Page 17 of Can’t Help Growling in Love (Harmony Glen #9)

Chapter

Twelve

JUNE

Asher leaves me in his bedroom, and I blow out a long breath, pushing my hair from my face.

Oof .

My hands are shaking from wanting to run after him and jump him right there, in the hallway.

He put the brakes on, though, so I need to rein in my need and get in the shower so I’m not stinking up his place.

He said he didn’t mind the smell of my feet, but I suspect he lied.

I’d call him out on it, but he gave me the perfect opportunity to avoid the issue—access to his bathroom.

It hits me that he’s showing me an incredible amount of trust by leaving me here alone.

I could snoop around at will. I could steal his fancy-looking alarm clock and climb out through the window, disappearing into the night—or early morning, as it is.

I could root through his underwear drawer like the stalker I am.

The urge is strong, but I resist, hurrying over to the bathroom instead.

It’s surprisingly clean for a single man’s bathroom.

I’ve seen some pretty nasty places in my day, but Asher seems to like things tidy, if what I saw of his house is any indication.

A towel hangs on the drying rack next to the radiator.

There’s a toothbrush holder with a single toothbrush on the sink and a tube of expensive brand-name toothpaste.

An electric razor is plugged into the socket next to the mirror, its tiny light blinking green.

I can’t resist the urge to peek into his bathroom cabinet and find a deodorant stick, a pot of hair gel, a pack of disposable razors, a can of shaving cream, a spare toothbrush, and a pack of Q-tips.

There’s no cologne to be seen, and I wonder how Asher smells so good all the time if he’s not using any.

I close the cabinet door quietly, embarrassed by my nosiness.

But a bathroom can tell a lot about a person, so I don’t really regret this.

I’m sure Asher would do the same if he had a chance to snoop through my bathroom.

I think of the over-stuffed cabinets at home and cringe, resolving to do a deep-clean this weekend.

I shuck Asher’s hoodie and sweatpants, hanging them on the radiator to dry, then push off my panties and unclip my bra.

At the realization that I’m naked in the house of a man I’ve known for about a week, even counting our online correspondence, a shiver goes through me.

But not the fearful kind. My nipples pebble, and I have a brief, powerful fantasy of Asher barging in, jumping in the shower with me with his clothes still on, and pinning me to the wall.

So…I guess I trust him, too.

I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.

The water pressure in Asher’s shower is delicious, the water hot, and his shower gel smells nice.

I’d stay here for an hour, decompressing from work and warming up, but Asher is waiting for me in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I rinse myself and reach for the towels stacked on a shelf by the shower.

They smell like fabric softener and are nicer than mine.

I dry myself off then wrap a towel around my head.

It’s then that I realize I could either put on day-old underwear or go without.A knock at the door has me glancing up as I’m debating the issue.

“I left some dry clothes on the bed for you,” Asher calls through the door. “And I’m leaving again, no worries.”

The sound of a door closing confirms his words. I crack the bathroom door open and peer outside. True enough, he’s gone, and a pile of clothes is waiting for me on his bed.

There’s no underwear, obviously, but Asher put out a soft t-shirt that’s been washed many, many times and is likely too small for him, and a fresh pair of sweatpants.

I cinch those around my waist so they stay up.

I opt out of putting on my underwear, so the fabric slides over my naked skin.

A glance at my chest shows that my nipples are still hard, so I put on a sweatshirt, too.

Then I follow the smells of cooking breakfast back into the main area of the house.

I was too distracted by the view earlier to really note much about the room, but it’s spacious and bright despite the gloomy weather.

Two thirds of the space is taken up by the living room part.

There’s a large, comfortable-looking gray couch and a neat TV-and-gaming-system console.

I turn right to find Asher standing in the kitchen, his bottom half hidden by the kitchen island.

There’s a dining table and a corner kitchen, fully kitted out with modern appliances.

A basket of fruit stands on the island, the bright oranges and yellows of the citrus a nice brightening touch in contrast with the cream kitchen cabinets and the butcher block countertops.

There’s even a potted basil plant on the windowsill and a mason jar full of pens and paper clips.

“Definitely not a serial killer’s lair,” I quip, walking over to peek into the cast-iron pan that’s sizzling on the large gas stove.

Asher sends me a sideways grin and motions at the toaster. “Grab the toast, will you? How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled and well-done.” I take the two pieces of toast out and pop in another two. “Thanks for making all of this.”

Asher slides the cooked breakfast sausage patties—two for me, four for him—onto the prepared plates and cracks the eggs straight into the greasy pan.

He scrambles them quickly with a spatula, seasons them, and lets them cook on low heat while he pulls a bag of baby carrots from the crisper drawer of his fridge.

“Want some of these?” He takes a fistful of carrots from the bag and adds them to his plate, then offers the bag to me. “My doctor says I should be eating more vegetables.”

I fish out a couple of the baby carrots. “Sure. Do you mostly eat protein? What’s werewolf metabolism like?”

Asher returns to the eggs and nudges them around the pan, then shuts off the gas. “If it was up to me, I’d survive off steak and bacon, honestly. But I’ve been told repeatedly that I also need fiber for optimum health, so I do what I must.”

His smile tells me he’s mostly joking, but it does make me wonder why he hasn’t changed to his wolf form yet since we’re in the safety of his home. Is he shy about it? I’d like to see all sides of him, but only if he’s comfortable showing me, so I won’t pry.

He serves up the eggs, and I carry the plates to the dining table while he makes the coffee on his fancy espresso machine.

“With milk, right?” he asks, pausing with the small metal jug in his hand.

I nod, stealing greedy glances at the man who seems so relaxed here.

He’s put on a fresh t-shirt that molds well to his shoulders, and his ass looks fantastic in sweatpants.

He catches me staring and grins, though his expression is still slightly awed, as if he half expected me to disappear while he was making breakfast.

I want to tell him I’m not going anywhere, but I don’t want him to think I’m setting myself up in his house.

There’s a fine line between interested and obsessed, something I wasn’t aware of until now.

But I’ve never felt an attraction this powerful, not for any of my previous boyfriends.

I don’t know if I can play it cool with Asher, and that scares me.

He says he’s interested, but if he’s never had a girlfriend—or even a lover—he might just be in lust.

“I’m no good at latte art,” he rumbles as he sets our mugs down between our plates, “but I put some cocoa on top. I hope you like it.”

My heart melts at this. I don’t think a guy who’s just in lust would sprinkle cocoa on my latte to make it pretty. It’s a weird distinction, but Asher is trying to make a good impression, and not only by tempting me with his muscles.

“Thank you,” I rasp, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. “This looks great.”

He eats quickly and methodically, and I find myself watching him as I fuel up on the delicious food he has prepared for me. The eggs are soft and fluffy, the sausage browned on the outside but not dry. Even the carrots are nice, still crunchy and sweet.

“Everything okay with the food?”

“Of course,” I tell him honestly. “It’s just…are we moving too fast? People usually date for a while before they progress to breakfast at home.”

Asher sets down his knife and fork. “Do you want to slow down?”

“Not really?” I hate that the words come out as a question, so I clench my hands in my lap and try again. “There’s no dating rulebook, but I like this. It doesn’t feel too fast, but maybe I’m feeling like this because I’ve done it before, and you haven’t. I don’t want you to think I expect?—”

“June.” Asher reaches forward and takes my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. “I want to feed you. This makes me happy.” He motions at the table with his free hand. “Seeing you in my clothes makes me happy. Smelling myself on you…” He shakes his head, his expression almost pained.

“Okay.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. “I, um, used your shower gel.”

I don’t know why I feel like sharing that, but Asher’s eyes glint golden at the information.

“Come here.”

He tugs my hand, and I stand, sidling closer to him. Asher draws me in and angles his body so I can stand between his legs. I put my hands on his shoulders. He palms the backs of my thighs, his grip firm and warm even through the layer of his sweatpants.

He’s so handsome. I bring one palm to his cheek and trace the sharp line of his jaw, relishing the sensation of his stubble scratching my skin. He nuzzles into my touch, then takes my hand and presses a reverent kiss to the inside of my wrist.

“June…”

He sounds like he’s in pain. Like he needs my touch more than breathing, like he wants nothing more than to hold me right there.