Beneath the Surface by Melynda Price

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    Once the tears started falling, she couldn’t get them to stop. Putting voice to those memories had been harder than she’d expected, making her relive them with startling clarity. The emotions were too raw, the horror too close to the surface for her to hold them back anymore.
    When Asher’s arms wrapped around her, the feeling of safety enveloping her was her final undoing. She just . . . cracked, breaking down and sobbing against him. He held her close, tucking her head beneath his chin as he stood there letting her cry. It shouldn’t feel this good, being in his arms, but when his large hand slowly moved up and down her back, she melted into him, molding against every hard, muscled peak and plane of his body. He was dirty and he smelled like leather, sweat, and horse. And God help her, she never wanted him to let her go. She told herself it was his strength she needed, but as the flicker of feminine awareness slowly awakened inside her, she knew it was more than that.
    She wanted Asher Tate, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she’d wanted him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. It was his arrogant, cocky attitude she’d hated, the flagrant whoring that had given her the self-control to stay the hell away from him. But this was a side of Asher she hadn’t seen before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to, because the last thing she needed right now was to fall for this man.
    She’d had her heart broken once and vowed she’d never give another man the chance to do it again. She had no doubt if she lowered her guard and let Asher in, he would devastate her. Maybe not on purpose, but she knew guys like him, and they had no interest in long-term anything.
    When she felt him harden against her, she knew it was time to step back. She wasn’t sure exactly when this sweet gesture of comfort had turned to something more, but the energy shifted in the room, charging with sexual tension, and she knew without a doubt she wasn’t the only one feeling it.
    Slamming her walls into place, she pulled back, feeling his reluctance to let her go. Grasping for control of not only her rioting emotions, but of the situation, she played her bitch card. It was her old standby and one well used. “I think we should finish talking about this some other time. You need a shower, and you should probably make it a cold one.”
    The tenderness on his handsome face turned expressionless. But what stung was his lack of surprise at her remark. He’d expected as much from her, she realized. He really thought she was a bitch . . . and why wouldn’t he? She could play the part so well.

CHAPTER
    8
    T his was the second time in as many days Asher had found himself comforting this woman, and that shit needed to stop. What was it about her that tugged at the frayed ends of his heartstrings so damn badly? He was a hardened killer, dammit, not some cuddly babysitter, and he’d do well to remember that.
    Moving out from under the shower’s spray, he turned the water to cold and let it beat the arousal out of his cock. It took a hell of a lot longer than it should have, and by the time he stepped out of the shower, goose bumps pricked every inch of his flesh. It felt like ice crystals were forming in his veins. This was fucking ridiculous. She was just a woman, and it wasn’t like he was in short supply of them.
    But then that wasn’t exactly true, because Quinn Summers was like no other woman he’d ever met, and perhaps that was the rub. She was sharp tongued, quick witted, and off-the-charts intelligent. He knew all this because, yeah, he’d done some digging into his little houseguest last night when he hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d started attending college at the age of seventeen and had a master’s in cultural anthropology with a minor in English, literature, and writing—impressive. But more than having a fancy resume, and most importantly, she was the first woman he’d come across in a long