Page 8 of Chasing Sparks

From my perch behind the bookstore counter, I watch Ash saunter to the entrance ofBlackLotusto greet the women, his sex-on-a-stick smirk at the ready.

When you’ve got it, flaunt it, and Asher Hammond has itallin spades.

I hate him for always looking so damn sexy, even though he’s nothing like my usual type. Seems my hormones don’t give a flying fig if I normally gravitate toward businessmen.

Ash is ruggedly handsome with permanent artwork covering every inch of his skin, all highlighting his muscular frame—and don’t even get me started on his chiseled features or the way his neatly trimmed beard feels oh-so-damn-good against my skin. And his piercings? Damn, they take the pleasure to a whole new level.

But he’s more than just wildly attractive. He’s smart and pensive, with a quick wit and a reading habit that puts mine to shame. He’s also the most talented lay I’ve ever had, and trust me, he’s had some competition.

Sunday school teacher, I am not, but my reputationpalescompared to Asher Hammond’s.

Every woman Ash wants, he gets. That’s not some egotistical aside that he spouts for effect. It’s a fact. Just ask the women of Sparkwood—the man is a legend.

If I were smart, I would forget this cockamamie idea of dating Asher Hammond and focus on easier prey. I’ve had more than my share of requests for dates, but I’ve turned them all down.

I don’t date for sport. In truth, I don’t date. Who has the time? My bookstore,OneMorePage, keeps me hopping and now I’ve added a fixer-upper mansion to my to-do list—just for kicks.

Plus, I have a vibrator. A damn good one, too.

Not Asher Hammond good, though.

No one, and I meannoone, is that good.

That’s the crux of my issue—he checks all the boxes. Everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, lover, life partner … dare I say,husband,he possesses, with one tiny flaw.

He doesn’t believe in love or romance. Just ask him and he’ll tell you all about it.

See? I should run for the hills and chalk up our two nights together to one too many whiskeys and one too few beds.

That’s what a smart woman would do.

That’s whatIshoulddo, but my brain cells have flitted away into the ether and it’s all Ash’s fault.

Like I said, fucking men.

A peal of laughter, tinged with one too many cocktails, sounds from next door, pulling me from my self-imposed torment. I shift my attention back to Ash and his female companions, still lingering by the tattoo parlor door. As if on cue, the leader of the lingerie pack tosses her head back with a gleeful giggle, her hand resting on Ash’s biceps.

He obviously told her something wildly witty and funny.

Ofcoursehe did.

With a grunt more feral than I’d like, I shove my jealousy back in its emotional cage. Time to focus on anything other than Asher Hammond—like my business, my new house, or reclaiming my sanity.

Twisting my long hair into a makeshift bun, I secure it with a pencil jabbed into the center.

Who cares what I look like? There’s no one here to impress besides Mina, and she wouldn’t give a crap if I wore a burlap sack to work.

A rap at the bookstore window grabs my attention. Jerking my head up, I meet Ash’s wide-eyed gaze as he stands in the adjoining hallway, his menage flanking him like sentries.

Subtle, ladies.

But Ash isn’t paying them any mind. He’s too busy eye fucking me, or at least visually devouring the parts of me not hidden behind a wooden counter.

Peering down at my shirt, I realize what’s caught the man’s attention. Seems somewhere between inventorying paperbacks and restocking the coffee bar, a few buttons on my blouse popped open, offering quite a view of my lacy black bra.

Totally unintentional move, although I’m certainly enjoying Ash’s reaction.

Ash bites his lower lip and offers me an appreciative nod. Then his sultry green-eyed-gaze travels back up the length of my torso while his fingers grasp his shirt lapels in a non-verbal cue.

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