Page 41 of Poison Pen
“There’s that sassy woman I like so much.” I smiled at her, and she bit her lip in what I thought was an attempt to keep herself from smiling back. “Now, go pack yourself a bag, alright? Not because I think you’re incapable, and not because I don’t think you can look after yourself. Go pack a bag because I plan on spending the rest of the night inside you, and I can’t very well do that if I’m thinking about some creep waiting to mess with your life one floor below us.”
Ricki jolted, a sexy rose-colored blush blooming across her cheeks at my words, before she regained composure and said, “Do I get a say in any of this?”
“Yes,” I countered. “You can decide which side of my bed you sleep on.”
“You’re serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my fucking life.”
For a moment, we just stared, each of us waiting to see if the other would give in, but Ricki had no idea how stubborn I could be. Standing my ground, I watched as she mindlessly fiddled with the necklace she seemed to always be wearing, her eyebrows scrunched low in a way I found adorable, even if I would never actually tell her so for fear of her eviscerating me. Finally, she blew out a frustrated breath, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation.
“Fine, but I want it to be known that I may be going with you, but I’m doing it under duress.”
“Noted,” I replied with a smirk. “Now, grab what you need and let’s get going.”
Chapter twenty-two
Ricki
Thesuburbs.
I’m not sure what kind of home I expected Asher Dunn to live in, but a tidy brick house on a tree-lined street in Forrest Hill was certainly not it. The dim streetlights didn’t offer much in the way of illumination and the moon and stars were blotted out by a thick layer of low-hanging clouds, but it was enough to see that these Stepford Streets were well-groomed, well loved, and not at all what I was used to. There were no people hanging out on their stoop, no late-night bodegas open for business, and there was not a single broken bottle or splash of graffiti in sight.
It was so perfect it was eerie.
No neighborhood should have ever looked this idyllic. Especially not one in New York, but here we were, pulling into the driveway for the night. Staring out the window of the truck, I took in the sight before me with wide eyes. Nestled between a cozy cottage looking thing and a modern glass and steel monstrosity, Asher’s two-story brick house looked like something out of a magazine. The sloping lawn was neatly trimmed but covered with autumn leaves, with a paved stone walkway leading up from the street in swooping curves and stairs that were trimmed in the same dark red brick of the house itself. And the wide wooden door was delicately arched and surrounded by decorative glass.
I didnotfit in here.
At all.
“You’re awfully quiet over there, Betty,” Asher said as he turned off the truck.
“I’m just wondering what the hell someone does with all this grass,” I answered, thumbing over my shoulder at the pristine lawn. Even when I was living my old life, we never lived in a place with an actual yard. “You rent it out to the New York Jets as a practice field for extra cash, or what?”
“A little grass never hurt anyone, Ricki.”
Maybe not, but feelings of inadequacy often did, but that was not something I was in a hurry to discuss.
Following Asher out of the truck—grumbling when he refused to let me carry my own bag—I let him lead me away from the front of the house to a side door that looked like it opened into some kind of mud room.
“I can’t believe you have off-street parking,” I muttered, eyeing the patterned bricks beneath my feet before stepping into the house and looking around. “And in-suite laundry!”
Asher chuckled, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved forward into the house, flicking on lights as he went. Stopping at a little bench, we both removed our shoes, Asher smirking at the sight of my Venus Fly Trap boots tucked neatly alongside his dusty work ones.
After the mudroom was a long, wide hallway with what looked like original wood trim that eventually opened into a massive kitchen and living room combination.
“You need anything?” he asked, opening the fridge and retrieving two bottles of water. “You hungry? Want a drink?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered distractedly, my entire focus on the massive granite island in the center of the kitchen, wondering where they even found stone slabs that big.
“Good,” Asher grunted, approaching me with a hungry look on his face. Placing both bottles in one hand, he reached for me with the other, his fingers sliding around the back of my neck and pulling me toward him for an aggressive kiss. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me as Asher fit his mouth to mine, his tongue showing no hesitation as he used it to plunder my mouth, stealing my breath and sending me reeling.
We’d kissed before, a couple of times, but this kiss was different.
This kiss felt more like a claiming.
A statement, letting me know exactly what Asher’s intentions were.