Page 20 of The First Spark

Absolutely not. The man cannot use logic against me. That simply won’t work.

Snapping my fingers, I earn an aggravated look from the tatted behemoth. “Thank God for Lydia, right? She’ll figure out you’re missing and come find you. Problem solved.”

“She’s home.”

Fucking hell.

“Home? What is she doing there? I thought you two had a date—or whatever it is you call it. Your night was justgetting started.” I lower my voice in a poor imitation of Asher’s, much to his growing amusement.

“Ended early.”

I should let his comment lie and focus on my escape, but Asher fucking Hammond has trampled my ego one too many times. Screw decorum. “Oh, you finished that quickly, huh? How sad … for Lydia.”

“You wish,” Asher mutters, but I hear him whisper a curse under his breath.

Now, it’smyturn to toss a haughty laugh his way. “Not if you were the last man on earth.”

His gaze catches mine, and I see something flicker in their depths. Maybe I’m getting to him or maybe he’s about to snap and end me. It’s a toss up at this point.

But he drags a hand through his dark hair and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Much more of this torture and I’ll pitch myself down the stairs. How would Mr. Wonderful talk his way out of that mess?

Opting for safety, I throw up my hands and flop down on the top step. “So, now what? We’re stuck down here?”

Asher places one booted leg on the bottom step as a grin splits his face. “Looks that way. Looks like we’re stuck together until tomorrow morning.”

I rub my forehead, trying to will away the headache brewing in my brain. “Awesome. This is obviously penance for committing terrible crimes in a past life. Well, that settles it.” Pushing myself to standing, I move past him, walking to the far corner of the basement and popping open a wooden box.

Asher tracks my movements from the other side of thebasement. “What are you doing now? Looking for a better weapon?”

“Nope. I can always shove that broomstick up your ass. That should shut you up for a while.”

Asher snorts and shakes his head, which isnothelping me manage my anger.

Turing to face him, I plant my hands on my hips and shoot him a withering glare. “You find that idea amusing?”

“I do, because you’re this big.” He holds up his hand level to his waist and bites back another laugh. “You’re like a hyperactive chihuahua.”

My only reply to his less-than-original insult is a roll of my eyes, which is apparently enough to bait the man.

“You need a sense of humor. I can’t be the first guy to mention your size,” he says with an offhanded shrug.

“You’re not,” I reply as I dig through the items stashed on the shelf. “Plenty of men have mentioned plenty of things where I’m concerned. Thanks for being just like them.”

“Sweetheart, I’m nothing like any man you’ve ever known, and that kills you.”

I ignore Asher’s barb and focus on something more satisfying—something guaranteed to bring me a sliver of pleasure tonight. My hand closes around the bottle of whiskey, and I smile.

Knew you’d come in handy, beautiful.

Grabbing a spare glass, I carry the bottle to the worn couch and sit down, cross-legged.

Time to ignore the tatted heathen and focus on a cup of liquid heaven.

Asher strolls over to the couch, his hands shoved in hispockets as he stares pointedly at the bottle. “Aren’t you going to share?”

“No.” To drive home my statement, I lift the glass to my lips and feel the sweet burn drift down my throat, my gaze never wavering from his face.

---