“You know,” Asher said cheerfully, “I don’t think she likes us.”
Harry snorted. “Who wouldn’t want two contract killers staying in their home?”
Asher sat back on his haunches and smiled. “Exactly.”
Harry’s gaze went to Asher’s chest, his abs, his thighs. Was he appreciating the view?Was Harry checking him out?“Not one scar?”
“My body is a temple.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Your body is a temple from a distance one kilometre away.”
Asher laughed. “One point eight kilometres, thank you. Eighteen hundred metres is my best shot.”
Harry frowned. “Thought it’d be better than that.”
“With a ten-knot side wind, I’ll have you know. Eighty percent humidity. You do better.”
He smirked. There was no way he could do better than that, and they both knew it. “I prefer my ballistics lessons a little closer contact.”
Asher raked his eyes over Harry’s body, at the scars. “I can tell.” He pointed to one scar in particular, about two faded inches long at the bottom of his ribs. “Knife?”
Harry shrugged, but as Asher moved his hand closer to touch the scar, Harry grabbed his wrist. Asher’s gaze cut to Harry’s, his heart racing.
Not fear. This wasn’t fear.
This was something else.
Tension with sparks of excitement crackled between them. Threat of danger and daring flashed in Harry’s eyes, sending jolts of desire through Asher that he was not prepared for.
“No touching,” Harry said, his voice low.
Asher hummed in reply. “Threatening bodily violence turns me on.”
“I didn’t threaten you.”
Asher’s gaze went to Harry’s hand, still gripping his wrist. “I never said you did. I was just letting you know for your future reference.”
Harry dropped Asher’s wrist and rolled his eyes.
Asher chuckled and was about to try and touch another scar when there was a knock on the door. Quick to his feet, he picked up Harry’s backpack and gave it to him before going to answer the door.
“It is Idriss,” a familiar voice said. “Uh, Mr Sadik.”
Asher opened the door to find Mr Sadik standing there, holding a bag. “Malha told me to come. Said your friend has an ankle injury.”
Asher grinned at him. “So she does like me.” Mr Sadik was briefly confused until Asher stood aside. “Come in, come in.”
He went to Harry, who was now sitting up, and knelt at his feet. He clearly wanted to unwrap the ankle but was too afraid. Asher stepped in and did it for him. “He looks scary, but he’s not so bad,” Asher said, unwinding the tee shirt none too gently. “Actually between you and me, Mr Sadik, I think he likes a little bit of pain.”
Harry growled at Asher. Asher threw the balled-up tee shirt at him and Harry threw it back at his head five times harder. Asher laughed as he caught it and ignored the murderous glare Harry gave him.
Mr Sadik inspected Harry’s purple ankle, gently feeling all around it. Harry could move his toes, which was a good sign. “I’m not a doctor,” Mr Sadik said apologetically. “But I think it’s not broken. Bad sprain, possible ligament damage. Impossible to know without imaging.” He looked up at Harry. “You must rest it.”
Harry sighed like a petulant child.
Mr Sadik produced two white packets of pills and showed Harry the first one. “For swelling.” Then the second one. “For pain. Can make you drowsy. You must eat food with this one.”
Harry shook his head. “No sleeping pills. Nothing that impairs my judgement. I have some pain pills.” He produced the white bottle from his backpack, and after a quick read, Mr Sadik gave a nod.