Page 28 of Poison's Promise

“Nothing,” I say quickly, not wanting to dive into it right now.

“Doesn't seem like nothing,” he presses, stepping closer.

“Just drop it, Asher,” I snap, feeling the tension coil tighter inside me.

I’m fucking mad at him. Sure we had great sex, but I’m pissed. I’m hurt. I’m angry at the way he believed Rachel’s lies.

“All right, all right,” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s not fight. Not tonight.”

“I’d prefer not to,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

He studies me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my face. “You look good, Polly. Really good.”

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Finally learned how to do my make-up exactly the way I like it.”

“If you ask me, you don’t need any fuckin’ make-up,” he says, his voice softening.

“You always liked me better clean faced,” I murmur, the weight of our shared history hanging heavy in the air.

“Yeah. I never thought you needed that shit. It doesn’t look bad on you, but I like you fresh faced,” he admits, taking another step closer.

“Don’t,” I warn, but my guard is already starting to fall down.

“I can’t help it,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

His touch is electric, sending sparks shooting through my body.

“We can’t do this. You’re trouble, Asher,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Always have been, always will be,” he grins, that familiar cocky smile tugging at his lips.

“God, I hate you,” I say, but there’s no venom in my words. Only longing.

“You’ve always been a bad liar,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us.

His lips crash against mine, rough and demanding.

It’s like coming home and getting burned all at once.

I kiss him back, pouring all my frustration, anger, and desire into it.

His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

I don’t know what to do about this undeniable chemistry. I want to pull him closer and shove him away at the exact same time.

“God, I need you,” he growls against my lips, his breath hot and ragged.

“Then take me,” I breathlessly whisper.

Without another word, he spins me around, pressing me against the old tractor parked beside the clubhouse.

His hands roam over my body, igniting every nerve ending.

“Fuck, Polly,” he groans, his fingers digging into my hips.

“Do it,” I urge, yearning to feel him inside me.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement.

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