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“Ash.” I stopped him, my head wagging with confusion. “What the hell is going on?”
He shifted his weight between his legs, his bruised face starting to go down a little. “I fucked up.”
“You couldn’t have possibly fucked up more than I have. No one has.” The comment came out unfiltered, my teeth driving into my lip to shut me up.
His forehead wrinkled, taking me in.
“Plus,” I rushed on. “There are no trains until later. You need a shower.” I waved my hand in front of my face. “I’m not kidding. You smell like dirty sex and booze.”
Instead of laughing, he looked away from me as if he was ashamed, his throat bobbing. “We don’t even have money to get food or clothes.”
Reaching into the pockets of what was left of my sweater dress, I tugged out my diamond earrings. “Yes, we do.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. I’ll figure something out.”
“What?” I sputtered, glancing around at the quiet village. “There’s nothing here. And look at you.” I motioned to his wounds. “Whatever you did didn’t go too well for you last time. I’m part of this; I can pay my fair share.”
“You’re part of this?” He tipped his head, and a crooked smile hinted on the side of his bruised face.
“Yeah.” I swallowed, feeling oddly nervous at this insubstantial exchange, though it felt anything but.
“Then.” His voice was low, his figure stepping into mine. “You will be spending some of the money heading back home.”
“Ash.” I exhaled in exasperation.
“Ineedyou safe.” His green eyes narrowed.
My breath hitched at his intensity. It was as if I was seeing a hint of another version of him. It shifted my feet back, needing air.
“And I need you to take a shower and wear something that doesn’t smell like prostitutes and blood.”
I rubbed at the worn cotton fabric of my newly purchased pants. In the States, they would’ve been found in an unwanted donation pile, something discarded as rags. And I would have been one of the guiltiest for wrinkling my nose at them, calling them cheap and basic. Now, I was just grateful to have warm legs. Adorned with a thin black sweater and hooded wool coat, I felt more protected, blending in with the people around me. The secondhand boots were a size too big, but my feet didn’t ache in them.
I had no makeup, my hair was stringy from the lack of conditioner, and I was covered in slow-healing cuts and bruises. If my friends could see me now.They would walk right past, never believing it was me.But I was clean, dressed, and warm.
The door swung open, and I looked up to see Ash stride in with only a towel around his waist, droplets of water sliding down his skin from his hair.
Holy. Shit.
As if a club thwacked me in the lungs, air ceased to move, and I was stunned by everything my eyes were taking in, unable to look away.
I wasn’t blind. Ash was striking with his clothes on, but almost naked? I wasn’t prepared. His body wasepic. Like the gods picked him out as their mascot, a poster boy to represent them. Stamped him with an approved logo and sent him out into the world to stupefy the public.
Chiseled, with a slim waist, he had an intricate tree tattoo inked up his side and wrapped around his arm. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat; his arms and chest were toned. Not so overly muscular that it was gross, but enough that my pulse beat loudly in my ears, my throat going dry.
Then my eyes picked up the deep black and blue marks across his ribs and stomach.
“Oh my gods.” I leaped up, rushing up to him, my hands tentatively touching the vivid bruises. “Are you okay?”
His stomach sucked in where my fingers grazed, his body stilling.
“Yeah.” His voice came out low and gruff. “Probably a few fractured ribs.” His throat bobbed. “I’m fine. I heal quickly.”
I peered up at him, realizing how close I was, how intimately I was touching him.
“Oh. Right.” I dropped away, back peddling. “Of course. Sorry.” I folded my hands, my words bubbling with nervous energy.
He stood there staring at me, causing my cheeks to burn. Why was he staring at me? Was he going to kiss me?
