Page 142 of Chasing Sparks

Stew, it is.

“You were spying on me?” I fold my arms across my chest, unable to keep the bite out of my voice.

“No, I was afraid you went to dinner with Kevin Duncan, and I don’t trust the fucking guy. I don’t trust any man with you.”

“What about you? Do you trust yourself with me?” I lean in slightly, challenging him with a raised brow.

He hesitates, and when he speaks, his voice drops, rougher than before. “I know the things I want to do to you. And I guarantee a lot of other men feel the same way. But I’ll break them at every joint if they try it.”

I blink, stunned by the forcefulness of his statements. “You can’t say things like that.”

“It’s true. No one touches you but me. I told you that.” His jaw tightens as if the words are etched in stone.

Once again, Ash’s well-intentioned remark rubs me the wrong way. I step back, trying to put distance between us. “Does that work both ways? Apparently not, considering your baby mama is probably frantic with worry. Go home, Ash.”

He grips my wrist, holding me fast, and leans forward, his breath warm against my skin. “That’s the thing. Where you are … that’s my home.”

I shake my head as the emotions swimming inside me threaten to drown me whole. “You can’t say things like that.”

Even if it is a ridiculously sweet sentiment.

Ash’s gaze softens. “Not even when they’re true?”

I swallow hard, trying to push away the warmth spreading through my chest. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to a sketchbook lying on the seat next to him.

“My drawings. I was working on the mural forRum & Ruin.”

My eyes widen, and a hint of a smile breaks through despite everything. “Really? May I see?”

He waffles for a second before sighing and handing me the book.

I flip to the page, marked by a pencil, and my heart stutters as I stare at the drawing. “Is that?—”

“You? Yes.” His voice is low, almost reverent. “It’s my favorite picture of you.”

The sketch captures a version of me I rarely let others see—vulnerable and free. “I remember that day,” I whisper. I also remember how desperately I loved him then.

We’ll ignore how desperately I still do.

Ash runs a hand along his jaw, his gaze drifting toward the sketch. “It was sublime, from our breakfast that morning to my dessert that night. The first time I took you raw. The first time I felt all of you. Utter perfection.”

My breath catches, hearing him recall the memory with such longing, and I struggle to maintain my strong facade. Still, I need to tread lightly.

“We were playing a dangerous game.”

Ash’s eyes flick back to mine, steady and sure. “Not for me. I’d do it all over again.” He motions to my bedroom window, the only one visible from the parking lot. “You aren’t sleeping.”

“How do you know?” I glance over at the window, embarrassed. Damn, are the bags under my eyes that obvious?

Ash shrugs, his gaze focused on the third-story window. “Because I’ve been here every night for a week. I see you getting up, wandering around. You slept great with me.”

“You’ve been in the parking lot every night for a week? Ash, it’s been frigid outside,” I exclaim.

“The truck has heat, and like I said, I’m worried about you. This way, I can ensure you’re safe and still give you the space you need. Although, this is a nice change of pace.” He dares to reach out, drifting his fingers along my cheek. “Why aren’t you sleeping, little one?”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Understatement of the century right there.

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