Unbreak Me (12 page)

“Sounds like a herd of elephants in a china shop in there,” he says.

“Something like that.” I cross my arms. He should probably be pissed at me after the way I kicked him out last week. Or about the fact that I never called to apologize.

But I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to remind myself that he knew.

“Are you going to invite me in or should I just make myself comfortable out here?”

I grin. I can’t help myself. “There’s hardly enough room for two, but come on in.”

He steps into the studio and I take a step back to give him space, but he follows me, backing me into a corner until he’s leaning over me, his hands pressed into the wall, the heat of his body warming mine.

His eyes are on my mouth, but something hard and angry ticks in his jaw.

“Okay,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I guess you can do me against the wall.”

That earns me a smile. “Tempting, but that’s not why I’m here.”

No shit,
I think, but I say, “That’s disappointing.” I cock my head. Pretending to be unaffected by his nearness is too damn hard. Asher is heat and passion and wicked indulgence. He makes me unsteady. “You wanted to help me work?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder to my growing pile of broken glass and ceramic. “Is that what you were doing?” He steps away to examine my worktable. “What is this stuff?”

I catch my breath and find my footing. “Tesserae,” I explain. “I’ll use them to make mosaics.”

“Wow.” Glass tinkles as he sifts through the piles of raw material. “What kind of design are you going to make with all of this?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I only know there’s something beautiful there. I’ll find it.”

He studies a piece of pink-streaked crystal against the midday light coming in the window. It clatters as he settles it back onto the tray and turns to me. “When I found you at the river—”

I cut him off with the shake of my head. “I want you to forget about that day. Please.”

“You were wearing a ring. You were alone but you were wearing someone’s ring.” His gaze drops to my hand and his breath catches. “Jesus, Maggie. What happened?”

I lift my bandaged hand and shake my head. “It’s no big deal. I just had an accident with the glass.”

He takes my hand in his and examines the bandage. “Stitches?”

“A few.”

He nods, satisfied, then surprises me by bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips against the bandage. This man looks so rough and continues to surprise me with his sweetness.

“Who is he?”

I blink, lost in my contemplation of Asher. “Who?”

“Whose ring were you wearing, Maggie?”

“Oh, we’re back on that.” I shake my head. “I’m not involved with anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It was that guy who married your sister.”

“They aren’t married. Engaged. The first wedding was botched, remember?”

“He was engaged to you first.” It’s not a question

I back into the wall, trying to get away from the conversation, from his frightening perceptiveness. “We were engaged last spring,” I admit. “Whirlwind romance between old friends followed by a brief engagement. I called off the wedding when…”

“Because of the miscarriage,” he says, piecing it together.

I don’t correct him.

“But he’s with your sister now.” In only two steps he’s against me again, but this time his leg is between my thighs, his hands at my waist.

“He’s with Krystal,” I manage, but I don’t want to think about Will or Krystal.

I want to think about the way Asher’s hands are curling into my ass, those eyes hot on me. I want to think about releasing him from his jeans and putting my mouth on him again. I want to think about him fucking me against this wall, hard and long, until I forget.

He presses closer, shifts my weight so it’s almost entirely against his thigh. My eyes nearly roll back in my head from that simple, delicious pressure.

“And what about you?” he asks. “Are you over him?” One hand snakes up my shirt to graze the underside of my breast, the other knots in my hair. He tilts my head up until my eyes connect with his.

There’s a quiet tap on the door, and I realize I’ve left it open at the same moment I see Will walk into the studio.

I push Asher’s hands from my shirt. He steps back, eyes narrow, jaw ticking.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Will runs his eyes over me, but he doesn’t look sorry at all.

Asher’s face has gone stony. Mine is hot, and my breathing is uneven.

“I wanted to check on you,” Will says. “How’s your hand?”

“Better. It’s making working difficult, but there’s plenty I can do with just my right hand.” That’s a lie. I can’t do shit with my right hand, but I don’t want him to worry.

Will nods and starts to leave, but he stops himself and turns back to us. “Maggie, take the internship.” His eyes flick to Asher then back to me. “I never would have had the courage to take the leap to start the gallery if you hadn’t given me permission to dream big.”

Asher slides his fingers through mine. “Of course she will.”

I blink at him.

Will nods, his jaw set in a tight line. “Great.” Then he backs out of the too-small studio.

Once we’re alone, I spin on Asher. “You don’t get to speak for me.”

“Do you want to work in the gallery?”

“Yes, but—”

“Take the internship. Don’t let them take your dream. Be part of it.”

My shoulders drop and I close my eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Because you still want him?”

My eyes fly open. “Why would you say that?”

“He still wants you,” Asher growls.

“He’s marrying my sister.”

He lifts a dark brow. “That doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Or the fact that he’d like to kill me.”

I step forward and grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him toward me.

He leans down obediently, until his mouth is a breath from mine.

“I like you, Asher. But if we’re going to keep this up, whatever
this
is, you need to know my life is a little fucked up.
I’m
fucked up.”

His eyes search mine. “Then we’re a great match.”

***

Asher

She pushes me away before I can kiss her. “You don’t know what fucked up is.” She turns to the window, and the sunlight splashes across her freckles, making her look as young as she is.

“Try me.”

She whips around and, for a second, I think she might tell me—something, anything other than the shit she shovels to everyone. But then she pastes that smile on her face and shrugs. “Nothing you couldn’t hear from the magpies down at the beauty shop.”

“And the story they’d tell me, does it involve your ex-fiancé?”

“Of course.” Her smile is so manufactured her face looks almost plastic. “A rush to the altar and a runaway bride? Does it get any better than that?”

“But would it be the truth?”

That clears away her smile.

My gaze drops to her bandaged hand and wrist. “Was that about him?”

“What?” She pulls her hand against her chest. “This was an accident.”

“Yeah?” I take her hand. She doesn’t protest, but she watches me with a tight jaw as I remove the splint to find the swollen, neatly stitched wound.

My heart pounds at the sight of the stitches that run from the base of her palm right onto her wrist. I want to scream, to rage, to punch the asshole who drove her to this. Instead, I re-secure the splint.

“Someday,” I say softly, “you’ll tell me the whole story. I’ll wait.”

“When you know the whole story, you won’t want me anymore. I’m that kind of girl.”

“Don’t count on that.”

When I lift my eyes to her face, she’s watching me with something like wonder. “What?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t figure you out.”

“Good.” I cup her face in my palms and trace her bottom lip with my thumb. “Then maybe you won’t be able to figure out how to push me away.”

***

Maggie

I can’t create shit with my left hand immobilized, and the doctor wants me to keep the splint on any time I’m working until the wound has a chance to heal more. After Asher left, I was determined to lose myself in my work, making sense of little shards of glass and ceramic, but I’m so damn frustrated at my limited fine motor skills that I’m ready to throw something.

Whatever. I’m a mess anyway. There’s some mysterious flower growing outside my art studio window that doesn’t agree with my allergies, and at this point there’s nothing but a drugstore for some allergy meds in store for my evening.

I lock up my studio and I sneeze for the tenth time in as many seconds.

Asher wants me to open up. I get that. He wants to know me. With any other girl, it would be the logical thing to want, but he doesn’t understand what he’s asking from me. Not even Will knows the whole truth. He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t
want
to know the real me.

As I turn toward the exit, I smack right into Ethan Bauer.

We jump back simultaneously.

“Maggie.” His lips curve into a smile on my name.

Damn, damn, damn.
I have no desire to talk to him.

“Ethan.”

His eyes skim over me, and the hot gaze that used to make me wildly reckless with need now only makes me feel disgusted.

“There are nubile undergrads to seduce down this hall today,” I say with my sweetest smile.

He winces. “I’m heading to the bathroom.”

“Well, there it is,” I say, pointing. Again. A smile.

“Nubile undergrads? You really think that little of me?”

Déjà vu.

“You really think that I don’t love you? With all my heart I love you. I want to be with you. I want to wake up next to you in the morning.”

All lies, of course.

I want to turn on my heel and leave, but I stand my ground.

“You never did have a very high opinion of me.” Then he disappears into the bathroom.

He doesn’t know how wrong he is. Once, I had a very high opinion of him. Too high.

The first time I posed nude for Dr. Ethan Bauer, I was so at ease, he’d asked me to return. So many models, he explained, were too modest to do some of the more earthy and sensual poses he’d been itching to capture on canvas.
I
would be perfect.

So I posed for him.

“I’m going to ask you to do some things, Maggie, to get you where I want you.”

“Okay.” I flashed him a daring smile. “I’m not modest, Bauer. I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

“You’re lovely.”

I peeled off my dress and he handed me a man’s dress shirt. “Put this on?”

“Should I be worried that the artist who was supposed to paint me nude wants me to put clothes on?” I laughed as I slipped the worn cotton shirt over my shoulders.

It smelled like him. And that day, as I inhaled that musky scent, I admitted to myself that I had a crush on him, the notorious womanizer Ethan Bauer.

My fingers moved to the buttons and his gruff voice stopped me. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Ah, I see,” I said.

“Do you?” He led me to the small couch. “Because I want to see you, Maggie. And if that makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me. You need to be comfortable for this to work.”

I laughed. “I’ve already laid myself out naked for you. I can’t imagine what you think might make me uncomfortable about posing with a shirt half on.”

He didn’t reply but situated me so I sat sideways on the couch, legs bent slightly, the shirt covering my breasts.

“Look to the left,” he said, clicking on a new light.

He returned to his canvas and studied me. “Beautiful. Are you okay?”

“Maybe you’re the one that’s too modest, Ethan,” I laughed. “I’m fine. Paint, already.”

“I’d like you to move your right hand, Maggie. As if you were about to touch yourself.”

His words buzzed through me and sent heat to pool in my belly. My nipples tightened under the soft cotton of his shirt as I cupped myself between my legs. “Like this?”

His chest rose, fell, rose again. “You’re perfect.” He crossed to me, spoke in soothing tones. “We don’t want to give it to them. We want to taunt.”

He moved my hand, pulling it up so that my palm lay against the flat of my belly, my fingertips just above the thatch of hair between my legs.

“This isn’t really my style,” I said, eyes on his. “I don’t exactly need to sneak up on it.”

He chuckled, his face inches from mine, his smile sending that heat circling lower.

If he had moved in first, I may have been turned off. If he had closed the distance between our lips, the next year would have unfolded differently. Maybe I would have gone to more parties. Maybe I’d have followed Lizzy to Brady’s a little more often and had a harmless affair with a young townie—maybe some guy I went to school with or a recently divorced physics teacher from New Hope High School. Maybe I’d have given William Bailey the chance he deserved instead of cornering him into a marriage neither of us was ready for. But Ethan didn’t make a move toward me.

I recognized the heat in his eyes, and it made me hot, made me feel powerful. In that moment, I wasn’t so foolish as to think he might someday leave his wife for one of his students. That would come later. After hours of lovemaking, hundreds of paintings he would never show. His secret obsession, he called me.

At that moment, it wasn’t about anything but hot, thick, blood-pumping feminine power. I lifted my head just enough to brush my lips across his. I kissed him, this man I thought so highly of, I was willing to overlook the wedding band on his finger.

I take a deep breath and exhale deliberately, as if to blow away the memory.

Regret holds me in its claws for a few stuttering heartbeats.

Ethan emerges from the bathroom and I freeze. When our eyes lock, the warmth I once felt for him is gone. Those soft gray eyes seem to be pleading me to deny it, to validate his always-faltering self-worth.

“What do you want from me, Ethan?”

“Honestly?”

I let out a puff of air. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“Let me take you to dinner. There’s so much we never said.” His gaze does that roaming, conquering thing again. I want to tell him to keep his eyes to himself, but that would mean admitting I notice.