Claimed: The Complete Short Romance Series

by Nichole Rose

  "Asher didn't seem to think you were a kid," Sophie says.

  My stomach flips as soon as she says his name.

  "He was asking about you."

  "Wait. What? Seriously?" I gape at Sophie.

  "Yep." Her lips curve into a knowing smile. "He was pissed that you left."

  "Oh." I deflate like a balloon. He was probably just mad that I left and he had to walk alone instead of practicing the procession with me. Even though he's the best man and Sienna is the maid of honor, Sophie paired me and him up together so Dane and Sienna can walk together. It's not conventional, but Sophie and Trick aren't very conventional to begin with. "I'm sorry I had to leave early."

  "I'm not even worried about it," Sophie says, smiling at me. "I'm just happy you were able to come at all! Getting married wouldn't be the same without you."

  "You know I wouldn't miss it," I say, reaching out to hug her. "You're my oldest friend."

  "We've come a long way since summer camp, huh?" she says and then laughs. "Actually, we haven't really changed at all since then. We're both still more likely to hide out in the bunks than participate in group sports."

  I smile at the memory. Even though Sophie is a few years older than me, she spent her summers hiding out with me in the bunks instead of with the girls her age. Kids can be cruel, and summer camp is no exception. They picked on her for being awkward and me for being smaller than everyone else. But we didn't care. We had each other. And we've been friends ever since.

  "Soph!" her dad says and then taps on the door. "Your man says if you don't answer your phone, he's coming over here."

  "Don't you dare, Elliot Aaron Tricine!" Sophie shouts, hopping up from the bed like she can physically prevent him from driving over here. Let's be honest though, he gives her what she wants because he adores her, but there's no way she could stop him if he really wanted to see her. The man is a giant.

  She flings the door open to her dad, who laughs and holds out his phone to her. She huffs and takes it from him, fired up and ready to lay down the law. Until she hears Trick's voice. As soon as his deep voice rumbles down the line, she melts like a popsicle and purrs like a kitten.

  I don't know where my soulmate is, but I hope he sees me as clearly as Trick sees Sophie. I want their kind of effortless, powerful love. My mind flashes back to Asher and the way he looked at me last night, not like I was quiet little Kennedy Thorne, but like I had his full attention.

  For a brief moment, I felt like Icarus before he flew too close to the sun, as if the whole world stretched out before me, mine for the taking. I felt like he saw me.

  "Yeah, right," I mumble to myself, shaking my head. No one ever sees me.

  "Wow," I whisper the next morning, staring shamelessly at Asher as I pull into the parking lot of the church and park. He's pacing outside the front doors like he's the nervous groom. He looks amazing and amazingly uncomfortable in his tux. The black fabric hugs his body to perfection, but he keeps running his fingers beneath the bowtie and scowling at the ground. When his mouth moves, I laugh quietly. He's cursing it out, I think.

  "Elliot must be here already," Sophie says from the passenger seat when she spots him. She rode with me since she and Trick will be leaving together from here. "He's probably going to try to see me."

  She doesn't sound very annoyed by the prospect even though she's the one who wanted to keep to tradition and not see him before the ceremony. I think she's regretting her decision. She misses him, which is adorable because they've been texting all day.

  Asher spots her in my car and then his eyes drift to me. He stops pacing and goes incredibly still. For a long moment, we stare at each other through the windshield, neither moving, neither blinking. My heart flutters and races at the intense look on his face. Breathlessness creeps over me.

  When it storms on the coast, wind rips through the water, sending waves to crash into and batter the stalwart shoreline. The marriage of fierce strength and stark surrender at the point of impact is breathtaking. Asher reminds me of that moment of impact. Finding beauty in something so fierce is unexpected, but he is so damn beautiful.

  The doors of the church swing open behind Asher, shaking him out of immobility. My entire soul quivers with anticipation when he heads in our direction, his feet hitting the sidewalk with determination.

  Sophie hops out to meet him. "Is Elliot here already?"

  "Yeah, he's inside talking to the preacher," Asher says.

  I close my eyes, reveling in the way his voice washes over my senses. It's rough and gritty, like the gravel strewn throughout the parking lot. But it strokes something deep inside me, stoking to life a little fire in my womb.

  I take a deep breath, grab my bag, and climb from the car, circling around the hood toward them. Asher's eyes immediately come to me, raking like fire down my body.

  "Asher, this is my friend, Kennedy Thorne," Sophie says, introducing us. "Kennedy, this is Elliot's brother, Asher."

  My brain screams hello, but I can't seem to make my mouth work to respond. I take a step forward to shake his hand, but like a total dork, I stumble in my heels as if I've never worn them before.

  "What the fuck?" Asher growls when my leg peeks out of the slit in my dress. His gaze snaps back to mine, searing me. His piercings are missing today, replaced with clear retainers. "Your dress is torn."

  "What?" Sophie spins toward me, giving me a once over. "Where?"

  "Her fucking leg is sticking out."

  My cheeks heat, my heart slamming against my ribcage. Having him focused on me so completely is doing crazy things to my insides. Why can't I say anything?

  "Oh. It's made that way," Sophie says, relaxing again.

  "They made her dress with a tear in it?"

  "It's not a tear, Asher. It's a slit," Sophie says, biting her lip like she's trying not to laugh.

  "It's indecent. I don't like it." He glares at me like it's my fault or something.

  "Then I guess it's a good thing it's not up to you, isn't it?" I mutter, scowling at him. He may be hot, but he's rude. The dress is beautiful. It's an A-line off-the-shoulder dress with a ruffle split front and a ribbon-like belt. The light fabric flows to the floor in a sweep train with a slit all the way up to my thigh. It's elegant and daring, but not even close to indecent. I feel feminine and confident in it.

  "I'm burning it when I get it off you," he growls, glowering at me.

  I gape at him for a moment, too shocked to respond. Who does he think he is, threatening to burn my dress? And he has another think coming if he thinks he'll be involved in getting it off of me after the wedding. He'll be lucky if he survives the wedding at the rate he's going.

  "Everyone will be staring at you," he complains. "It's bullshit."

  I slam my hands down on my hips, scowling daggers at him. "I don't know wha–"

  Sophie slaps her hand over my mouth before I can give him a piece of my mind. "Can you go make sure Elliot behaves while we get my dress inside?" she says to Asher, her tone sweet as can be. "He isn't allowed to see it until I'm walking down the aisle."

  Asher glares at me for another minute before jerking his chin in a nod. He spins on his heel and stomps off, muttering under his breath until he's out of earshot. I can't hear what he's saying, but I'm guessing by the tone of his voice that he's still complaining about my dress as if, God forbid, someone sees my shoulders or my leg. What century does he live in?

  I can wear a flirty dress if I want to wear one. Besides, Sophie picked it out. Even if Asher doesn't agree, I think she did a fantastic job.

  She keeps her hand over my mouth until he disappears through the doors of the church. "He likes you," she says then, her eyes wide and a bright smile on her face.

  "He's rude."

  "You like him too," she says, that smile growing.

  "Like him? I want to strangle him."

  "Obviously. But then you want to kiss him afterward, don't you?"

  I roll my eyes at her and pop open the rear passenger doo
r to get her dress. Before I climb in to retrieve it, I pause and look at her over my shoulder. "Maybe a little bit," I mumble.

  She laughs loudly.

  Chapter Three

  Asher

  The old church I'm standing in is an illusion because I am undoubtedly in hell. Kennedy Thorne is sin incarnate in her indecently sexy red bridesmaid's dress, and the heat searing through my veins and cinching up my balls is hellfire. It's the only explanation I have for the very unchurch-like fantasizes currently playing pinball inside my skull…the ones where Kennedy is laid out over the altar, my naked and willing carnal sacrifice.

  Didn't mean to piss her off outside but standing so close to an angel made it hard to think. Fucking Christ, she's entirely too tempting in that damn dress. The thought of all the men here looking at her and coveting her has me feeling a tad homicidal. I haven't been able to get her off my mind since the rehearsal dinner.

  I lowkey stalked her social media like a creep. She doesn't post often. The only pictures available are those she's tagged in by someone else and a couple goofy selfies with her sister, Caroline. Sophie was right though. Kennedy is incredibly talented. She's won more awards for her writing than I knew existed. She never posts those either. Her family does. They're proud as hell of her. So am I.

  She's so sweet, a true romantic. Not the kind of romance that takes grand gestures and material displays, but the kind that whispers quietly and stands firm no matter what. Her wall is filled with photos of young couples holding hands and elderly couples defying age and infirmity to stay near one another, of little boys pushing girls on swings and wild animals curled up together.

  There's a gleam in Kennedy's eyes, a little spark that says she's hiding entire volumes behind those pretty green panes. Pieces of those secret thoughts leak out onto her wall in snippets of poetry and snapshots of her journal entries. She's astute, making observations about the world around her that most people miss.

  She sees the lone leaf bobbing through the gutter and wonders how far it's come and what it's seen along the way. She seeks out the misshapen tree and questions what trauma changed its course and how. She's wise beyond her years, yet still brimming with innocent curiosity.

  And I'm pretty sure she wants to set me on fire.

  I've never much cared if I came across as rude or if I pissed anyone off. I say what I think and that's that. I'm rough and autocratic and I just don't give a shit if people like me or not. When you've been a throwaway your whole life, you learn to stop caring what people think about you. So long as it doesn't impact my business, they can take me or leave me, and I don't lose sleep over it.

  Kennedy is different. She's fascinating. I actually want her to like me. I just know fuck all about making that happen. I'm figuring this shit out as I go. So far…it's not going well. Although her little attitude is sexy as hell. I see why Trick likes riling Sophie up. I can't wait to piss Kennedy off just to kiss her happy again.

  "Stay there," I order Trick, pulling closed the doors to the chapel so Kennedy and Sophie can smuggle in Sophie's dress without him seeing it. I guess the bride and groom staying apart before the wedding is tradition or some shit. I don't know, but Trick's been short-tempered and anxious all day because he hasn't been able to set eyes on his girl.

  A couple seconds after I close the door, Kennedy pops her head inside. Her eyes come to me and then bounce away. She squares her jaw and completely ignores my presence…which shouldn't have my dick as hard as it does. Her obstinance is unexpectedly attractive. So are the twin spots of color blooming in her cheeks.

  "The coast is clear," she says to Sophie. Her voice is like smoke, settling over me in a way that is all too appealing. I can just imagine her crying my name in that sensual tone, pleading with me to let her come. I won't though. Not until she's wrung out and desperate for it.

  What shade of green are her eyes when she's horny? How pink does her skin get before she comes? I have a thousand different curiosities I'm dying to satisfy. My hands itch for a pen and paper so I can draw her like this, stubborn and defiant and so fucking sweet.

  Sophie pops in, double-checking to confirm that Trick isn't trying to sneak a look at her, and then she hurries inside, her dress bag held aloft to keep it from trailing across the floor. The bag is pitch black, not giving even a hint of what's inside.

  "Oh shoot," she mutters, stopping to look around. "Sienna has my shoes."

  "She's in the back with Dane."

  Sophie looks at me and then at Kennedy. Her expression morphs from concern to complete innocence so fast I know she's up to something. "Would you mind helping Kennedy find her?" she asks, all but batting her lashes at me.

  Not like I'm going to say no to spending any amount of time with the angel currently gaping at her like she's lost her mind. She looks so cute and betrayed, I almost laugh.

  "Yeah," I say instead, not wanting to rile my girl up even more just yet.

  "Yeah, you mind, or yeah, you'll take her?" Sophie asks, hitting me with a no bullshit look. Like Kennedy, I think she's silently threatening to set me on fire. If she weren't less than half my size with an angelic face, it'd be intimidating. But I spent almost a decade in the military, visiting places just this side of hell. Not much intimidates me anymore.

  "I can go by myself," Kennedy says…as if I'm letting that shit happen. She still won't look at me. I don't like that much. I want those eyes on me. It's the only way to read her. Her face is deceptively sweet. I bet people underestimate her all the time, think she's soft when, in reality, there's a whole world of strength hiding behind those big eyes.

  I've never wanted to know what someone is thinking as badly as I do with her. I barely even know her and I already know that whatever is going on in her mind at any given moment is infinitely more fascinating than anything happening out here.

  "I'll take you."

  Her lips compress into a thin line and she crosses her arms, which isn't supposed to be cute but is anyway. She thinks she's a lion, but she's a lamb. The movement tugs the top of her dress down just a bit, leaving the swells of her breasts visible. I can't wait to sink my teeth into them and play with those fat little nipples until she's pleading for me to fuck her.

  "Thanks!" Sophie chirps and then scurries down the hall, clearly pleased with herself for throwing the two of us together. Interesting. Yesterday, she was threatening to rip my balls off. Now, she's playing match maker.

  I ain't complaining.

  Kennedy and I stand there for a long moment, not speaking. I'm trying to work out how to apologize for pissing her off without pissing her off even more. She's trying to work out how to set fires with her mind or something.

  "Come on," I mutter, placing my hand on her back. As soon as I touch her, she jumps as if I shocked her. She doesn't pull away though, which is a good thing because I think my new favorite thing might be touching her. Despite how tiny she is, she's soft as silk. Her cheeks are rosy red and she's hiding her eyes from me like she feels shy.

  I lead her around the long way, weaving through the building and various Sunday school rooms instead of taking a straight shot through the chapel to the kitchen where Dane and Sienna were a few minutes ago. Sue me. I want to keep her close.

  "All your tattoos are covered," she finally says. The comment falls into the silence between us, cracking it wide open.

  "It's a wedding. The tux is required."

  "Oh."

  I glance over to find her frowning, a little wrinkle between her brows. "You like ink, angel?"

  "I don't know." She glances up at me from beneath her lashes, seemingly perplexed. "I never thought about it before…"

  Before what? I want to ask, but the way she blushes and glances away from me silences the question. The answer is written all over her face. She never thought about it before me.

  Fuck. Why does that make me feel like a rockstar?

  "What are yours about?" she asks a second later, craning her head back to look at me. "They seem…personal."
/>   "Most ink is personal."

  "Oh." She thinks that over for a minute and then smiles. "I guess that makes sense because it's permanent. I wouldn't want to live my whole life with something I didn't love tattooed on me."

  My brows pull together. "You thinking about getting ink, Kennedy?"

  She shrugs, which makes me scowl. If anyone even fucking thinks about inking her, I'll shove my boot so far up their asses it tickles their tonsils. No one is touching this angel but me. If she wants ink, it'll be my art adorning her body. I already have a few ideas.

  "I'll take you to my shop tomorrow," I mutter, sketching out a few of those ideas in my mind. Nothing loud or ostentatious. That's not Kennedy. Understated and elegant is more her speed. "Show you what it's like."

  "You work at a tattoo shop?"

  "Mmhmm. Crimson Ink. I own the place."

  "Oh, wow. I've heard about your shop before. You'd really take me to see it?" Her big green eyes work like a wrecking ball on my insides. Jesus, she's so excited, like I just offered to fight a dragon for her. The awe in her voice makes me want to back her up against the wall and kiss the sweet right out of her.

  "Yeah," I grunt, releasing her to tug at my bowtie like that's going to make me any less likely to defile her in the middle of a church. Spoiler alert: it's not. Jesus and all his saints could be peeking through the windows and I'd still want to sit her little ass on top of the piano at the front of the room and have my way with her.

  "That's really sweet, Asher," she says, smiling so wide her little dimples pop out as she ducks through the door I point her toward. "But you don't have to do that. I'm sure you have more important things to do. Besides, I won't be here tomorrow. I live in Nashville."

  "So do I."

  "Oh."

  She stops in the middle of the narrow closet connecting the music room to the classroom nearest the kitchen. Props and musical instruments pack the small space, leaving us little room to maneuver. We're so close, I can smell her shampoo. It's fruity, like peaches. I can also feel the way she trembles when she realizes how close I'm crowding her.