“What, hate you?” I really can’t follow anymore. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. I know that, always have. It’s just that...” Getting the words out is hard. “I spent so long trying to get over you that I thought I did.”

“Get over me. What do you mean?”

Is he being dense on purpose? “You know, in high school. After you kissed me and then decided I wasn’t worth it and started ignoring me.”

“I never thought you weren’t worth it.”

He sounds bewildered and it makes me angry. I’ve torn my chest open and here I am, pouring my heart out. The least he can do is not mock me.

“You kissed me, and the next day you stopped talking to me. You kissed other girls. I saw you. You ignored me. We’d been friends and then everything changed.”

He sighs and it seems to come from deep inside of him. “Damn right everything changed. Because after kissing you I was sure you were the only one I’d ever want, and I couldn’t have you.”

Okay, my mind short-circuits again—for a different reason this time. “You’re not making any sense. You stopped talking to me because you decided you wanted me?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Explain this to me because I can’t figure it out.” I’m desperately trying to keep the tears back. The wound is old but it feels like it’s bleeding again. “You were my best friend, and you kissed me, and then you vanished from my life.”

So much for forgiving him and getting over him, huh.

He turns around, his back stiff. “I wasn’t good for you. I’m still not.”

“Bullshit.”

He stiffens more, his hands balling at his sides. “It’s the truth.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” My voice trembles. “Look at me, Ash. Talk to me.”

“You know I got into fights. I beat other kids up.”

“That wasn’t like you.”

“And what am I like?” Harsh. Angry.

“You’re a good person.” I hesitate. “Something happened back then, didn’t it? Tessa said your mom passed away. I didn’t know.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah. But it happened long before that, even before Tyler left. When Mom first got sick, Dad... he started drinking and lashing out right and left. Whoever was in his way...tough luck. But I did the same, Auds. Exactly the same. I started swinging and took down whoever got in the way.” He shakes his head, his voice dropping low. “I’m not what you need. Never was.”

I step between him and the door—close, so close if I reach out I can touch him. “And how would you know what I need?”

“Dammit.” He grabs my arms. His eyes blaze. “I’ve done my best to keep away from you, and now...” He presses me against the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But I want you here,” I whisper, too aware of his strong body pressed against mine, his musky scent. “Always have. Even when I thought you didn’t want me.”

“Why are you saying these things to me now?” His face dips toward mine, his eyes half-closing. “All this time I thought you loathed me.”

“I don’t. I...” His hands land on either side of my head, trapping me against his hard chest. His mouth looks luscious and I can’t think of anything I want more than to kiss him. “Ash...”

And then he’s kissing me, his mouth hard and hot against mine, stealing my breath. His tongue swipes over the seam of my lips, opening them, thrusting into my mouth.

My knees turn to water. I sag and he wraps a corded arm around me, holding me up, pulling me to him.

Still kissing me, his taste exploding inside me, making me ache to my core. I lift my arms around his neck, wanting more. Wanting him more. Closer. Wanting to feel his bare, warm skin against mine.

I bury my fingers in the soft hair at his nape while his slip under the hem of my blouse, inching up. I shiver when he finds the clasp of my bra and tugs.

“Want me to stop?” he whispers.

“No. Don’t stop.”

“Auds...” His voice is ragged, his breathing harsh. My nickname on his lips is sweet and hot, merging the past and the present.

But he’s a grown man now. His hardness presses into my stomach, a rod of steel. He’s aroused as much as I am, and I like that. I grind myself against him and he moans, a deep, throaty sound.

Suddenly both his hands are under my blouse, unclasping my bra and pulling everything off. I hold up my arms to help, needing to feel the touch of his skin on me. My blouse and bra land on the floor with a whisper.

God, his eyes smolder. His lips part and he draws a long breath. “You’re so beautiful.” His hands brush the sides of my br**sts, sending bolts of heat down my spine. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you, touching you like this for so long.”

“Yeah?” I shiver.

His hands move under my br**sts, cupping them, and I throb everywhere. “Since I kissed you in high school.”

A long time.

He slides his hands down my sides, under my legs, and lifts me. Gasping, I cling to him. He sure likes carrying me around. He groans, his hardness trapped between us, throbbing and hot like fire. Then he hefts me higher, nuzzling my neck, and strides to the sofa where he proceeds to lay me down on my back.

He climbs over me, this time trapping me with his legs.

Even in the warm air of the room, my skin pebbles and my ni**les harden more. I want him to take off his shirt, his pants, I want to see his body, see if it looks as it feels, so firm and perfect.

Bending over, he props his elbow by my head and kisses a trail from my shoulder to my neck, and I turn my head to the side to give him better access. He nips at my earlobe, making me shudder and shift. I slide my hands down his ribs, down to his hips, trying to slip them under his shirt. It’s so tight I can’t.

Then his mouth closes over the tip of my breast and I forget what I’m trying to do. He sucks and licks until my back arches off the cushions and my breath comes out in a hiss. Electric shocks zip down my spine. Liquid heat surges low in my body, and a throb starts between my legs.

I need him. When he moves to my other breast, I let my legs fall open and scrape my hands down his lower back, dragging him closer.

He hasn’t been the only one to dream of this moment. I pushed it down but deep in me I’ve wanted him for all those years.

He sits back with a lazy grin. His eyes glint like silver. But then he slips his fingers into the high waistband of my stretch pants, tugging, and I start.

I grab his hands. “No.”

He stills, the grin slipping from his face. “Auds?”

“Please, don’t...” I hold his hands, fighting panic. “Don’t.”

He nods. “Okay. No problem. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s not that.” I lick my dry lips, suddenly aware I’m lying half-naked on my sofa, my br**sts exposed and tingling, Ash sitting between my legs. “I can’t.”

I let go of his hands and they land on his thighs. He’s still breathing hard, and his erection is trapped in his jeans, curving sideways.

“I knew this was a mistake,” he says and starts to lift himself off the sofa. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Ash.” He’s about to leave—again—and I’m letting the past and my fears govern me when all I want is him. I fight for a deep breath. “It’s the scars.”

That’s the reason I never wear low-slung jeans like other girls. I always make sure the hated scar on my lower belly remains hidden.

He closes his eyes, those dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones. “Scars aren’t ugly, Auds.”

Those are the exact same words he used when we were little; I’m sure of that. I cherish that memory and have held onto it like a lifeline since the accident.

“Mine are.”

“I don’t believe it. They’re part of you. They mean you survived something ugly, but you’re alive, and you’re beautiful.”

His words bring a knot to my throat. I sit up, covering my br**sts with my hands. “I never show my scars to anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone.” A side of his mouth tips up, and his eyes warm up.

He has no idea how true that is. There was only him, always. But still I hesitate.

“If I show you mine,” he says, “will you show me yours?”

Another snippet of memory from our shared childhood. It serves to calm my racing pulse. “I know your scars.”

He sits there, his jaw set. He just stares at me, not a muscle moving, though a vein beats frantically at his neck. “I have new ones since I last showed you.”

Dread settles like lead in my stomach. I have a feeling I know what he’s about to show me. “Are they bad?”

“Bad. Ugly. Unlike yours.” He stands up, reaches back and pulls the shirt over his head, making the muscles on his chest stretch and ripple in a mouthwatering way. His tattoo is breathtaking—a black dragon curling on his chest, the wings spreading on his shoulder and up his neck.

His eyes flutter closed and he draws a long breath, as if bracing himself.

Then he turns around.

Oh god. His back is a map of cruelty—vertical scars, old and new, some fading to white lines, some still purple and painful-looking, from his shoulder blades down to the small of his back, where yellow bruising spreads.

I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up. This has to have taken years and years. This was happening to him and I didn’t know. No matter if he was cold to me after the kiss, he was my best friend, and I just didn’t know.

The tears run down my cheeks, cooling my skin. By the time he turns around, I’m ready to throw myself into his arms and hug him like I’ve never hugged anyone before.

But he flinches when he sees my face and steps back. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have shown you. I’m sorry, Auds.”

He grabs his jacket from the chair and strides across the room before I manage to formulate a response.

It isn’t until I hear the door slam that I realize he’s left once more.

Chapter Ten

Asher

Standing at the entrance of her building, I pull on my shirt and jacket, then hurry out to the street. The cold bites every inch of exposed skin, but can’t compete with the ice filling my chest.

God, I was stupid, showing her my scars. Her scars may be beautiful to me, but that doesn’t mean mine would be to her. Just because she listened to me when we were kids doesn’t mean she feels the same way I do. I’m not a kid anymore, and neither is Audrey.

I swallow hard at the memory of her br**sts. No, definitely not a kid. Why did I think it would be a good idea to show her my scars? I wanted to put her at ease, and it worked when we were kids.

Right. See again point one. We aren’t kids anymore. Fuck, the devastated look on her face... The horror. I can’t stand it.

So okay, I lied. I do think scars are ugly. Mine are. Not hers. My scars are a mark of my inability to fight back, to win the fight between me and my dad. My weakness. My failure. I hate them. I never show them to anyone.

But Audrey isn’t just anyone, a little voice in my mind throws my words back at me, mocking me.

Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. Now she won’t look at me again like she did before my act of idiocy—with desire; with need.

All that’s left is horror. Pity. Revulsion.

I walk faster, jamming my hands in my pant pockets. God, she’s so pretty. Her face, her eyes, the freckles on her nose—and her body... Christ, her br**sts! Full and fitting perfectly in my hands. They drive me crazy.

Stop thinking about her.

The town seems empty. Everyone is at home with family, celebrating.

Dammit, that sort of happiness isn’t meant for me. I can scarcely remember what it’s like. I felt so good for a while back there, in her apartment, in her arms, that I forgot this little fact.