The Vixen and the Vet (21 page)

She sniffled, releasing his arm to swipe a tear from her cheek, and giggled softly like she would if she was making fun of herself.

“He was a World War I vet on the show. You never actually knew how he got the injuries. He was wonderful. Everyone who watched that show fell in love with him. Everyone loved him best.

“Don’t you see? I was primed for you. Except you’re so much more than a character on a TV show, Asher. Not only are you confident and uncertain, fierce and tender, protective, wistful, loyal, vulnerable …
attractive
… complicated like the character, but you’re mine. You belong to me, and your warm body presses up against mine at night, and what you do with that body makes me … makes me wonder how I ever lived without you.”

It was exactl
y how he felt too. Every moment he spent with Savannah made him wonder the exact same thing. To know that life could be so much sweeter, so much better, with someone in it, made it practically unbearable to think of all the time before, and all the uncertainty ahead.

“So,
that’s
Richard Harrow,” she said, pulling her phone out of his hand and looking affectionately at the screen before placing it on top of her computer on the floor. Looking back at Asher, her small grin faded. “That’s who I might have been a little bit in love with … right before I fell in love with you.”

Her last words were spoken so softly, his breath hitched, and his heart stopped for a second, like maybe he hadn’t actually heard her correctly. He searched her eyes, and in their depths he saw the truth of her words and her story, and he knew, in his soul, that he could trust her, that he didn’t need to worry about the veracity of her feelings anymore. He could trust her. He could believe in her.

“So don’t ask me again about your face. Don’t wonder for a minute if I feel like I’m being shortchanged by choosing to be with you. Just know this: you walked out of my dreams fully formed. I wasn’t about to let you walk away.”

He didn’t know what to say. He doubted he could make the words even if he knew what they were. He reached for her, pulling her against him as tightly as possible and pressing his lips to her hair. He felt the tension ebb slowly from his body as she held him, rubbing her hands gently up and down his back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said against the warm skin of her neck.

“After what you’ve been through? You deserve whatever you want. And if that’s me … lucky me.”

“It’s you I want,” he said, overcome. “But I’m the lucky one.”

“Okay, Harrow,” she said, leaning back to palm the bad side of his face as tears dried on her cheeks. “If it means so much to you? You can be the lucky one. As long as you promise to keep being my fantasy.”

In answer, he leaned forward to press his lips against hers, swallowing her sigh and running his hand up from her back to her neck. She’d reassured him in the most amazing, genuine, believable way possible, and as he kissed her, he felt it: the shift from wondering why such a beautiful girl wanted him, to being the man such a beautiful girl wanted. He felt it in the way his heart beat stronger, in the way his fingers cupped the soft skin of her nape, in the way he demanded more from their kiss, and in the way he took from her with confidence, because he knew she wanted him to. Because he trusted that they belonged to each other wholly and equally.

In that moment, he reclaimed himself again. For the first time in almost a decade, who he was and what he wanted took precedence over how he looked. The man inside, who’d hidden from the world in hurt and anger, was almost completely gone now, and in his place sat Asher Lee—confident and uncertain, fierce and tender, protective, wistful, loyal, vulnerable, attractive, and complicated—made whole again by the love of Savannah Carmichael.

***

While Asher went to have his hand fitted, Savannah sat cross-legged on the bed in the large, comfortable motel suite, typing the final installment of her article for the
Phoenix Times
. With the Fourth of July only a week away, Maddox needed the entire piece finalized so it could be edited and placed for the special edition.

She crunched on a handful of Pringles and looked at the header again—“
Adam & Cassandra: An All-American Love Story”—and grinned.

With the pseudonyms in place, Savannah
had decided to use actual bits of dialogue from conversations she’d had with Asher. As she scanned the thirty-page document, different quotes jumped out at her:

“I’m, um … I’m unpolished.” … “Are you speaking in poker metaphors, or am I going crazy?” … “If this is hell, I need to review my definition of heaven.” … “I wasn’t with anyone else. I was thinking of you.” … “It feels terrible to want when your chances of getting what you want are so slim.” … “I’m crazy about you, baby.” …
“I would love for you to drive my car as far and as fast as you like.” … “It’s heavy stuff, beauty. It’s not light reading.” …
“I’m falling in love with you, Cassandra.” …
“I love you. Don’t you know I’d do
anything
for you?”

Her eyes sparkled with tears as she skimmed the pages. These words that were so precious to her, so dear, jumping out at her in black-and-white, were a living testimony of the days Asher Lee had spent falling in love with her. And suddenly part of her was grateful that it would all be preserved under a carefully anonymous facade: how they fell for each other.

She scrolled to the final page, rereading the conclusion carefully before sending it off.

Adam would still be considered agoraphobic, but
I am encouraging him to get out into the world more and more. As for me? I’ve found my very own modern-day Richard Harrow—and in my eyes, no man was ever so beautiful.

Adam and I haven’t discussed the future yet, but I hope that forever is in the cards. It’s not every day you fall in love with the man of your dreams. When you do, you want forever to start as soon as possible.

We still have a ways to go, but I believe in us and I know we’ll find our all-American happily ever after.

Over the last week, Savannah had gotten more comfortable with the idea of protecting herself and Asher via pseudonyms, mostly to avoid worrying about Asher’s reaction to the story. But now, seeing the entire piece in black-and-white, she felt uncertain. She’d purposely avoided telling him much about the article, because she was worried about his reaction to it. Asher was a private person—the most private, reclusive person she’d ever met, in fact—but he
had
agreed to be interviewed, and he trusted her to write a story for publication about his life.
Under the pretense of a story about an injured soldier and the cold welcome home that followed
, her worried heart reminded her. She shushed it. Asher’s privacy had been protected, hadn’t it? Yes. Yes! Besides, the article was being printed in Arizona, for heaven’s sake. No one he knew would ever have the chance to read it, right? Right.

She shrugged off her feelings and
started an e-mail to her editor.

Dear Mr. McNabb,

Please find the completed Lifestyles piece attached. I know you’ve
been reading the weeklies, but this is the entire piece, nuts to bolts. I’ve edited a few places to improve the flow.

I wanted to reiterate how important anonymity is to me. Although Asher Lee gave me permission to share his story, this wasn’t exactly the story I led him to believe I’d be writing. He has lived his life in veritable seclusion for more than eight years, and I am anxious to protect/respect his privacy.

As such, you’ll notice I’ve changed his name and employed the use of my pseudonym, Cassandra Calhoun. Thank you for understanding the need for this sort of discretion.

If you feel that I would be an appropriate candidate to lead up the Lifestyles section of your newspaper, I hope you will consider giving me a crack at the job. I promise you will not find anyone more driven, devoted, and committed to her work.

Thank you, sir

Savannah Calhoun Carmichael

She reread the e-mail one last time, and then, satisfied with everything just the way it was,
she pressed Send.

***

After getting his hand fitted, Asher walked around the hospital grounds for half an hour before returning to the hotel. He needed to tell Savannah about his surgeries and then give her some space to share her feelings about what happens next between them. Neither of them was planning to stay in Danvers, but did she want to give a long-distance relationship a try? Her in Phoenix, him in Maryland. Lots of texts and e-mails and phone calls, and he’d pay for her to come out every other weekend. Maybe she’d say yes. Maybe she would.

His hand sweated as he unlocked the motel room door.

“How’d it go?” she called to him as he walked into the dim vestibule of the motel suite.

“Fine. It’ll be ready next week. Savannah, I need to talk—”

Savannah knelt in the center of the bed wearing the same red pajamas that had completely sideswiped him the day he stopped by her house to apologize for yelling at her. A flimsy, silky little top held on with tiny straps over her creamy shoulders, and barely-there red silk bottoms. She sat back on her heels, her hair braided loosely over her shoulders, her breasts thrust forward. She looked sweet and pliant and sexy as hell.

“Breathe,” she said, grinning at him.

He sucked in a huge breath of air, blown away by the sight of her waiting for him. Aw, hell. How was he supposed to talk to her now?

“What were you about to say?” she asked, her eyes lowering seductively to the spot below his waist where he was hardening like cement in the sunshine.

“I’m pretty sure I was going to say we both need to get naked and stay in bed all afternoon.”

“Only in bed?” she asked, sucking on her finger and then tracing her nipple through the silk. The filmy fabric darkened from the moisture as her nipple beaded. Oh. My. God. She was going to kill him.

He glanced around the room. Shower … floor … sofa… “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?” she asked, tracing the other nipple.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. “Now lie down.”

Her eyes widened a fraction at his tone, but she maneuvered her legs out from under her, lying back on the pillows. He watched the way her breasts rose and fell more urgently now.

Asher unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips, then climbed onto the bed.

“These,” he said, his hand gliding up her leg to touch the lacey edge of her pajama bottoms, “need to go.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I love them,” he said, tugging them down forcefully and rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger
before tossing them on the floor. “God, you’re soaked.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she murmured.

“Spread your legs, darlin’.”

He held her eyes unwaveringly and kneeled on the bed as her knees opened for him. His erection was almost painfully hard as he leaned forward to place his palm over the warm curls at the apex of her thighs. He pressed lightly, and her hips pushed up to greet him.

“Open your eyes, Savannah. I’m going to taste you, and I want you to watch me.”

She whimpered, panting as she
watched him lower his head closer and closer to the throbbing bud hidden between folds of aroused flesh.

“Asher,” she gasped as his fingers spread her lips and his tongue landed exactly where
he knew she wanted him. He licked the salty sweetness, swirling his tongue over her swollen skin, his own appetite growing from the way her body rose to meet him, the soft sounds coming from the back of her throat. He slipped his hand under her ass to hold her in place and locked his lips around her sex, letting his tongue flick faster and faster until she bucked up against his face and cried out his name. He felt her body tense, then turn to jelly, felt the contractions rack her as she murmured, “AsherAsherAsherAsher,” over and over again, his name melting together like a litany.

“I want you,” he said, his voice taut and hot as he knelt between her legs.

“Please, Asher,” she said, her eyes opening again. “I need you so much.”

It was all she needed to say. Her response to his body was almost enough to push him over his own ledge. He leaned forward and slid into her hot wetness with one smooth stroke, groaning as she took his entire length within.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he said, keeping himself still. He throbbed within her, swelling and lengthening as the warm walls of her sex tightened around him.

Her eyes fluttered open, deep brown and slightly drugged. Lips that he loved to kiss more than anything else tilted up, and she swallowed through shallow breaths. She moved her pelvis up to press against his, and he felt the way her relaxed muscles flexed.

“They’re open,” she murmured.

He leaned back, pulling almost completely out of her, then buried himself inside again with aching tenderness. He had no idea how he was controlling himself from pounding into her like mad until he found a release to match the one she’d just had.