And now she was stuck in hiding with a bastard like me.
It was a hell of a lot to process.
I’d let her have a little while, but not too long. The quicker she accepted the brutal new reality, the safer she’d be. If she fought it at every turn, it’d just endanger her, and make my job a hell of a lot more trying. She had to work with me.
But I needed to make her feel as comfortable as possible first to have any hope of that happening. I couldn’t just send her to a room and be done with it. I had to do what I hated. Engage, make small talk and allow enough emotion to surface to give her some semblance of warmth and reassurance.
I pushed off the couch. “Let’s get you settled in your room and then I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Okay,” she said with a nod. “I am a little hungry after that roadside situation.”
I smiled and led the way out of the living room. “Follow me.”
4
~Ashley~
“A LITTLE HUNGRY, HUH?”
I jerked my head up at the sound of Finn’s voice, my heaping fork of potpie stilling just shy of my mouth.
I took him in from across the frosted glass table in his swanky dining room. The whole house was impressive. It was a three-story gray stone mansion on the outskirts of the little town of Langton. Designer furniture filled the space. Expensive artwork lined the walls. There were vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, giving that homely, natural feel. There was strategically exposed brick, archways, fancy lighting and top-of-the-line appliances.
We’d barely spoken a word since we’d sat down to eat. I’d been too consumed with my delicious dinner and he’d been staring off into space, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“I guess I was hungrier than I realized.”
“Good. It’s important to keep your strength up.”
“Why’s that? Gearing up for battle, are we?” I jested.
A dark look flashed across his face, a very unsettling look. His eyes left mine as he picked up his glass and took a sip of his orange juice. When he looked back at me, it was gone, a smile in its place. “Nah, of course not.” He shifted his weight. “I just meant, in general.”
Not nearly convincing.
Was a big battle coming our way? Was he expecting to go to war? I’d thought he was just keeping an eye on me, that his role in this was just to keep me out of the firing line, to protect me. Purely defensive. But that look… it had me thinking otherwise.
“Finn, is this—?”
“So, what made you get into tattoo design?” he asked, cutting me off.
I hesitated. Talk about a curveball. His abrupt subject change made it clear that he wasn’t going to discuss the situation. There was no point pushing it then. He’d just continue to dismiss it. Maybe once things settled down a bit, he’d be more open to it.
Fine. I’d wait.
For a little while.
I drew in a breath and told him, “Well, I’ve been sketching since I was a kid. It was an outlet for me, something I could escape to. I liked creating something brand-new from scratch. My dad encouraged it, because it kept me busy and out of trouble. In a world where I was always sidelined and kept in the proverbial corner, I guess, it gave me a way to express myself.”
“I get that,” he said.
“You noticed it when you were there recovering?”
He nodded.
“Huh. You really are more perceptive than most.”
“Yeah,” was all he said about it. He shoveled down the rest of his pie, then sat back with a satiated sigh. “So, you’ve explained the art aspect. Why tattoos, though?” he asked, folding his inked arms across his chest, in some sort of inadvertent emphasis.
“Well, growing up around a bunch of heavily-inked men probably had something to do with it. But, really, the feeling of making someone’s vision, something so personal and deeply meaningful, come to life right there before your eyes, knowing it’s something they’re going to carry with them forever… there’s nothing like it. It’s an indescribable rush.” I took a sip of my juice. “Plus, you know, there’s the whole power element of wielding a tattoo gun,” I joked.
“Fascinating,” he said, sincerely.
“What about you?” I asked.
He fiddled with his cutlery, lining up his knife and fork dead-center on the plate. “Best if we don’t get into all of that,” he answered, skillfully avoiding my gaze.
“I meant your current line of work, not all of that in the past,” I clarified. “You mentioned that you own a gym here in town, right?”
He noticeably relaxed. “Yeah, I’m trying to keep busy.”
“And in your spare time you act as a bodyguard to high-maintenance women everywhere.”
Rising to his feet and easing back his chair, he grabbed his plate and reached for my empty one too, piling them on top of one another. “You’re far from high-maintenance, Ashley.”
“Then you must have blocked out my tantrum earlier in the living room.” I rose to my feet, too. “By the way, I’m sorry. I’m not usually—”
“Relax,” he said, holding up his hand. “It was nothing. You’re handling things shockingly well.”
I followed after him into the sleek, modern kitchen, all high-end stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. He began rinsing one of the plates, then placed it in the dishwasher.
“Let me take care of it,” I said, stepping forward.
“I’ve got it.”
“It’s the least I can do after you cooked such a nice meal.”
I reached for the glass in his hand, thinking he would relinquish it to me and let me help. Instead, he held tight, my fingers inadvertently closing around his. I jolted at the unexpected contact.
His gaze speared mine, heat burning through me.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand, just that brief touch from him sending sparks of pleasure zinging through my body.
He was such an overwhelming force.
He had such a seductive way about him without even trying or actively turning
