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He walks past me to the long, black sofa and I’m left staring at his strong back and cute ass, my mind blank.
Jesus, Audrey. I look away, my face heating.
“What do you want?” Ash asks, his voice low and hard. Ah, there’s the anger I missed in his eyes.
“To see you.”
He sits down and looks away.
I make myself move. I step to the other end of the sofa and sit down. I feel like I had when I played a theater part during elementary school. Stage fright.
I will the words to come but there’s a blank forming in my mind where my thoughts should be.
Seeing him from up close is making things worse. My brain is too busy taking in his image, his beautiful features, his strong body; having its usual short-circuit.
He leans forward, dangling his hands between his denim-clad knees. His dark hair falls in his face, hiding his expression. I can’t take my eyes off his long fingers, and the fresh, red scar on his knuckles. Can’t help thinking he got that saving me.
“You guys want a drink?” Zane asks, and Dakota—thankfully fully dressed again—is already heading toward the kitchen as if she owns the place.
When neither of us say anything, Zane shrugs and turns to follow her.
Leaving us alone in the room.
“So...” Ash raises his eyes and licks his lips.
God, the gesture sends tingles all over my skin. I open my mouth to speak but can’t remember what I want to say. My body always knows how much I want Ash, even when my mind is confused.
“Your ankle seems better,” he says.
I nod, dumbly. I have to speak, tell him, ask him... Nothing comes out of my lips. My head is an echoing empty room.
Silence stretches.
His dark brows draw together. “Well, if you have nothing to say...” He gets up and strides across the living room, leaving me there.
“Wait.” I shoot to my feet, almost tripping over myself, and hurry after him. I want to say I’m sorry, but I’ve barely touched his arm when he spins around.
Now he advances on me, his gaze furious, and I back away, shocked. He pushes me until my back hits the wall, and then he leans over me.
I suddenly have the full length of his tall, muscled body pressed against me. I put my hands on his chest, pushing in vain against his rock-hard abs, caught between giddiness and fear.
“Ash...”
“What do you want from me?” He bites each word out, his hand coming to rest next to my head on the wall. “What is it you want?”
“I want...” I don’t know. All I know is I hate the anger in his eyes, hate the tension in his body, the bruises on his face. I want to hold him. I reach up, brush my fingertips along his square jaw. “You.”
He blinks, eyes widening.
What have I said?
You.
Oh god, I really said it.
As it sinks in, I open my mouth to fix this—but he doesn’t give me the chance. His bigger hand catches mine, keeping it on his cheek. Under his skin, I can feel a vein pulsing madly, his heart pounding.
“You don’t want me,” he says, his voice hoarse, and his gaze searches mine as if it’s a question and he’s waiting for an answer. “I’m no good.”
