Page 33 of Irresistibly Risky

I gulp down air, my voice sticking high in my throat. “Asher, this is what I was talking about. This can’t happen.”

“I know you believe that, sweetheart.” He stops right in front of me, the heat from his body radiating through mine, his smoldering, intense gaze devouring. One hand plants into the wall beside my head, and he dips down until our faces are inches apart. “But if you need me to say it, I’ll say it. The way I want you, hell, the way I’ve wanted you for the last year and a half hasn’t changed. It won’t change. That said, I will do whatever it takes to get both of you in my home, including keeping my hands to myself.” He lets that hang before he adds, “If that’s what you want.”

If that’s what I want? What a joke. “A hot look and a few choice words won’t have me falling into your bed.”

He smirks, his face inching in until his nose runs along mine. “I always liked a challenge.”

I press my hands into his chest, ignoring the strong, blazing skin and muscles beneath my palms, and give him a shove. “That’s not what I’m trying to be. I’m trying to protect myself. I’m trying to protect my son. You’re telling me you’ll keep your hands to yourself, and yet you’re all over me.”

With a growl and a grunt, he rights himself. “Move in with me, Wynter.”

My body tightens. “No.” Because I know exactly where that will lead.

He stares at me, long and hard. “No?”

I shake my head.

He thinks about this for a moment. “Fine. Move one floor beneath me.”

“What?” Chokes out.

He thrusts himself away from the wall, away from me, and finally, I can take a breath. A breath that doesn’t taste like him. That doesn’t smell like him.

“The woman who lives beneath me is getting ready to sell her place. If I buy it, will you and Mason move in there?”

I hesitate.

“Say yes to that.”

I don’t utter a sound.

“Say yes, Wynter,” he presses. “Tell me you’ll move one floor beneath me so I can see my son. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Which considering he could haul me into court and legally demand more, is saying a lot. It’s not his apartment. It’s far from his bed.

“I’d want to buy it.”

“It’s twelve million.”

I practically throw up on his floors.

“No. No way. I can’t afford that, and I can’t allow you to pay for that. It’s too much.” Christ, that’s worse than living here with him. Twelve million? I shudder to think what this place cost him.

He growls in agitation, his hands interlocking and clasping behind his head as his elbows butterfly out. “Then tell me what other options I have here. I’d buy it with no strings attached. I just want to be his dad.”

My heart stutters and then stops dead in my chest. I just want to be his dad.

How many times in my life have I wished that my own father would make such a claim over me? It’s everything I want for Mason. It’s certainly not something I can say no to. He just offered to drop twelve million to see his son every day.

Could I do it? Could I move in here with him?

I know how those stories go. I know what happens to those women. They give in. They fall in love. They get destroyed.

No strings, he claims. But I would still be living in a place he bought for us—that’s all strings. If I were living here with him and it didn’t work out, it’d be easier to leave.

“Please,” he says with such desperation that I quake. “This could be a win-win for all of us.”

Only it feels as though I’m already losing. Already handing over pieces of myself I don’t want to relinquish.

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