Edge Of Darkness

25

“And I can order tapas from that place you like down the block.”

More silence. He still wasn’t taking the bait. Ember knew she had to get serious, or risk a pout-fest that could last well into next month. “And…I’ll tell you all about what happened with Christian last night after I left you at the club.”

There was a loud, high-pitched inhalation on the other end of the phone that sounded very much like the noise a vacuum cleaner makes when turned on. She thought her brain might get sucked out through her ear and disappear through the line.

“Christian! Not the Christian?”

At her sound of affirmation, Asher said, “I’m on my way,” and hung up.

It couldn’t have been fifteen seconds before he knocked on the front door. Ember opened it to find him in a peacock blue kimono and bare feet, his face slathered in a thick layer of pale green cream. “Is that moisturizer?” she asked, stepping back to let him in.

He breezed past trailing the scent of cucumbers and lavender. “Pore-reducing mask. It’s wonderful for the skin tone. You should try it.”

“Is that your way of telling me I have a problem with my pores?”

He swung around and his kimono billowed in a bell around his ankles. Arms akimbo, he looked her up and down. “Honey, your pores are the least of your problems. When are you going to let me take you shopping?”

“Hmm.” She looked at the ceiling, pretending to decide. “How about the Tuesday after never?”

“You are no fun. Seriously, what’s a fairy godmother good for if she can’t buy you a dress for the ball?”

“Ball? There will be no balls, thank you very much. The only thing worse than wearing a dress is hearing the howls of laughter as I do my version of dancing, which looks uncannily like a reanimated corpse during an epileptic fit. So not going to happen.”

“So that’s why you never dance when we go out! Well you just need the right teacher, honey! I can teach anyone to dance! Here, follow me.”

Before Ember could protest, Asher had gathered her up in his arms and begun trilling “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady, swinging her around like laundry on a clothesline. It didn’t last long because Ember trod on his bare feet so many times he finally released her and limped away, gasping in pain.

“Christ, you weren’t kidding!” He hobbled to the couch and threw himself on it, collapsing with a theatrical sigh to rub his bruised toes. “Were those feet of yours donated from the morgue?”

“I tried to warn you.” Ember flopped down on the couch beside him. “You should have seen the c*****e when my mother tried to put me in ballet when I was fourteen. Those poor, poor boys.”

Asher sighed. “Ballet boys. In tights. God was good when She thought of that one.” He turned to her with twinkling eyes. “And speaking of ballet boys…spill it, sister. Spill it all. And don’t leave a single dirty detail out. You need to make up for damaging my arches.”

Ember blew out a breath, trying to decide where to begin, and then started with when she first saw Christian at the store and ended with the delivery of roses.

When she finished, Asher was sitting with his shoulders hunched up around his ears, clutching the neck of his blue silk kimono, gaping at her through his pore-reducing mask.

“Oh. My. God. I knew he was hot, but lavender roses? ‘You want to see me as much as I want to see you?’ ” He fanned himself with one hand. “Scorching, honey. Seriously scorching. I need to go take a cold shower with my George Clooney blow up doll.”

Ember said, “You are a very, very disturbed person.”

He shrugged. “Of course I am. All the best people are. What, you want to hang out with normal people?” He shuddered and drew his robe tighter around his neck.

“No, I suppose not. Normal people aren’t nearly as interesting as you.”

They shared a grin. “So what are you going to do?”

Ember’s smile faded. She looked down at her hands, inspected her nails—in dire need of a manicure—and sighed. “Nothing, obviously. It’s your classic Beauty and the Beast tale, except he’s Beauty and I’m the Beast. Honestly, I’m sure he’s just in-between lingerie models or something. I can’t figure out why he’s giving someone like me the time of day.”

Asher reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair off Ember’s shoulder. He rested his hand there for a moment, then softly said, “You don’t always have to do that, you know.”

She glanced at him, confused. “Do what?”

He was looking at her carefully, his brows drawn together, his mouth—surrounded by green cream—downturned. “Put yourself down.”

“Look at me, Ash. I’m the poster girl for ‘Average.’ There’s nothing about me that would tempt a man like him.”

“Except there is. You. You’re a lot cuter than you give yourself credit for, even if you are hiding it behind all those baggy clothes and unplucked eyebrows and scowls. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re not full of bubblegum and bullshit like a lingerie model. Trust me, I’ve known a few. Plus, you’ve got a tight little figure and a very perky set of headlights,” he added, glancing down at her T-shirt clad chest. “If I were into that kind of thing, I would totally do you.”