Page 35 of A Little More Hope

“Seriously?”

I fought to hide a smile. I’d learned early on he’d use that specific word as his standard fallback question whenever he concluded I was talking out of my ass.

“Seriously.” I nudged his shoulder with my own. “Plus, I’ll have you there to protect me, won’t I?”

His eyes raked over my face for a long time before accepting defeat. He let out a disgruntled moan. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“That’s the spirit. Keeping it positive.”

His lips twitched briefly in amusement, but nearly as quickly, his face turned serious once more. “You tell me the minute you feel uncomfortable,” he declared firmly. “Any signs of uneasiness, nerves, panic, anything at all, and we’re out of there. Got it?”

“Got it.”

My bravado was all a front, of course, as the thought of not being able to cope and ending up having a panic attack or worse, scared the hell out of me. But I’d cowered behind my walls long enough. I had to put my head above the parapet and hope it didn’t get blown off because of one reckless moment.

My answer seemed to mollify him. “Okay,” he said, collecting himself. “Now, where were we?” Silence dropped like a bomb between us as we stared at each other, his cheeks turning pink. “With the flange,” his clarified. “The pipe. Where were we with the pipe thingy.”

I grinned. He was so damn adorable. “Why don’t we clear up the remaining trash from the bathroom and call it a day?” He keenly agreed and went to turn back to the wall adjacent to the pipework he’d wrestled with earlier. “But, Ash…”

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“Later, I want to continue from where we left off, okay?”

His head bobbed a couple of times in agreement before he spun away from me, his attention focused on the wall.

Now I’d had the tiniest taste of Ash, I’d already become addicted, so I completely understood his flustered reaction. I wasn't 100 percent sure how far I’d be prepared to go, or what I’d allow myself to do with him, but kissing him… Licking my lips I tasted the lingering flavors of him. Of us. Oh yeah, I wanted to do a whole lot more kissing if nothing else. The rest was what I had trouble getting my head around.

Earlier, our interaction had been spontaneous and in the moment, with no time to think, only to act. Whatever we did next would be with a clear mind and specific intent. I’d told him I wanted to finish what we’d started, and I did, only I couldn’t say for certain what exactly I wanted to finish.

When I’d had my fingers wrapped around him, my body hadn’t rejected the feelings of lust touching him had triggered. In fact, I’d never been more turned on in my life.

But…

I glanced down at Ash as he fiddled with the next piece of pipe and surreptitiously studied him. Taking in the messy, cropped brown hair, the play of muscles across his wide shoulders, not covered by his tank as he worked. Dropping my gaze farther, following the line of his spine, my eyes landed on the thin tanned strip of skin visible as he crouched, revealing the dimples at the top of his ass.

“I can feel you watching me.” His comment made me jump, and he turned, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Sorry,” I apologized.

He stood and faced me. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Okay,” he huffed and went to walk past me. My hand on his bicep halted him. He didn’t speak, only stood there silently.

I’d add this to the growing list of traits I liked about him. The way he waited me out, as if he wanted to hear what I had to say but wouldn’t force me to speak unless I wanted to. No one ever acted the way he did. Previous partners were always there with their opinion, ready to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, but never Ash. He could have pushed the point, made me answer, but he never did. If I wanted to speak, he listened. If I wasn't ready to discuss whatever I had on my mind, he let the topic go.

“Why are you here?” I asked him, intrigued as to what his answer may be. Hopefully I’d get some insight into why he kept wasting his time on me. Why he bothered.

His brows furrowed. “I live here.”

“Okay,” I parroted his previous comment, his growl of frustration rumbling through me.

After endless seconds, he turned his head toward me to look me directly in the eye. “Initially, it was because I wanted to be your friend, to be there for you. I have this…this urge to help, to fix things, to try and make them better.” He shrugged. “Even as a child, I’d rescue injured animals and help them to get better.”

“You think I need rescuing?” I asked, suddenly angry at the analogy, the lightness of the moment turning darker. “I’m helpless?” My grip on his arm tightened. “I need to be fixed since I’m what, broken?”

Jesus, is this how he saw me? Some pathetic creature to be picked up off the side of the road and nursed back to health? Wanting to befriend me as I’m weak and he got some kick out of making me better?

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