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“Good luck, darling!” his mother exclaimed.
“Do good work, son,” his father said.
“Of course. Call me tomorrow and tell me all about the soiree?” Asher said.
“We will! Love you, Ash.”
“Love you, too,” he said, and hung up.
He reached for the towel on the bar stool and wiped the sweat from his face and chest. An alarm went off on his phone: a reminder to start getting ready for that evening’s event. He closed the garage door and the hood of the Cadillac and headed into the house toward the bathroom.
He was supposed to attend a low-key, small-stage performance of Tortured Hearts along with Blaze at a local hole-in-the-wall bar. It was an unusual venue for a band of the Hearts’ fame, but they were still new enough on the scene to successfully pull off more exclusive performances without massive security issues. Besides, Asher had frequented this particular bar before, and he knew the owners were fastidious about security and privacy. The purpose of such a show was twofold: first of all, it was a more intimate treat for the die-hard fans, and secondly, it was an opportunity to crowd-test a couple of their lesser-known songs. The event was low-exposure, which meant low risk, as well. Asher was looking forward to an evening of admiring, observing, and learning whatever he could about Tortured Hearts. Especially Giselle.
Her image swam to the front of his mind as he stepped into the shower. The hot water pelted his hard chest and beaded down the rivulets of his well-defined abs. He sighed into the comforting, cleansing steam and closed his eyes. Immediately, he pictured Giselle in all her devilish beauty. That lustrous black hair that bounced wildly around her heart-shaped, pale face. Her eyes, so huge and luminous with that burning ring of amber light around the pupils. And as Asher’s hands lathered up the soap and began to rub it into his bare skin, he thought about Giselle half-naked at the fitting. Her body was seared into his mind. Glittering with sequins, nubile and delicious in the shimmering studio light.
His fingertips itched to touch the cupid’s bow of her lips or slowly trace along the swoop of her waist. He longed to caress her impossibly smooth, milky skin. She was so fiery, but so small. A whole load of explosives in one petite, pretty package. Asher wondered if she tasted as good as she looked. He wondered if her sighs of pleasure were even more passionate than her temper tantrums. She was almost too much to handle, but Asher was up for the job. He knew he had to let her have her way now, at the tender budding of their dynamic. Giselle was nearly feral, but he was perfectly capable of taming her.
All things in good time, he thought.
It was the same excuse he used to force himself not to act on his desires right then and there. As much as his body craved a release, he refused to let his hand wander down to his stiffening member. He repressed his lusty desires. Now was not the time to fantasize about tying up and teaching Giselle Kingston a lesson she would never forget. He switched the temperature to cool. The cold water made him gasp and jolted him back to reality. Tonight wasn’t about seducing the wild and beautiful Giselle. He was still just there to observe, to build rapport. To stand on the sidelines and watch as the most beautiful and maddening girl he’d ever met charmed the pants off an entire audience.
After all, this was work, not play.
At least, not yet.
