Page 11 of Asher

“Why were you in Afghanistan, Marlowe?” Libby’s voice gentled. “You’re not military. Were you working with Doctors Without Borders or an organization like it?”

“Is this an inquisition?” Marlowe snapped, unwilling to explain her choices to someone who had no idea how hard life was for the rest of the world.

Libby’s smile grew softer. “Ha, me interrogating anyone. That’d be funny. It just seems like you could use a friend, Marlowe, and I know a few women who are dying to meet you. Are you interested in meeting them?”

“I mean, umm…” Marlowe had no idea how much to share. She never had time for girlfriends. She’d been busy saving unfortunate women with invisible targets on their foreheads. She got whole families out of harm’s way, no matter the cost to her. Her getting caught was her only mistake in Afghanistan. Thankfully, none of her women were with her the afternoon she was abducted. Because of her, there were twenty-one families reunited and living in America. They were happy. That was something to be proud of, and she was.

“Marlowe, honey.”

Her head jerked up and straightaway, her eye zeroed on the calm, steady man at the door, the only man who called her honey. Asher. She gulped seeing him there, hanging on the overhead door jamb by his fingertips. The uniquely male scent that came with him was overwhelmingly warm and intoxicating, even at this distance. Her nostrils flared. Her heart missed a beat. Or two. A strange, warm tingle hummed between her legs, where nothing had hummed before.

“Well, it’s about time,” Libby teased, her countenance still bright and cheery. “I was just asking Marlowe if she’d like to meet a couple TEAM wives. They keep asking when they can visit. What do you think, Asher?”

“I think that’s up to her.”

The way his green eyes seemed to be drinking her in was downright disconcerting, but Marlowe couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. She was drawn to this guy like a rusty nail to a magnet. Suddenly, she had a bad case of restless leg syndrome. She hadn’t seen him since Pakistan and now he was here. He came back. For her? Or was she another assignment? A mission. Unfinished business? That had to be it. She was just a job, and when he was done, he’d leave. That was what people did. They used you up, then threw you away.

He was dressed in black again this morning, and he was so much taller and broader than she remembered. Those muscular shoulders… the same shoulders he’d carried her on while running up that steep hillside. His biceps were magnificent. Not inked, as far as she could tell. But either his short-sleeved, black polo was a size too small or she was seeing things. Incredible, fantastic things. Slim hips. The shiny silver and gold belt buckle was new, but those stovepipe legs were incredibly long and his thighs were as thick as tree trunks.

Every bit of this quiet man was chiseled lean mass, and the way he stood there at her door waiting, like he needed permission to enter, was nice. Unusual, but not spectacular. Except everything about Asher was special to Marlowe. She’d become a silly moth drawn to a flame that could eventually kill her.

She had no idea what to think or say, until Libby put her hands on her knees, lifted up from her chair, and said, “Oh, I see how it is. I’ll just leave you two—”

“No. It’s not like that. Not at all,” Marlowe replied quickly. A little too loudly. “It’s just that… Libby, wait. What did you want to know?”

“Nothing I’ll let you two get reacquainted. If you need anything, press the call button. See you later. Buh-bye.”

Asher stepped aside as she breezed out the door, then asked, “May I?”

That voice. Marlowe loved how it vibrated straight to her soul. “May you what?” she croaked.

“May I come in? A gentleman never assumes. He always asks a lady.”

“Oh, that. Sure. Yeah, come in. We were just talking. Not about you. You know, just about… things.”Why am I rambling?

Asher strolled in, shutting the door behind him. Man, he was tall. He sat on Libby’s chair, crossed an ankle over his opposite knee, and said, “We need to talk.”

Chapter Seven

He’d frightened Marlowe and Asher didn’t understand why. It was obvious, the way she fidgeted with the edge of her blanket, and how her feet bobbed beneath the blanket.

“What do you want to talk about, huh?” she asked defensively.

“About everything. How do you feel, for starters?” His gaze settled on her restless feet. “Can you walk? Feel like getting out of here? Maybe go for a ride?”

“Umm, yes, sure. I’d like to do something besides lay around.”

Asher jumped to his feet and hit the call button attached to the railing at her right.

Marlowe inhaled a deep breath. “Hmmmm. You smell good,” she whispered.

He looked down at her bruised, but healing, face. “Well, thanks, I guess. Never had a woman tell me that before.”

The shock on her face was comical. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He couldn’t help grinning. “Why, there you are,” hemurmured, running the back of his index finger over her cheek. “Nice to see you again, Marlowe.”

“Hi,” she answered quietly.

Her skin was unexpectedly soft and smooth. The urge to kiss her came out of nowhere, but just in time, a firm knock at the door brought Asher back to his senses and the reason he was there. He needed answers. Not a relationship.

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