Page 57 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
His fingers slide into my hair, gentle but firm. "Good girl."
The praise melts through me like honey, warming places I didn't know were cold. My breathing grows heavier, and I lean into his touch without thinking.
"Stand up," he instructs, stepping back to give me room.
I rise gracefully, surprised by how steady my legs feel. Usually, after sitting for hours coding, I'm stiff and clumsy. Now my body feels fluid, responsive to his guidance.
Asher moves closer, his hands settling on my waist. His dark eyes drop to my lips, then back to meet mine. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I whisper without hesitation. "I want you to kiss me."
He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. My eyes flutter closed in anticipation. The memory of our first kiss burns between us, and after everything—the commands, the surrender, the perfect quiet in my head—I need him to close this distance again.
A sharp, insistent beeping cuts through the air.
My laptop. The financial tracking system I programmed to monitor real-time movements.
Asher freezes, his mouth inches from mine. In the space of a heartbeat, his expression changes. The heat in his eyes vanishes, replaced by cold calculation.
His hands drop from my waist as he steps back, and suddenly he's not the man who just commanded me to kneel—he's Frost, the operative, all professional distance and tactical assessment.
I'm left standing there, watching him retreat behind walls I didn't even see him rebuild.
"Check it," he orders, voice clipped and impersonal.
The whiplash is brutal. Seconds ago, I was floating in peaceful submission, lost in his touch and the promise of his kiss. Now I'm stumbling back toward the living room on unsteady legs, my mind struggling to shift gears from intimacy to crisis management.
The financial tracking system is flashing red—multiple alerts cascading across the interface. My breath catches as the data resolves.
"What is it?" Asher asks from behind me, but his tone remains professionally detached, as if the last ten minutes never happened.
I stare at the screen, my heart sinking as the implications hit me. "The money," I whisper. "It's moving. Right now."
sixteen
Asher
Deep night settles over the living room where I've been keeping watch for hours. My internal clock reads 11:47 PM. Three hours past when I'd normally review perimeter security, but sleep proved impossible with Vanessa in my bed.
After the money transfers started moving in real-time, everything shifted into crisis mode. We'd sent all of Vanessa's data to Cole for tracking while Kade mobilized surveillance teams immediately.
The exhaustion finally hit her like a freight train once the adrenaline faded. She could barely keep her eyes open as I carried her upstairs.
But sleep eludes me.
I move silently up the stairs, drawn by an impulse I don't examine too closely.
The bedroom door stands slightly ajar. Through the gap, dim light from the partially closed blinds paints horizontal stripes across her sleeping form. Dark hair with vivid pink streaks spills across my pillow, and the sight hits me with unexpected force.
She sleeps curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, lips parted. My black t-shirt she's been wearing has ridden up, exposing the curve of her hip. The blanket has tangled around her legs from restless movement, and even in sleep, her fingers twitch like she's coding in her dreams.
I should leave. Check the perimeter. Review overnight surveillance feeds. Something.
I stand there watching her breathe.
What the fuck is happening to you, Cross?
What happened earlier tonight replays in sharp detail. Her sinking to her knees without hesitation. The way she whispered 'Yes, sir' as if the words came straight from her soul. How close I came to losing every shred of control I've spent fifteen years building.
