I had my eyes closed but I wasn't asleep. I lay in bed and bath in his scent like a cat nesting close to it's mother, lost in thought. His scent was everywhere, in the pillow, the blanket, the mattress beneath me. It wrapped around me like chains I didn't want to break free from. Pathetic, I know, but I didn't care.
The villa was quiet—too quiet. My thoughts pressed in like shadows, heavy and endless. I closed my eyes tighter, as if that would keep the world away, as if that would make this moment last forever.
Then I heard the door creak open. silent footsteps followed after.
My body stiffened. My mind sharpened instantly. I thought it was one of Adrian's dogs that came to take my life. Though I was without a weapon, my father didn't raise me to die helpless. I had counterattacks drilled into my blood, into my bones, and I was sure I was going to win. My father trained me for this, for war, for survival.
My father's voice echoed in my head: Never sleep without being ready to kill. Never lie down without knowing how you'll get back up. He had drilled that lesson into me with his fists, with blades, with war. I steadied my breathing, long and measured, my chest rising in perfect rhythm. Calm. Ready. Waiting
If Adrian's dogs came to kill me tonight, let them try. I had no weapon within reach, but I didn't need one. My hands, my body, my rage—that was enough. I would not die easily.
But the person didn't attack. They just stood there. Silent. Waiting. Watching me.
And then I heard his scent. That scent that could make my day, make my chest ache, make me weak when I swore I would never bend.
That scent. My chest tightened instantly.
Asher.
What the hell was he doing here? He should have been with Adrian, shadowing him like he always did. Loyal, lethal, untouchable. So why was he here, standing at the bed, unmoving?
My heart betrayed me, beating faster even though I kept my breathing steady. My body knew before my mind admitted it.
Then I heard his voice, oh how I have missed hearing him.
"Beautiful."
My heart skip a beat.
I'd been called beautiful before. Too many times. to count. Men dripped the word at my feet like honey, hoping I'd taste it. They'd praised me, worshipped me, begged for my attention. It never moved me. Not once.. because i knew it was a fact.
But just one word from him could affect me so much, undo me completely.
Then I felt him move, not to come closer, but to leave and panic rushed through me. I rushed to grab his hands before he could step away.
'Don't go.'
"Don't go," I didn't realized I said them out loud. too Raw. Pleading. Too exposed.
He froze and turned. My gaze met his. Those ocean ice eyes, like the sea frozen, oh how I have missed them, how they stare deep into my soul.
He held my gaze and I refused. I wouldn't lose. I couldn't. My pride wouldn't let me. We stared, silent, like children in some contest.
His gaze shifted—down my throat, across my chest, down to my thighs. Heat spread across my skin. Damn it. A blush. Me, Rose Varela, Chaos herself, blushing like some innocent girl.
"You didn't change." he said, voice low, dangerous. Too soft for him, too sweet for me.
"I didn't have time," I muttered. A lame excuse. I couldn't exactly tell him the truth: I didn't change because I spent the night curled in your scent, burying my face in your bed like a fool. But I had a feeling he already knew. He always did. Pretending.
"Your clothes are dirty. Go take a shower then go to bed."
"Will you be here?" I asked him.
My voice came smaller than I wanted. It slipped before I could harden it.
He nodded
I still had my doubt so I didn't leave the room, I went into his bathroom.
I hurriedly took off my clothes thinking he will run away. I threw my clothes and got under the shower and let the warm water kiss my skin. I took the shower gel by the stand, his shower gel, and it scent like him.
I got out of the shower Then panic struck me again—I had nothing to wear. so I searched and went to the drawers in the bathroom and searched through it and found a black shirt. His shirt.
I held it to my nose before I could stop myself. The smell of him clung to the fabric, and I closed my eyes, inhaling like a starved addict. Embarrassing. Pathetic. I cursed under my breath, but I still slipped it over my head.
It hung loose on me. He was 6'3, built like war itself—broad shoulders, muscles carved like stone. And me? I was 5'5, slim but sharp, curves like a blade. Next to him, I looked small... ok ok i was small. Maybe even fragile.
But damn, I knew I was still sexy. That was one truth I'd never deny.
I walked out, bracing myself for emptiness. But he was still there.
I walked out thinking he will be gone but he was still there.
He sat on the bed with a dryer in his hands. Our gaze met and his eyes darken and that sent shiver down my spine and a tingling way a blush crept to my face. I guess he saw it but didn't say anything.
"Sit."
The command was quiet, steady. I obeyed without thinking.
He flicked the dryer on, and the hum filled the silence as his fingers moved through my hair. Gentle. Careful. Like he was memorizing the strands.
I closed my eyes, breathing steady. For the first time in a long time, I let myself relax.
I'd seen this before—on TV once. A husband drying his wife's hair, simple and intimate. They looked happy. I'd thought it was ridiculous at the time. But now, sitting here, with his hands brushing through my hair, the thought burned me from the inside.
Asher. Husband.
My face heated. I shook the thought away, embarrassed by myself.
He was done and said, "Go to bed." he set the dryer aside.
He walked toward the door and I felt if I didn't stop him I would never see him again.
So I stood up quick and said the first thought in my mind.
"Sleep with me!"
Shit.