Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(24)
My stomach dropped and my heart flew at his words, and the tenderness of the voice. The look in his eyes. His wasn’t mincing his words, wasn’t playing games or pretending he didn’t feel this. It was real, honest. I couldn’t believe it. The fact this man, this beautiful, rugged man, wanted me. In a way, a man wants a woman. Me. Ordinary, boring me.
But then reality came back in. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be consumed with him like I already was when my mom needed me. All of me. I could not put something as frivolous as my heart before her.
Asher’s hand stroked my cheek. “This is more, babe. Special. You know it. I wouldn’t have taken your virginity if I hadn’t intended on treasuring that gift, treasuring the woman who gave it to me.”
I stared at him. I tried to blink away the tears, trying to imprint this moment into my memory. The moment of someone actually seeing me. Wanting me.
“No. It’s not,” I whispered, brokenly at first. Then I found my strength, stepped out of his arms and put what I hoped was a blank expression on my face. “This was nothing more than one night. Not for me,” I told him, my heart breaking.
Asher regarded me with cool eyes. I succeeded in hiding my flinch at the juxtaposition of that, and the tender look that had warmed my heart moments before.
“You’re screwin’ with me, right?” he clipped, hands crossing across his chest.
Don’t look at the way his biceps flex at that gesture. I told myself. It’ll ruin everything.
“I’m not,” I informed him, impressed at the lack of emotion in my voice. “I don’t want this,” I waved my hand between us. “It was one night. That’s it. Nothing more. So you need to leave,” I instructed in a cool voice while white hot pain sliced through my insides.
Asher stared at me. “Whatever it is screwing with your head, saying that shit, you better straighten it now, ‘cause I ain’t coming back. You kicking me to the curb like this, playing some sort of game? I don’t play games, flower. I’m disappointed it seems you do, it means you’re not who I thought you were,” he clipped.
I flinched. “You don’t know me,” I half whispered. “You spent one night with me, you don’t know anything about me.”
He stepped forward. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he declared hotly. “I spent that night inside you, exploring every inch of you, not just your body, but your f*ckin’ soul, flower. You opened up to me, not just your legs, you gave me everything. Now in the harsh light of day you’re running scared? Don’t do that shit, you’ll regret it,” he growled, his hands moving to my neck.
I blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my vision of the tears obscuring them.
“You need to leave,” I told him, ignoring the beautiful sentiment, and truth behind his words. As insane as it was. He was right. It had been more. The most it could be. And the only thing it could be. The best night of my life. Who knew the best night of my life would be followed up with the worst day of my existence in the space of a couple of days?
His face wiped of all emotion. “You better be sure of this shit, flower,” he ground out. “I’m not f*ckin’ around. I ain’t waiting for you,” he continued his voice hard.
“Please leave,” I repeated, unable to say anything else.
Asher’s cold expression searched my face and he stepped back, shaking his head. “Fuck this,” he muttered.
He turned his back, giving me one last view of his cut, of him, before he mounted his bike and roared off.
I stood woodenly on the doorstep, watching him go, my heart bleeding, and my expression blank.
He didn’t look back, once.
Asher, Present Day
He lied. He did f*ckin’ wait. Three years Asher waited for Lily to get her shit together, for her to grow up, realize what was real between them, to come back.
Three years of agony, of dreaming of her, trying to forget her, f*ck her out of his system.
He didn’t grovel. He wasn’t gonna follow her around like a puppy dog, trying to convince her to take a chance on them, on him. Nope. He wasn’t exactly sure whether she was playing f*cked up games, or was genuinely scared of the depth between them from just one night.
He knew one thing, though, she was a f*ckin’ liar. She felt something. He knew that. That night, being the first man into her sweet *, the first to explore her sweet little body, best of his miserable life. Superseded the night he got patched into the Sons.
That scared him shitless. That one night and one bitch could get under his skin, and play games with his mind. Worse that she stayed there for three f*ckin’ years. He watched his brothers find it. Grab a hold of that shit, claiming their Old Ladies, happily being * whipped. Even f*ckin’ Bull found that shit. But him. No. For a year he watched her, in agony and anger at her coldness, at the way her gaze flickered over him as if they were strangers. He didn’t miss the fleeting times when her mask slipped, the times that gave him some kind of f*cked up hope. Then he saw nothing of her. She stopped working at Gwen’s store. That was worse. He wanted to watch her, follow her, make sure she was okay.
He didn’t do that. Not only would that make him a lovesick *, but a stalker also. So he waited. Though he tried to lie to himself and say he didn’t. Tried to act like she wasn’t all he thought about when he drilled into club whores—it wasn’t her milky white skin, her long blonde hair, her f*cking piercing eyes that he pictured.