Undeniably Asher (The Colloway Brothers Book 2)(49)

It was Alyse.

It’s always been Alyse.

And I’ve just handed her the golden keys, whether she realizes it or not.





Chapter 18





Alyse





“Tell me something about your childhood I don’t know.”

It’s dark, it’s late, and I’m exhausted. Asher’s fingers lightly trailing up and down my spine have me nearly lulled to sleep when he quietly asks his question. We haven’t been able to get enough of each other and spent the last three hours indulging everywhere in Asher’s apartment. He may be almost thirty, but the man doesn’t seem to need much recovery time, that’s for damn sure. I’m deliciously sore and unbelievably sated, but I need the healing effects of sleep now.

Once again he’s insisted I stay and sleep in his bed. This time I don’t argue. He’s sexed the fight right out of me. In truth I really want to stay.

“What do you want to know?” I ask groggily, trying to blink away the mist of unconsciousness that’s almost claimed me.

“Anything. Everything. The good, the bad, the ugly. I want it all, Alyse.” His soft words almost undo me. I tilt my head from its resting place in the crook of his muscular arm and even in the dark, I see him looking at me. Into me. I want to close my eyes to keep him out almost as much as I want to invite him in. I want to let him root around and find all my hiding places so I don’t have to reveal them on my own.

I’m finding I want Asher to know everything about me, because somehow I think he’ll accept the bruised parts of me. Wanting it and getting the words out, however, are two completely different things. That’s the hard part. That’s always been the hard part. I don’t know where I inherited my inability to let people all the way in, but I hate it.

And somehow Asher seems to know this about me.

“Let’s start with an easy one. Tell me a story about you and Livia.”

I smile when I remember a particularly funny story. “Okay, well one summer when I was ten and Libs was fourteen we went to a park about a mile away from our house. My bike had a flat tire, so we took Livia’s, riding together. But we weren’t supposed to do that, because we had crashed before and if Dad caught us, we would have been in big trouble.

“Riding to the park, I sat on the seat and Livia stood, peddling the entire way herself. We must have stayed at the park for hours. Getting out of the house was not only an escape, but a necessity sometimes.” I sigh heavily, wishing my childhood was different. Happy. Like Asher’s. Rubbing my back gently he’s silent, letting me continue at my own pace.

“Anyway, it was starting to get dark and we decided we needed to head home, but this time instead of sitting on the seat, I rode on the handlebars.”

“Uh oh.” He laughs and I join him.

“Yeah, uh oh. So there was this pretty steep hill. We walked it on the way there, but on the way back, we decided to ride it instead. We flew down that thing going probably twenty miles an hour and Libs lost control after catching some gravel. I had on a sundress. Dresses and gravel do not mix, let me tell you.”

“Ouch.” He’s laughing harder and louder, which makes me do the same.

“Livia only had a few scrapes, but I filleted the skin from the right side of my ass, like literally took the first two layers right off. I couldn’t sit down for days and I had to wear thongs for what seemed like a month at the time, but was probably only a few days, because regular underwear stuck to the wound and our neighbor, who’s a nurse, insisted that it ‘get some air’ to heal properly. No ten-year-old should be forced to wear thongs. It’s damage I can’t undo to this day.”

Asher’s entire body is now shaking.

“Do you know what it’s like to have your dad see your bare butt at age ten? It’s humiliating. I still have scars from that incident, physical and mental.”

“Stop, stop.” He can barely catch his breath, he’s laughing so hard. After a few seconds, he manages to ask, “Did you get in trouble?”

“No. We told Dad we collided on swings at the playground. He never knew we’d crashed on Livia’s bike, or if he did, he never let on.”

“You collided on swings?” he asks incredulously.

“It was the best lie we could come up with on our long hobble home.”

We laugh for a few more minutes, before he wipes the tears from his eyes. “Oh my God. That’s a great story, Alyse.”

Now I’m wide-awake. “Your turn.” I prop up on my elbow and gaze down at him. Even in no light he is simply beautiful. His raw masculinity is hypnotizing. I trace the black Chinese tats he has running down the outside of his bulky left bicep.