My pulse picks up. “What kind of distraction are we talking about?”
His voice drops lower, rough with promise. “The kind that ends with you on your back and my cock buried inside you. After all, we havetwothings to celebrate now. Your contract and mine.”
Heat sparks between my legs. “That sounds really good.”
“Yeah?” His lips brush against my neck.
“Yeah.”
He grins and finally straightens up, heading toward the door. I watch him cross back to the guest house through the window, then turn back to my workspace. I figure I’ll mess around with some brainstorming sketches for the commission—ideas for the woodland creatures the publisher mentioned in their notes. A fox, maybe, or a rabbit. Different seasonal settings I might need to capture.
But as I gaze down at the blank page, my mind drifts to something else. Something that’s been taking shape in my thoughts for days now, growing clearer every time I close my eyes.
An illustration of Asher.
Not something I’ll ever show anyone else or try to sell. Not part of my portfolio or my professional work. Just a gift. A way to capture something I don’t quite have words for.
The moment is so vivid in my memory I can see it perfectly. Him on the ice at that outdoor rink, moving with natural grace and power that took my breath away.
Before I can second-guess myself or talk myself out of it, I start to sketch it out on the page.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Asher
I tug a shirt over my head, listening to the shower run in the bathroom. The last few days have been a blur of phone calls with lawyers, my agent, and reps from the Aces, hammering out details of the contract offer. Contract language, salary structure, performance bonuses, all the boring but necessary stuff that comes with signing a multi-year deal. But I’ve still managed to spend every hour that’s not work stuff or dealing with my dad’s house with Kat.
Which is probably more hours than I should be spending with someone who’s supposed to be temporary.
I’m in her bedroom in the main cabin, and when I hear her humming in the shower, I can’t resist. The bathroom door is ajar, steam drifting out into the cooler air of the bedroom. The sound of running water mixes with her voice, some tune I don’t recognize but that sounds cheerful.
I slip inside quietly. “You’ve got a nice voice.”
She yelps, then laughs, water splashing. “God, I’m still not used to having someone around all the time. You scared the crap out of me.”
I tug the shower curtain back a little, grinning at the sight of her. Water streams down her body, soap suds sliding over her curves in ways that make my mouth go dry. “Do you want me to go?”
She meets my eyes through the gap in the curtain, her hair plastered to her head, water running down her face. “Now I didn’t say that.”
I chuckle and strip off my shirt, shoving down my boxers, my cock already getting hard just from looking at her. The shower is small, but we make it work, her body warm and slick against mine as I step in behind her. The spray hits my skin as I pull her back against me.
My hands roam over her, slippery with soap and water. The scent of her body wash fills the small space, that almond scent that I’m starting to associate only with her. When my fingers slip between her legs, she whines softly, probably still a bit sore from our morning sex.
I’m always hungry for her—ravenous, honestly—but I never want to push her too far or risk hurting her, so I drag my fingers away, pressing a kiss to her shoulder instead.
“Turn around.”
She does, water streaming between us, looking surprised when I reach for her shampoo bottle. I squeeze some into my palm and lather up my hands, then start working my fingers through her dark hair. She has to tilt her head back a little because of the height difference, and I’m careful to keep the soap out of her eyes.
I massage her scalp in slow circles, working the shampoo through from roots to ends. She moans softly, her eyes closing, her whole body relaxing under my hands.
“I’m trying to be good here, bright eyes,” I tell her, digging my fingers in a little harder at the base of her skull. “Give your pussy a break. But when you make sounds like that, it makes it really fucking hard.”
She laughs, the sound echoing off the tile. “Sorry. It feels so good though. You’re really good at that.”
“Years of washing my own hair. I’m a professional.”
She grins, eyes still closed as I keep working. I take my time with it, enjoying the feel of her hair between my fingers, the way she’s gone soft and pliant under my touch. This is almost as good as sex, in its own way. Just taking care of her. Making her feel good.
