Rogue's Passion (25 page)

Asher had been gone for several weeks now, that crazy slave commitment long over. It had been just a joke, but she’d been having fun with it. Even though they’d only been together a short time, she really missed him.

Soon after he left, Mel had called and walked her through a few work-related tasks she needed to know how to do. Important things like transferring a call to the shop. Checking in a parts order (three or four a day). Pulling up the schedule and making a customer appointment. As she jotted everything down, she could hear random cooing and slurping noises on the other end of the line. Mel must’ve been nursing the baby. She’d delivered an eight-pound, healthy baby girl named Therese just twenty minutes after arriving at the hospital. Olivia couldn’t believe she was even thinking about work so soon.
 

She’d spent the next few days familiarizing herself with the scope of work they did at Reckless and introducing herself to the mechanics. She was going to have to get over her aversion to loud noises, because that’s all she heard when she was on the shop floor. Revving engines. Compressors. Shouting. Heavy metal music. Although she was very much out of her element here, she was grateful for the job and Rand’s generosity.
 

Even though she’d been busy and Rand seemed pleased with her efforts, every time she got back to Asher’s rooms, she was too keyed up to relax. She really should’ve moved out to the RV by now, but she wanted to be around his things. At least for a few more days. She lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling each night and wondering what Asher was doing. Those elusive sheep weren’t helping, either. They kept turning into deerhounds, which reminded her of him.
 

At least she had a set of wheels now. On a whim, when Rand had been showing her how to access the vehicle registry system on Mel’s computer, he’d pulled up her car’s VIN. She was shocked to see it listed as stolen, further evidence that the army was onto her. Rand didn’t ask why or what was going on, though she had a feeling he knew more than he let on.
 

He’d called James and Tall Paul into the office. “Here,” he said, handing them a set of license plates he’d retrieved from a locked file cabinet in the corner. “There’s a light blue Honda sedan parked on the second level of the Fifth Avenue garage in New Seattle.” He gave them the exact address. “I need to you go down there, change out the plates, and take it to Manny’s place.”
 

It wasn’t until the two men were climbing into an unmarked panel van that she realized she hadn’t given them the keys. “Hold on,” she called, digging into her purse.
 

Rand stopped her. “They don’t need them,” he said, a smile flickering on the edges of his mouth.
 

“But—”

“Trust me.” Then he explained how her car would be going to a garage in town, not here. This was in case a location device had been affixed to the vehicle. He told her it was a reputable chop shop that would give them a fair price. She laughed at the oxymoron.
 

When James and Tall Paul had returned later and dropped a wad of cash on her desk, she was surprised to find only a few hundred dollars less than what she’d paid for the car several months ago. Not a bad deal at all.
 

She’d spotted Rand in the break room. Caitlyn was sitting with her back to him while he braided her hair.
 

“How much do you want for that purple car in the back lot?” she asked.
 

“That old Charger?” he said, a hairband caught between his teeth.

“Ouch, Dad,” Caitlyn complained.

“Sorry, baby. Almost done.” His big hands grasped another piece of hair and worked it in with the rest. He wasn’t doing a regular braid, but a French braid. Olivia was impressed.

“Does it run?” she asked.

“Yeah, but it needs some body work.” He finished up Caitlyn’s hair, then told her it was time for homework.
 

A shuffle of footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to see James standing in the doorway, filling up the space.

“I’ll do it,” he said in a low, two-pack-a-day voice. “Gettin’ ready to work on the McMillan car now. Can do the Charger at the same time.”

Her gaze bounced between the two of them. Rand was scowling at James.
 

“Um, how much do you want for it and how much to fix it?” she asked.
 

“Nothing to fix it,” James said. “The least I can do.” He held up his bandaged arm. He’d cut himself in the shop earlier when she was out taking a look around. As she applied a bandage, she’d secretly done a little healing. She told him he needed to go to the emergency room and get stitched up, but he’d refused, saying he hated quacks.
 

“What’d Manny give you for your Honda?” Rand asked. She told him. “Keep five hundred bucks, give me the rest, and the car is yours.”

“Deal.” She was thrilled. She’d secretly wanted to own a muscle car for as long as she could remember.

She yawned at the memory of all she’d done in the past few weeks—new jobs tended to be exhausting anyway—but she still couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

Just as she flipped her pillow to the cool side and curled up again, a key sounded in the lock and the door snicked open. Conry’s tail thumped on the floor.
 

Asher?
 

Her chest tightened and her heart slammed against her ribs.
 

She listened, hardly daring to breathe, as he slipped off his boots and tiptoed past the foot of the bed to the bathroom, then she heard the shower running.
 

Rand had told her Asher would probably be gone for several months, so why was he back so soon? Had there been a meeting, or was it just an excuse for him to get away? She had no claims on him, but the thought of him with another woman turned her stomach.

A few minutes later, the mattress dipped as he climbed into bed. She pretended to be asleep. He smelled not like his body wash, which she’d been expecting, but of the herbal oil that she’d left in the soap dish. Sliding in behind her, he molded his body to hers. His arm came to cup her breast, but not in a sexual way. More like it was a natural place for his hand to rest. He let out a long, slow exhale as if he’d been holding his breath.

“I’m sorry I left without a goodbye,” he whispered into her hair. “But I’m glad you’re still here.” And just like that, he fell asleep.
 

Although Rand and the guys had been great, she’d felt a strange emptiness in Asher’s absence. It was as if a piece of her was missing or slightly out of sync. She felt much better now.

The next morning, she woke tangled in the sheets and blissfully rejuvenated. Yawning, she stretched and reached over to Asher’s side of the bed. He wasn’t there. She sat up and looked around. She hadn’t dreamed he’d come back, had she?
 

Trying not to be too disappointed, she got up and took a quick shower. She dug through a few of the boxes from her apartment and grabbed a pair of black slacks, a black tank, low kitten heels and a pale blue cardigan.
 

 
Conry had climbed onto the bed and was now curled up where she’d been sleeping.
 

“Have I stolen your place, buddy?” she said, laying the clothes out on a nearby chair and sitting next to him. His tail thumped on the bed and he rolled over for her to scratch his belly. “I’ll be gone soon, so you’ll have it back. I promise.” He licked her hand. “You are so sweet.”
 

The fact that Conry was still here made her think she had imagined Asher’s return. If so, wouldn’t the dog be with him now? She and Asher hadn’t had sex last night, so maybe it was just a dream.

After getting dressed, she put on a little mascara, towel-dried her naturally wavy hair, and pulled it into a low side-ponytail. She left the room, taking care not to catch her thin heels in the open mesh of the stairs. Conry was right behind her. A couple of mechanics on the far side of the garage were already working and waved to her when they saw her, but for the most part, the place was still empty.
 

Entering the office, she unlocked the outer door and went to start the coffee. One of the guys must’ve eaten breakfast in here because the place smelled of bacon and toast. Conry sniffed around, probably looking for a stray piece of bacon, then curled up next to the desk. Whoever had been here must’ve made the coffee, too. The pot was still dripping, so it hadn’t been brewing for long. Hopefully, it was the kind of coffeemaker that would let you remove the carafe before it was done. She was in desperate need of some caffeine and didn’t want to wait.
 

She grabbed a mug from one of the pegs on the wall and happened to check inside. Thank goodness she had, because it was dusty. She grabbed another one. Same thing. That’s when she noticed all the mugs had something to do with motorcycles. Funny she hadn’t noticed it before.
Born to Ride. I Do My Own Stunts. Keep The Rubber Side Down. Harley-Davidson. SAMCRO. Sturgis 2013.
She grabbed a pink one with the Reckless logo, and only when she started to pour coffee into it did she notice it said Ole Lady on the other side.

A clatter of pots and pans came from the door leading to the small kitchenette adjacent to the coffee station. She peeked in and almost dropped her cup.
 

There was Asher, leaning against the counter, reading what appeared to be a cookbook.
 

Holy crap. I must’ve died and this is heaven.

His dark hair was tousled as if he’d just run his fingers through it. His jeans hung low, accentuating his narrow hips, and a chain looped into his pocket. With a furrowed brow, he mouthed the words as he read the instructions. If anyone could look dangerously sexy while reading a book, Asher could.
 

 
So she hadn’t been dreaming last night after all. He had come back. How was it possible that she hadn’t heard him get up this morning? She must’ve been more tired than she thought. And what happened to the morning lovemaking he’d seemed to be so fond of before? Surely she would’ve woken up for that, she thought with a smile, her inner muscles tightening.
 

She must’ve made a sound, because he lifted his head with a jolt. His dark gaze bore into her, a symphony of emotions playing across his face and shooting straight to her heart.
 

“Hi,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “You’re…you’re here. I heard someone and wondered—”

“What are you doing?” he snapped. A shadow passed behind his eyes, like a bruise she hadn’t seen earlier.

She took a step backward, surprised at his harsh tone. “You seem to have forgotten. I…uh…am working here now, remember?”

“I know that.” He slammed the cookbook shut and abruptly turned away.
 

 
She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out he didn’t want her here.

Gripping her coffee mug, she walked slowly back to Mel’s desk, glad that she wasn’t able to see Asher from where she sat. Was he upset she was still holed up in his rooms and hadn’t yet moved out? That she was taking over his man-space? It would explain why he hadn’t reached for her last night or this morning.
 

She unlocked the desk drawer and pulled out the little notebook where Mel kept all the passwords. The best thing to do was get to work to take her mind off what had just happened, then start sleeping out in the RV till she found a place of her own. At least she had a car.
 

She had just signed into the Reckless email account when she heard a rustle behind her and Conry’s tail thumping on the floor. Something slid toward her on the desk. It was a plate with three misshapen pancakes, two pieces of overcooked bacon, and a rubbery-looking fried egg.
 

“I made breakfast,” Asher said gruffly.
 

She frowned, unable to process what was going on. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet. She thought he was mad at her. “But I…”
 

“If you’re not hungry, that’s fine.”

“That’s not what I mean.”
 

“It’s probably terrible,” he said, staring at the second plate he was holding as if it was poisonous. “I’ve never made pancakes before.”
 

 
Warmth blossomed inside, spreading to her fingers and toes. This big, somewhat awkward, yet incredibly sexy man had cooked breakfast…for her. He’d done something he’d never done before…for her.
 

He reached to remove her plate, but she shoved his hand away. “They look perfect. It all does. And it just so happens that I’m starving.” She blinked back a tear and grabbed the fork. She’d never had a man cook for her. She’d done plenty of domestic things for various boyfriends, but the favor had never been returned.
 

She cut into the pancakes, swirled them into the syrup and melted butter, and took a bite.

Asher watched, a worried look on his face. “Is…is it edible?”

“If a five-star chef had made me breakfast, it could not look any more perfect or taste any better than this. It’s delicious.” His shoulders slumped in relief and she laughed. “You act like you thought it might kill me.”