They’d both tried to move on. They’d both failed and somehow found themselves in one another’s orbits again.
“This is a very politically incorrect conversation.” She blew a laugh out of her nose. “Aren’t you supposed to say you regret everything? Aren’t I supposed to say I waited for you because in my heart I knew you’d come back?”
“We’re real, Glo.” His low voice threaded around each of her ribs. “That shit isn’t.”
“I don’t like regret,” she stated.
“Then don’t regret anything. I don’t. You’re you and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing about you.”
*
“Except for the feisty part,” Gloria said. “The mean part. The—”
“Especially those parts.” He released her hands to lay her on her back on the sandy shore. Moonlight bounced off those killer blue eyes and highlighted her black hair. He propped himself on one elbow and smoothed her bangs away from her eyes.
He put a hand around her chin to hold her eyes to his. “Every ounce of you that’s you and every ounce of me that’s me. I wouldn’t change ’em. Know why?”
She shook her head.
“Because then we wouldn’t be the same us we are right now, and this? Sarge, this is worth everything. All the pain and misunderstanding and the mess we’ve been tangling ourselves up in for the last three-plus years.”
Her eyes welled and he thought that might be the first time he’d ever seen her get emotional and get him at the same time. He’d broken through. He’d peeled back not one layer, but a dozen. And because of that, he smiled down at her.
She looked almost comically alarmed. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His smile grew.
“Asher. Please don’t complicate—”
“I meant what I said last night.”
She let out a gusty sigh. His girl. She made everything hard. Including him.
He released her chin and undid a button on her shirt. “Still mean it. I’ll mean it until we’re eighty years old and bitchin’ at each other about who forgot to take out the trash.”
He undid a second button and she swallowed, her throat working and her eyes blinking overtime, trying to keep those tears at bay.
“Tell me about Chicago,” he said, placing a kiss on her collarbone and undoing another button.
“Wh-what?”
“You’re thinking of partnering with Brice,” he said, unbuttoning another.
“I’m keeping my options open.”
Damn. Stubborn. Gorgeous. He opened her shirt, tickling the skin of her belly beneath a white tank top.
“Am I one of those options?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “You’re going back to LA.”
He scooted lower to kiss her belly and she sucked in a breath. “I’ll be here a lot, Sarge.” He rubbed his nose along her soft skin. “God, you make me crazy.” She smelled like spice and sass and he wanted to bury himself in her and forget his own name. “Like it if you stick around and keep making me crazy.”
She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t continue. He just wanted her to know that he knew. She held his head with one hand while he unsnapped her shorts and drew the zipper down. He climbed her body and kissed her mouth and she returned it, tipping her chin and closing her eyes. Tank ignored the both of them, curling up on a discarded beach towel, probably from when Broderick had come out here earlier to get some sun and had fallen asleep.
That meant Ash had Glo to himself. Just him and the moon.
He pushed his hand into her panties and slicked her with his fingers, pressing against her clit as he stroked her.
“Ash,” she moaned, her back arching. There was a catch in her throat and sand in her hair.
Perfect.
“Yeah, baby.”
“You make me crazy, too.”
“That mean you’re trying me out for a while?” Another stroke.
Her answer was a softly hissed, “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he praised, then slipped two fingers inside her and pumped once, twice. She arched closer, mouth open, shirt riding high above her gorgeous, flat stomach.
“Show me, honey.”
“Show you what?” she asked, writhing as he stroked into her again.
“Tits, Sarge. My hands are busy. I have one hand holding me up and the other…” He allowed himself to trail off and slid into her again.
“Ohhhh, I know what your other hand is doing.” Breathing tight, she sat up on her elbows and made short work of shedding both shirts and then unhooking a white lace bra that must match the panties scratching the edge of his hand. He had no idea how women stood to wear something other than cotton, but God bless ’em, because lace and silk were hot.
With her breasts exposed, Asher scooted higher and took a nipple on his tongue.
“I want you,” she said, the sweetest three words ever. So far.
“I know, sweetheart. You’re soaked.” He gently pulled his fingers away and yanked her shorts off, unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly next. He dug a condom out of his pocket—the one he’d put in there after the guys packed their shit and left. He’d had an idea he’d find her out here. And he’d had a better idea of what he’d like to do to her when he found her out here. He’d do that now.