by T. K. Leigh
“I did.” I cock a brow. “Why?”
He glances out the window at the large expanse of snow before turning his wicked grin to me. “Thought we could have some fun.”
“In the snow?” My voice is heavy with skepticism.
“Why not? The winds have finally died down, so we won’t get buried in a snowdrift.”
When I turn my eyes to the window, surveying the conditions, I notice something different. “The road’s clear.”
“The plow truck came through early this morning.” He smiles a sad smile. “If you want to go home, you can. You’re not stuck here anymore. Say the word and I’ll drive you to Boston, or New York. Wherever.”
“New York is a six-hour drive from here.”
“Still…” He shrugs. “I’d do it for you.”
“I appreciate that.” I lick my lips, meeting his gaze. “But I’d like to stay. If you don’t mind.” This time, I don’t ask to stay because Jessie wants me here. I ask to stay because I want to be here. Want to be near Asher.
“I’d love for you to stay.” His eyes shine with affection, his gaze steady. Then his expression brightens. “Now, go get your boots. And I have some waterproof gloves for you. Don’t want you becoming hypothermic again.” He winks.
I groan as I move toward the stairs. “I didn’t have hypothermia,” I argue with fake irritation.
“We can pretend you do. Have some skin-to-skin time?” Asher waggles his brows, his mouth quirked up into a sexy smirk.
“In your dreams.”
“You’re right about that,” he calls out as I continue up the steps and onto the landing. “I definitely do dream about skin-to-skin time with you, Iz. And you know you do the same.”
“I plead the fifth,” I sing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he intones back.
I can’t help but laugh as I walk into my room, grabbing the snow boots I luckily packed. Then I head back downstairs, where Asher proceeds to bundle me up in a heavy ski jacket, hat, scarf, two pairs of socks, the boots, and gloves.
“Are you sure you’re warm enough?” Asher studies me with concern, wrapping my scarf around my neck one more time.
“Pretty sure if I had balls, I’d be sweating them off right now.”
He chuckles. “Well, I’m glad you don’t. That would have to be a hard limit for me.” He grabs my hand and leads me through the house, then out the back door.
The sun had caused a bit of the snow to melt, but the banks still come up to my knees. The only saving grace is that Asher stayed on top of it, doing his best to keep the path down to the lake clear.
“I think right here is a good spot,” he says, stopping before the dock.
“For what?”
“For our snowman.”
“We’re going to build a snowman?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“That’s usually something only kids do.”
“If you can’t act like a kid once in a while, what fun is life?” With a wink, he steps off the cleared path and into the snow, then reaches down to form a small ball.
I should do something to persuade him to go back inside and work on his music, something he hasn’t given much attention to the last few days, but I like spending this time with him. I pause to admire how relaxed and carefree he seems building a snowman, something he probably hasn’t done in years.
He looks up, his brows pulling together when he sees me staring at him. “What is it?”
I smile. “Nothing.”
He stomps through the snow toward me. “It’s not nothing. Tell me what’s going through your head.”
“I like this side of you.”
“And what side is that? My front. Because my front really likes you, too.” He tugs me against him, circling his hips.
“That’s not what I’m talking about… Perv.” I swat him away, rolling my eyes at how shameless he is. But I know it’s all in good fun, that he won’t cross that line unless I make the final move.
“I can’t help it around you.”
I blow out an exaggerated breath, feigning irritation. “I like that we can joke with each other. That I feel comfortable around you. That you’re not this tortured, brooding musician I’d painted you as for years.” I avert my eyes, lowering my voice. “I like that you’re smiling.”
His expression softens as he brushes a glove-covered hand along the cool skin of my cheek. I bring my gaze to his. “You’ve given me a reason to smile again. For that, I’ll always be grateful, even if this is all I can have of you.”
I open my mouth to tell him we don’t have a choice, but he silences my protest with a finger against my lips.
“I know all the complications. Right now, though, I want to pretend this is my life. That you are my life. Because even if you walk away without giving me another taste of your lips, you still will be my life. Let me have these moments, these memories I can hold on to. Can you give me that?”
I swallow hard, a tear escaping. I want to lose myself in him, promise to give him everything, every part of me. Even that piece of my heart I’d kept from him. The one I’d given his brother. But I can’t. Jessie still holds that. I fear he always will.
“I can do that.”
“Good.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Neither does mine, our reality too depressing to find happiness in this scenario. “Now, let’s build that snowman.”
I take his outstretched hand and follow him toward a section he’d cleared. We work together, neither one of us saying a word for several minutes. I try to focus on our project to keep my mind from wandering to other things, namely whether I want to walk away from Asher without feeling his lips on mine one more time. I shouldn’t even be thinking about kissing him, but it’s been on my mind since our erotic encounter in the kitchen. Since he nearly kissed me my first morning here. Hell, since I walked into the house and our eyes locked for the first time in over a year.
“Know what this reminds me of?” Asher cuts through my thoughts.
“What’s that?” I help him roll the snow across the yard, adding to the bulk.
“The time you dragged Jessie out here, kicking and screaming, and forced him to build a snowman.” He straightens, brushing the snow off his gloves as he faces me. I do the same. “I thought he was an idiot for not wanting to do this with you. After a few minutes, I had enough of his whining about the cold and came out.” He blows out a soft laugh. “It was immature, but I—”
“Made a snowball and threw it our way.”
“I’d hoped it would knock some sense into him.”
“Instead, it hit me.”
His eyes narrow on me, his complexion flushed from the cool air, his breath visible as he exhales. “I was so worried you’d be pissed. That you’d never want to hang out again. Jessie tried to be chivalrous and defend your honor. But instead of letting him—”
“I told him to step aside. That this meant war.”
He slowly nods. “The snowball fight that erupted afterward is one of my fondest memories.”
I arch a brow. “Even though you lost?”
He steps back, aghast. “What do you mean I lost?”
“I definitely won that fight.”
“No way. You might have gotten in a handful of blows, but under no circumstances did you win.”
“It was way more than a handful. You didn’t notice them because you have more padding than I do.”
“More padding?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s the story you’re going with?”
“Damn straight.” I place my hands on my hips, keeping my head held high.
His stare remaining trained on me, he bends down, scooping up some snow and forming it into a ball. “Perhaps we should have a rematch.”
“A rematch?”
“To settle the score once and for all.”
“And what are the rules?” I press, my lips pinched.
“No rules.”
“There need to be rules.”
“Fine,” he says after a moment of contemplation. “We’ll keep it simple. First one to get hit in the kill zone loses.”
“Kill zone?”
“Here.” He places his hand over his heart.
“Okay.” I scoop up some snow, forming my own ball, packing it tightly. “Let the games begin.”
Without giving him a chance to react, I throw it hard against him, but all these heavy layers disrupt my aim and I hit his shoulder. He grins a sinister smile, and I squeal, bolting in the opposite direction.
I expect to immediately be hit, but I’m not. In fact, I don’t even hear him following, the only sound that of a snowmobile in the distance. I slow my retreat, looking over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved. Instead, his eyes are focused intently on me as he repeatedly tosses his snowball into the air, catching it again.
“Why aren’t you chasing me, trying to nail me?” I instantly slap my hand over my mouth. “I mean…”
“I think I’ve made it more than clear I am definitely trying to nail you, Izzy.” He slowly meanders toward me, still tossing the same snowball. I gape at him, no words coming, his prurient glare causing my heart to spike, my knees to buckle. “But the reason I’m not chasing you,” he continues, “is because there’s no way in hell I want to miss the view of your ass. It’s a fucking work of art, and I’d be crazy not to take a minute to appreciate how incredible it looks, especially in those jeans.”
As he approaches, a chill spreads through me, and it has nothing to do with the frigid temperature. My breathing increases, eyes locked on his, unable to look away from the unrelenting want in his gaze.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, his voice husky.
“What’s that?” I whimper.
He stops less than an inch from me, his lips curving into one of the sexiest smirks I’ve ever seen. “You lose.” He crushes the snowball against the chest of my coat, his eyes dancing with delight.
It takes me a moment to process what just happened. Finally, I snap out of the trance Asher’s words placed on me.
“You’re a cheater!”
His chuckles echo against the stillness surrounding us. “We agreed. First one hit in the kill zone loses. You’re the first who got hit in the kill zone. No rules about how you got hit.”
“But you cheated!”
“How?”
“You… You…” I flounder to come up with something, then blurt out, “You bewitched me.”
His laughter grows even louder, the lines around his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It was only fair.”
“How? How was that fair?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
In a heartbeat, his expression falls, his pupils dilating as he loops his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I don’t fight him when he leans down, his lips skimming against my cheek. “Because you bewitched me. So hard, darlin’.”
I’d never been one for pet names or terms of endearment, but there’s something incredibly sexy and invigorating about the way he says “darlin’” in his soulful voice. Like he’s singing a song he’s written just for me.
He brings his hand toward my face, about to cup my cheek when his phone rings. He stills, no longer advancing, but not retreating, either. Then he curses, stepping away.
“Give me a minute.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket. When his shoulders fall, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s calling. “Hey, Jessie.” His voice is exuberant, a complete shift from the seductive tone he used mere seconds ago. “Good, good. Things are good.” There’s a pause, and Asher chews on his lower lip. “Not yet… I will… Don’t worry. We’ll still make that date…”
He glances at me, playfully rolling his eyes, feigning irritation with his brother’s pestering. I wish I could be as blasé about it as Asher seems, but I can’t. After all, Jessie did offer me a large sum of money to spend time with him in the hopes of inspiring him. As of now, I haven’t exactly fulfilled my end of the bargain. I haven’t so much as pushed Asher to go into the music room, too wrapped up in pretending this life we’ve lived the past few days could be our reality.
“Sure…” Asher faces me, extending the phone toward me. “He wants to talk to you,” he whispers.
“Me? Why?”
He shrugs. “Probably to make sure you’re okay.” He doesn’t sound annoyed by that. But he doesn’t sound unaffected, either.
On a long inhale, I take the phone, turning from him as I bring it to my ear. “Hey, Jessie.”
“What the hell is going on up there?” he snips out, but keeps his voice low so Asher can’t overhear.
“We’re building a snowman. Like old times.” I flash Asher a smile to assuage the suspicion I see swirling in his eyes. “You know, if you were wondering how I’m feeling, you could have texted.”
“I did. Five times. You haven’t responded.”
“Oh.” My shoulders fall. I’d forgotten about that. He had texted me. I simply ignored them. I’ve ignored all my texts lately.
“Has he written anything since I left?”
“No, but—”
“Obviously this isn’t working,” he interrupts, his tone short. “I have a meeting this afternoon, but I’ll grab the first flight back. I think—”
“No!” I shout, eyes flinging wide. My response is uncontrolled, but the last thing I want is for Jessie to be here, to burst our bubble. I lower my voice, glancing at Asher, trying to play off my reaction as if it’s nothing. “I mean, you don’t have to do that. I told you, I’m fine. No need for any follow-up,” I grit out, hoping he picks up on the fact that I’m probably within earshot of Asher.
He releases a labored sigh. I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he decides between giving his brother another chance and doing something to control the situation. That was always the problem with Jessie. His need to control everything.
“You do remember the benefit to you, correct?”
“Of course.” How could I forget the “benefit”? That money’s been weighing on my mind, especially whenever I’ve checked my email and received another notice that one of my bills is overdue.
“Then do something. At this point, I don’t care what. Just…” I can physically feel his frustration through the phone. “Please, Iz. I’m sure you’re having a blast reconnecting with an old friend. I would be, too, if I were there with you. But there is so much at stake. I can’t have you be a distraction. I need you to be an inspiration.” The slight ache in his voice is evidence of how difficult that must have been for him to admit. “I’ll give you two more days. If there’s no forward progress, I’ll need to think of something else.”
“It won’t be necessary.”
“I hope it’s not.”
I linger on the line a moment longer. But when he doesn’t say anything further, I glance at the screen, seeing he’s ended the call.
Blowing out a breath, I stare at the frozen lake. I can’t blame Jessie for being concerned. It is Friday. In less than ten days, Asher is supposed to hit the studio to record an album filled with songs he’s yet to write. That means he must write at least a song a day, preferably more. It’s not impossible. When he’s really inspired, I’ve seen him pen two, sometimes three songs in a day. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’ve been selfish, wanting Asher to focus all his attention on me instead of what’s important — this album. It’s why I’m here. Jessie’s call reminded me of that.
“Did my brother tell you to stop playing with me?” Asher jokes, approaching from behind.
I turn around and hand the phone back to him. “More or less. Asked me to stop distracting you so you can write. He’s worried about the album. He’s worried about you.”
He closes his eyes, nodding slightly. “Then I suppose I should probably get back to work.”
“You probably should.” I hate the idea that this is the end. That this carefree Asher I’ve been treated to will disappear now that Jessie snapped the proverbial whip.
That earns me a smile. He drapes an arm over my shoulders, leading me back to the house. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I lie awake, eyes focused on the ceiling, the soft sound of the piano filtering its way up to me from the great room as Asher experiments with a melody. Jessie said he’d give him a few days before he intervened. But will he? Or is he booked on the first flight out of LA tomorrow? Will he show up unexpectedly like he did in Vegas, bursting our bubble? What if this is my last opportunity to be alone with Asher? Do I walk away from him and always wonder what could have happened if I let go of my fears?
Torn, I grab my cell from the nightstand, checking the time. Five minutes after midnight. I doubt Chloe will pick up, but I’m desperate for advice from someone who’s been in a similar position. After all, Lincoln and Chloe faced quite a few hurdles in their own relationship.
Pressing her contact, I wait as I listen to the line ring. To my surprise, she answers.
“Is everything okay?” she asks frantically, not taking a breath before continuing. “Where have you been? You tell me you got fired. The next thing I know, I can’t get a hold of you and your neighbor says she hasn’t seen you in, like, a week. What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” I respond, doing my best to assuage her. “I mean, something’s going on, but I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“At Grams’ lake house,” I admit after a brief moment of hesitation.
“Grams?”
“Yes.”
“As in, Jessie’s grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“And Asher’s grandmother?”
“Well, they are brothers.”
“I assume this has something to do with your meeting with Jessie a few weeks ago.”
“It does.”
“What did he want to talk to you about?”
I make out the rustling of blankets and imagine her getting out of bed and padding into the living room to allow Lincoln to sleep.
