Hilary Fields - Bliss

His features creased with confusion. “What, that I wanted to take you out?”

Scratch that. Now Sera really was ready to nurse a grudge. “Um, no, Asher. I believe you muttered something about having a little chat with your wife before you disappeared for nearly a month.”

Asher’s hand scrubbed at the stubble that scruffed up his perfect jawline. “Oh, chara, ” he swore in Hebrew. He had the same look he’d worn the day she’d dinged him with the dildo—the day he’d been worried about taking advantage of her.

Hangdog. Ashamed.

Good.

“Come here,” he entreated, holding out his hand.

Sera debated, but she couldn’t resist. He enfolded her hand in both of his, drawing her close as he backed up until he hit a countertop. With a lithe movement that would have done a dancer proud, he grasped her by the waist and twisted to deposit her, light as a feather, to sit atop the stainless steel counter. Sera could feel the coolness through her jeans, and then Asher’s heat as he crowded up close to her. Somehow, her legs were spread wide, and he had wedged himself between them. His fingers speared into her hair, cupping her face and turning it up to his. Even atop her perch, he towered over her. “Bliss. My wife has been dead for four years. I went to make my farewells, make peace with my memories of her. I did this because, after you came into my life, it became clear that I had met a woman with whom I could perhaps make a future. Before I could pursue this—pursue you —in good conscience, I had to say good-bye to my past, and so I went to visit her grave.”

Tears stung Sera’s eyes, threatening to spill over. Her own hands rose to cup his cheeks in return, and she leaned forward to bring her lips to his, telling him wordlessly that she witnessed his pain; honored it.

“I’m a dumbass.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Your ass,” he said with a twinkle, “is smart enough to fascinate me on quite a regular basis.” He demonstrated by sliding his hot hand up her leg until he reached the portion of her anatomy in question, wedging his hand between it and the counter to give it a squeeze.

“It’s I who have been the ‘dumbass,’ Bliss,” he continued more somberly. “And I’m sorry for it. I had no business being so cryptic, and then not calling… It was wrong of me.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d be gone just a few days, that I’d have plenty of time to take care of my business and get back to you to explain more fully why I’d gone. However, when I returned to Tel Aviv, I found my family in a bit of disarray.” He stroked Sera’s leg absently as he spoke, perhaps taking as much comfort as he was giving.

“My father is getting on in years, and his health has been declining for some time. Whenever I would call, my mother and sister always assured me it wasn’t serious, that they were looking after him and there was nothing to worry about. Yet less than a week after I returned home, he had a stroke.” At Sera’s stricken look, he hastened to reassure her. “It turned out to be very minor—some kind of infarction, I believe they called it—but he was in the hospital for several days and I needed to be there. And after that I stayed to help my mother and sister settle him back at home, to be sure they had all of the support they needed.”

“Of course,” Sera said, feeling daring enough to run two fingers down the side of his face in a gentle caress. “I’m so glad you were able to be with your parents at a time like that.” Her own parents were long gone, but Sera remembered how devastated she had been at even the hint that her aunt might be sick, when Pauline had told her and the BRBs about the lump in her breast.

Asher caught her fingers and kissed each one. “I think my family has been shielding me too much. Since my wife’s death, they’ve tried to keep things light and respect my need to process my grief in my own way—even to moving halfway across the world. Perhaps they thought I couldn’t handle another illness, and so they played down my father’s condition. When I saw the reality… well, I’m afraid I became a bit caught up in family concerns. Still, Bliss, I should have called. But somehow… I just wanted to wait until I could see your face again… touch you…” Asher suited actions to words as he stroked one callused hand down her arm. “…gaze into those pretty gray eyes. And tell you… how much I’ve longed to be with you.”

“Asher, you really need to stop talking now.”

Sera very much enjoyed the look that crossed her handsome suitor’s face.

“I’m sorry?” He took a step back, leaving her bereft of his warmth.

Sera grabbed his hand, reeled him back in. “You should be. I went to a lot of trouble to put on this mascara”—she pointed to her lashes—“and I don’t think you’d enjoy seeing it decorating my cheeks like a bad batch of icing. So please, spare us both and come here and kiss me, before I start to blubber.”

Asher was nothing if not obedient.

From there, things took a rather delicious turn. Sera couldn’t keep her hands off her lovely landlord, and he seemed to feel the same. Between lush kisses and caresses that sent her pulse soaring higher than the Santa Fe ski basin, he murmured words that were music to her ears. “I thought of you all the time I was away. I wondered how you were faring; whether the store had opened yet, and how you were getting along with Malcolm and Pauline. I pictured how delicious you looked the last time we were together, flushed and wanting atop that countertop in your aunt’s kitchen—much as you are now. Hell, much as I am right now.” He grinned, framing her face in both hands so she couldn’t look away despite the fresh blush that bloomed across her cheeks. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you, Bliss. And I can’t wait to take you out—on a real, true date.”

I can’t wait either, Sera thought. I don’t care how badly this ends. I want to follow this fantasy as far as it takes me—to smile with him, hold hands with him, and hell, yes, make love as best I can with him. So what if I’m destined for the worst case of female blue-ball syndrome in the history of the world? I’m not giving this up one minute before I have to.

She kissed him for all she was worth.

Asher kissed her back as if she were priceless.

I’ve never been happier in my life than I am right at this moment, thought Sera.

The universe thought that was very funny indeed.

Well, well, well.”

The words, uttered in tones of mockery so saturated as to drip disdain, came from the doorway that led to the front of the store.

Sera knew that distinctive blend of derision. She’d endured it day and night for years; had lived and breathed it for the better part of her career. She gasped and pulled back from Asher.

Yup. There he was. Blake Fucking Austin, haunter of nightmares, squasher of livelihoods, eviscerator of egos.

Was it possible to go from passion to projectile puking in one point two seconds? Sera was afraid she was about to find out.

I shouldn’t be so shocked, thought a tiny part of her brain that was in fact very, very shocked. He’s managed to ruin every other moment of happiness in my adult life. Why shouldn’t he pop up, like the rotten little troll he is, to destroy this one?

“Serafina Wilde,” drawled her nemesis. “And right where I last left you. Spreading yourself like second-rate caviar on a cracker for the kitchen help.” That laugh. That bastard, horsey laugh that scraped her spine like harpy claws. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve quite the penchant for canoodling in kitchens.” He eyed Asher, who had swung around, every muscle tense, to size him up.