Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“You're not?”
His eyes land on me. “I prefer my mountains without Wi-Fi.” He stands, moving to the window. His reflection overlaps with mine in the glass. “Crow doesn't need tricks. It is one. Some call him the villain, but I don't know, I think he protects what's his and he doesn't give a fuck what it looks like to anyone else.”
I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. “That's interesting, but I call bullshit.”
“Right?” He grins, genuine this time. “The locals eat that shit up though. Won't even say his full name during storm season.”
I trace the mountain's silhouette through the window again. Dark. Brooding. Unforgiving.
“Why do I get Mount Crow?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “Why not Grim with all its fancy tech and engineering?”
Asher moves back to the sofa. When he settles into the cushions, his eyes find mine and hold.
“Because it's probably protecting you.”
The words hang between us, weighted with meaning I don't want to unpack.
“You should write a book.” I gesture at him with a dusty photo I've pulled from the box. “Submit it to my publishing company. You've got the imagination for it.”
His grin fades until he stares at me, trying to decode something written in a language he doesn't speak.
“Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than before. “Maybe.”
I should look away, go back to the box, say something stupid about the house or the weather or anything else. But I don't.
Can't.
There's something happening in the space between us, something that has nothing to do with mountains or legends or—
My phone buzzes against the coffee table, shattering whatever that was.
Status update required.
The text glares up at me. As always, impeccable timing. I flip the phone face-down, but Asher's already noticed the shift in my posture.
“Work?”
“Something like that.” I turn back to the box, pulling out more photos. Most are landscape shots of the island, but a few show people. The woman from the portrait downstairs appears in several, always smiling that sharp smile.
“Who is she?” Asher leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“No idea.” I flip it over. “Distant aunt? Third cousin twice removed?” I toss the photo back into the box. “Family tree’s got more dead branches than a winter storm.”
Not a lie. I have no idea who this woman is or why her estate ended up in my name. Leon handled the paperwork, said it was clean, but nothing in my world is ever clean.
“Mysterious inheritance from a mysterious relative on a mysterious island.” Asher sets his empty glass on the side table. “You sure you're not in a horror movie?”
“If I am, you're the first to die. The hot friend always goes first.”
“Hot?” He grins, but there's an edge to it. “Admitting you'd fuck me?”
I keep my expression neutral despite the heat crawling up my neck. “I have eyes, Asher. Doesn't mean I'm interested.”
“Hmmm…”
He stands, closing the distance between us in two strides. My body tenses, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in as he towers over me.
“You sure about that?”
My pulse stutters. He's so close the air thickens with his cologne, a sharp scent tangled with the winter chill still clinging to his clothes. I hate how my body reacts—the quickening breath, the flush spreading across my skin.
“Positive.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, a small victory.
His hand finds the back of the couch, caging me in without touching. The leather creaks under his grip.
“Care to test that theory?” His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there.
“Uh, no.” I roll my eyes, resting back against the couch and blinking lazily up at him. Playing bored when my heart hammers against my ribs.
His nose grazes mine. “Liar.”
The word hangs between us, hot against my lips.
He's right, of course.
“I'm married,” I say instead, as if that’ll put a block between the chemistry that never seems to die between us.
“To a man who sleeps in a different room.” His other hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw without making contact. “To a man who doesn't see what I see when I look at you.”
I hold my breath. “And what's that?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked and worshipped at the same time.”
My heart flat lines. He did not just say that!
His smirk cuts the tension in the air, but it's the first time I've seen even a smudge of something else. “I'm playing, Ivy. I'm not gonna try fuck you.”
I release a steady exhale, cussing at myself for being so easily bent. Asher is playful, and funny, and hot, sure. Do we have a connection? Undeniably, but that doesn’t mean I can act on it.
Ever. For so many reasons.
He settles beside me, close enough that our thighs brush, sending heat hotter than the flames that lick shadows over the walls.
Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows. There must be a storm rolling in.