Talon (Ashes & Embers Book 4) (6 page)

He shrugs cluelessly. "Around that time. Give or take a week."

Shaking my head, I stand and walk away from the table. I can't believe he slept with another girl just a few weeks ago. Part of the process was that we were supposed to stop sexual relations with others when we found out our partner was a definite and the wedding date was set. We knew that
three
months ago.

He stands up and follows me to where I'm standing at the window. "What's wrong now?"

I continue to stare out the window at the lake where we had our pictures taken last night. The first place we kissed. "You knew about me then. You knew we had a wedding date already."

"Well, yeah, but I didn't
know
you. I just knew it was gonna happen."

I finally turn to stare up at him. "And that wasn't enough?"

He throws his hands up. "I don't know, I didn't even think about it in that way. I was just doing my usual shit."

"That's great," I scoff.

"It was just sex with some groupies. It didn't mean anything. It never means anything. We have sex and they leave. That's it," he says defensively.

"That's awful!" He said groupies. That’s multiple girls.

I walk away from him and flop onto the couch, crossing my arms over me. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about him having sex with all sorts of women while we were supposed to be thinking about getting married and committing to this process in every way. I was so excited when I found out they had my match picked and I was technically considered engaged. All I could think about was finally meeting him. I daydreamed constantly about what he would look like, how he would act, how we would fall in love at first sight.

Meanwhile, he was screwing groupies with no thought or care about me at all.

"Well, sorry, babe, but that’s how it's always been for me."

"Stop calling me babe! You call everyone babe."

"Sorry." He kneels down on the floor in front of me, but I refuse to look at him. "Are you jealous?"

"No!"
Maybe a little.
"I was just hoping my future husband would show some restraint and commit to everything, like we were supposed to."

"Okay, I fucked up a little. I won't do it again. I promise."

"Does Dr. Hollister know about this?"

He shrugs again. "I dunno. I didn't tell her."

"She probably would have kicked you out of the experiment if she knew."

"Too late now. Here we are."

I want to kick him. "Here we are?" I repeat. "What about the tests? How do I know you're clean now?"

His voice rises defensively. "I don't have any diseases. I was tested two weeks ago. Again. And I always wear protection."

I twirl my finger around in the air. "Oh, yay!" I say sarcastically.

"So when's the last time you did, Miss Perfect?"

"Did what?"

"Had sex with someone."

Shit. I don't want to tell him the truth about that now, or he'll think I'm a freak for sure. "That's none of your business, but it was definitely not a month ago. I followed all the rules."

He twirls his finger in the air, mocking me. "Yay for you. So tell me when."

"No."

His lips curve into a slightly evil smile. "Tell me or I'll tickle you."

I shake my head. "No. It was longer than three months; that's all you need to know."

Before I can move, he lunges at me and starts tickling my sides, sending me into a fit of giggles. I am wickedly ticklish. I can't believe he's figured it out in less than a day and has used it twice now to break me. I grab at his hands. "Stop! Please!" I beg, laughing uncontrollably. He completely overpowers me with his size and muscle and pulls me onto the floor, kneeling over me, holding my hands in his at my sides.

"You can't tickle me every time you want to get your way," I exclaim, trying to catch my breath.

His hair falls down over his face as he smiles down at me. "Yes, I can." Even though he's straddling me, it doesn't go unnoticed that he's careful not to crush me. It also doesn't go unnoticed that his muscular thighs around my body put me in a position where I can't ignore the thick bulge evident beneath the thin faded jeans he's got on.
Hot damn.

"Tell me," he prods again, still holding my hands.

"It's been a long time." I divert my gaze from his package and stare up into his face instead.

"How long?"

Sighing, I shift my attention over toward the windows. "Three years."

"Three fucking
years
?" he repeats loudly in disbelief. "How the hell are you even alive?"

"Ha-ha," I say, squirming. "Let me go, please."

"Not yet. First, tell me why so long?"

I glare up at him. "Do you really have to embarrass me like this?"

"I'm not trying to embarrass you at all. I'm just trying to get to know you and figure you out."

"I haven't had a relationship in a long time, and I've had really bad luck dating lately. I told you, I don't jump into bed with men just for sex, so…it's been three years. Happy now?"

Kneeling down over me and bringing our hands up over my head on the floor, his face is inches from mine, his long, loose hair tickling my face. "I can fix that for you," he offers, pressing his hard cock between my parted thighs. My pulse quickens while my long-forgotten pussy quivers from just that slight pressure of him against me.

"I thought I wasn't what you wanted." My voice cracks, betraying my efforts to hide the fact he's starting to get to me.

"I thought so too." He lets go of one of my hands and slides his free hand down my arm, then over my ribs, brushes the slight curve of my hip, and finally grabs my outer thigh, pulling me against him. "But my body apparently wants you…and I think yours wants me too."

A little gasp escapes my throat. "I want more than that," I breathe, wanting that and so much more now.

He nuzzles his face into my neck, his teeth gently nipping me, and I fight the urge to wrap my legs around him.

"It's eleven inches, baby. How much more do you want?"

"Ugh!" I push him off me and he rolls over onto the floor on his back, laughing. "It's not funny," I say, slapping his arm.

"I'm just kidding."

"How do you know it's eleven inches, anyway?"

"I measured it. We can do a recount if you want. Call the front desk and ask for a ruler."

I shake my head and suppress my laughter. "Can you try to be serious for a minute?"

He sits up and leans against the couch, trying to force himself to stop laughing. "All right. I'll be serious," he says, pursing his lips together and looking pretty ridiculous. His hair is all rumpled, so I hesitantly reach out and comb it down with my fingers.

"I've been thinking about some of this," I begin. "And we're obviously at opposite ends of the spectrum with sex. You said it's all women want you for, and that for you, it's just sex. But for me, it's the opposite. I can't have sex without emotions being there. I think that’s part of our challenge here: for you not to have sex until there are some real feelings involved, and for me to show you that you're more than just a good lay."

He blinks sheepishly. "Ya think?"

"I do."

"That seems like a lot of work, and it could totally backfire. Why would they do that to us?"

"Maybe so we learn to appreciate each other?"

"But what if the feelings never happen, for either of us?"

That's exactly what I'm worried about because I simply cannot see us falling in love. Being friends and having fun, maybe. But falling in love? I can't picture it.

"Then it's not meant to be," I murmur sadly.

"So then, no sex?"

I playfully smack him again. "Exactly. No sex."

"Ever?" he asks incredulously.

I stand up and straighten out my clothes. "Let's not think about that. I think we should focus on our first task of figuring out where we're going to live."

"
T
his is yours
?" she asks in disbelief when I lead her to my truck in the hotel parking lot.

"Yup." My latest toy is a black Ford F-150 pickup truck with a fourteen-inch lift kit, forty-inch tires, and skulls airbrushed down the sides.

"A monster truck? Is this legal to be on the street?" She peers up at the truck, her head barely reaching the door.

I take her bag from her hand and throw it in the back of the truck. We asked the concierge to have the wedding gown boxed and shipped to my condo because it's too big and ruffly to cart around. "Of course it is," I reply, opening the passenger door for her. "Get in, milady."

She stares up at the inside of the truck and then back at me. "Talon. I can't even get my leg up there. How am I supposed to get in?"

Well, shit, she's right. Her legs are too short to reach the doorframe. I wrap my hands around her tiny waist and lift her up into the seat effortlessly. "I'll get running boards and a step, baby. Simple fix."

I run around the front of the truck and climb in behind the wheel. "Or I'll just drive the Beemer when you're with me. No big deal."

"You have a BMW too?"

I nod and light up a cigarette as I start the truck and pull out of the lot. "Yeah. It's much lower to the ground."

She looks out the windshield, wide-eyed at the traffic around us, clinging to the armrest on her door. "Holy shit. We're so high up. You can totally drive right over the other cars."

"If we wanted to, hell yeah, I could."

She giggles. "Let's not do that."

The team gave us a guideline sheet we're supposed to follow, and the first order of business is to move in together, whether we move in to one of our own homes together, or get an entirely new place to live. The latter is my preference since I live in a condo with my brother, and we sure as hell wouldn't have any privacy as a couple living with him. We're supposed to check out each other’s places before we decide, though, so we stop at my place first.

"This is really nice," she comments as we head up the walkway to my front door.

"Yeah, it is," I answer, unlocking the door. "I've lived here for about three years."

Once inside, she scans the condo with a small frown, probably because it's a bit of a mess. But hey, two single guys live here, and Mikah is kind of a slob and just throws stuff anywhere and everywhere.

"Sorry for the clutter… We had a maid, but she was stealing our stuff to sell on eBay."

"Oh, wow. That's terrible."

"Yeah, some people will buy anything. Like my dirty socks. Do you believe that?

Her face scrunches up. "That's pretty gross."

"It is," I agree. "So, me and my brother Mikah live here. He's the drummer in the band. Not sure if you remember him from the wedding." She shakes her head. "But I don't think this would be a good place for us to live, for obvious reasons."

"Why not? I'm a great fucking roommate." We both turn to see Mikah coming down the stairs from the second floor where the four bedrooms are. His long, dark hair is a tangled mop on his head, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, with dark circles shadowing them. He looks completely hungover.

"Dude, did you get drunk at my wedding last night? You're a fucking mess."

He opens the refrigerator and grabs a soda. "I did." He narrows his half-opened eyes at us. "What the hell are you two doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon? Or is this game over already?"

"It's not a game," Asia tells him with a hint of defensiveness in her voice, and it kind of makes me proud of her. I like a chick who won't take crap from people.

"We're going on the honeymoon later," I say. "First, we need to move in together."

He chugs some of his soda. "Not here, I hope?"

"No. We're going to get a house."

He nods and shuffles back toward the stairway. "Good idea. You'll probably want to get a new bedroom set." He focuses on Asia and grins. "His bed has seen a ton of pussy. I wouldn’t want to be sleeping in that."

She visibly cringes, her cheeks reddening as her eyes meet mine awkwardly across the room. "Good to know," she says, her voice strained.

I shove my asshole brother up against the wall, and Asia jumps back away from us. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I seethe, my face inches from his. "That's my wife now, not some band slut."

He pushes me back. "What's your problem, Tal?"

"She doesn't need to hear that shit." I shove him again and then back away from him.

"She better get fucking used to it. We fuck chicks. That's what rock stars do."

The sound of the front door slamming makes us both turn. She just walked out.

"Thanks a lot, asshole," I growl. "Did you hafta fucking say that?"

"What's the big deal?"

"I'm trying to gain her trust, Mikah. This isn't exactly easy for her."

He smirks. "Well, maybe she should divorce you now, then, if she can't fucking deal with who you are."

I run my hand through my hair, hoping Asia isn't running away right now. "Whatever, bro," I throw back as I run to the front door to catch her. Thankfully, I find her sitting on the sidewalk out front, twirling a dandelion in her fingers.

"Hey, I'm sorry," I say when I reach her. "He's a sarcastic asshole."

"I guess we won't be living here," she mutters, then closes her eyes and blows on the dandelion, opening them again to watch its little seeds floating away in the breeze with a wistful expression on her face. I think she wants to float away too.
Away from me.

I hold my hand out to her and pull her up when she puts her small hand in mine. "Definitely not, babe. Let's go visit your place."

"Can we just skip that? There's really no reason for us to go to my place. You're not gonna want to live there."

"No, I want to see where you live. And it’s in the guidelines. We're supposed to visit each other's homes."

She blows out a frustrated sigh. "I don't understand why we have to do this. It's a waste of time," she argues as we walk back to the truck. "Can't we just look for our own place?"

I lift her up into the passenger seat again. "You don't want me to see your house, do you?"

Her eyes dart away from me nervously. "It's an apartment."

"House, apartment, whatever. You don't want me there. Why not?"

"I never said that."

"You don't have to. You're transparent as fuck. It's written all over your face."

Her eyes shoot daggers as I lean against the truck door, not budging.

"Let's just go, then," she relents. "And get this over with."

As she gives me directions to her apartment while I drive, her reasons for not wanting me there become clear. She lives in the ghetto. Like, I used to buy drugs here when I was younger, it's that kind of shitty neighborhood.

I glance over at her as I park in front of the run-down apartment building. She's just staring out the window, her fingers making circles on her jeans. "Are you okay?" I ask her.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

She doesn't sound fine, though. She sounds distant.

"Asia, it's okay. No big deal."

"You don't belong here."

"Neither do you. Not anymore."

Her eyes shift down to the floor. "Yeah, I do. Marrying you doesn't change who I am."

"No, but it changes who we are together," I grab her hand to stop her fingers from nervously circling on her leg. "Together, we're supposed to be better."

What the fuck just came out of my mouth?

Her hand squeezes mine. "That's very sweet. Thank you for saying that."

Wow. I actually said something right, even though I was momentarily possessed by Hallmark when I said it. Score.

As luck would have it, the elevator is broken, so we have to walk up the three flights of trash-infested stairs to her apartment. The hallway smells like the pit of hell. I can't believe the team put me with someone who lives like this. We could not be more different in every possible way.

As she digs her keys out of her bag and unlocks the three locks on the door, I worry about my truck parked out on the street in this neighborhood. If someone breaks my windows or spray-paints graffiti on my truck, I'm going to be pissed.

An unexpected pang hits me when we finally walk inside. Her apartment is incredibly small. So tiny I feel like I have to go outside just to change my mind. And it's suddenly painfully clear to me—my new wife does not have much of anything. I feel bad now for taking her to my huge condo in a gated community and whining about the clutter in the 2,500 square feet of space Mikah and I share, and mostly wreck. I can't help but wonder if one of the reasons they put us together is because I have money and can get her out of here. And I also wonder if she did this for the money we'll receive and not to find a life partner. She doesn't seem like the using type, but damn, fifty grand has to be tempting for her. If that's true, so would my multimillion-dollar inheritance and my music royalties. Thankfully, we signed a prenup, so my assets are safe if she turns out to be a gold digger. But a part of me was actually hoping this would turn into a real marriage like my parents have. I don't want to be standing here like an asshole in six months, watching her walk away with a fat check and flipping me the bird.

Fuck it. If it happens, it happens. I'll take my own fifty grand from this and party my ass off with every big-titted blond I can find.

Somehow she has managed to transform this tiny, run-down space into a cozy little home that screams
her
. It's colorful. It smells like candy. It's clean and organized. Above all that, it reflects her unique creativity and ability to turn something plain, broken, and old into something pretty cool—giving it new life with her touch. What little furniture she has is hand-painted and distressed to make it appear antique. I don't even have to ask her; I already know she painted it all herself. Instead of typical curtains, gauzy fabric in a rainbow of colors covers the windows, hanging from birch branches. Not metal or plastic rods—white birch branches, and I can picture her walking through the woods looking for the perfect little branch.

Colored plastic boxes, which must hold the supplies she uses to make the clothes and soaps she mentioned, are stacked in a mock stairway leading to the ceiling.

As I stare around at all the little details she's added to her apartment, my interest in her kicks up a few notches. She's definitely not lazy or an airhead. She's driven and talented and completely self-supporting.

"You've made this place pretty cool, Asia," I say, slowly walking around the small space.

"Thank you… I'm kinda really into crafts."

"It shows. You've got a gift."

"I'll be right back." She disappears down a short hallway to what I assume to be her bedroom and comes back a few minutes later holding two things. One is the smallest cat I've ever seen in my life—that's also wearing a little sparkly tiara on its head—and the other is a black scarf with white X's randomly dyed into it.

"No one said a cat was part of the deal." I'm only partially kidding.

She holds the tiny silver creature with huge green eyes against her chest. "Well, she is. I've had her for three years. I'm not about to part with her. I love her."

"Three years? That's an adult cat?" I swear this cat would fit in one of my hands.

"Yes. She has a form of dwarfism. She hasn't grown since she was eight weeks old."

"Shit. Why is it wearing a tiara?"

"Her name is Princess Pixie. I dress her up and post pictures of her on social media sites. She has a huge following, over eighty thousand likers and followers."

This cat has more fans than my personal fan page. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. She even has product sponsors. They send me food, outfits, and toys for her, and then we review and post about them."

Fuck me in the ass. Just when I thought things were looking up, now I have a diva dwarf cat with fans to deal with.

"Well, she better not blog about my band or be all up in my shit," is all I can mutter as she gently places the miniature cat on the floor.

"Kat's been taking care of her for the past two days, but if we're moving in together, she's coming."

"Fine. Just keep her out of my stuff and don't let her claw up the furniture."

"She has nail guards in five colors. She won't scratch anything." She stands in front of me and hesitantly puts the scarf around my neck, fluffing my hair out over it, then grins up at me in approval. "There."

"Did you make this?" I ask, touching the thin fabric.

"Yes. It looks good on you."

"Everything looks good on me," I tease, getting me yet another eye-roll from her. "I dig this, though. I'm gonna wear it on stage."

"Oh, cool. That would be awesome."

I pull the scarf off and quickly throw it over her, capturing her tiny waist with it and pulling her against me, enjoying the startled look on her face. "Or…I can tie you up with it and have my way with you." Her hands instinctively press against my chest, and she gazes up at me from under her dark lashes.

"You could." She swallows nervously and licks her lips. "But, wouldn't it be more fun if I were a willing participant?"

"I'd like to find out."

For a quick moment, her eyes glaze over a little and I think she's going to kiss me, but instead, she pulls the scarf out of my hands and puts it back around my neck with a playful smile.

"Until then, I like it on you."

Damn, she's going to be a tough nut to crack. I've never had a chick ignore my flirting before, and it's only making me want to prove to both of us that she
does
want me. She may not be my type, and I may not be hers, but there's definitely a little spark of chemistry starting to burn between us that I plan to take full advantage of.

I admire her ass as she bends over to pick up the cat. She doesn't know what she's up against. I
will
get her to want me. I
will
make her beg for me.

Turning quickly, she eyes me with a mischievous glint. "I know what you're thinking, Tarzan. And good luck."

Game on, jelly bean.