“This is some metaphor.”
Charlie bit her lip like she was deciding whether or not to say more. Then she did. “She told me something the night she found Jordan at your cabin.”
He may have slept with Jordan in the past, but he didn’t sleep with her that night. The one time he did had been pre-Gloria. What he remembered about the night Charlie had brought up was waking to a knock and climbing out of bed to find Jordan closing the front door and Gloria peeling out of the driveway. The rest was history. Regret coated him, but the regret had nothing to do with Jordan. What he regretted was not running after Gloria, bringing her back into his rental, and keeping her there until she believed him.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” he grumbled, throwing back the rest of his drink in one burning swallow.
“She told me that night she’d given Evan bad advice. She told him I needed space, then she said girls like us don’t need space. We need caveman-dragged by the hair.”
“Caveman-dragged.” If he tried to pull that shit, he could go ahead and sacrifice his balls to Gloria, too.
“That’s what she said.”
“What do you mean girls like you?” Far as he could see, girls like Charlie were the kind you grabbed and held on to with both hands. Evan saw that. So did his son, Lyon. The boy didn’t waste time adopting her as a second mom. Smart kid.
“Gloria and I have family…issues.” Charlie held his gaze. “We were both abandoned by our families in different ways, but it leaves a mark. Those are the people who are supposed to stick with you, you know?”
He did know. His family was supportive and loved him.
“So because we don’t have that security, we need to be pursued. Pursued hard.”
“You saying I haven’t been trying?”
“Have you?” She stood from the chair. “And this other agent guy? Sounds like he started the race without you.” Asher didn’t have to wonder how she knew about Brice. Gloria probably told her. Those two had become close. “Better catch up.”
“Caveman.” He cast her a wry glance.
“Yeah. Show her who’s boss.” Charlie squeezed his shoulder and then let go. “She can handle it.”
The back door opened and Gloria and Evan came out, arguing over who had more ice cream in their bowl. Charlie commented about how she was getting herself a bowl bigger than both of them and then they’d really have something to bitch about.
Ash watched the interaction with a smile, but his mind was on what Charlie had said—and how right she was.
Gloria could handle him. Hell, she had handled him. He’d pushed her instead of giving her space last year at the toy drive. And look what happened. He got her into bed that night and experienced the sex—the connection—of his life.
Getting Gloria back was as easy and as difficult as setting his sights on her and running at her with everything he had. That’s how he’d launched Knight Time. Not because he gave it a rest or a break, but because he dogged that goal until it had nowhere else to hide.
Shit.
He’d let Glo run him off.
“Sounds like he started the race without you. Better catch up.”
He frowned.
Gloria harbored an attraction to him rivaled only by his attraction to her, so he’d have no problem reeling her in. But getting her into his bed was one thing.
Getting her to stay was another.
*
Gloria had long prided herself on her strength.
Born of Marlene and Steven Shields thirty-five years ago, it wasn’t as if she’d had much choice in the matter. Her parents were raging alcoholics who had graduated to drug abuse before Gloria could walk. By the time she turned sixteen, the state, after repeat visits to their humble home, finally took her away.
Used to a house littered with needles, spoons, and unsavory visitors, Gloria was almost more terrified of suburbia. The glossy-magazine-picture life—manicured flowerbeds, hedges, fenced yards, and minivans in every driveway—was as foreign and unwelcome as she’d expected.
In a lot of ways, foster care was worse than living with her parents.
At her house she could come and go as she pleased. She’d been a little adult since age eleven or twelve, so her new “parents” making rules for her seemed more like a play for power than any real concern for Gloria’s well-being. One by one, her foster homes gave up on her. They cited to the counselors that Gloria was difficult. Controlling. Unappreciative.
In their defense, they weren’t wrong. It hurt, but she didn’t absorb it. Nothing could rival being abandoned by the people who made her and should have loved her unconditionally.