Page 130 of Forever To Me

I’m singing for her. And this time, I don’t stop. I don’t know how long we sit there.

I just know something has changed. The woman I've fallen completely head over heels for holds my heart in the palm of her hands. I couldn't stop and wouldn't stop even if I could. I'd do anything for this woman.

Because when the song ends, and the last note fades between us, she’s still staring.

And this time, it’s not funny. It’s not teasing. It’s real.

Her voice drops, quiet, soft in a way I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. “That was beautiful, Asher.”

Something in my chest tightens. I swallow, fingers flexing over the guitar strings. “Thank you.”

She shakes her head. “You're beautiful. Everything about you. Your heart, your soul, and your music. It's all so beautiful.”

And damn it, I think she might actually see me. The realme. The one I’ve been hiding. The one I’ve kept locked up for way too long.

I shift, exhaling hard. "Don't make it a big thing."

She smiles, but it’s softer this time. “Asher,” she murmurs, voice like a promise. “It already is.”

She makes me play three more songs. Demands. And I do it because I'd do anything for her. And I love singing to her. There's something so beautiful and intimate about singing to someone you're in love with. I didn't realize that until now.

I grouch about it the whole time.

She ignores me.

And when I finally walk her to her room, she looks up at me, and grins.

“G’night, rockstar.”

I roll my eyes. “I hate you.”

She laughs. “No, you don’t. You love me.”

She’s right. I really, really do. I tried not to, I really did. But I love her.

She turns to go, but I don’t let her. I don’t even think, I just wrap my hand around her wrist, tugging her back, and before she can say another smart remark, I press her against the wall, my body crowding hers, my hands braced beside her head.

Her breath hitches, her eyes go wide.

I tip my head down, my mouth so close to hers that I can feel her breath. “You love me too, huh?” I say in a rough voice, teasing her.

She licks her lips, and says, “Maybe.”

I kiss her. Not softly, not careful.

Desperately. Like she’s the last drink I’ll ever have. The last moment that I’ll ever capture. And hell, does she kiss me back. She feels so good and tastes even better.

This time, she’s all mine.

I do not like being woken up at two in the damn morning. Especially not by the sound of my fifteen-year-old daughter pounding on my bedroom door like she’s got a warrant to serve.

“Dad! Get up! Emergency!”

I groan, barely cracking an eye open. “Unless the house is on fire, go back to bed.”

“It’s worse.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “If this is about a goat?—”

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