt his chances to get Mason. Is that what he wants?”

I was glad Abbi was keeping her voice low. I didn’t want Asher to walk in and hear us discussing this. I kept my gaze level as I nodded. “There are extenuating circumstances I’m not sharing with you, so don’t ask. Be smart about any photo of the two of us. Any comment or note even. For now, the only thing you can tell people about us is that Asher is a friend. That’s the truth.”

I poured a cup of coffee and added the dash of cinnamon I’d come to enjoy. My stomach gurgled in appreciation.

Abbi nodded, her mouth turning down. She fiddled with her phone. “I’ll delete them.”

“I’d really appreciate it. But send me one before you do that.”

She bit her lip, eyes shining, and I smiled at her. She grinned back.

“I like that you’re more open. Aunt Briar said the same thing when she was leaving.”

“Thanks. I think.”

A surge of energy zinged across my skin. My body warmed, my skin flushed and tightened. Asher was close by. Abbi glanced up at him.

“I checked on Mason,” Abbi said. She was unaware of my reaction to Asher’s presence. Thank goodness. “He’s still asleep. I thought I’d go for a run.”

“Thanks, Abbi,” Asher said.

“See you in a bit.”

Asher waited until she closed the back door before stepping up to me, not touching, but his body curving into mine like a magnet closing in on its mate.

“Smells good. Where are your mugs?”

“I’ll get you one,” I said, using the excuse to step away.

God, I was mortified Abbi could have seen my reaction. It was primal, instinctive. I poured him a cup that he accepted, making sure our fingers brushed. He raised it to his lips, his hazel eyes darkening as he brushed the hair from my temple.

“I like seeing you in the morning.”

Asher sipped his coffee, and I watched the long line of his throat swallow.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom and wash my face. I’ll meet you on the porch,” I said, tipping my head toward the deep cedar-framed porch I’d had built a couple of years ago. I loved sitting out there with my notebook, jotting down ideas as they flitted across my mind.

“Good place to work,” Asher murmured.

I smiled. “I’ll grab a couple pens.”

* * *

W
e sat
next to each other, not touching but hyper aware. His hair was tousled, his lashes damp from washing his face. He’d taken off his button-down and untucked his gray T-shirt. His jeans were worn, soft, and faded on the thighs, right where I wanted my hands. When Asher picked up his mug, I thought about what his hands would feel like running down my throat, unbuttoning the top two buttons of my blouse so he could run his fingers over the swells of my breasts.

I started writing out the next scene for my book. I bit my lip, scribbling fast. I needed to fan my face. I peeked up at Asher from under my lashes and realized he was looking at me with as much hunger as I’d just saturated into the last few pages.

He set down his pen and smirked. “Writing something good? Want to share?”

“Um, no. More coffee.” I scampered into the kitchen, needing a minute to regroup. I came back out a few minutes later after giving myself yet another lecture on why pushing our connection now would be a bad idea. Mason, my heart—there were so many reasons.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

“Sound track. You?”

I pursed my lips. “Whatever you want. Paul suggested we talk about the feelings we want to evoke. Any ideas?”

He looked at me through those lashes. “Lots of passion. And kissing.”

My heart rate kicked up. “Asher. Please.”

“I’m thinking about running my fingers over that throbbing pulse. Have been ever since your cheeks went so red. Give me something back. You want to. I need you to.”

I scooted closer, tongue bathing my lower lip. His eyes darkened as he brought his coffee cup to his lips.

“Fingers touch, learn. Take my hunger, crumble walls.” The words poured out of my mouth.

He wrote as I watched his quick, efficient strokes. The long tapered fingers, callused tips. They were warm and rough and felt amazing on my skin.

“Good. Anything else?”

I blinked, wishing I could be as collected as he appeared to be.

“How many songs are you writing?” I asked.

“Three. I have a few indie groups you’ll like. I’ll play them for you later.”

“What else do you have in there?”

He passed over his battered spiral notebook. My heart slammed hard into my chest as my eyes darted over the page.

“You read the script,” I whispered.

Asher shook his head. “I read the real deal. Your books, Dahlia. Remember? I told you my mom was a huge fan. I pulled out all her old copies once I realized you were Lia Moore.”

I froze. He knew just what to say to me. Every time.

He picked up my hand, smoothing his fingers over mine. “I need to tell you something. It’s why Jessica’s so angry.”

The rain took us by surprise. Quick drops sizzled on my skin before leaving me feeling icy and dazed.

“Inside,” Asher said. He gripped his notebook and mine in one hand as he pulled me to my feet. “Move.”

The rain shifted, driving into my face. I squeaked and whirled into motion. We tumbled through the screen door.

“That’s cold,” Asher muttered, his teeth chattering.

“Take your shirt off. I’ll get towels,” I said.

“You didn’t have to freeze me to get me naked.”

I laughed. “Not naked, but shirt off, you’re dripping on my floor.”

Pulling his soaked tee over his head, he shook the rain from the dripping strands. The damp cotton dangled from his fingers. Droplets clung to the hairs on his strong arms and chest. He seemed even broader without clothes covering him, and his toned chest intrigued me. Better than his forearms.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice. He laid the notebooks on the bar, spreading out the pages to help them dry more quickly.

I wanted to push him onto the floor and press my cool skin to his, warming us both. I nearly whimpered at my building frustration. Even the weather was conspiring against me.

“Yes.”

My eyes darted upward. Seeing the need gleaming from his eyes, I forced my feet backward, finally breaking eye contact as I darted into the laundry room. I yanked my top over my head before wrapping a thick towel around my shoulders. I walked out and offered Asher another one.

“Your free time on tour—you spend it in the gym?” That couldn’t be my voice. It was so breathy.

“Some,” he said, rubbing the towel over his hair. He dropped the towel around his shoulders and met my eyes. “Good to know I’m making the right impression. I like to walk, run, hike, and cycle. I try to spend a couple hours a day outside. Helps me get my head on straight for a performance, but it’s best when I want to write a song.”

“Does it work?” I asked. I’d inched closer, drawn to his exposed skin. His heat leached onto me, and I breathed in Asher and rain. My new favorite scent.

A droplet slid down his temple and cheek. I reached up with the edge of my towel and wiped it away. Asher stood still, his gaze focused on the gap in my towel.

“You have lickable skin, Dahlia. Like cream.”

My breasts were visible, and from the position I was in, they were straining out the top of my bra.

Asher moved forward, until our bodies touched, his warmth a counterpoint to the lingering chill. I moaned at the contact.

“Where are you, Dad?” Mason called from upstairs.

“It’s pouring out there,” Abbi said. I jumped back as the back door slammed shut. “I’m freezing!”

“You too?” He pulled my towel tight across my shoulders. “We got caught on the porch.” He raised his voice, “Down here, Mason.”

Asher stepped in front of me before I scurried away. He waited until I tipped my head back and met his eyes.

“Good thing the kids are here to run interference,” he said.

I flashed him a smile as I pulled the towel tighter around me. Abbi raced by us, shivering.

“I need to warm up. Be down in a bit.”

“Don’t leave your clothes on the bathroom floor again,” I called.

“Got it. Hey, Mason.”

“Hi.” Mason trundled down the stairs, and I ran back into the laundry room. I didn’t want Asher’s son to see me topless. That was just too awkward to contemplate. Exactly why I needed to get my libido back under control.

One of Abbi’s camisoles with a built-in bra was still in the hamper. Score. It was tight, but it was better than the wet bra and towel. I yanked it over my head and stepped back into the kitchen to see Mason in the doorway. He glanced up at me, a lock of hair falling onto his brow and into his eyes, tangling in his lashes. Just like his father. I wanted to brush it back but wasn’t sure how he’d react. Just like his father.

“Morning, Dahlia,” he said.

“You should call me Lia. Everyone else does,” I said. “And good morning. What do you like for breakfast?”

“My dad calls you Dahlia. He said it’s a pretty flower. One of his favorites. He said you’re prettier than any flower.”

Asher was watching me with an intensity that completely disarmed me. Being attracted to a troubadour was one thing, being attracted to a sensitive man was more dangerous. The towel slipped, showing off more of his tanned chest.

“How about waffles?” I asked, using the bright happy voice of Abbi’s childhood. “I made a bunch yesterday. I’ll change while they warm up.”

* * *

A
fter the rain ended
, we drove Mason over to try out Cameron’s pony. Mason’s grin as he stroked the horse was brighter than the warm spring sun. Cameron was conscientious, making sure Mason’s helmet fit and the saddle was cinched tight to the stocky pony’s belly.

Asher watched from the edge of the corral, his long body settled into a relaxed stance, but tension gathered around his eyes. Abbi was on the porch, chatting with Cameron’s mom and sister, so I moved closer to Asher. His fingers were white where they gripped the slatted wood.

I dipped my head to his death grip. “He doesn’t have to ride if you’re concerned about it.”

Asher grimaced, relaxing his fingers. I slid my hand against his, this time offering Asher the comfort of my presence. His breath stuttered out.

“No. He wants to do this. It’ll be fine.”

Asher’s eyes never left Mason’s small form. Cameron helped Mason onto the pony’s back and Mason laughed, arms flying upward as he tipped his head back. Cameron stood next to the little boy, a grin spreading over his face, too. Asher’s grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain, and I leaned into him.